During my grandmother’s Yoruba funeral, the entire family was gathered, and it was then that my Aunt Yemisi, known for the prominent scar on her forehead-a souvenir from one of her many neighborhood disputes over her husband’s escapades-decided to confront me about my love life. She bluntly reminded me that time was running out and that I needed to settle down soon.
I hesitated but replied, “I haven’t met the right person yet, but when I do, we’ll celebrate.”
She raised an eyebrow and asked, “Are you being picky?”
“Not exactly picky, just particular,” I answered.
With a theatrical clap, she exclaimed, “I knew it! You’re being selective. What if your destiny is with a man who’s short?”
I muttered, “That’s definitely not my destiny.”
“Then keep searching for a tall, dark, and handsome man,” she said, walking away while muttering under her breath.
Throughout the celebration, I noticed her eyes constantly on me. Eventually, I gave in and asked if she had someone in mind to introduce. Her face lit up with a confident grin. “You young people nowadays, I don’t want your drama. Are you sure you’re open?”
“I’m open, Aunty,” I assured her.
She quickly pulled out her phone and showed me a photo of a man she described as the youth pastor at her church-honest and trustworthy.
“He’s not really my type,” I said, shaking my head.
“What do you mean? Your friends are married, and you’re still acting like a queen. Are you planning to wait until you’re 40?”
“It’s not that I dislike him, but he’s bald, and I prefer men with hair.”
She laughed, “You don’t like bald men? You’d think you have a harem! Do you want his number or not?”
“I do,” I said softly. She handed me his contact but not before advising, “Remember to stay humble. Women seeking marriage must be humble until they say ‘I do.'”
I nodded in agreement.
In the days that followed, Shina and I began chatting on the phone. He often called late at night, and when I mentioned going to bed, he teased, “Lazy women sleep early. How will we manage when we have kids?”
I couldn’t help but laugh.
One evening, he asked me to stand in front of the camera during a video call, like one of those modern matchmaking sessions on social media. I complied, remembering Aunt Yemisi’s advice.
“I like what I see,” he said with a smile. Each time he said this, I quietly thought, “I’m not so sure.”
Aunt Yemisi had promised that once I met Shina face-to-face, I would fall for him. I was curious and hopeful.
We arranged to meet at an upscale restaurant in Victoria Island. I dressed elegantly, excited for the evening. Just as I was leaving, I received a message from him: “Don’t drive your car here. You know I don’t have one, and it would be disrespectful. Take the bus; I’ll cover your fare.”
Confused, I called Aunt Yemisi to share my concerns about his behavior. Her response surprised me.
“Are you not ready to get married?” she asked.
“If this is what marriage looks like, I’d rather stay single!” I exclaimed.
“God forbid!” she shouted down the phone.
I replied, “Good riddance to bad rubbish.”
I ended the call, changed into comfortable clothes, and turned on a limited series to distract myself.
Hours later, Shina texted me: “You’re so disrespectful. I can’t believe you stood me up! You’ll never find a man willing to marry you.”
Looking back, Aunt Yemisi’s scar was a reminder that her advice on marriage wasn’t always reliable. I realized I didn’t want to endure such negativity in the name of love.
I deleted Shina’s number and blocked him, choosing peace over pressure.
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