I get you.
I honestly do.
Even at those times when your utterly predictable scripts emasculate men and turn women into some crazy enabling bitches, I honestly totally and completely do get you.
I also feel justified in my decision to consciously tune away from Nollywood movies whenever my daughter is in the vicinity. No, I do not think you all would influence her in any way whatsoever, I just feel that no young woman should be allowed to watch what you all come up with in the name of entertainment.
And yes, I am picking on Africa Magic Igbo for some reasons as yet unknown to me and the universe at large.
A couple of nights back, it appeared I had murdered sleep and in search of some “entertainment” that required little to no brainpower, I tuned to Africa Magic Igbo and was drawn into the hypnotic clutches of something that masqueraded as a home video.
It actually had a part 1 to Infinity.
I watched it all.
Here it is in summary:
- Man and woman have been living happily together in spite of the fact that they do not have a child.
- Mother in-law begins to put wife under pressure.
- Unfortunately for her, wife wrote the Proverbs 31-37 sections of the bible all of which focuses on how to stretch your wife material to limits as yet known to man.
- Mother in-law packages village wife who should be given an Oscar in the “nauseatingly overacting” category and together, they move into the man’s house where they begin to torment woman.
- Man, being a typical mumu husband a la Tony Umez hand-book on how to be a mumu husband, is unable to put his foot down and rather suggests running away from his own home.
- Wife being a Proverbs 31 – 37 branded wife material refuses, opting to go through the humiliation and torment, perhaps in order to confirm her own wife materialship is authentic.
- Last last, man is blackmailed into sleeping with village wife – *insert sarcastic smiley here*
- Who had been sleeping with gateman *yaaaaaaaaaaawn*
- And husband joins in humiliating and tormenting wife, who refuses to leave her matrimonial home because sontin sontin sontin *predictable*
- Finally, a lab test reveals village bride is pregnant by many more months than oga has been dipping his pen in her ink well *no puns intended*
- THEN and ONLY THEN, does more mumu-ish than mumu husband prototype man spring into action, and begin to throw his weight around, throwing people out of his house bla bla bla *insert “rolling on the floor laughing my ass off because I’d rather not be crying” emoticon*
- AND THEN IT IS ONLY AFTER THEN, that wife parks her bag and storms out of the house *boring*
- So husband goes begging with his friend who drops the mumu making headliner, “you were there when it started and you were there when it ended so you should be able to forgive”, to Proverbs 31 – 37 virtuous woman prototype wife. *boooooooo*
- And then wife forgives and falls into husband’s arms and they go home and have this bastard make up sex that results in the long awaited pregnancy *rolling my eyes*
Verdict: Silly movie, yeye script and a script writer who deserves to be locked in a room with the abbreviating children of social media Naija, until (s)he receives sense.
Okay, aside from the fact that all this could have been collapsed into one part, I totally understand with everyone involved in that movie, and here’s why:
About a decade plus some years ago, I had cause to leave Kano where I lived and worked, to travel with some colleagues for a friend’s event somewhere in the Eastern part of the country. Those were the days when night travels were the in-thing and while night buses stood the risk of being robbed, the convenience of falling asleep in the night in Kano and waking up at Onitsha bridge head, far outweighed the risks.
So we boarded a bus, I was the welfare officer of our office staff cooperative association and was in charge of the two more junior colleagues travelling with me as branch representatives.
So, I put them in the seat ahead of me, and took an aisle seat directly behind them.
Then this geographical brother of mine comes along, and without even pausing to draw breath, commands me to shift inside and let him sit down in the aisle seat.
“Because I be man”
“Who send you”
“Wetin you mean? You no get respect, I get woman like you for house”
“No be me be the woman wey you get for house now and I pay for this seat so if you dey find another seat, make you go talk to the office people”
“I no go fit siddon for inside make woman siddon for outside”
At this point, I put on my Discman (who remembers that stuff?), plugged in my earphones and tuned out his silly ranting.
A few minutes later, he returned with the conductor and ticketing clerks.
They then started trying to convince me to shift inside. I had no time for that level of bullkakkery and I told them as much. The only thing that would move me from that seat, is a towing van. Any other thing, was still a figment of their imagination. I had paid and carefully selected my seat, I boarded at least an hour before he could, and at this point, they might as well just talk to the hand because the ear ain’t interested in listening to any crap they could come up with.
Well, after a few minutes and when they discovered I was adamant about my position, they left the guy to his fate (especially as the bus had begun to fill up and there were no more aisle seats left), and went away.
So he asked me to stand up to let him pass and I asked him to squeeze through or leap across.
That was too simple a trick to pull on an agbaya like me.
Then the insults started: fat woman, I needed to lose some weight, idiot, I was obviously not a wife material, ashawo, blablabla…
Again, Discman to the rescue. When he got tired of ranting, he did the monkey thing and found his way across my legs to his nice and comfy window seat.
A few kilometers outside Kano, the bus conductor slotted in a tape into the video player, and we started watching the in-bus entertainment – again, the sort of tripe that seems to run through the ages and forms the bulk of evergreen Naija entertainment – husband and wife are loving each other until husband makes a mumu move and then wife decides to be a proverbs 32 and three quarters woman…
Anyway, as the movie progressed and as I cringed and hissed and wondered why all these movie producers had to make men look like spineless idiots who could not take one right decision to take their lives, Mr. “I have your type at home” now quietly enjoying his window seat, began to go into what I can swear was orgasmic raptures.
“Chineke m o,” he would yell and rub his hand on his head.
“Jesus”! he would squeal and wave his hands around, snapping his fingers.
And the climax of it all, “chaiyeeeeeeee, this film dikwa very very interested.” and with that, he dropped his palm on my knee and squeezed.
I gingerly took his hand off.
He got carried away by excitement a second time, and again the hand came calling, and I slapped it off now.
When he got “carried away” the third time and his hand came snaking to my knee, I followed it up with a resounding slap to his face.
And so we spent the rest of the journey, his enthusiasm for the “interested” portions of all the movies we watched on the hours-long trip somewhat waned, while I kept a wary eye out for any more wandering hands.
So, I do get you Nollywood, you do not make these movies for the oversabis like us who nitpick the details and wonder why we can’t watch empowering and educating movies with a clear story line that cannot be predicted from the first time we set our eyes on the cast; or from the soundtrack.
Most of your movies are written for patriarchal, chauvinistic bores who think women should be objectified and are there for their pleasure; and women who think they should be objectified and are on earth for their men’s pleasure.
Be a good wife.
Push out babies.
Rinse and repeat.
Or else, we set the wicked mother in-law on you.
I get you Nollywood, through and through. This is 2017, but movies like that were not written for the 2017 Nigerian man, apparently those species of male hood only exist on social media and in the figments of our imaginations.
So, consider this article an apology for ignoring my news and foreign movie channels and daring to venture into Nollywood, then having the temerity to actually critique what I watched.
I am sorry.
I have one appeal to make though… consider this my contribution to deepening the experience for those people you make these sorts of trash movies for.
Next time you need someone to act a mumu husband, please cast Tony Umez.
There is something about Tony Umez and his face that makes him a perfect fit for all the Nollywood mumu husband roles, you can almost believe he is that way in real life, talk about method acting on a kentro level.
Leave all these Uche Odoputa and the rest of them out of it, as far as Nollywood mumu husband roles is concerned, them still dey learn work where Tony Umez dey.
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