Our vanishing cultural landscape

I’ve never ceased to be amazed at the increasing westernization of our society, particularly in respect of romantic relations. Not a movie buff, but I can’t help noticing the increasing popularity of this “Will you marry me?” charade in Nigeria’s movies. The scenario is something of this kind: a young /not so young man kneels down at an eatery, a restaurant or some other similar place and ‘proposes’ (oh, this word again) to his woman. The woman accepts, screams like a child and throws her arms around the man who, by now, is already on his feet, ready to take her off to his or her apartment for yet another  round of revelry. The target audience, previously minding its own business until that interruption, applauds, toying with vowels: “Wao! Huu!Hii” etc.

I’m an Urhobo man, Obasanjo declares

The couple, with or without their friends, are in a blaze of glory, except that I cannot see how a solemn promise of life commitment between two consenting adults ought to be material for public theatre. Among other things, the movie, Wedding Party (2) gives extensive validity to this proposal charade. No proper proposal, no wedding and I guess no marriage either. I have never experienced any such rude proposal at an eatery, perhaps because I am hardly there, but anyone unfortunate enough to have me around at such a moment will have to be content with the applause of others. If Sade has decided to marry Sunmonu, how does that become my business? Why should I be aware that total strangers intend to get married? Am I supposed to be a guest at their wedding? When did we become this western?

Nine times out of ten the woman being asked that nonsense question has been overused by the questioner. If she doesn’t marry him, I don’t know what else she’s supposed to do after several abortions. True, old-time, rugged love is vanishing and in its place meat pie love is taking over. Lovers eat ice cream, pizza and crips/chips and chicken and engage in nonsense dance. But it is all a charade: the boy eating pizza with a fork is still secretly intending to visit a mama put joint very soon, ready to descend on akpu and egusi. Of course I have nothing against meat pie and pizza, but I can see the pretence and charade in all of this irritating meat pie love that we are assailed with almost on all fronts. Any woman who wants to be a wife in Nigeria must be adept in preparing amala, pounded yam, egusi and okro soup, not noodles.

I suppose I eat noodles once in a year maybe, so I’m not necessarily against it, but I am a proper African, I am rugged, I will not die easily and I have no time for nonsense. I am sick and tired of all these jeans and Brazilian hair-wearing morons that cannot make eba. These are stupid people: they can never keep a home and they are good for nothing. People that look at their legs and say they are hot! Hot legs? Who put fire there? When society gets to the point that even legs are sexy, it is time to think seriously about the future. Well, a Yoruba woman traps a hot amala pot with her legs and turns elubo over with dexterity, producing morsels that will slide down your throat with undisturbed rapidity, powered by fresh ewedu. The Igbo woman has a wonderful way with the mortar: she pounds fufu with clinical finish and knows the right type of vegetable for the occasion. She’s a champion. These are the women I value, not these slay queens that have never boiled an egg.

Our youths have become—are becoming—too soft, emotional and narcissistic to thrive on the land on which they tread. Their accent is fake, their smile is suspect, their dress sense is warped and the music they prefer  only appeals to base passions: “If you no get money, hide your face.” Now, can you imagine this nonsense? So if you don’t have money, you should die? This is the kind of music that lures youths into drug dealing and armed robbery and internet fraud, because what matters is money, not how you get it. Everywhere you turn, you see young (wo)men reduced essentially to a loaf of bread, until you hear that some people want to commit suicide because of the so-called depression! Depression kwa? Why are you depressed, and is killing yourself the solution? So you are depressed after having had breakfast? Tell me something else. Some people have not eaten anything for three days, and here you are ready to kill yourself because some boy with lice on his head no longer wants you. What happened to our time-honoured ruggedness? Depression ko, depressant ni. Some people are daily confronted with the Boko Haram threat, yet they soldier on as true Africans.

If you are feeling frustrated, eat bread and stew and cool temper. You’re not the first to face challenges of life. You kill yourself, you head straight to hell. A caveat: the foregoing should cause no one to believe that the youths are entirely to blame. As the Yoruba say, it was human beings that taught the horse how to cause pain. The older generation is bogus, and is no model for even a tramp. The society marches steadily into perdition.

• Awolaja is on the staff of Nigerian Tribune