Of Men & Us

Of Men & Us | Enwerem Oluebube Deborah | Nigeria

It’s said ‘Where a group of ladies gather, there you’ll find seats to the great inquisition of men’

And for the longest time, I found it damning that to the world, women spend their time talking about men. This reality has been made a staple in movies, as scenes of a young woman discussing her latest boy troubles to a fellow sister, riddles our screen. So I pose the question; is it that our lives have nothing of import happening in it, that the only conversation staple is the subject of men? Or, are men simply the only conversation worth having?

This dilemma saw me on a Friday evening standing in front of my mirror and saying a silent prayer to the gods of makeup. You see, it was girls’ night at Roses’. As someone who generally prefers the company of the bedroom, a good Daniel Steele novel, and a cool glass of Pinot; my nervousness towards the forthcoming night was not surprising. However, at the beginning of the year, I’d made a promise to myself that I would go out more and do that which made me uncomfortable. Perhaps even, open myself up to the possibility of finding the unexpected along the way. Trying to convince myself that a night out with the girls was just what I needed, I gathered my belongings and made my way to Rose’s.

Rose, despite living all her life and never leaving the shores of Nigeria, decided to adopt the “I just got back” lifestyle. With neon braids cascading off her shoulders, she leaned forward and placed light kisses on my cheeks, a practice she’d adopted after falling in love with Sex and the City. Rose ushered me in and made quick introductions where necessary. Minutes later, I was freshly showered, make-up gone, and in my PJs, waiting for the night to begin.

Get-togethers at Roses’ was always worth the hassle, I thought, staring down at the impressive display of food and presents. At the end of the row, were party favours that I was sure would contain some of the lady delights that Rose had once spoken about. For the night, Rose had repurposed her parents living room into a sleeping space, with beds and plush pillows placed strategically to allow free flow of movement. The lights were the perfect blend of RBG colours casting a fanciful glow about the room, setting the mood for the night.

Rose’s invitation card had promised a night of pomp and flair, to which she did not disappoint because as the drinks flowed so did the gossip. Plopped down on my designated bedding, I listened as the conversation flitted from workplace stories to family and societal topics and finally settled on boy troubles. Tale after tale, the girls took turns in telling their unfortunate mishap with boys and love, and finally to me who did no more than sip my drink and listen avidly.

Later that night, as we all settled in to sleep, it dawned on me that although Rose had sworn the night would be about us girls catching up and finding bliss in each other, we’d spent most of the time talking about our significant others, or as she liked to call them, ‘insignificant others, therefore defeating the entire purpose of the night. It had simply turned into yet another feminine cliché.

But as I glanced at the girls in their PJs going through sleep routines, I discovered the night hadn’t been as hopeless as I’d thought. I’d gotten the opportunity to know the girls better.

I had learnt B despite being in love with her boyfriend of 7 years, had reservations about her future with him or more so her place in his life.

V was caught between the rock-hard chest of a colleague and her fiancé, leading to some questions she probably should have asked at the beginning of the relationship.

R for the first time was saying yes to commitment and as for me, I gleaned that the fear of losing something I knew wasn’t going anywhere, had left me stuck with sleepless nights and days lost in a haze.

As sleep found me, I understood that even though we’d done nothing more than share our boy troubles and vote on which celebrity was worthy of our lustful attention, in the process I had come to know these women more and my insecurities about my relationship was one more common than I thought.

So, maybe it’s okay that we talk about boys all the time because it’s only through shared experiences that we may find the solution to that particular heart problem.

Oluebube Deborah Enwerem is a 26 years old girl that lives in Port Harcourt City, Nigeria. She occasionally scribbles what some have called good writing and hopes to continue to do so in the future. Her genres range from romance, suspense and drama. She looks forward to many more years of growth and steady writing practice.

Email: enweremebube56.ee@gmail.com

Instagram: @thestorytelah

Become a Readers Boon Fellow

Receive new stories, arts, book recommendations and more.

We’ll never send you spam or share your email address.

Become a Readers Boon Fellow

Receive new stories, arts, book recommendations and more.

We’ll never send you spam or share your email address.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *