Underneath it all, I’m just a little local girl.
Underneath the labeled clothes is a body screaming to be striped and let to wander around with a boubou with no bra:) and a scarf tied carelessly on my head, underneath the nightwear and dressing gowns that make me feel like a movie star is my body wanting a simple night shirt and a wrapper to tie across my chest like its meant to be done, the African way.Underneath the hard to pronounce designer shoes is a foot screaming for some crocs to embrace it. (yeah, my feet obviously prefers crocs to the regular bathroom slippers)
I’m just a local girl, you see I don’t care for the pronunciations of designer brands anymore...ah ahan, haba. the say its one way then they say its the other....bvgalri, lobotouns, geurlain, Givenchy,dolce,Proenza-Schouler or ……..what in the world, let me be. I don’t have to know how to pronounce it,bolgarri:), I see it written as Givenchy, I call it givency, if it isn’t Givenchy then don’t write it that way….jiv-on-shee, hermes- ehr-mez. no amount of french and Italian lessons downloaded on my ipod can help. i give up, but i cant really give up can i?
I sip on champagne and try to act like it’s all delicious, when I’d rather have a bottle of coke in my hand. Champagne is hideous, I hate it, but you don’t say you hate it in public, you smile, chin up, hold the flute by its stem when you're at those private parties…. And even(depending on the poshness of the gathering) tsk your tongue when they say they’ve out of caviar…. hellooooo, blindfold me and feed me with caviar and i'd have no idea whatsoever..gosh, give me coke and puff puff please, afterall i’m just a local girl.
I’m just a bush girl, while I dine with 'posh' people, I pretend to love the Mushroom Pesto Lasagna, pick on spaghetti and meatballs,chicken vol au vont, or whatever Chinese meals, play with the mashed potato and lamb my sis makes for dinner when all I want is fried yam, fried a little dry so it’d be crunchy with the spicy sauce Grandma makes, or boli, you should see me looking longingly at the boli sellers when i drive past, heading to some restaurant for lunch. i want to eat sans the cutlery, with my hands, pounded yam….That’s what I am, beneath the wannabe posh girl of the world, I’m just a local girl.
I pretend to love going for dinner parties and events, when all I’d rather do is crawl somewhere, probably hiding behind a couch or in the bathroom reading a book. Or playing snakes and ladders,monopoly and ludos and I pretend to hate the cameras at those red carpet events, walking fast to avoid them, when in truth I’m a photo junkie…..the locs in me wants to poseeeeeee,give the peace sign and squat a little to the left:) i just love to be photographed.
I grab my macbook, pretending to just love it and all it does for me. Smoothly operating my iphone, having a love affair with the blackberry, When in truth I don’t care, I’m just a bush girl, who wants the keypads of the computers to step aside so she can grab her pen and paper and continue with life like it was meant to be, uncomplicated, who sometimes wants to smash the mobile phones on the wall and drift back to the days where landlines reigned supreme. i prefer the days where you rush home in excitement and dread asking "did anyone call?" I’m just a local girl after all.
….those days the hair extensions are stuck on my head, those fakies that give me an extra bounce, make me look almost as pretty as I really am…I get uncomfortable, cos you see, I’m just a local girl and I would rather have my hair weaved all back and live in peace as i enjoy the morning breeze pass through it, scratch it with ease when it itches and not with frustration cos of the weaves inside the weaves….I’m just a local girl trying to belong to the posh club.
I’m just a local girl… I want to say ‘how far’ all the time and not 'how are you’ I want to say ‘nawa o’ instead of ‘really’, I want to say ‘shey’ instead of ‘yeah’, I want to say ‘abeg jo, leave that thing….commot for here’ instead of ‘oh please give me a break’ or ‘you don craze?’ instead of ‘ are you crazy?” sigh, sometimes all you peeps make it so difficult for me. And I never thought I would say this, but I really want to scream 'ginger that swagger” in a motor park agboro voice someday in the nearest future. hopefully it wouldn't be at some dinner parry….
Sigh…why wouldn’t you just let me just be local?