Skip to main content

Market Diaries #2: The Good-Undies Compartment

Woman looking out a window, representing introspection and isolation
Image by Freepik

In my dreams, I am unmarried and thin, and my younger sisters are married and fat, and I know this only because I stalk them on TikTok, Facebook, and Instagram. I have all the money I need, and I live in a little home with a small garden out back with a horrible view of Lagos lagoon. Everything is delivered to me. Everything: sex toys, books, and weed. I watch TV all the time and write occasionally. When I feel a little frisky, I go down to the supermarket and dally between the aisles, wondering whether to pick green handwash or blue and also with the hopes that I may bump into AsheKine. That was last year.

Now, I want to walk around braless and bathe three times a week and have food delivered to me in bed. The only difference is, I want to eat. A lot. Perhaps when I stare at myself in the mirror and see a monolith with three chins and a waistline you can plan a trip around, I will get up and do something. Maybe eat some more. Maybe eat some more, because what is dead may never die. I am not living; I am already dead to the world. What is life when all I do is watch Netflix, eat, and touch myself to orgasm every night.

A woman's torso holding her head, symbolizing internal struggle
Image by Freepik

My family will tell you that I am happy because there is no reason not to be. My church members will tell you that I am a great sister: I pay my tithes every month and my hats are really cool. I drum at church. Everyone says it’s great, how I manage to look prim and proper while blasting away at those drums. They say something about how I’m breaking gender norms, but I don’t want to hear that. I don’t ever want to hear that at all.

If Sebastian ever heard me curse, he’d have a fit. Sometimes I imagine a vein bursting in his head. I imagine him being paralysed from the waist down. My mother would want me to leave him then. I have a list of things that could happen to make her want me to leave him. It’s folded neatly in a pink diary in my good-underwear compartment.


This is the second story in the Market Diaries series.
Read the first story: Market Diaries #1: The Tomato Girl's Corner

Juliet is a Nigerian writer and storyteller drawn to the unseen narratives of everyday life. The 'Market Diaries' series explores the profound moments hidden in the ordinary bustle of the market.

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Market Diaries #1: The Tomato Girl's Corner

Image by Freepik If there is an eternity, Iya Farouk will stand discombobulated in it. Perhaps she will gaze around and wonder why she isn’t on the road anymore. Perhaps they will let her peer down so she can see her body, garbed in the sunshine-coloured dress, bent like a swastika. Years ago, she was the stupid tomato girl who wheedled and begged and told stories so you could see reason with her: she had to roll in the mud to get her customer to buy at the price he did or tell fake stories that her neighbour stole whole baskets of tomatoes and pepper from her room. “If I lie,” she would touch her lips with her finger, pointing to heaven, “let me die.” Lots of times, after a bargain was not going my way, I would start to walk away from her corner—it was all I could call it, her little space on the culvert with a dirty tarpaulin shade—and she would plead with me to come back. Her desperation gave me a perverse joy. A year ago, before I moved to my apartment, I watched ...
Post a Comment
Read more

Manuwa Hall Secrete Episode 1 - The Glance

Image source: UNEC Updates My name is Adaora, a third-year Management student in UNEC. I am a fair-skinned Igbo girl from Nsukka, the town that plays host to the first indigenous university in Nigeria. By day, I'm the serious type, the type you see always carrying textbooks, looking like they have their life figured out. But inside, I carry a secret that would shock most of my course mates and any person reading this: I like girls. Girls are the most beautiful creatures on this planet. Living in Manuwa hostel at UNEC makes that secret both harder and easier. Harder because I'm surrounded by hundreds of girls every single day; and easier because no one suspects that I like women. I'm just another girl living in a female hostel. Hostel life in Manuwa Hall is different from anything outsiders imagine. No boys are allowed inside, not even brothers or boyfriends. It's an all-girls affair, and the rules create a kind of private world. Once the gates are closed and...
Post a Comment
Read more