See me see wahala, o?
My own story is not long, I just want to tell people that they should just be content with who they are because my story is just one that tells you that if you try to be who you are not, you will only blame yourself.
Look at me; I have been big from the day I was born.
I came big!
All my baby photos show I was big, so big people always feared to carry me, so you see my size has always been big, it didn’t come because I was binge eating or because I am the type of person who cannot control her appetite.
I was there enjoying my bigness, enjoying my big boobs and big butt and telling myself, ‘omo babe,’ that is what I call myself, ‘if them no like you, make dem go hug transformer.’ I cannot come and go and kee myself because some people prefer me to be slim; I am a woman who will always be in your face.
And let me add here, despite the name calling over the years, people can be mean to us big girls; despite the “orobo,” the “‘fatso,” or “fatimat” the “big yansh,” the “milk industry,” “man chester…” all kinds of names that people choose to insult me, I had tried all kinds of diets, intermittent fasting, all kinds of diets, I have tried them. Small portions, drugs, tea….I have. Until I got to where I am today.
So people who insult big people have no idea what our journey has been; in fact, the scale in my house is gone, who wants to be reminded of a mission impossible?
Anyway because of my weight I haven’t really had many relationships. I have had a few affairs o but you see I always feel that the only reason I think the guys went out with me was to discover what it was like to date a big woman and as soon as I find out they were that sort, I quickly spoke to my legs…I trotted away. Yes o.
So I was dey-ing my dey when this guy came to me; “I like you, African mama, you are this, you are that.”
I was busy sipping my yoghurt, telling myself, ‘another one has come…’
To cut a long story short, this guy happened to be a fitness jockey, he had muscles, he had 12 packs, not even 6, he had yams on his legs that could cut down a tree…you know that sort of sharp yam-my legs. I took a good look at him and decided this must be a huge joke.
Yes o, what is a sculpted human being doing with a soft ball…se you get my meaning?
But he was relentless, he chased me like I was a project and that should have been a red flag for me, but I wanted to be chased and so didn’t run fast enough, I got caught…my stout legs couldn’t have carried me far, anyway.
So for the sake of love…I fell hard in love with him, I fell so hard, I smashed the ground.
I began to see myself working hard on my weight to the level that would at least be acceptable to this guy.
He began a regimen with me that saw me dropping from 130kg to 89kg!
I swear, I shed my fat like it was hot!
I was proud of my own achievement, I was thrilled there was someone beside me who wanted me to achieve this much and I kept going. It was rigorous. Some days, I felt I would faint from not eating; many times I wanted to give up, telling myself, “you will die trying to please this guy, see how you are shaking from hunger, shaking every time you see food…wo, tie ti ba e.” but I kept on because I was thinking of when we eventually get to make love…eventually na, abi isn’t that where all of these always lead too?
He would tear the clothes off my me the way I see in the movies when the guy hurriedly rushes the girl into the room and tears off her clothes to make love to her…it would have been mission impossible the way I was, there’d be no tearing. If anyone tried it, the folds under my arms would stop that immediately or the folds under my belly will just “hook” the material, nothing will move…no love making ni yen. So many times, I imagined myself looking slim, svelte, sexy with my hair flying behind my back, like you see in those glossy magazines and in the movies…
Me, I wanted the clothes torn off, so I kept at it, telling myself, I would soon reach that level.
Omo, when I dropped to 89kg, I bought new undies, those sexy lingerie, to replace my regular dross, you know, I was preparing for the clothes tearing…
Yeah, before then we kissed…touched but even me I was too ashamed to remove my clothes in his presence, so I formed Christianity. That was the best idea given my predicament. I couldn’t, let him see all the folds I kept under under my clothes, omo it will discourage anyone; see these boobs, if I remove my bra, it will spill down to my knees, you don’t want to see that, believe me. This body of mine is plenty!
Anyway, I was getting close to my own target, at least 80kg because if I went any lower, na death be dat and this ‘good stuff’ telling you this story don’t wanna die.
Then bobo began to tell me stories that touch…he would go like, “Babe, I don’t think we are good for each other…I don’t think we will be a good match…I don’t think…”
Ko ni daa fun babanla baba e! (you will not prosper; your father’s father will be damned)
What kind of story is this?
I was so sad at all of what was going on. So me I had to keep myself sane, I had to tell myself, ‘let no one define you, let no one be the one to determine whether you will be happy or not.’
See me that had planned to be smoking hot in my wedding dress…hummn.
Anyway. I am taking care of myself, eating right and not starving myself. I have gone up…just a few kgs higher but I am very happy with where I am today.
Man come, uh huh, e no come, uh hummn. I live, life is for those alive o!
(Series written and edited by Peju Akande and based on true stories)