Kuku’s Nest. Episode 04

“I want bras”

Mum studied my face to figure out if I was joking. I looked back at her matter of factly. Then she looked at my chest. There were two agbalumo seeds dotting it on the left and right. She stared at them, craning her head this way and that, perhaps wondering if there was an internal manifestation that had missed her naked eyes and casual glance. After what I thought was a sufficient forever she looked up at my face again.

“What do you want a bra for?”


I had two fleshy hills sitting on my previously drawing-board flat chest. I had breasts! Real. Live. Breasts! Bras were for breasts, my dorm girls had said.

Bras = breasts

Dupe = breasts

. · . Dupe = bras

It was too simple for Mum to still be asking what I wanted bras for! I mentally checked if I’d been a bad girl. Mum was obviously deliberately playing dumb to punish me for something. She did it often, drove me crazy so I could see how annoying it was when I drove her crazy. Tried hard as I did, my head said I’d been a good girl. A very good girl, in fact! I’d been buttering Mum and Dad up ahead of my new improved senior secondary school big-girl list.

My lips began to tremble.

“Ahh anhhh. Modupeola?”

Mum pulled me to her laps (nobody should say how I was claiming big girl yet went to Mum’s laps. I was still new at the “big” business mbok). I placed my head on her breasts. It was cushiony, so soothing, I forgot all about being big. This was Mum and I’s best posture for having the toughest conversations.

“All the girls brought bras during first term Mummy. Michelle used to give me one of her bras on Friday nights so I too could be among, but you always say I shouldn’t wear other people’s clothes so I thought you’ll want to buy me my own”

“Do you still like your singlets?”

“Not the long ones. They’re old school. I now like only the short ones”

“Okay. We’ll buy only the short ones but we won’t buy bras. Bras are for grown breasts, to support them. If you start using bras now your breasts won’t grow again. Do you want that?”

My jaw fell, horror screamed from my widened eyes. All my dorm girls had jugs. Not my agbalumo business but swingy jugs! I had dreams of growing to jug level too so the butt-of-small-boobs-jokes would stop being my portion.

I agreed with Mum quickly.

“Yes, singlets. I don’t want bras again. Bra is not good for me. Let’s buy many singlets.”

#MomentsAndMemories #AdolescentTales



Body Diary: Between Me and Hungry Me

11:32 a.m
Hungry me: “We need food”
Me: “I had breakfast”
*Stretches left hand into bag to fetch bananas*
12:59 p.m
Hungry me: “Hungry. Again.”
Me: “I just fed you”
Hungry me: “Two bananas. Two. Bloody. Bananas!”
Me: “Shouting is rude. Especially in someone’s head.”
“No food. Go learn some manners.”
Hungry me: “Thunder fire you!”
Hungry me: “Stomach is biting. Foood”
Me: “Nah; would ruin vibe. Music and report are dope right now”
Hungry me: “What’s the thing you have against belching and co in public?”
Me: “Image management. Those are rude. Not ‘me’”
Hungry me: “Okay. You should skip the next song.”
Me: “Why?”
Hungry me: “R. Kelly croons licking the middle of orioles in it”
Me: “But that’s not what the lyrics really mean. It’s metaphor for…”
Hungry me: *cuts in*
“R.Kelly is responsible for what he says. I for what I understand.”
Me: *face falls*
“That’s my best song on the album”
Hungry me: “If that song plays, I’m going to purr.”
Me: “I’m at work. An office. With other people.”
Hungry me: “Low. Sexy. Hungry. Rumble. Purr.”
Me: *frowns; thoughtful* Why’s that causing tingles down my spine? *bites lower lip*
“I’ve given my life to Jesus.”
Hungry me: “Hunh hunh.”
Me: *Gets up to get food*
#Blackmail #BodyDiary #Hunger #Worktales

#BodyDiary: Twerkscapade

21:18 hrs
Dupe and Dami are lounging in bed; gisting about the months that have passed. Dami talks about how somebody twerked somewhere and it was rave.
Dupe: *refelective* “But you know that thing is a disgrace. I don’t know how to twerk”
Dami: “Me sef. And it was the rave that year”
Dupe: “Someone should not even just go somewhere and the dance code is twerk”
Dami: “Aah! Akoba niyen ke! How do they even twerk sef?”
Dupe: “Bumbum goes one way; bounces. I think”
*Dami stands up, does some awkward body movement that’s better left unremembered*
Dupe: “Hian! Wait. I have data. Let’s just check YouTube for how to do the darn thing. Matter of fact, that’s what we’re learning this weekend”
*Dupe connects internet, types in “how to twerk” on YouTube, looks at Dami, and they choose a video*
Lady in video: “…so you put your hands on your waist….”
*Dupe starts laughing when she notes that herself and Dami did as instructed immediately, while sitting on the bed*
Dupe: *Let’s get up and do the thing well jhor”
Dami: “Make it full screen jhor”
*The two girls stand in front of the full-length mirror, grinning*
21:27 hrs
Dami: “Heeey! My laps are aching. Chai”
Dupe: *panting* “Beht who created ‘twerk’; enh?” *hisses* “We must sha get it this night”
Dami: “Our bumbum is not shaking”
Lady in video: “…you can take your hands off your waist and just…”
Dupe: “Henh?! Take… take…” *loses words* “Ayam nor do again. I cannor now come and go and die away”
#SomebodyShuuComeTeachUsTwerk #UnshakingButt #LazyGirls #AchingThighs

Body Diary: Episode 1

1:02 a.m

Power is restored. Dupe wants to pee but sits on rug, and lifts laptop instead. Says to self:

“Let’s work before power goes out”

2:16 a.m

Dupe gets thirsty. Drinks a 50cl sachet of water. Thinks: I really should go pee

2:33 a.m

Stomach begins to hurt. But Dupe is writing now. Coaxes self:

“Lemme complete this paragraph. We’ll pee in a tad”

*idly reaches for another 50cl sachet of water*

3:08 a.m

Stomach feels distended. Dupe drops laptop; tries to move a leg and yelps. Butt has cramped. Lifting legs through pins and needles with hurting stomach, while maintaining bladder control, becomes a struggle. Asks:

“God why?”

#‎SmallButtLife‬ ‪#‎PeeTales #BodyDiary