How To Get Away With Cropping...

Photo by Yagazie Emezi

There are two articles in this one. I'm quite sure of it. I'm as sure of it as I am that I'm a beautiful man.  I'm sure that I'm beautiful because Mama Afam tells me everyday. The last time she saw me in a wig she half wished I'd been born a girl but she cringed when I informed her that it wasn't too late for me to become a girl. Let's be real here, a penis is one incision away from becoming a vagina. That's probably a little bit of an exaggeration, but I'm allowed to embellish things and blow them out of proportion. Anyway because it's my blog, and my blog is a special weird place, for special weird people who're looking for 5 minutes of escapism I'll give the lot of you the least commercial version.

I remember the day clearly. The previous sentence is a sign that I shall spend the next five hundred or so words telling you what happened that day. I will probably say too much, and it will probably be embarrassing for the both of us. Shut Up. Don't complain. These are the things I do for you.

I woke up feeling a certain sort of way. I can't quite say what it was. If I had been in a hotel I would have attributed the difference to my temperament to the water. I would have said, "the waters infected me with an odd sort of whimsy that's made me even madder than I normally am." Let's not get confused here. My name is Afam and I am mad. Everyone says so. And as you know, everyone is always right. Because I'm a Nigerian living in Nigeria, it would be easier to assume that I endured an encounter with a water spirit as I slept, and was left a worse for wear as a result. A lot of people blame their behavioural extremities on water spirits and their like. Haven't you ever heard someone blame it on the devil? It's a fairly common phenomenon here. There's one song about it.

Blame it on the devil, he got you feel vile.
Blame it on the sango, it got you feelin django.
Blame it on the m-a-a-a-a-a-mmy
Blame it on the m-a-a-a-a-a-mmy
Blame it on the Mephistopheles
Blame it on the Loki
Blame it on the Legion...

You get the idea.

As I was saying. It would be quite easy for me to blame it on all the metaphysical plagues on humanity but I shall refrain because I am superstitious. People who blame their problems on the above mentioned are likely to be turned into yams. I kid you not, the village witch doctor told me something like that.

I will only say that I forgot where I was.

Let's get on with it.

I had this Abercrombie and Fitch shirt that'd been sitting in my wardrobe for ages. I hadn't worn it since Mike Jeffries said what he said. I mean, I'd never quite got into the whole A&F craze, and as I grew older the need to conform to the public school preppy look reduced. It was a redundant remnant of my natural affinity for the herd. The herd queued for hours to get into the Abercrombie and Fitch store on Madison so when I went there, I did the same. My legs hurt and the store reeked but I got my t-shirt. What I'm trying to say is that I felt bad for the t-shirt. So much stress, so little wear... I wanted to make it relevant again, so I cut it in half and turned it inside out. Suddenly, my symbol of classic white good looks and American youth culture was something else entirely. I liked this.  I threw it on, grabbed some sweat pants, strapped on some sandals, and strode out of my house like a super star.

I'm not quite sure about it. I don't think it's a bad photograph but it makes me cringe a little. I won't be doing it again anytime soon, apart from if there's a point to be proven. I'll try it again next year and see how I feel about it then.

1 comment:

Ibukun said...

Your body is a masterpiece! I've been secretly enjoying your blog posts for about a month now. I like your writing as much as I think your bod is amazing

About Us