Lagos is embracing the permissiveness of the decadent West and we are all loving it…To the brave hearts from America and Europe still going home for sexmas this year, play it safe. There is life after sex, suya and sunny weather.
By Taju Tijani
Lagos is a thrusting, virile, wild, and erotic city. And Londoners and New Yorkers are turning Lagos into a geopolitical compression of orgasms. I have watched with keen, intelligent, and clinical consistency the many sexual sorties, especially during Christmas period, of vacationing Casanovas from abroad. Christmas is a time when many Nigerians abroad go on a carnal carnival to Lagos to recharge exhausted libido. Lagos is becoming a city to relight the fire and not a place for the sexually static.
I must say that for most Londoners and Yankee dudes, especially when vacationing in Lagos, self-control over lust is the hardest demon to overcome. For God’s sake, how can they conquer clitoral temptation when even saints had difficulty with this modern demon? AIDS or not, ladies and gentlemen, illicit sexmas orgies are on the rampage. Welcome to the dirty month of exploding orgasms!!!
There is a disturbing trend where “ndi obodo oyibo” or “awon ara ilu oyinbo” on arrival on Nigerian soil begin to demolish the local girls with such ferocious sexual aggression that leaves neighbours in paroxysms of puzzlement. In a frank, manly directness, I find it vulgar and enragingly exploitative to use our diasporic credentials as passport to shag a mesmerised Ngozi into a pulp. With the luxurious air of local millionaires, Londoners and New Yorkers will soon be packing cafes, beer parlours and night clubs during this Christmas festivities to hunt down naira starved Nneka, Ekaete, Kemi and Esohe as ready, sexual quarry, for their aroused libidos.
My more intelligent readers will understand why I direct my anger against hedonised, sexual tourists from the Bronx, Brooklyn, Hackney, Peckham, and Brixton. Yep, I am a sensuous and sybaritic bloke, but I find going to hound out sex from Abuja, Benin City, Enugu, Ibadan, Owerri and Port Harcourt, a shatteringly tasteless and worthless lifestyle.
Why would Nonso from New York consider bonking a local girl called Chinyere a travel souvenir? Any nobility in travelling to Nigeria to ravish Amaka with a selfie of both legs splayed in the air and arms grabbing the mattress? Why do we travel to Nigeria during Xmas looking for sexual bounties?
Let us face it, it is about time we all outgrown the yearly Christmas sexual gymnastics under tropical setting. Many men and women lives have been destroyed for a few thrilling, mad, ecstatic minutes.
Why is lusting after a female flesh so powerful? Why is it entwining holidaying Londoners and Yankee dudes in its cruel, vice-like grip? Please, how many of you would be faithful to madam – suffering because of her children – if you were to be in Lagos and the poor wretch is in London or New York? Certainly, not many Londoners and New Yorkers will lie fallow in a burning tropical milieu of Lagos without action.
Someone just whispered to me that it is becoming rare to find a faithful man in this degenerate time. Shall we then say that marriage, that great repository of family cohesion, is now facing ethical muddle from lecherous men? What do we then call this atrocious explosion of sexual pluralism? The enthronement of lust? Like its Miami partner, can we call it Lagos Vice? Did I hear you say that with lust you are prepared to burn in an everlasting lake of hell fire?
Honestly, we are all subconsciously affirming the grubby truth of adultery that it is here to stay. Really, my own first face-to-face contact with lust had its mixed experiences. It was during my coming to London that lust first assaulted me with its full force. It was a popular subject among my friends, and we used to spend long hours debating the punishment for our crime. I still have vivid memory of Chukwuma Okafor, popularly called Nwamba, for his sturdy Balzacian legs.
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He once denounced his pastors while proclaiming the virtues of the flesh. Nwamba believes that paradise is found between huge, dangling breasts. And that without breasts, there is no paradise! Chew on that. Haba! Now on my early life back home in Ibadan. I was chaste, pure, and socially challenged in matters of women. Until, that is, one fateful night when lust struck me with the force of a tsunami and dragged me along the craggy road to damnation. After my disembarkation at Heathrow Airport, I had a rebirth. It was a salutary experience, a lesson in what old London, Sohonised London, their Charles Dickens’ London could do to an undefiled, clean skin from Africa.
All the morality tales told at home was nowhere to be seen in London-the city of Raymond revue bars! The demon of lust faced me daily. At the bars, pubs, malls, high streets, parks, train stations, bus stations, grocery stores, petrol stations, beaches, and the airports. Along the cobbled streets, classrooms and even in unlikely places like the cemeteries, yes, British men kiss and fondle their women in graveyards! They can leak the flesh off the bone of a woman!
That experience, I must confess, engendered a complex emotion of both revulsion and awe. What I saw exceeded the outrageous. It was a real and disgusting public celebration of soft porn! Don’t get me wrong, I am not an angel. I respect the erotic capabilities of the human body. The contemplation of the erotic on a warm bed is a joyous exercise in life’s comic strip. But western sexual depravity gives baseness a burnished image.
I was submerged in a society where sexual promiscuity has become a pandemic. In the UK, righteousness no longer exalts a nation.
The experience convinced me that lust is the prevailing cliché of our post-Mandela world. Lust, well, probably in a measured dose, at least, may be beneficial to the soul. Though London and New York may be two huge, wickedly permissive cities, Lagos is another. Lagos and now Abuja are cities where everyman who considers himself loaded enough is demanding his own pound of lust. Are we revenging on our women? It is not a shock to me that the moment I left Nigeria, sex exploded on to the Nigerian scene, sweeping away our old taboos and native blushes.
The moment I started watching our artistes in raunchy video clips and our female dancers dangling huge ‘Oshodi oke and isale’ to the provocative lyrics of Burna Boy, Naira Marley, Olamide, Kiss Daniel, Davido, P-Square, Whizkid, Olamide, Flavour, Omar Lay, Mayorkun, Zlatan and Mr Eazi, the world, to me, had come to a standstill.
Lagos is embracing the permissiveness of the decadent West and we are all loving it. Young and well-endowed oloshos are arousing our passion, with sultry and sexy jeans attire picked from the ‘bosicorner’ along Oyingbo market. Or maybe from the stalls of ‘okrika’ joint at Balogun market! Lust to me, is the web at the centre of which sits a calculating woman ready to lure the foolish male into worldly union of the flesh. Who would not succumb to all its overpowering glitter and 10 minutes reward?
Who would not want to experience the momentary explosions of pleasure and the ease of repressed tension? Even the plethora of beauty gear of the seduction age is disabling most men’s reasoning and critical self-control. For instance, Abuja, Lagos, and Port-Harcourt besides being places of disgusting corruption and excessive wealth, are also places of sexual debauchery for sexmas tourists from abroad.
These cities are streaming with women in provocative designer outfits, kissable lips, tempting cleavage, angelic hairstyles, whitened teeth, magical eyelashes, soft delicate bodies, long hot legs, irresistible ballooned boobs, football-sized firm bums, and smooth, manicured fingers. Sorry, pardon my forcing you to peep into the topography of clitoral architecture. How can we run and roam free from lust either in Lagos, Abuja, London, or New York? How can we salvage the shattered lives of lustful Londoners and Yankee dudes who are lost in Lagos on annual sexmas vacation?
How can I dodge a desperate Facebook lady who had been slacking her carnal desire in cannibalistic terms? “You this Londoner, if I catch you for Lagos, I go eat you like Ndomie”. That threat from a desperate Facebook female admirer is enough to impose a temporary ban on my usual sexmas travel plan this year. To the brave hearts from America and Europe still going home for sexmas this year, play it safe. There is life after suya, sex and sunny weather. Anyone for sexmas, suya and sunny weather?
