Excerpts from NEARLY ALL THE MEN IN LAGOS ARE MAD by "DAMILARE KUKU"

Overall, I'll say this book was definitely a good read. In my opinion, the book consisted of different scenerios(short stories), where men portrayed their inner devils and the writer clearly did justice to ascertain the fact that men can be mad. Lol
For those wondering, Lagos is Nigeria's largest city. You're welcome!
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• STORY ONE: "Cuck-Up"

"You will remember when you were younger, when every man wanted you,
but you fell for Lukumon’s natural charm. You’ll remember how he used to
come knocking on your parents’ door, leaving you sweets, and sweeter notes.
You will wonder if your life would have been better if you had chosen the
soldier with tribal marks from the barracks in Egbeda. The soldier loved
you, but you’d chosen Lukumon, the beautiful man-boy who made you laugh
and overfilled your heart when he said he loved you. You chose Lukumon
because of his words—he wrote love letters, recited delicious poetry,
whispered magic in your ears, and sang as you danced till you believed the
lyrics of all the world’s love songs were written just for you."

• STORY TWO: "The Gigolo from Isale Eko"

"I convinced her to join our table while she waited for her order. She ended
up having dinner with us, and she fitted in comfortably like we were old
friends. It quickly became a thing for her to join us for dinner twice or thrice
a week. There was something about Jamilah. No. Scratch that. There were
many things about Jamilah. She was stunning, yes, but it was as insignificant
to her as a yawn. There was a light to her, as if she could lift anyone’s spirit
with a listening ear and a warm smile. She was incredibly funny, got our
jokes, and I can’t explain how important this was. Forget sex and food—
nothing steals a man’s heart faster than a beautiful woman who genuinely
laughs at all his jokes."

• STORY THREE: "The Anointed Wife"

"We met in my father’s small parlour church. I was eighteen. Although my
father’s foray into evangelism didn’t pan out, my burgeoning friendship with
the slightly older boy who had just moved into our area with his family
deepened. Even then he was bookish and serious, while I was only
pretending to be because of my strict parents. I knew that he would be safe to
be around, and my parents wouldn’t question us spending all our time
together. While he was timid and reserved, I was wild and carefree. The first
time I roughly planted my mouth on his and vigorously rubbed the area
around his crotch he leaped away from me in surprise.
“Sister Evelyn!” He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth and
scrambled to his feet. We were alone in his parent’s two-bedroomed house,
studying at the dining table. There was no light and I was tired of waiting for
him to pick up on every signal I had sent him before that moment when I took
matters into my own hands."

• STORY FOUR: "International Relations"

"I’m tired of Lagos men.
Nearly all of them are mad. Awon weyrey! The standard Lagos-Man
package comes with lying, cheating, and occasional scamming; alongside
stylish kaftans, splashes of Sauvage or Ouds, and fake accents. See, they’ve
shown me so much pepper in this my short life, I’ve finally seen the light—
it’s bright, and so white. By white, I mean oyibo. Yes, I’m going international
and not looking back. I swear, the next man I date in this Lagos will be an
oyibo: so help me God.
In this life, you need to know yourself. I have come to know myself. I have
a sharp mouth, but I’m really a chilled-out woman. I don’t like wahala, and
Lagos men come with wahala in abundance even in little things. For example,
I prefer to sleep by 10 p.m., but it’s like that’s morning for Lagos men.
Talmbout, the night is still young, let’s go get something to eat. Uncle, you
and who will eat this late night? If I get fat, you will be the first to ogle and
chase fitter girls. Plus, my parents both had high blood pressure, and since
I’m genetically likely to get it in future, I need to cut out one of my risk
contributors—no, not food, Lagos men".

• STORY FOUR: "Ode-Pus Complex"

“Bloodlines and legacies are trickier, no? I couldn’t resurrect the dead.
But I did little things. I filled this house with his father’s pictures. I talked to
him about his father a lot. And I tried to convince him to marry from his
father’s people. That’s why I prefer Adaobi. Uchenna thinks it’s simply
because of her father’s money, but he’s mistaken.
“Perhaps, now you’ll understand why I said, through no fault of yours, I
don’t think you are a good fit for my son. You can disagree and call it
tribalism, and you may be right to an extent, but honestly, I don’t care about
your opinion. Your experiences may have given you the privilege to be
detribalised. Not mine. I’ve seen war, and too many deaths, and I understand
what Nigeria really is.”
She exhaled. “I can do many things, but I cannot force a wife on Uchenna.
He told me he loves you. That means, I have to, at least, tolerate you and treat
you respectfully. I assume this will be reciprocated, but I’m indifferent if it isn’t.” She signalled at Jide’s outfit. “I can see you’re a fighter, and strong-
willed. Even though we’ll disagree on many things, I think those are good
traits for you to have as a woman in Nigeria. Who knows if we may end up
liking each other someday?”.
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*This is your cue to get this wonderful book by DAMILARE KUKU. I promise you'll have a good time. See you in my next post. Adiós!