Monday, August 31, 2015

Every Nigerian Girl Needs A Can Of Pepperspray

A stranger assaulted me on my way to a friend's place on Saturday. My first instincts were to fight back. Alas, I was incapable of defeating the heavily built tout and I all I could do was rain generational curses on his head. Reading and watching the rising rate of unpremeditated batteries and assaults in the news lately, the need to stay on the defensive can never be overemphasized. To summarize what happened yesterday, some drunk 6ft crackhead hit me because I ignored him when he tried to chat me up.

What if there were no passers-by to intervene? What if the incident didn't happen in broad daylight? What if he was a rapist, kidnapper or a serial killer? What efforts do the average Nigerian girl on the street make to guard her grill? As usual, I will begin with mine.

I have always wanted to learn karate. Who knows? My black belt skills would come in handy when I am wearing a loubs in the face of a prospective attacker. Sadly, I have no basic idea where karate classes are held in Nigeria and the cost of training. Another form of attack is the use of peppersprays. I can't count the number of super marts I have gone scouring for a can of pepperspray for my personal protection.
I mean with all the excessive pepper we waste on Yoruba stew, the bottle of pepper solution the mallam never fails to douche our suya, the peppersoup dishes at major restaurants and the various species of cameroun pepper, tatashi et all at the market, no company has taken it upon themselves to produce pepperspay. Very sad.

I use to have a small penknife hidden in my handbag when I am in the company of 'joystick owners' I don't trust but I ditched the penknife early last year after my police friend hinted me on the way his team mates were indiscriminately arresting people with the tiniest of weapons, suspected to be armed robbers or members of the dreaded bokoharam.

Currently, my only weapon is a matchbox I never fail to carry in my pockets and a 2ml kerosene in a syringe. This is a habit I cultivated since I was 17 even though the only time I have had cause to use my matchstick was when my friend's gas burner was non functional when we were about preparing noodles at her house.

Bi-annually, I replace the matchbox with a brand new pack when humidity dampens the old pack.

Wait a minute! How would a matchstick come to my rescue if someone tries to hurt me? Maybe I might use the match stick to stir up a fire that may subsequently lead to my escape when I am held up in an empty room. Nikita taught me this. Maybe I might use the matchstick to burn off the robes when a kidnapper bound my hands? Thank you Angelina Jolie. Maybe I might set a dissatisfied ex boyfriend joystick on fire if he asks for more or tries to force himself on me after I have given him a handjob with my kerosene lubricated palm.

Girl, at least I am making an effort to stay safe. Are you?

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