THE HIERARCHY OF THINGS

THE HEIRACHY OF THINGS

CHAPTER ONE: THE ART OF BEING AN SAF.

-Rita-

Most people would think the hardest part of being a single, twenty-seven year old SAF (Single African Female) would fall somewhere between parental and societal disapprovals more than anything else, and they would be correct. Unless, they so happen to have friends like mine, then society as a whole has nothing on these loud-mouthed, incessantly irritating pair. I knew something was up when I got the call from Chioma, asking me to drop by for "friday movie night" two hours ago

"Rita! Listen to me, I don't care what you say, every woman needs a man in their life! Haba, abi you want die virgin?"  says Nattie, carelessly spewing rice from her mouth right back into the plate. At thirty, it is safe to say that Nattie has had her fair share of whirlwind romances. She was always the wild one, and while most of the men she dates find this to be her greatest asset, (that, and her body. I mean, seriously, the girl is the walking, talking definition of sex appeal...) her unconventional ideologies on marriage usually have them running back to their mamas to find them innocent, uncomplicated village girls to settle down with.

"Nattie, why are we talking about this again? If I knew 'Friday movie night' meant 'let’s grill Rita night' I would have stayed in my apartment o."

"But she has a point," chips in Chioma, "it's been over five months since you and Ade called it quits, it's time to move on."

"Please, help me tell her, Chichi! It's like the girl wants to die a virgin." Chioma shifts uncomfortably in her seat.  Very much like her name, Chioma IS the traditional SAF, she believes in the hierarchy of things. First, you get your bachelors, then you find a man with a good salary, you get married, have sex (for the first time), have babies that look like your husband, then die and go to heaven. But, unlike me, Chioma had done the did at the age of fifteen with her secondary school sweetheart who had dumped her literarily four days afterwards. Swearing never to sleep with another man again, Chioma closed her legs and focused on her studies... until she met Ferdinand, barely a month later... And when that ended three weeks later, she swore off men... Again... Story of her life.

"There's nothing wrong with her virginity!" Chioma spits back, then immediately realizing how defensive she had come across, she quickly fills her mouth with rice. I know this might sound selfcentered, but I'm more than certain that Chioma is envious of me. Or, better still, I think it is my virginity she is so envious of. As we sat in silence, Nattie and I holding back our giggles at Chiomas outburst, the front door opens, and in walks in Noella. Twenty-two years old, and strikingly beautiful, Noella, like her sister, Nattie, is a professional husband snatcher. Okay, fine, maybe not professionally, but the girl seems to only be attracted by married men with lots of cheddar and very little cheese.

"Who died?" She says, referring to the awkward silence in the room.

"Not who, what... Chiomas virginity..." Nattie looks at me and winks, as hard as I try, I can't hold back the giggles that follow. Seconds later, we're all laughing like drunken lunatics. Ah! The power of Nattie's rumbustious humor. No matter how bad the situation is, she always knows just what chords to play to bring upon that sense of tranquility.

"How pathetic. Three singles seating at home on a Friday evening, when your mates are out there fishing." Noella says as she hurriedly takes of her heels and dashes for her bedroom. Nattie sucks her teeth in a way only an irritated  African woman can. The room is filled with guilt-cladded silence as we all try to pretend Noella hadn't just hit a sore spot. As much as I hate to admit it, the little wench was right. It was pathetic on so many levels, our predicament. You'd think as women in our prime, we would have so much more to do than sit and throw jabs at each other’s love lives... Or lack thereof.