There is a new obsession with legislating bedroom matters in Africa. Uganda did it, and its older brother Nigeria has done it. Add this to the many laws that infringe on human rights, that a majority of Africans support without question – and you wonder why centuries later, people from other continents still consider Africa a primitive and backward continent where reason is imprisoned in a desert of chaos. Very soon, they’ll begin legislating on the size of your skirt, the colour of your panties, or even the saltiness of your fish. But it would be too late to fight, you’ll have to endure – just like you have always endured atrocities and corruption by your political masters since independence. The world will not give a fuck, or give a measly fuck. Who cares anyway?
Reminds me of ‘Not My Business by Niyi Osundare’
They picked Akanni up one morning
Beat him soft like clay
And stuffed him down the belly
Of a waiting jeep.
What business of mine is it
So long they don’t take the yam
From my savouring mouth?
They came one night
Booted the whole house awake
And dragged Danladi out,
Then off to a lengthy absence.
What business of mine is it
So long they don’t take the yam
From my savouring mouth?
Chinwewent to work one day
Only to find her job was gone:
No query, no warning, no probe –
Just one neat sack for a stainless record.
What business of mine is it
So long they don’t take the yam
From my savouring mouth?
And then one evening
As I sat down to eat my yam
A knock on the door froze my hungry hand.
The jeep was waiting on my bewildered lawn
Waiting, waiting in its usual silence.
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