The Naked Convos: War Paint

Hey peoples, this is a post I wrote for The Naked Convos today. The comments were quite funny sometimes so I was wondering what you guys thought!

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Hey guys, Reni here again. Twice this week, aren’t you lucky? Today we will be talking about war paint. War paint you say? Yes. War paint. For those who are still a bit confused, war paint is a “pigment or paint used to decorate the face and body before a battle.” Still don’t get it? Fine, I’d just come out and say it. We are talking about make-up! Now I’m sure all the males want to run away but please stay with me guys… Your input is most definitely required on this one.

As I’m sure most of us know by now, Tiwa Savage got married last weekend and her party was full of celebs and socialites alike. Everybody was dressed to impress, as they should be, but what really struck me was not the different styles that were contorted from the aso ebi of the wedding. No no, it was the paint that each woman seemed adorned with, from Tiwa herself to all the distinguished ladies in the house, everybody was at the ready. It was a war and it was every lady for herself, war paint looking just right in order to outshine the other ladies in their quest to finding the perfect single or not-so-single guy to call their own. These days it almost seems like if you don’t have a professional make-up artist on speed dial for these sorts of events then you will most certainly be carrying a big fat last.

But why is it though? When did the make-up artistes job go from doing “wedding make-up” for just the bride and bridal train to doing it for the entire congregation as well? Even those that clearly have no access to a MUA or even YouTube and a mirror find their way in order to hop on the bandwagon. Why do some people allow themselves to be oppressed?? Using foundation that is clearly about 3 or 4 shades lighter than their skin tone and all sorts of nasty colour combinations on their eyes just to be part of the club? Even those women that go for my personal favourite, the “natural look”, whilst I would be the first to admit that they look absolutely flawless, the amount of pancake-ing that goes into achieving that look is phenomenal! Trust me, I’ve seen it done before. The other day an uncle of mine made a remark about how one girl in a group was the most down to earth because she wore the least make-up. I’ve never laughed so hard in my life; it took that girl 1.5 hours to look that way sir! Beliee dat.

Okay, I feel like I’m starting to sound like I’m anti-make-up or something, which I really am not. I’ve even had my make-up professionally done once before, just for fun by my good friend from Eeda’s Atelier and whilst I do enjoy wearing make-up, I feel that some women have the wrong intentions. For instance, people always say that make-up should enhance your natural beauty but isn’t giving yourself a smaller nose, a cupids bow on your lips and higher cheekbones just a face-lift in disguise? Some ladies pile on the powder and foundation, layer after layer hoping that it will eventually be thick enough to conceal some of their deepest insecurities. Unfortunately, it will never be enough. Ever.

I’m quite curious as to why girls wear so much make-up sometimes though. I know for me personally, it gives me a little extra confidence boost and I would feel oppressed if I was the only bare-faced girl in a room full of nicely made-up people so I wouldn’t go out looking stupid. But, is giving my face a beating every single time I want to step outside truly necessary? Or is it better to be at the ready at all times? I just don’t know, and this is where you guys come in to help me!

Today’s question is kind of simple; Guys, do you like it when ladies come to weddings and other social events looking less like themselves and more like Nicki Minaj? Or are you for the “natural look”? Ladies, the question today is even more straightforward; why do you wear make-up? Haha.

Use the comments box to express you!

TNC Competition- The Waxen Saviour

So I was doing my usual blog rounds and came across this competition of The Naked Convos. The challenge was to take the start of a story that they provided (the bold text) and by dating back in time increments of 2, complete the story in 1200 words. I must say it was a challenge; I’ve never tried to write in reverse before and I find word limits tedious but here’s one of my responses! Anyone can enter this competition, just read the rules on their website, The Naked Convos- Competition: TWO and if you do enter, remember to reference me! Enjoy.

Now

Aigbe smiled callously as he watched Esosa tumble backwards onto the floor. He thought to himself that she quite looked like a fish out of water – flailing about, reaching for support that would not be forthcoming. His smile very quickly evolved into a cruel laugh as he watched the back of her head crash onto the cold, tiled floor with a sickening, wet sound. Leaping astride her semi-conscious body, he rained three solid blows onto her torso, working his way from her lower ribcage to her sternum. She yelped, shook and choked with each blow, unable to fight back.

“You are the one that will die, not me, Stupid Harlot!”

He spat into her face as the last blow landed and she choked violently, jerking with the impact of the blow and recoiling from the glob of projectile spittle that had hit her face.

“You!  Are! A! Mad! Dirty! Prostitute!”

Each word was punctuated by a slap that sent waves of pain coursing through Esosa’s head. She could barely speak or shout or scream in protest, much less move. She felt herself start to slip into a numb blackness but she tried to hold on.  Aigbe wrapped his hands around her neck and muttered.

“Witch! Harlot! Your plan has failed!”

Esosa closed her eyes and let the numbing darkness take her as her husband choked the remaining life from her, his wedding ring pressing into against her carotid artery.

2 hours earlier

Esosa smiled to herself as she poured the brown powder into the bottle of Merlot. She re-corked it and shook it violently until the powder began to dissolve. She knew Aigbe was already on his way home.

“Aunty, can I bring your tea?” she was momentarily startled by the voice of Stella, their house-help. Composing herself, she tells Stella that she would not need tea. Returning to the bedroom that she once shared with her husband before he built an extension to the house that included a master, master bedroom, where Aigbe no doubt, hosted the lowlifes he called his friends and their concubines, she removes her aso-oke from the latest wedding she has been made to attend with her adulterer husband. She had left before him with her driver as usual. Getting into bed she swallows her little white pill, the same one she takes every night and calls Funso. Aigbe was not the only one that knew about adulteration.

He stumbles home minutes after his wife and in the living room pours himself a glass of Merlot. Stella is waiting for him and in her hands is a wooden trinket he recognises to be Esosa’s. It had taken a while to convince Stella- not to become one of his mistresses; that was easy enough- but to watch her madam closely and report everything she did in the house from the moment she rose to when she fell asleep. He did not trust his wife.

It was through this surveillance that Aigbe found out about the ‘poison’ Esosa had poured into his wine, Stella had saved his life, but never mind that. More enraging, was the discovery of this wooden box and the exact nature of the white pills it contained. He barged to his wife’s room, his glass of Merlot untouched.

2 Days Earlier

“Do you have enough? Should I bring some more?” Funso asked Esosa early that morning. “No darling, it’s just sugar, if I need more I’d send Stella.” “Okay, it’s just that this plan has to work out, I can’t wait any longer to be with you, you got brown sugar right? The colour would make it less detectable.” Esosa laughs, “Stop worrying, I have it all worked out. I love you.”

Hanging up, Esosa sits languidly in the living room as she waits for her husband to make his ceremonial exit from the house. Aigbe had risen later than usual this morning, not that it matters seeing as he is the oga pata pata at work. Turning lazily on to his side, he sees the naked bodies of Stella and another equally young girl whose name he cannot recall. Smiling he remembers the activities of the night before, he has proved to himself again that he is as able as he ever was. Completely consuming not one but two harlots.

Aigbe knew this one would hurt his wife more than any previous infidelity she claimed to know about and he couldn’t wait to casually let it slip. He relished the thought of seeing his perfect wife who never had a hair out of place go completely schizophrenic. Her inability to bear children was the bane of his existence. At 52 years old, he was the only one of his friends to have no children, none he cared to acknowledge at least. What was the point of marrying a woman more than 20 years his junior, if she could not even give him a child?

The strong, proud man that Aigbe Duncan was, he had no time for the frivolities of adoption. In fact the only weakness he had ever shown was in the genes he inherited from his late mother that caused him to be a Type II diabetic.

2 Months Earlier

“So how has everything with the new pill been so far? Not too many side effects like the last one I hope” Dr. Caleb enquired. “None at all, thank you very much for your time.” Esosa replied with a smile. “Now just remember to stop taking it for 7 days every month to allow nature run its course.” “Of course, thank you so much Dr. Caleb”

Esosa could not remember a single day that had passed in the 18 months that she had nottaken her waxen saviour, she would never have Aigbe’s child, her womb was waiting for the day her and Funso could be together to carry out exactly what it was created for.

“Actually, one more thing doctor” her face crumpling in false despair “I’m worried about Aigbe, he seems to not be adhering to your rules of sugar intake lately, what is the ultimate worst that could happen to him?” Dr. Caleb replies solemnly, “He could go into a diabetic coma and if he doesn’t get immediate care, it can lead to his untimely demise.” “God forbid!” exclaims Esosa, looking distraught “Please doctor, don’t tell him I asked you about this, we both know how touchy he gets with this topic.”

2 Years Earlier

“No Esosa, you can NOT get married to that charlatan of all things artistic, do you think I don’t know what is best for you? Funso Akindele will never amount to anything!” her father’s voice boomed through the house, reverberating off every wall. Contrary to what you might think he was not shouting, that was simply how he spoke. Her mother and siblings with their various ‘perfect’ spouses were all present at the dinner table.

It was Easter Sunday and Esosa had just delivered the news of her engagement to her father. Evidently, he was not pleased, “It’s about time we accepted Mr. Duncan’s proposal; I’m going to call him to set a date for your wedding, people like him don’t wait around forever!” Four months later, she was Esosa Duncan nee Akerele.