Women can relate to this expression. This often comes up when a woman has to deal with men who’s gazes are transfixed on her boobs rather than her face, thus the expression.
I can’t recall ever having to snap any man’s gaze off my chest before, perhaps in part because I have never taken time to notice if a man is staring at my boobs or perhaps even because I’ve been flat chested growing up plus I don’t have a D-Cup sized boobs, anyway, getting men to look up my face rather than my boobs has never really been a problem I’ve encountered until recently.
Two Saturdays ago, I went to visit my sister, who lives in a government housing estate, somewhere at the outskirt of Lagos. I got there to find her neighbours at war; a burly looking drunk with bloodshot eyes and the wife of another neighbour were in a war of words; other spectating neighbours had joined the fray and there was general chaos.
The gist of it all was, the drunk, let’s call him Kasali, who everyone agreed is a general nuisance had cornered his neighbour’s wife, (Mama Samira) a very buxom woman, the type of woman with ginormous sized breasts that you can hide a whole baby in…(I actually mean this as a compliment, o). Anyway, he finds her sweeping the block’s staircase, (imagine her posture, a big-boned woman, with huge breasts and no bra under her jalabia bent over, jejely sweeping …) this divine sight, I assumed must have stopped Kasali in his tracks. Even me sef, I ogle the woman every time I visit and see her walking by, she should be called Mrs. Endowed!
Kasali stops and in his drunken stupor decided that day was the day she would pay for all her sins against him, he threatened to beat the living daylight off her; the funny thing was, all his vituperations were solely aimed at Mama Samira’s huge breasts.
Yes o!
He wagged his fingers repeatedly at her boobs, citing different instances the ‘boobs’ aka Mama Samira had offended him and how, he, (he widened his hands as if to embrace) a respectable family man had just had enough of ‘Mama Samira’s’ aka ‘huge boobs’ rudeness.
It was quite difficult to differentiate who the culprit of the rudeness was, Mama Samira or her heaving breasts. The poor woman realized she was in danger of been brutally groped by this belligerent neighbour and so she called for help. This perhaps curbed his immediate intentions as neighbours gathered to watch and add instances of when Kasali had cornered a few women who’s ‘breasts’ had offended him
At first I watched amused as the drunk bit his lips repeatedly while citing several instances Mama Samira ‘breasts’ had been rude to him and you should’ve seen Mama Samira at that point, the woman was properly frightened and her breasts just broke into serious shivers as she struggled to shield her face and her voluptuous clapping breasts at the same time.
‘He’s a madman, see the way he is staring at the woman’s breasts, married woman fa!!’
‘Iyawo afa ni o!’ (She’s the wife of a Muslim cleric)
‘Somebody help this woman!’ I started screaming for help when it was obvious no one wanted to go near the drunk. Spectators were mostly women and children, the men, I guess were still sleeping.
‘He beat one woman last time…’
‘He chuk someone with glass…’
They seemed to be warning me off going to the woman’s aid. I didn’t see any broken bottle or dagger, all I saw was a drunk, who I admit could easily fling me aside like one swatting a fly but we were many here, others would join in just in case, huh?
Ha!
Thankfully, I didn’t have to change into any superwoman cape; a few men broke the ring of spectators and rescued the hapless woman.
‘Where is Mama Samira’s husband?’ I would like to see this drunk beaten to pulp.
‘He has traveled to Ilorin.’ I was told. No wonder. No husband should take this from any idiot, in fact, no one should allow incidences like this anymore. I hoped when Baba Samira returned from his trip, he would go beat that drunk such that whenever he sees mama Samira’s breasts again, drunk or not, he would run.
Later on, in my sister’s apartment, we took turns to mimic the drunk pouring out his threats on Mama Samira’s huge boobs which we represented with two plastic buckets to our chest. We had a good laugh at the poor woman’s expense.
The mirth turned sour for me days later. I went to see a specialist for a nagging lower back pain.
I’ll need to examine your back, I was told and in a jiffy, my gown was off, I was lying face down on the gurney in my undies! (Ha! Remind me to tell my story about women and clean undies… especially when you know you’ll be seeing a doctor or in case you faint and need to be undressed to be revived, don’t be caught dead in dirty undies. Story for another day)
Anyway, let me just say this, when you are in severe pains, you will cast aside all forms of modesty for a quick cure. So there I was, o. groaning like an old engine as the doctor poked the trauma spots on my back and checked the x-ray results I presented…(I’ve been on this back issue for a while).
He went back to his seat as I began to get dressed again, my anxious eyes on him for his diagnosis. He began to say exact things I had googled on lower back pain.
‘…good posture… don’t seat for long, no bending for you… no lifting of heavy items…use more powerful medication…
Then I noticed he wasn’t really talking to me, he was talking to my breasts. My fallen, lazy twin girls…bhet why?
Then I remembered Mama Samira’s dilemma. So I coughed loudly to get his eyes up.
‘You have a cough too?’ The silly doctor asked.
‘No, I just wanted to be sure you were talking to me!’ You see, at my age, you fear little. I’ve paid heavy for a specialist; I won’t have him waste my money merely staring at my breasts and risk being given the wrong diagnosis!
‘Of course, you’re the one I was talking to.’
‘Not my breasts? Or is there anything wrong with them?’
He got the message, apologized and wanted to dismiss me.
Like I said, I paid, I wasn’t going to be shooed off.
‘So what exactly do you recommend? My back I mean?’
I got him to do his job; my money’s worth!
Peju Akande, via Sabinews
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