I swear yoruba men are evil! Take it from me; I'm experienced. Because tell me why I've dated six of them in this life and seen shege pro-max each time. Six! Na me do myself sha, because the first Femi taught me a lesson but did not teach me caution, and I nosedived into a relationship with another Femi. I thought, surely fate isn't that cruel. Here's a sweet Femi to undo the trauma from his evil namesake.

Femi, the latest ex and an escaped demon from the seventh circle of hell. He was the most caring, yes, but see ehn, if this guy doesn't win an Oscar in this life, hell will freeze over.

He had a dimple on his right cheek, perfect because one is chef's kiss and two is too much cuteness. His beards were always trim and shiny!! Me, as Ọmọ Ikẹ, I like shiny things I will not lie. It's like he was specially crafted for me because his laugh and his height! But what use is such beauty when he would just use it to fulfill his destiny as a peppermonger?

Femi was an intern at one startup company and would insist on picking me up for dates every Saturday and Sunday – the only days we met throughout our five months relationship. Call me a fool.

He didn't like surprises and was always too busy during the weekdays. Me, I didn't want anything to come between us so I swallowed it hook line and sinker. The hook sha caught flesh and drew blood.

On his birthday I surprised him at work with a cake, but like most of my chivalrous acts, this was bound to become a sour memory.

Which Femi? Intern ni? Femi, the driver? The one who washed the CEO's car during the weekends?

That insult I could swallow. I've always been a staunch advocate for hustling—I work in marketing.

The one that was too peppery for me was when Sekinat his wife stared me down from under her bonnet as she was summoned. It was the pitiful look she gave me and the jingle of the earrings I recognised as mine– so I didn't lose them in truth?

I will not bore you with my sordid tale though, I've been told I can be quite talkative.

I met someone at a party!!

Now, A-plus is a weird nickname for a thirty something year-old, but when I saw the adonis and heard him speak igbo, I was sold. That he asked me out on a date over text with 'xup, wanna hang!' did nothing to dull the spark. Finally, there was a Chi-something coming my way, Oluwa affixed could rest. Me sef get Oluwa for my name.

When I pulled up and got over my mortification as he gawked at my car, we sat down to eat and I kid you not, I smelt pepper.

'So, tell me. Why A-plus? Were you studious in the university?'

He laughed like firecrackers and his finishing snort singed me. My pepper radar went off like mad.

'Na Afolabi plus. I no sabi book o!'

Tight-lipped, I asked why his name was Afolabi and pepper clawed up my throat.

Oh yes, he is yoruba! My brother, my brother. He spent most of his life in Enugu and learnt igbo. Converses in igbo randomly to ‘stay sharp’.

A Femi for starters, a Femi to end. I don't need desserts.

I smiled—made it saccharine sweet to combat the burn, swallowed my due pepper and drank water before ghosting the idiot.

God forbid bad thing.