I do not recall when I lost the memory of my first kiss.
I am quite good with memories, you see. However, happenings as I am about to describe are not exactly things most people want to remember.
Maybe my five year old brain registered it under a suppressed category from the word go. Or my subsequent memories overshadowed it till it became almost non-existent.
Whatever it is that happened to that memory has affected how I answer this question; “How was your first kiss”.
Every girl has this fairy tale, dreamy expectation of how the first time will be. Girls paint up all sorts of expectations.
“He must have pink lips.”
God bless the Caucasian and other non-Black men who actually have pink lips and stepped in at some point in their lives to fulfill the drams of some young girl.
But, the chances of my Yoruba lips getting its first kiss from some pink lipped guy is the same chance a lizard has of licking its tail while still attached. (If it does all that auto-amputation stuff, then, that’s a different story).
Take a look around. The melanin in those black men isn’t popping only in the skin. That thing finds its way into their lips too. Makes it hard to tell a puffer from the rest of the pack. (Check out these guys though. Don’t say I did nothing for you).
“He must be taller than me so I can tiptoe, lean into the kiss and maybe get swept off my feet.”
Oh, girl, you can dream! Phew!
But, and again I am talking to my African/Nigerian ladies, have you forgotten the malnutrition rate in your countries? You have shoved to the background the number of kids with stunted growth? Please, just pity the boys.
“We’ll be under a starless night sky, the wind blowing petals on our faces, crickets and the other insects of the nightlife singing love songs…”
Interesting thing is, the story I often present as my first kiss was under the night sky. However, the stars were in full attendance. The wind was indeed blowing.
Blowing into our faces the fumes from the road side vendors selling hot moi–moi, akara, fried fish, fried yam and sweet potato and heavenly peppery sauce.
And talking about night life; there were clusters of couples in different spots, lady cliques talking, laughing and exaggerating all their body movements in the hopes of bumping into some guy like an Indian movie.
The campus cabs were blaring their horns, competing with the bike men for passengers. Those were our crickets.
I think the first thing you need to know about my first kiss was that she had pink lips. And it was not tattooed.
Secondly, we had a starless sky. Yeah. (What did you expect? It was during the day and we were under a bed-sheet.)
And, lastly, you should have now figured out why my brain suppressed it, right?
