SHOCKING TRUTH ABOUT NIGERIAN WOMEN (INDIAN BEAUTY TELLS ALL)!

This guest post is by Asha (nj2nigeria) a true beauty and a Naijawife!  We hope you would enjoy reading it like we did!

I want to state for the record that no matter what you read in the next few minutes, I am not a lesbian. I may gush over other women in this post but I am attracted to men. And I'm not making my sexuality an issue because of a certain TERRIBLE and terrifying Nigerian law that will send me to jail for fourteen years for being gay. 

Now, shall we proceed?

I'M A LITTLE TIRED OF HOW GODD*AMN GOOD LOOKING THE WOMEN IN THIS COUNTRY ARE.

Why can't they let themselves go like I did? Don't they realize what they're wreaking havoc on my self-esteem?

Someone should have warned me. I was warned about plenty of other things, mostly involving crime and fraud. And I don't know why that is. Is it a secret Nigerian men keep so no one steals their women? Is it because Euro-centric beauty ideals dominate American culture? Is it because I have never been party to a conversation about where the most desirable woman can be found globally?

Because remember, Nigerian Police, I'm straight. 

From the first time we went out in Lagos in November, I was depressed. You see, Nigerians have beautiful skin. They have white, shiny teeth like chiclets.

That part I could handle. My skin and my teeth are excellent, too. Just hear me out.

But oh...this is where it starts to hurt. The fashion.

In South Orange, I once wore my nightie to Starbucks. I acted like it was a glamorous ball gown and no one cared. It looked better than what I normally wore. I was a sloppy slob whose wardrobe came from Target. I never tried to match my purse to my shoes or accessorize. And you know why I wasn't compelled to improve ? Because although some people in our NJ suburb dressed better than me, many looked like they too had given up.

Being in Lagos may as well be Paris during fashion week. The fabrics are vibrant. The women glow. They are confident. Their cheekbones are high. Their lips are full. Even the ladies selling traditional medicine from buckets on their head make an effort to look beautiful.

But what destroys me are the bodies I see. In the US, I've seen similar bodies on women who've had cosmetic surgery and exercise three hours a day. Nigerian women are muscular, yet they have full breasts and asses. And it's all natural. When we've gone out at night, the women look like models. Not like the models you see in New York City who resemble freakishly elongated grasshoppers. They don't intimidate me because they're part of an alien race sent down to mate with our athletes. No, these Nigerian women look like humans who are more attractive than other humans. For example, me.

Not intimidating

Is there a part of the world where people are super duper ugly? And if so, why didn't we move there? Yesterday we went to the grocery store. I saw a Nigerian couple shopping. Their fashions stylings reminded me of:

Except they were much better looking.

Don't bother telling me I look great, too. If your inclination is to say that, I appreciate the sentiment. But DON'T. You have either:

a. Never seen me
b. Never been to Nigeria
c. Never met a pep talk you could walk away from

If my husband wasn't Nigerian, maybe I'd learn to accept it. But I have had a complex for twenty years now: I think there is a woman somewhere in Lagos who is Mike's dream girl, even though he claims I am and always will be.

What sucks is that it doesn't go both ways. When we were in NJ, the kids took a weekly Hindi class. On their first day, I asked Mike, "Are you nervous?"

"Why would I be nervous?" he responded.

"What if my Indian soulmate is there?"

"What?" Mike asked.

"What if there's some gorgeous guy who graduated from I.I.T. and he speaks with a lot of colorful Punjabi slang? And what if he's a brain surgeon who does stand up comedy in his spare time? My dad would love his sense of humor and my mom would love his resume. I might see him and realize he's the son-in-law my parents always wanted. We'll probably end up running away together."

"I like my chances," Mike said.

After dropping the girls at their classes, Mike looked around at all the paunchy, balding dads at Indian school. Some were playing badminton. Some were talking about cricket. A few were setting up platters with cookies on them for the children's snack.

"Is that your soulmate?" he whispered, a look of curiosity on his face. "How about him? Or that guy? Yeah, I think it's him for sure."

The man he was pointing out was in his fifties. One of his eyes stared straight ahead. The other was rolling around merrily in its socket. He looked like this:

Nope, no Indian soulmate for me.

I learned nothing from that experience. Even though I truly believe Mike is the only man in the world for me--despite the occasional flight of fancy--I still harbor the suspicion that Mike's Nigerian soulmate exists.

Yesterday I had a nightmare that I decided to go back to America. In my dream, Mike moved his new girlfriend into the house before my flight took off. I woke up terrified.

"What is it?" Mike mumbled.

"You had a girlfriend," I told him. "You seemed so happy. She was your height. And you guys were going to have kids that looked just like you. Everyone was black. And attractive. It was horrible. Hold me."

Mike began snoring.

And that was how I came to be fully awake at 4:37 this morning.

I'm not writing this post for sympathy or support. I just wanted to inform you that the women in this country are hot. You might as well know the truth.

If you're an ex-pat woman who will be moving to Lagos soon, might I recommend hitting the gym? Whitening your teeth? Buying new clothes? It might not be what you want to hear, but you will thank me someday.

p.s. I'm heterosexual.