Semantics is a linguistic process which basically deals with meaning; focusing on the relation between signifiers such as words or phrases and what those signifiers denote with consideration to previous communication between conversing persons, knowledge about something (an event, person, concept… anything) known only to these conversing persons and how it suitably applies based on context to their present discussion or happenings in their immediate environment… such that… okay okay, definition actually ended at “what those signifiers denote”.
Lately in school here, it doesn’t take long to hear someone assert that “it’s a matter of semantics” when a male coursemate invites another coursemate who’s female to a meal of fried plantain and eggs or when a female coursemate gets agitated and declares “I’ll blow you o!” to a playful male coursemate…or when a young woman implores on a fellow sister with a very worried countenance to “stop wasting credit na!”.
Where are we headed with this matter of semantics? It all started about an hour past midnight at the departmental dinner held recently, where the author of this post was handed an award that stretches the concept of semantics a bit beyond the necessary realm.
The co-MC, a delectable young woman responsible for the “I’ll blow you o!” statement from earlier, got to the bit for this particular award to be presented, only to pause mid-sentence and wonder aloud ‘ah! I don’t understand what this award is about’.
She went on however, with that lovely Ibo voice of hers, “the next award to be presented tonight will be the ‘hourglass male’ award. Yes! Hourglass male”. Audience reacted differently, mostly shocked and amused while I, at this point, was laughing hard, palm to chest, face down, body jerking like a hard piece of hot yam tried entering the wrong pipe.
“And the nominees are… ” she began, recapturing tne audience’s attention, “… Leke”, ‘ehn?! Mogbe!’ I cried out mutedly. “Jide”, ‘has to be him’ I thought. “Ah-ah… Pa James”, a popular fella in the department. “And… ” a fourth name I didn’t hear. “And the winner is… ” and I caught myself praying I wouldn’t hear my “pervy perv! Leke!!!”… *sinks into chair*.
*gets lifted by friend sitted next me*
*covers face with my palms while being pushed forward*
*gets on stage and is quickly joined by probably all coursemates in attendance*
*gets spanked on the lean behind and thinks ‘that hand better not be male’*
*gets spanked again and thinks ‘God, lama sabach tani! 😦 ‘*
“Wait wait, allow him so the photographer can take pictures” I hear someone say. Save me Jesus! 😥 . Photographer snaps away, some (deep within) queer being touches my lean behind again 😦 and to cap it, I’m handed the microphone… to say what please? “I’m on a diet of vegetable, fruits and I don’t drink alcohol, socially or dutifully”? No! F*** no!
“I have no idea what this is about” I begin, “coat I’m wearing feels oversized now” I continue, “hourglass… “, I look upon the award to confirm. Yep, it was on it, name and all. ‘I have offended some people!’ I concluded in thought before saying “thank you though. It’s a matter of semantics” and going off stage… lean behind getting touched yet again. What devil sent this person?! 😥
A young woman walked up to me much later, when the DJ finally owned the floor, and jokingly declared her disappointment that I was gay. “Meh! Come and hug me… ” I reply. “Ah! No o! You ke?” she retorts. “But I won’t feel anything na… ” at which point she’s shaking her head at me.
We danced later or more like she danced and I… I dunno… body was moving anyway. The rest of the very pleasurable night’s memories I’ll keep to myself rather than bore you with. Let’s just say I didn’t get drunk, body moved and my lean behind was thankfully left alone for the night.
Female hands have however joined in touching my lean behind ever since, for which I am (like I have a choice not to be) grateful! 😦 . Male ha… nah, I’ve told those ones I’ll scream “homo leave me!” if they even attempt it. Next thing, an actual homosexual would take advantage of the joke and start… oh God! 😦
This is for that time, years coming, when it will be most necessary. “Daddy. Mummy. Your soon to be son-in-law is a vibrant and healthy heterosexual and sapiosexual being. No, oh not at all ma. The co-MC was just joking when she called me ‘pervy perv’. See ma, It’s a matter of… oh yes, exactly ma! Semantics ma! [all laugh, probably fake laughs but hey… ]. And as you know, by the new year your gloriously gorgeous and blessed daughter, the beautiful young woman you have raised so well to become a gem far above and well out of reach of scum and what not… this queen to be will bear you a grandchild then!”
“Oh? She hasn’t… Haba Motun! Your parents don’t know you’re pregnant? But you said you’ve told them na… what’s all th… oh? You’re Mosun? Not Motun? No wait, wait, let’s be clear here. Noooo, wait… calm down… I… stop name calling like we’re in the transfer wind… calm down Motu.. -sun. Mo-sun! Aww shit! Let me… wait… let me tell you about minimal pairs… ”