It was time. My mother had finally taken pity on my jiggling up and down and pestering her to grant me my heart's desire. Catwalq was going to be the proud wearer of a very empowering contraption: THE BRA.
Now, I was on the path towards my sexiness. Yes, so I was short, round, had no hair but my bra would change all that. My mother would start respecting me and very soon all the men would be at my beck and call. The reason they were not after me was because I had no "uplifts" to my "weapons of mass seduction". In 24 hours, I would cease to be Cattie and become Miss Catwalq, potential owner of double Ds (so I prayed).
After conveying to my father and brother in the most important of tones (like they cared), our mission, my mother and I set off for the one place in the world where you can find the most sexy of undergarments: Tejuosho Market.
I was nearly besides myself with excitement. i could not wait to return after mid-terms with my new bra(s). Almost everyone in my class had them in every shape or form; even those whose "aspiring" potrusions were competing to attain groundnut shapes and sizes. I had been eyeing in envy all those girls in dorm as they dressed and unleashed on my non-bra-wearing person their imported varieties in color and fabric, I was determined that I too would give them a run for their money. They were to wait and see. The new and improved Catwalq was about to be unleashed.
First we stopped at every customer my mother had in the market and she informed them in loud whispers what we were here to do. Laughter, cackling, winks and immediate perusal of my chest followed. i endured it all because at the end of the long stretch of market corridor, right under the staircase leading upstairs to the clothing and apparel section and male sales people who liked to grab at females sat the mecca of brand new female underwear. they could laugh all they wanted, when I passed back in an hours time, they would see just how little of a girl I was.
We got there. The women called out to the my mother and I and if not for the instructions I had been given before getting out of the car, i would have jumped forward and started rolling around. My mother settled on one woman with a nose ring. Seeing my eager face, the woman pulled out a bag containing some of the most colorful bras and matching panties I had ever seen. The models on their packaging, were white and had ironing boards for stomachs. the patterns were checkered, floral, mickey mouse, smiley faces etc. YES!!!! This was it, oh my God, this was it.
"Let's start with a 32 C" my mother informed the woman.
The woman expertly unwrapped the bras and spilled its contents out. She selected one. I will never forget it as long as I live. It was bright yellow with little red flowers running across the front. the top of it was scalloped in the lace patterns of the petals. the straps were tiny and had a little bow on the shoulder. The unpadded cups settled tightly into metal lifts to rest under my bra-virgin breasts and lift them to glory. And in a few minutes, it was going to be mine. i put my hand forward to touch it.
Smack! Iya Catwalq'a hand came out of no where and stung my skin. I retracted my smarting hand to saftety. What is going on? Even the seller was startled
"You will not wear such? Do you want to catch breast cancer?" say what? "or don't you know that the metal in the cups can rust against your skin? You will not put me in trouble. Madam, don't you have more suitable ones without metal?" My mother asked
"I get d one wey get plastic." the woman answered.
"No, none with anything. Just bring the plain bras."
I watched in slow motion as the objects of my sexual liberation that had been just minutes dangled beneath my nose like a punishing temptation, were slowly retracted and folded away and a bag containing another brand of womanhood brought forward. I nearly burst into tears when my mother reached for the bra of her choice.
The straps were so big, I could have checked "towel" off my back to school list.
It was plain cotton. Plain, boring and uninspiring cotton.
Visions of dressing in the dark to avoid being seen with such underwear catastrophes assualted my mind and my throat began to clog up with tears.
"Mummy..." I began.
"What?!" my mother snapped. That "what" was the kind that preceeded a slap and unlike Adaure's mother who waited to get home before she was beaten, my mother had no problems rearranging my facial features right there in the center of the market. And no one would intervene too because she just might met out the same to them.
That was how I walked home, the "proud" owner of four bras and matching panties.
We took the same route we had come in with and I had to "show off" my purchases.
When i got back to school, I made sure I took my shower at 3 in the morning and always dressed behind my locker door.
It took me two years to get over the experience.