Married But Available. B. Nyamnjoh

for: “Just a little love”, in a song – Ndolo – that filled Bobinga Iroko with reminiscences he declined to share, offering instead, to dance to it chest to chest with Lilly Loveless, his eyes firmly closed. This was followed by a succession of sweet, slow, glowing Zouk, freshly delivered from the Caribbean like early morning roses from the Botanic Gardens. Bobinga Iroko didn’t explain much; their enthusiastic embrace of the music did the talking.

      Then there was the rawest, crudest, most uninhibited bunch of them all. One, whose songs were very popular, judging from how many times they were played, was luring in his provocativeness and irresistibly obscene. In one song he describes himself as “the defence lawyer for women”, but proceeds in the same song and others to invite men to “inject”, “pump”, “pierce”, “drill”, “fill up”, and, like the praying mantis, “kill this evening” and “finish off” the very same women he loves and protects.

      In another a young woman is crying out “it hurts… it hurts very, very much…” but can’t resist inviting the man to be more venturesome in the way he explores and switches on her buttons. While embracing her invitation, the man playfully labels her “aratatata chop die”.

      A woman in yet another song, impatient with a man’s attempts at foreplay, screams: “No begin tune ma bobi like radio, slap me kanas for las.”

      A man menaces: “Since I see a well packaged ndombolised derriere, if you joke, I’m going to inject you…”

      The music made Lilly Loveless recall a paper she had read by an astute observer of men and women at play. The paper was about a society where people are easy prey to generalised promiscuity engendered by poverty and beleaguered desire. The author talked of “phallocracy or the dictatorship of the penis” being the order of the day, stretching from the helm of state through universities and schools down to the ghettoes and villages. In that society, the pride that came with having “an active penis” was enormous and to be dramatized daily, as men championed their pleasure through subduing women.

      Most of the songs were interspaced by the names of people, whom Bobinga Iroko explained to Lilly Loveless were big men who had probably paid the artists some money to sing good things about them, so they could be even bigger men. Music to these men was a signpost on which to advertise their prominence, ambitions and desires.

      In one song, a young man who has lived through the thick and thin of the ghetto, finds reason to celebrate the appointment of his brother into ‘very high office’. The appointment is an opportunity not to miss, given how much his brother has struggled and sacrificed to be appointed: His brother has been to see renowned pygmy witchdoctors to grease his way and fortify him, and has gone through most trying experiences such as crossing dangerous rivers and sleeping for days with his nose dipped in water. He even danced naked, feet in fire, with old chimpanzees, not to mention the barks of trees, herbs and concoctions which he has eaten and drunk. It had been rumoured several times before, but nothing came through. Today, rumour has been transformed into noble truth by a presidential decree broadcast on state radio and television.

      The young man envisions his brother’s appointment changing his life in a big way – ‘my life is going to change’, ‘at last I am going to relax’ like a baobab of achievement and power, as ‘suffering has ended’. The days of trekking, sandwiches, and struggle in overloaded taxis are over. He anticipates riding in his own car, an air-conditioned Mercedes, going into the inner cities to fetch vulnerable girls – especially those who turned him down when he was nobody – who can’t resist anyone with a car.

      He also looks forward to winning tenders, which he has no intention to honour, given the protection he is sure to receive from his brother in high office. He would move up to live with those in beautiful residential areas, keeping his old friends and relations at a distance. He would limit access to his cell phone, and employ a stern guard to keep visitors at bay with false accounts of his whereabouts. At last he would be able to travel abroad to see beautiful sights, indulge in delicacies such as smoked salmon, and shop in hard currency. It is going to be hectic, as he spoils himself by association with power, privilege and comfort.

      On the dance floor, Lilly Loveless could almost read people’s fantasies in their faces, in their wriggles, and in the way they moved their bodies… In her notebook she noted: ‘This place is pregnant with desired meaning and the meaning of desire.’ Even Bobinga Iroko said as much, in his usual provocative, disdainful and investigative manner: “What rules this land of Mimbo is not the Longstays who keep re-inventing sterility. What rules it is the Mimbo in all and sundry or what you see on the dance floor: ambitions of the body and the body of ambition.”

      Girls – young, younger and youngest bubbled with desire. They danced with men of all shapes and sizes like butterflies celebrating an early arrival of spring. There were older women as well, but the tensions of age and aging did not quite let them enjoy the music, at least so claimed Bobinga Iroko, who shared a story on this with Lilly Loveless.

      “Nightclubs are not places for women like those,” he pointed at two amply bulky women more than half eaten up by age, giving the music their best on the dance floor in the company of an equally elderly man whose attention was completely consumed by the surrounding nimbleness of youth.

      “I see nothing wrong with them,” Lilly Loveless countered. “They are enjoying themselves.”

      “With a man who is enjoying himself without them,” Bobinga Iroko chuckled. “Look where his eyes are looking.”

      “But that doesn’t mean that he is not enjoying their company.”

      “You are just arguing for the sake of argument.”

      “I’m serious…”

      In a lighter mood, Bobinga Iroko asked: “What is the difference between a girl of 8 or 18 and a woman of 28, 38, 48, 58, 68 or 78?”

      “I don’t know, you tell me,” Lilly Loveless said, casually, not knowing what he was up to next.

      “One of our politicians recently said the difference was ‘bobi tanap’ and ‘bobi don fall’, comparing the first to the opposition and the latter to the ruling party.”

      “What did he mean by that?”

      “Firm upright inexperienced tits, as opposed to tits flattened or ironed by age, practice and motherhood.”

      “Was he of the opposition or the government?”

      “He was the opposition in government.”

      “And you, what do you think the difference is between 8 and 78?”

      “I read on the Internet that at the age of 8, you take her to bed and tell her a story.”

      “At 18…?”

      “You tell her a story and take her to bed.”

      “28...?”

      “You don’t need to tell her a story to take her to bed.”

      “At 38…?”

      “She tells you a story and takes you to bed.”

      “48…?”

      “She tells you a story to avoid going to bed.”

      “What about at 58…?”

      “You stay in bed to avoid her story.”

      “At 68…?”

      “If you take her to bed, that’ll be a story!”

      “And at 78, both the bed and the woman are dead and buried?”

      “Exactly! What story? What bed? Who the hell are you?”

      Listening and dancing to Mimboland’s rich and fascinating music on social virtues (love, honesty, hard work, etc.), social ills (jealousy, corruption, prostitution, etc.) and power relations between men and woman and at various levels of society, Lilly Loveless reached an instant decision. She’d have to look into how these themes are captured in popular music, and would recruit