Opinion article by Duke of Shomolu, Joseph Edgar
Today, I walked into a group of shriveled up middle aged women.
They were about 12 in number and on the wrong side of 40. Their skin had gone through difficulties from years of abuse.
The bleaching was now impacting negatively. They all looked like Zobo in colour and I kinda pitied them.
As I walked past them, they kept quiet and looked at me. I was amused at the way they stared at me.
What really would be going on in their minds as I felt their stare on my backside.
Then I got to where I was going, which was my rehearsal and I looked back. Our eyes met, some became shy while others kept staring.
These Zobo skinned queens were flirting, I marveled. I asked an actress who they were and she said, they came to do stuff with the director and that one of them was an Olori and I was intrigued.
I walked up to her and said, ‘’Hi my name is Edgar and I am the Duke of Shomolu. Your husband is my friend and she smiled exposing a gold tooth.
Now something amazing happened. From afar she looked bewitchingly beautiful but in close quarters she looked amazingly ugly.
Her skin was rumpled. It was wrinkled and yes with the colour of Zobo.
The area upside of her breast was the worst hit. It came with a kaleidoscope of colours all meshed like the rainbow colours of San Francisco gays.
Her ankles were white cascading into a black hue near the soles of her feet.
You could see that she was beautiful a long time ago but the need to secure her place on the bed of her king, made her abuse her skin.
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Now the skin was looking like a bomb site. She was shy and tried to hold my gaze as we spoke.
But I wasn’t interested in her or what she had to say, my head wanted more.
I wanted to see all 12 women naked. Yes, my mind had wandered to the realm of deep thought.
I wanted to view their ravaged bodies and listen to their skin tell me stories of abuse.
The chemical peels, the hot cream and the devastated full body bleaching that has left them in this state of disrepair years later.
I wanted to stare at their naked bodies and listen to them cry.
Their story would be amazing and like people say, if only the skin and body could talk…
I knew their bodies would talk to me. I felt an affinity to them. I would lay all 12 naked wrinkled bodies on a slab like they do in the mortuaries and listen intently to their stories.
Stories of reckless s3xual encounters. Stories of abuse, journeys that have led to the loss of self worth.
Their nipples will tell me stories and their scaly backs will align the stories and engage me with tales of the many beds they had been laid on.
I saw regret in those eyes. The eyes were also tired and there was slight envy as they stared at the young actresses with beautiful ebony skins prance and recite their lines
As I walked away, heading to another rehearsal, I looked back one last time and caught a big breast with a huge vein, purple in colour cascaded through it towards her almost exposed nipples which by that time, the colour of the vein had turned into a pale red, like Zobo.
The consequences of a failed journey at beauty. Sad
*Duke of Shomolu*
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