The African Girl’s Guide
To Dating in The DMV

Aug 2021 by lapis lazulu

Hey, Ladies. It’s ya girl, Lapis LaZulu aka the Poetic Pimptessa aka She-Who-Giveth-Side-Eye, bringing you the reallest relationship advice since the dawn of the interwebs. My African sistahs have been at me to write this post for a hot minute. I’m talking blowing up my inbox all day, er-day! LOL.

So this here is for my girlz reppin’ the continent - from Jo’burg to Nairaland - with a special shout-out to my Camer fam - #237. Today, is Part I for my gals & femmes & enbys who like guys - I’m spilling the whole Celestial Seasonings sampler box of tea on the men to avoid if you’re dating in the DMV. That’s D.C./Virginia/Maryland, for y’all who ain’t know. If you don’t know, now you know.

THE TRADITIONALIST — Alright, alright, alright. I know you were feeling him cuz it felt like he got you. No esplainin’ why you bought that 12-pack of international calling cards with the free charge-ups on weekends. Or why you send moneygrams back home to Auntie Abiola and ‘em every month. Homeboy knows what’s up. Feels good not doing the “Africa For Dummies” de-code, right? But then things went left. This dude been living in the DMV since he was 12 but come time to cook a meal or wash a gotdamb dish he on that séance tip, calling on all DA ANCESTORS to tell you how REAL African woman used to take care of dey men back in the day. And when you try to say word one about this National Geographic special he’s claiming, you get SHUTZ all the way down cuz of course you don’t know whatchu talking ‘bout, boo. You been corrupted, been living in (insert U.S. city here) too long. Are too AmeriCANized. UM. WELL. BUT. He made you stutter for a minute, didn’t he? Butchu had to draw the line when homeboy started in with the scripture; with that ol’ “5 steps behind me” okey-doke. Oh Hells Nawl! Kang Jeezus, here go da keys, please come take the wheel on this here getaway car!

THE UN-Cool UN-cle — There are uncles and then there are UN-Cool UN-cles. I’m talmbout dem 60 yr-old cat daddies at Ultrabar and Bukom who stay doing the most; he and his walker tryna stay turnt up till 3 in the mawn. WTF? This O.G. bachelor been swinging by your folks’ crib for grub since you were 12 and still coming thru when you 22. Eyeing you all up and through. Aksing you to come sit on his lap for old time’s sake! PUH-lease. When an UN-cle hugs you it’s like a full airport body scan. THUUH-ROWH. I SweatuhGawd, if another one of these AARP rejects rolls up on me at another family gathering somebody’s dentures will get knocked da F*CK out! TRUST.

THE PLAYA-PLAYA — This is the guy your friends done toltchu and toltchu not to mess with. Your mama called your favorite Auntie, aka HIS OWN mama, to warn you to stay clear. Even your distant cousin twice-removed had to message you on WhatsApp because homeboy is LE.GEN.DA.RY. But you don’t hear ‘em doe cuz gotdamb that man is Fiiiine. Tongue game so smooth he make Peter Jericho AND K.C. ’n’ Jo-Jo fam sound grimy. Real Talk. You’re sure he’s gonna settle down someday, with someone. Why not you, right? I mean you’re cooking him that good country chop – I’m talking breaking yo’ foot off in that fufu/kenkey/dorowat. PLUS you doing the damb thang in the bedroom. But wayment, it’s been what - three five seven years and you still waiting on that rock. AND your girls Yemi and ‘em told you he’s outchea in these streets creeping. Girl, bye. It’s been past time for you to keep it moving cuz he will neva-evah, neva-evah wife you. No white picket fences in store for the Playa-Playa. He ain’t about that life.

THE EXOTICIST — This is that white dude with a fetish for African chicks. And any foreign bird will do. The most easily avoidable of the species are the sleazy, Eurotrash types, you know the one whose ancestors were living the GUHT life all up in your country RightUpUntil independence came through then they STR8 jetted. But hole up, hole up, sometimes he’s that sweet guy in the pukka shell necklace making you cocktails with homemade cereal milk. He just came back from a year with the Peace Corps teaching in a remote Gambian village. What he calls, DA REAL AFRICA, you know? Old boy thinks you are just fabulous, so exotic. Your dark skin’s so smooth, from shea butter, he just knows it. Plus you smell so earthy and unspoiled. I mean, what’s that fragrance, boo? Some kinda special herbal blend passed down from your ancestors, right? Reality Check: you’re just rocking some Right Guard and a sprinkle of Gold Bond talcum powder. WOMP. WOMP. Sorry girl, this guy don’t love you, he’s in love with the CoCo.

THE FIVE-PERCENTER — This is that evangelizing brotha-man who ain’t got a job but he just knows he’s got DA TRUTH. Preaching on coon leaders snoozing at the wheel while he stay WOKE. Sometime he’s the dude posted up on the corner calling you Queen and tryna sell you a bean pie. Easy enuf to spot so you keep it moving. But sometimes he’s that hot-ass rasta making your toes curl when he calls you Nubian sistah. Chiiiile. He met you that balmy, summer night swaying to Fela at ‘Fest Africa. He said you looked luscious in that tie-dye dress with the cowries sewn in, you know the one. So you took him home for the weekend but come Monday morning you’re slipping on your Pigalle 120s and Donna Karan power suit, gearing up for the J.O. and homeboy ain’t having it. “Ya too corporate, sistah. Ya needta free yahself from da capitalist downpreshun of Babylon.” UM. Say what now? Take a memo. Tell him he needs to Jah-Rastafari his ass up outcho house – ASAP. Gurrl, these kinda men might like-like you for a minute but their true love is always gonna be DA STRUGGLE.

THE 419er — This guy’s flossin’ so hard he come recommended by 9 out of 10 dentists. Talmbout gold all in his chain, gold all in his watch – type swagger for daaayz. Diamond studs bling-blinging in both earlobes, custom-fit suits, pushing that Lexus/Bugatti/Bentley wid the interior that feels like baby lambs caressing your behind. When he picks you up atcho crib it’s like waiting on Santa, got your whole family by the window, saying DA-YUM. But on dates when you try to ask him what he does for a living it’s always something nebulous like Consulting or Import/Export. Between the wining and dining, you start noticing other little things. Wondering and whycoming ‘bout why he’s got an iPhone AND a burner phone AND three pagers. Got you hoping this negro do got a side-chick cuz you don’t know if his money is in a T.D. Bank or in a traphouse! I know he gotchu the Chanel bag you craved and them diamond studs so y’all could be twinsies. But guuuurl, give him up before you get some new accessories. As in accessory to drug trafficking, accessory to murder, accessory to … need I go on?

THE PARENTAL EUNUCH — This is the guy your parents just L.O.V.E. cuz he sounds so gooht on paper. He’s from the same village as you, speaks the dialect perfectly, and has a great job as a lawyer/doctor/engineer/in I.T. PLUS, he’s got BACKGROUND. Here tell it his people got peoples. Alright, now. You’ll go on the date because a) your biological clock is kinda Benjamin-Buttoning back in time b) you can’t spend another Saturday night in eating Häagen-Dazs and watching Ghollywood/Nollywood flix and c) it can’t be any worse than trusting your fate to them damn OKCUPID algorithms. But now you’re across a table from him realizing your parents neglected to mention that a) he’s 49-73 yrs. old b) bald/got carbuncles/is a cyclops c) got breath that smell like the end of dayz. Point being, they barely knew oldboy. They knew nada. Nathan. Don’t even bother beatin’ that face or waste your grown-and-sexy alphet on this blind date, Ladies.

THE A-LISTER — He finds you oh-so impressive. Your ivy league doctorate degree education. Your committed fundraising for worthy community projects back on the continent. Your airtight weave and shoe game. You’re FLAWLESS, woman, just FLAWLESS. Well, ‘cept for a few pesky quirks – an insistent love of One Direction, your can’t-boil-an-egg for life cooking repertoire. But he’s willing to overlook all these unfortunate character traits long as you clean up your act before the wedding. Did you see the brochure for that cooking school he left for you on the dining room table? Isn’t he just so generous and understanding giving you time to meet all his requirements? While you’re at it, how about a lil’ tummy tuck? Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Now you get it. You’ll basey need to go full-on Stepford Wife to fit all his criteria for wifeydom cuz dude ain’t really checking for you he’s checking off a list.

Phew. I know that was rough for some folk. Some sistahs had to whip out the Dr. Miracle temple balm and glue down them lacefronts cuz your edges got well and truly snatched peeping your man all front and center up on dis heya list. My bad. Had to do it for your own good. Each one, teach one is my motto.

Check in tmrw for Part II of the Guide — “THIS BOY IS BAE” and stay tuned for Part III “GET YOUR HERSBAND, GIRL”

ABOUT ME

Lapis LaZulu is the online moniker of Indigo Zintwezinhle Butheleze, a D.C.–based writer of South African and Cameroonian descent. She holds a Journalism degree from Rhodes University in South Africa.