I once dated a man with the ego of a chicken

we're going to call him Musa...

I once dated this foolish guy in my early twenties, and he somehow left a mark on me.

There’s this saying that some people will come into your life and never leave you, even when they do leave you. They leave a trail, or a mark, or sometimes, a stain. You grow older or move far away, but somehow, they still cross your mind every once in a while, and when they do, you either hiss or smile, depending on the memory.

For me, I mostly hiss. Or scrunch my face out of irritation.

I’ve always had easy-going relationships. Not unserious, just… light. Easy. No emotional damage. Relationships that don’t leave marks on me. I could look back on most of the guys I dated and smile, because they were genuinely good people. I mean, some of them didn’t have sense, but they were genuine in how they felt about me, and I appreciated that, even when I didn’t feel the same.

Until I met that idiot.

We’re going to call him Musa. No, he wasn’t Hausa, and no, he wasn’t from the North either. We’re just going to call him Musa.

Musa was a chicken.

Musa was… okay? Facially. He was manageable. His face stood out a bit. He was tall, alright. Dark-skinned. Oh yes, I have a thing for dark-skinned men.

Musa loved to act like he knew what he wanted, like he knew what he was doing, like he was sure of himself and his life. But I knew he didn’t. I could see through it. Underneath the “strong face” and “okay body” was a boy who didn’t have a voice of his own. A boy who couldn’t stand on anything he said. A boy who folded under pressure like soaked tissue paper.

I knew he was a weakling. I could smell it. Musa was the kind of guy who’d flee at the sound of a woman raising her voice. He would fumble and stammer if a woman told him to kneel - not literally, but you get the point. I never understood why I stayed with him for that long. Was it because I liked the idea of being in a relationship with him? Or because I could see the weakness in him and wanted to give him strength, because I knew what it felt like to be weak.

Till this day, I still don’t understand why I dated that foolish boy for as long as I did. (Mind you, it was only three months, but it’s still a long time to me. I’ve dated guys for way less.)

I watched Musa lie to me for weeks. I knew he was lying. His body language always gave him away. He couldn’t look me in the eye whenever I brought up his ex. I’d ask him to stop hanging out with her, and he’d start looking at everything but my face. He’d mumble, “I won’t see her again, I’m sorry.” But he wasn’t sorry. I knew he would run to her the moment she called him to say she was having a bad day.

I knew because his ex would randomly start showing up to visit my neighbors, where I stayed, who she just happened to be friends with, and every time, she would greet me. Loudly and dramatically. For no reason at all. We weren’t friends. We weren’t even acquaintances. But she’d always make sure to greet me like we’ve known each other since the days of John the Baptist.

And I knew she was doing it on purpose.

I knew he was lying because I’d hear whispers. From his friends, from mine, from people around. Whispers that he had told her everything I had confided in him. That she came around because she wanted to see me. To look at me. To figure out who I was and why the man who used to be hers was suddenly rejecting her for my sake.

The audacity was wild. (I found her fascinating ngl. One day, I’d run a case study on her to figure out what her thought process was like then.)

I tried to convince myself that maybe he just needed time to grow up, or maybe I could talk sense into him. Or threaten him. But after one too many moments of feeling like a clown, I ended things. Because how many signs does one need to know you’re not a priority?

I was glad I broke up with him. But what really broke me wasn’t the breakup; it was the silence after. The realization that I had tolerated and chosen a boy who didn’t even think I deserved an apology or an explanation as to why he let his ex silently harass me.

I was dumbfounded. Like, how invisible do you have to be for someone who once claimed to love you to completely ignore you after something like that?

Years later, when I had finally healed from that embarrassment of a relationship, I realized how much I had lowered my standards for a boy who was lower than a chicken. I asked myself why I expected or wanted an apology from him. Was it because I thought basic decency still lived in his body? Was it because I believed he had some conscience left?

I was so disappointed in myself. I beat myself up for months. Because I, the girl who gave solid advice to others, had done the exact thing I swore I’d never do: stayed with someone who didn’t deserve me, my time, or attention.

Musa is a fool. And honestly, I didn’t have sense either. It’s why I now tell myself that I never dated Musa. I was only experimenting. A scientific investigation into the Musa species. And the results? People like that deserve nothing.

Musa doesn’t have sense. And Musa will never have sense.

Oh, Musa did come to apologize a year later. And the hatred I had grown for him, renewed in full. I told him he had the ego of a chicken. That his mind was made of sponge. That he needed to remove his dick from his head so other useful things could enter and he could grow into a man. I don’t know if he cried, but, God, I’m hoping he did.

I haven’t heard from Musa in a long time, but I wonder if he has changed. If he still runs to his ex whenever she loses her shit. I wonder if he knows it’ll never be well with him.

I thought of Musa recently. Not because I miss him - please, God forbid, but because I felt like the world needed to know the kind of fool he is.

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I hope no one ever dates a Musa. You’ll be traumatized for ages, and the worst part isn’t the breakup, it’s realizing you volunteered for it.

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Anyways, here’s my music recommendation for the week