BODY LANGUAGE

Before reading this I need you to open your mind. 

Body Language 

 

• THE MEETING

The first time we met, it was in 2019, and I knew he was mine.

We said nothing and everything at the same time.

Our eyes spoke as I tried to end the conversation multiple times by cutting my gaze.

Because I didn’t think I was to his taste.

As I made my way to the counter to make my order of pounded-yam and vegetable soup, 

I stood indecisively because I refused to make the same order I had been making for the past two years, like I was in a loop. 

See, the gentleman I just made eye contact with caused me to want to try something new and different, and before I knew it, I screamed, “Amala, gbegiri, and ewedu with plenty of roundabout, and Pommo please with chilllllled chivita.”. 

And I quickly gave the gentleman beside me a side eye. 

I was hoping he didn’t hear me, but he did.

Closing my eyes after, I bent my head in embarrassment and whispered to myself, “Why, Sonia, why???”

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Before I could raise my head, I heard a silky, smooth, velvety rumble that sent shivers down my spine. “I’ll have the same, please.”

Now Femi spoke my language. 

Yes, his name was Femi.

He spoke my language, I call it…

“The sign language,"  not the ones with hands 

but the ones that come with tides 

and sometimes words. 

You know those ones that end with one party saying, “Could this be a sign?” 

too good to be true,

but you’re down for the woo.

 

• HIS BODY LANGUAGE 

Before we knew it, 

Femi and I became more than just Amala warriors.

We were courters.

More like lovers 

I never bothered to ask God what He thought about us. 

because, remember, there were signs, Amala signs, and that’s a LANGUAGE I knew all too well.

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Femi, on the other hand, was a polyglot (he was multilingual); I mean, he spoke many languages: Yoruba, English, Act of Service, Quality Time, Words of Affirmation, Gift Giving, and a little bit of physical touch (the godly way). 

I mean, we only held hands when the prayer leader in church said, hold your neighbour’s hand and pray.

And occasionally a side hug, but far enough to make room for the Holy Spirit.

Cut me some slack; we were no logs.

So sometimes the Holy Spirit had no seat.

But Femi and I decided to wait.

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He said so much that it was only a matter of time before I stopped hearing God’s voice. 

I didn’t even notice other boys.

His words were smooth and slippery, making it easy for me to fall every time. 

And I fell for his promises. 

See, I wasn’t one for commitment, because, as the Lord knows, after my last relationship, I was left with nothing but the clothes on my back, literally.

No seriously,  Will cleared my account 

And I wasn’t shocked it ended badly, 

cos God told me multiple times. Will wasn’t His will.

But Femi, my Femi, spoke love words like they were God-ordained. 

He made the songs of Solomon sound like a low-budget album.

My signs blinded me to his symptoms. 

 

• MY BODY LANGUAGE 

Femi knew where I lived, just in case.

You can never be too sure.

But I promise it wasn’t to lure, 

The country isn’t a secure place,

And Femi was my safe space. 

One day I heard a knock on my door, 

It was aggressive. 

Shock, “Who knows where I live?”

Joy, “Oh, My Femi”

Confused “wait, what’s wrong with him?”

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Today My Femi spoke a language that I didn't understand. 

Femi was drunk; he wasn’t walking on beat or singing on key. 

He was making moves like Jet Lee. 

Femi was leaning, and he was leaning forward. 

So when he began to say things I didn’t understand or act in ways I could not interpret, it was new to me.

So I took steps back as 

His eyes turned dark.

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I started;

Femi, “do not let sin reign in your mortal body so that you obey its lusts and passions.”

Femi fleeeee north while I fleee south.

Do you not fear God?

He hissed. 

He said I wanted it and that I begged for it…

 He said I wore that slim-fitting dress intentionally to seduce him the other day, 

that he knew I was a bad girl. A very bad girl

That my eyes called him, and now he has answered. 

That my hands held his affectionately.

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He said I spoke the language of love to him. But I don’t speak French.

He said he read my body, and understood my body language. 

My “This isn’t you” turned to “please no” and then “help me.”

A slap to my face for daring to fight back

And his other hand was above my mouth to shut me up. 

It was done.

He was done.

He apologised… And he left

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In numbness and tears, I didn’t understand the words my body spoke. 

I wanted to crawl out of my skin and turn my flesh into peels from my nail blades.

I lay in a foetal position.

As if making a slight move would wake me from this horrid nightmare…

I hated Femi.

I hated myself. 

I hated God. 

 

• GOD’S LANGUAGE 

I grew weary of mornings.

Found comfort in darkness.

Days, weeks, and months passed.

Things were left unsaid. 

Femi even played broken and dead. 

After many suicide attempts just to shut the voices in my head 

These voices spoke the new languages I was forced to learn.

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This time, I’ll call it 

My mind language. They spoke: 

Hatred, shame, and unforgiveness

Until one day, I had an encounter with peace.

I realised that 

The love I was looking for in Femi, God had already given.

God was aware of how difficult I was living. 

The one who fills my body with His Spirit 

and my tongue with His language. 

God didn’t want this kind of love from the Sadducees and Pharisees.

“I’m sad, do you see?” Can't you see how far i see?”

I forgot the language of my God, who speaks peace, joy, and mercy.

“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.”

God changed my mind language, 

He didn’t need my body language. 

©#ESTHSE