A girl came inbox in search of Warawara.
She wanted to meet Warawara. She said she would like to meet him ‘one on one’
I told her that Warawara being such a worldly man would like to see her pictures first.
And could ask for a video afterwards
She said she didn’t like the idea of men dictating to her.
I told her that when a child leaves skelewu to dance surugede she must be ready to entertain the gods.
She asked if I meant nude pictures.
I told her that Warawara being a man of culture liked the ritual of wrapped things being gradually , ceremoniously, unwrapped.
She said she didnt understand.
I told her she could start with her pictures in flowing gowns. So that the cart was not put before the horse.
She asked me about Warawara’s spec.
I told her that Warawara’s taste was eclectic. But that a set of wide angled hips could redeem an anonymous face. I told her proportion was everything. But bleaching , flabbiness , and lack of sophistication were mortal sins.
She said Warawara was objectifying women.
I told her Warawara had too much on his plate. He had to set qualifying standards. So that what happened in 1992 never happened again.
“What happened in 1992” she asked.
I told her.
In 1992, a girl had sent Warawara a letter. She said she was disappointed Wara left her, but she was scandalised by the fact that Warawara had left her with all her endowments and fortifications, and sought refuge in a girl that was shaped for men at the bottom of the league table.
Warawara was wounded. Because Wara plays champions league.
She sent a frowning emoji and said the 1992 girl was a shallow idiot.
Then she said she would do as Warawara had said even though she didn’t want to encourage objectification of women. She would send her pictures just to please Warawara .
She was dying to meet him.
I told her I understood the conflict she was going through. But to have access to gods like Warawara, some libation must be poured out.
She asked me if Warawara could meet her in London or Paris.
I told her that so much would depend on what she was bringing to the table. Because while some waists would deserve cows, others might have to beg to get grasshoppers as offerings.
She sent her pictures.
I sent them to Warawara.
We will wait. A god and a burnt offering.
We are still waiting.