There was this girl in my class when I was in Junior secondary school.
Her name is Tope.
Tope was fine.
I mean like fine-fine.
She had this smile that could make a pastor forget his sermon.
But there was a problem.
She was Yoruba and I was… let’s just say my Yoruba was on the same level as a toddler who just learned how to say “mama.”
But I wasn’t going to let a little thing like language stop me.
I mean, how hard could it be?
I’d heard Yoruba all my life, especially from my neighbors who loved to gossip in it.
I figured I could just string a few words together and Tope would be so impressed.
So she would forget every other guy in our class existed.
So, I started my journey.
I practiced for days.
I even downloaded a Yoruba dictionary app.
Yes, that’s how serious I was.
My plan was simple:
I’d walk up to her, say something smooth in Yoruba, and she’d fall head over heels for me.
Easy peasy, right?
The day finally came.
I saw Tope sitting alone during lunch break and I thought, “This is my moment.“
I walked up to her as my heart pounding like a talking drum.
I cleared my throat and put on my most confident face.
As soon as I got to her, I said: “Mo fe lo si baluwe.”
The look she gave me was one I’ll never forget.
Her eyes widened and then she burst out laughing.
I stood there confused and thought: “what did I say wrong?”
Until she finally managed to say, “Do you even know what you just said?”
Turns out, instead of saying, “I want to take you out,” which is what I thought I was saying.
I had actually said, “I want to go to the bathroom.”
Yes o!
I had just told my crush that I wanted to go and use the toilet.
I wanted the ground to open and swallow me whole.
Being the kind soul that she was.
She tried to stop laughing long enough to explain my mistake.
She even taught me the correct way to say it: “Mo fe gbe e jade.”
But by then, the damage was done.
The whole class heard about it and for weeks, people would walk up to me and say, “Mo fe lo si baluwe” before bursting into laughter.
That day I learnt not to try to be what I’m not just to impress someone.
If I had just been myself and spoken English.
I would’ve saved myself a lot of embarrassment.
Tope later told me she actually liked my confidence even if my Yoruba was a disaster.
Always be authentic and don’t let fear of looking silly stop you from shooting your shot.
Happy new week!
Good morning!
There was this girl in my class when I was in Junior secondary school.
Her name is Tope.
Tope was fine.
I mean like fine-fine.
She had this smile that could make a pastor forget his sermon.
But there was a problem.
She was Yoruba and I was… let’s just say my Yoruba was on the same level as a toddler who just learned how to say “mama.”
But I wasn’t going to let a little thing like language stop me.
I mean, how hard could it be?
I’d heard Yoruba all my life, especially from my neighbors who loved to gossip in it.
I figured I could just string a few words together and Tope would be so impressed.
So she would forget every other guy in our class existed.
So, I started my journey.
I practiced for days.
I even downloaded a Yoruba dictionary app.
Yes, that’s how serious I was.
My plan was simple:
I’d walk up to her, say something smooth in Yoruba, and she’d fall head over heels for me.
Easy peasy, right?
The day finally came.
I saw Tope sitting alone during lunch break and I thought, “This is my moment.“
I walked up to her as my heart pounding like a talking drum.
I cleared my throat and put on my most confident face.
As soon as I got to her, I said: “Mo fe lo si baluwe.”
The look she gave me was one I’ll never forget.
Her eyes widened and then she burst out laughing.
I stood there confused and thought: “what did I say wrong?”
Until she finally managed to say, “Do you even know what you just said?”
Turns out, instead of saying, “I want to take you out,” which is what I thought I was saying.
I had actually said, “I want to go to the bathroom.”
Yes o!
I had just told my crush that I wanted to go and use the toilet.
I wanted the ground to open and swallow me whole.
Being the kind soul that she was.
She tried to stop laughing long enough to explain my mistake.
She even taught me the correct way to say it: “Mo fe gbe e jade.”
But by then, the damage was done.
The whole class heard about it and for weeks, people would walk up to me and say, “Mo fe lo si baluwe” before bursting into laughter.
That day I learnt not to try to be what I’m not just to impress someone.
If I had just been myself and spoken English.
I would’ve saved myself a lot of embarrassment.
Tope later told me she actually liked my confidence even if my Yoruba was a disaster.
Always be authentic and don’t let fear of looking silly stop you from shooting your shot.
Happy new week!đđ
Good morning!
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