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Gaya

Before I start my story, let me just say that God will judge Dumebi for advising me to sign up on that dating app because if it weren't for her, I wouldn't be the agenda of my family meeting right now.

I had been in this relationship for four years and the idiot son of the devil woke up one morning and said he didn't think we should keep dating. I didn't say or do much because, if I'm being honest, I actually saw all the signs. The man had been slowly removing himself from the relationship for months, but I was busy doing what women in long-term relationships do best: explaining away nonsense.

It broke me. It broke me so badly that I got hospitalised at one point. Omo, God will judge that bastard too. After four years, you don't just lose a boyfriend. You lose your routine, your person, your weekend plans, your emergency contact, and the person you have already mentally assigned to future responsibilities he never agreed to.

For weeks, I was just existing. I didn't want to talk to anybody. I didn't want to go anywhere. I definitely didn't want to date again. The thought of starting from scratch with another man was exhausting.

Then Dumebi entered my house one Saturday, looked at me looking like a woman who had been personally betrayed by God, and said:

“You need to move on.” I told her I was moving on. She said, “No. You're sitting down.” I said, “What do you want me to do?” “Download a dating app.”

She wasn't joking. I told her absolutely not. She said I didn't have to date anybody. I could just look around, talk to people, and remind myself that there were other men in the world.

This is how women enter trouble. It always starts with, “Just download it. You don't have to do anything.”

I Wasn't Looking For Anything Serious. I Was Just Looking.

Eventually, after Dumebi harassed me for approximately two weeks, I downloaded the app. I created my profile, chose pictures where I looked fine but not too fine, wrote something boring in my bio, and started swiping, and honestly, it was fun.

There were the men who started with “Hi dear.” There were the ones who somehow thought “Netflix and chill?” was a personality. There were the men who looked married. There were the ones who clearly had children but had decided not to mention them.

There were the men whose profiles said “I don't know what I'm looking for, let's see where it goes”, which is Nigerian male for “I will waste your time if you let me. Then I matched with him. Let's call him David.

David was fine. Not fine in the way that makes you start planning your wedding, but fine enough that I understood why Dumebi had told me to stop crying and look outside. We started chatting. He was funny. He could hold a conversation. He didn't immediately ask for my WhatsApp number, which was already a green flag in my book.

We talked for a few days and eventually exchanged numbers. Nothing serious. Just vibes. Until he asked me where I lived; I told him. He said he lived around the same area.

Okay. Lagos is small. Nothing unusual. Then he asked where I grew up. I told him. He said, “Wait, what school did you attend?”

I told him. He said he knew someone from there. Again, nothing unusual. At this point, I was still completely relaxed because of Lagos. Everybody knows everybody.

This was where things started getting weird. We were chatting one evening when he asked:

“What's your full name?” I told him.

He went quiet for a bit. Then: “Wait. Is your dad's name ___?”

I stared at my phone. I didn't answer immediately. I asked him why he was asking. He said: “Just answer me.” So I did, and he replied with a name I knew. Very well. It was my uncle. My mother's brother.

I immediately called Dumebi. She picked up, and I said: “Dumebi.” She said, “What's wrong?” “I think I know this man.”

“Of course you know him. You've been talking for three days.” “No. I mean I KNOW him.”

She stopped laughing. “Who is he?”

I told her the surname. There was silence. Then she said: “Wait.” Exactly.

Wait. That word should never be followed by silence when you're talking about a man you've been flirting with.

I Called My Mum And Entered Another Dimension

I called my mother. “Mummy, do you know a family called ___?”

She said yes. “Do you know a man called David?”

At this point, my heart had started beating very fast. I described him. His age, where he lived, his mother's name, and then my mother said something I will never forget.

I dropped the phone. Not metaphorically. I actually dropped the phone. I sat on my bed and stared at the wall. Dumebi was still on the other line asking:

“What happened?” I couldn't even speak. Eventually I said:

“Dumebi.” “Yes?” “I have been flirting with my cousin.”

There was complete silence. Then she screamed.&nbsp;I screamed. She started laughing. I started crying. She was laughing so hard she couldn't breathe. I was not finding anything funny.

“Why are you laughing?” “Because—”

“You told me to download this app!” “I'm sorry!” “You told me!” “I didn't know!” “How did you not know?” “How would I know your entire family tree?”

I thought at least he would have figured it out.&nbsp;He hadn't.&nbsp;He had no idea. Apparently, our families were related through our mothers, but we weren't particularly close. They lived in different parts of Lagos, our parents had their own separate circles, and we had probably crossed paths at family events without ever properly meeting.

Which is somehow even worse, because it meant we had been living in Lagos, attending events, moving in the same social circles, and yet remained strangers until a dating app decided to bring us together. Technology had done what our family WhatsApp group could not. It reunited us.&nbsp;Romantically.

You would think the story would end there. It did not, because my mother told my aunt. My aunt told her husband. Her husband told my uncle, and before I knew what was happening, there was a family meeting.

A family meeting. Over a dating app. I sat there trying to explain that I didn't know. My mother said she knew I didn't know. My aunt said she also knew I didn't know. Then somebody asked:

“So how long have you people been talking?” I wanted the ground to open. “About two weeks.”

My uncle looked at me. “Two weeks?” “Yes.” “Were you dating?” “No!” “Were you talking romantically?”

The room erupted. My mother shouted my name, my aunt started laughing, my uncle was asking questions like he was investigating a financial crime, and Dumebi?

Dumebi dared to send me a message: “How is the family meeting?” I replied: “I hate you.”

I Had To Explain What “Matching” Even Meant

One of the funniest parts was watching the older people try to understand what had happened. My mother kept asking:

“But how did he find you?” “Mummy, the app showed him my profile.” “Why?” “Because we're both on the app.” “So he was looking for you?” “No.” “But he found you.” “Yes.” “And you liked him?”

I wanted to disappear. “Yes.” “And he liked you too?” “Yes.”

My mother shook her head. “So both of you liked each other?”

I nodded. She looked at my aunt. Then back at me. “Before you knew you were related?” “Yes.”

Lagos Is Actually Too Small For Dating Apps

After that experience, I've developed a completely different approach to dating apps.&nbsp;I need to know your surname. Your hometown, your mother's name, your father's name, your secondary school, your university, your church, your best friend's name.

At this point, before I agree to a date, I may request a family tree because I have learnt my lesson, and honestly, the whole thing has made me realise that Lagos really is one small village pretending to be a megacity.

The person you're flirting with could be your friend's cousin. Your colleague's ex, your secondary school classmate's brother, your pastor's nephew. The man your mother has been trying to introduce you to for three years or, apparently, your actual cousin.

So if you are single in Lagos and using a dating app, please remember my story. Ask questions before you swipe, and if a man says, “You look familiar,” don't immediately assume he's trying to flirt.

He might actually know you. And Dumebi? She is still single. As she should be.

Teni was finally ready to move on after a brutal breakup, so her friend convinced her to join a dating app. Everything was going fine until a few questions about her surname and family turned a promising match into a full-blown family meeting.

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