My dearest friend, Nuella wrote this poem which I love and think is quite true of the "big man" on our streets.
Agbada; the flowing side weaved robe, usually embroidered, draped on strong shoulders like majesty worn throughout Nigeria by important men and each fiber says ceremony.
Agbada, yours is pure white with gold embroidery. You are pot bellied and yellow eyed, the signs of a chief, the signs of one who has consumed beer and gin for a lifetime; the signs of age.
You roll off white bed sheets that have been soiled with the scent and sweat of another woman, the one whose generator fuel and rent you pay for. The one whose legs part open for wealthy living. The one who is a validation of your ‘African masculinity’. The one whose plan is to marry you and change her fortunes. “Husband snatcher”,it will roll off women’s tongues like acid when they see her with you wearing her matching iro and buba.
After the weekly deed, you put on your crisp agbada again, then step into the streets oozing importance, and prosperity;
Agbada, the cloth of a big man, “oga oooo!” they hail you exuberantly on the outside but at home you make your wife feel small, aren’t you then small for it?