The Waiting Game

Photography by: Morgan Daniels
Styled by: M. Ansah
I vividly remember the day I started waiting for love, or rather on it. A friend’s church had organized a women’s conference. It was three days of getting to understand how to be the woman that God had called you to be.
Being an angsty 14 year old, I embraced the thought of God being able to help me deal with pimples and missing homework assignments. We prayed, laughed, and cried as we talked about the insecurities of womanhood. I felt heard and seen, as I saw older women confess to feeling less than beautiful in their younger years. I absorbed every question brought up and discussed, while furiously and meticulously taking notes to apply to my real test of life.
Then, this woman stood.

“I’m intelligent. I’m accomplished. I’m beautiful and yet I’m 30 and alone. Is God punishing me?”

Our eyes, and exposed hearts turned to the speaker, anxious to hear her insight pour forth about love and God.
“Just pray and wait.” She replied and moved on to the next question.
We all sat in shock and I knew the collective thought in the room was “Girl wut?”
We had dissected almost every question. Pouring through the Bible for answers about everything from body image, to being a good friend to others, even mental health. But when it came to love and marriage, We were told to wait.
That message never sat well with me but it definitely stuck with me. I remember mentioning to my mother that I could and would date in college.

“Just wait Maame, there is no need to rush into that part of life.”

College came and went with two interesting relationships and a handful of situationships under my belt.

And I was still waiting.
I thought I was waiting for my crush/favorite rapper to put me in a song. But when it did, the song didn’t move me like the rest of his music. Then I moved on to waiting for my lil business man boo to explain to me what our future looked like together but his proposal was depressing and not as romantic as he has lead me believe. The picture the artsy LOML made of us just wasn’t in focus. So I just kept waiting.
It wasn’t until my parents a few months ago, so lovingly asked

“So Maame. Why aren’t you dating?”

I replied that I was taking a break. And they asked me what the wait was for.”
I calmed looked up from my phone and replied,

“I dunno, the speaker never went into that part.”

Why is You Here?

As I sat across from my gold cladden date, I couldn’t help but think to myself

Hoe, why is you here?

My eyes began to glaze over as he talked about his various business ventures and recent trips. I only snapped back as he expressed his desire for a woman who could “keep the house in check” but not hassle him about going and coming when he pleased.

“Why not just hire a maid?” I inquired. He shook his head furiously as if I’d made the most ridiculous suggestion. He tried to explain that every man needs someone to come home to at night but that person needs to be able keep him and home in line. Blah, blah, blah.

I could sense my attention drifting further and further from the delusional conversation so I excused myself to the restroom.

As I looked at my self over, lip gloss popping and my favorite wig bobbing, I again thought:

Hoe, why is you here?

This sadly hadn’t been the worst date/ encounter I had with the male species. A particularly interesting one involved a hotep that slipped through the cracks of my vetting process with his beautiful teeth and washboard abs. Our time was quickly cut short after he explained to me on our first date that he was interested in marrying me but only if I give up my desires to further my education and my instagram.

I knew I was bored. My mundane routine of work, home, sleep had me left grasping any and every bit of excitement that could find me. Except, the excitement finding me weren’t even particularly interesting. To be honest, I had allowed “swit” words and fine dining to steal some of my Friday and Saturday nights. I never thought my time could be bought until I tasted the Côte de Boeuf from Marcel’s.

Damn me and my bougie stomach.

I started to think of all the things I could have been alone doing rather than sitting across from one of the most boring men on the planet. Ideas of pole classes, coloring books and actually writing about my feelings again danced in my head. All of sudden, I began to feel sick about how I had just wasted my time and this poor delusional misogynistic man’s time. I quickly texted my friend:

<<Save me in 5 min>>

I walked back to the table, feeling more nauseated with each step. He could sense my discomfort and asked me what was wrong. I played it off as a stomachache and anxiously waited for my phone to ring. I don’t think I even allowed a second vibration to pass before I picked up and motioned that I was stepping out to take a call. I explained my situation to my girl and we both agreed it was time to go.

I walked back into the lounge and bullshited an excuse about a friend going through a bad break up. He gave me his unwanted and unneeded blessing to leave and I dashed to the valet. Within 30 minutes, I was undressed and in my bed. Before I pressed play on Living Single, I looked around and realized I knew exactly why I was there.