The First Time I Tried Charms [True Life Story]

Talking about charms, I remember when I was ‘in the world’ (i.e., before I gave my life to Christ, *winks*), I used to do charms. In my secondary school days, in my clique, we had a boy who was a babaláwo’s son. He had this compendium (more like a formulary) of charms that he photocopied from his father. So we had access to the book and tried our hands on a couple. The book was a DIY (do-it-yourself) manual.

Charms invoke confidence in those who own them

Charms invoke confidence in those who own them

The first one I ever tried was the one called ‘Àmúd*’ in Yoruba language (I’ve truncated the word for the sake of those who might not be comfortable with the sound of it). It’s a charm that can be used to catch any girl of your choice and bed her. We did it ourselves. I can’t remember the other condiments now but I know a male lizard’s head was one of the things that would be used.

After the whole process, you would end up with a ring that you would wear on any of your fingers. Pretend like you want to shake hands with her, like you want to borrow a biro from her, just do anything that would give you the opportunity to touch her with the ring. Any part of her body is OK. Just for the ring to make a contact with her skin. Note. It must make a contact with her skin and once that happens, it’s done.

You need to have prepared a place for the act because immediately the ring touches her body, she will start following you anywhere you go. So you just lead her straight to the location you’ve prepared beforehand. She won’t object. She won’t say a single world till you finish with her. She will be totally hypnotized. Most likely, she will come back to her senses immediately you guys are dressing up or something. She can now slap you or humiliate you but you’ve achieved your aim, haven’t you? I also need to say that this charm will work on any female, no matter the race, age, or social status — Buhari’s daughter oooo, even Buhari’s wife herself oooo, Michelle Obama oooo, Ariana Grande oooo, Shakira oooo. Just name it. It’s potent. It’s no respecter of females.

It was a memorable afternoon in 1993. I was in SS 1. Having just had my first wet dream (male version of menarche) earlier in the year and having been tantalized by older boys with the fantastic stories of the wonderful, out-of-this-world experience of sexing a girl, I was ready to try this out. There’s this girl in my class then, the one I was crushing on so badly. And you know I hadn’t developed the bravery to walk up to a girl and ‘toast’ her. So this was my opportunity to get laid. With the confidence in the potency of my ring, I wore it and searched for this geh that was the fantasy of my life.

She was under a mango tree beside the SS 3 block. She was chatting away with her friends. So I moved close. I was so confident that I didn’t greet any of them. I didn’t even greet my crush. I went straight to her, going for the kill. Because I wanted the maximum effect of the charm, I stood beside her and went for her rear bumper. I didn’t smack it hard. I just went smoothly and gently, rubbing the ring in as hard as I could. And I was waiting for the reaction as I did.

Time went so fast in real life but so slowly in my head. Everything happening like ×5 slo-mo. I had sunk in a trance. I was achieving my life dream. Not only that my fingers were caressing an angel’s yarnsh, she was about to follow me to a lonely spot in the jungle behind the school. But behold, the reverie was cut short. I just felt two heavy quakes on my face, one on either side, separated by just milliseconds. I didn’t believe her soft, succulent palms could deliver such damaging strikes.

I instantly returned from the wonderland and while still standing there, I wondered how my hand came on her butt. As the other girls were rushing towards me to give her a helping hand, I received the grace of Usain Bolt and fled for safety. I ran far away from where they were. I went to a lonely place to ruminate on what had just transpired. ‘Why did I allow the devil to use me for my own embarrassment?’, I asked myself.

I saw my voodoo consultant-friend later and asked him what I did wrong, why the charm didn’t work. I narrated the story to him and he said I shouldn’t have struck the butt. The ring needed to touch the skin, not the cloth. Her hand, nape, or cheek would’ve done the trick. That was the day I started wondering whether charms were so powerless. I started wondering if something that was so powerless that its effect could be blocked by ordinary clothing would be powerful enough to drag a smart belle from under a tree, make her follow me into the bush, make her remove her panties, and lie down for me to climb her?

Twenty three years have gone now and perhaps the lady too is remembering that incident as I’m typing this. I never told her why I smacked her on the butt. She could’ve put it down to me just being naughty. She would never know why I tried that rubbish with her. Now she will know if she gets to read this.

Moral of the story. I don’t think charms work. I gave it a try a couple more times thereafter, of course, for other applications. The results weren’t so much different from this. I don’t think charms work and I’ll devote a subsequent article to this particular topic. Before you come with your ‘He tried amateur products and concluded charms don’t work: he should’ve tried proper charms from proper jujumen before running his naive mouth’, you just wait for the article. I have more to say, more than you think. Trust me. This is just an appetizer before the main meal, like a comic relief before the hard talk.

Thanks for your time.

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  1. Onyi November 15, 2016

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