You are highly welcome to where the sun of fashion rises and sets to usher in the bright moon around which everyone gathers to listen to the endless stories of attires.
Isn’t it true that shiny days are notorious for dark nights? They also have the reputation of producing dark knights too, after all.
However, the night I was knighted in my extraterrestrial agbádá is one with shades of black. A friend had proposed winding off with alcohol that night; he also said Prozac would do the job. A better example of an oxymoron?
None was a better option for a mind that wanted to roam.
Further, I decided to wander, and serendipity brought wonders. I saw a man in Oxford wearing an Agbádá with geometric designs that in my opinion had taken ingenious mathematical planning. However, what stood as the bùbá (blouse) and sọ́rọ́(trousers) is the same corporate without which you can’t attend IFUMSA’s Parliamentary sitting. An oxymoronic Agbádá.
In essence, an Agbádá on corporate stupefied and inebriated me. I basically thought I was really winding off with the alcohol my friend had suggested. I am from that country where shirts, trousers, and their cousins are the only accepted clothes in the corporate world. It is quite ironic, that IFUMSA’s parliament and Nigeria’s parliament have different opinions about this. The former accepts only the perceived corporate, while the latter deems àgbàdá as the politicians’ uniform. However, I found a middle ground.
The middle ground between two ironies is basically an oxymoron.
That is exactly how the Mauritanians wear it. The blue men of the Sahara also. Both the rich and the poor. They don their Darra’a on a nice shirt. I shall ask about the trousers.
The event I mentioned is next week. I shall wear an oxymoronic extraterrestrial agbádá with a corporate bùbá and sọ́rọ́.
You can join me in this clash of cultures, and none will be genocided, I promise.
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