Peeing System
Whenever I go to the Recreation Club in Ibadan, I run into my friend, Alhaji Balogun Ajanlakoko. Alhaji is one of those Nigerians from whom you’re always guaranteed to learn something. In fact, when I ask Alhaji a question, he provides me with ten answers, on questions I didn't ask.
For some time, as I traveled back and forth across Ibadan, I noticed something odd: some men, when they pee, crouch down, bending their knees as low as they can go, to release their merchandise. Meanwhile, the women? They just stand there, legs apart, and pee. Without getting wet. Like magic.
Now, this peeing system puzzled me, because where I come from, it's the opposite: men pee standing, women sit. That’s the “system.” So naturally, I asked Alhaji Ajanlakoko what is the rationale behind that peeing system.
By then, I already understood: in Nigeria, there’s always a rationale behind such systems. Or not.
And even when the system seems strange, it usually turns out to make more sense than the ways of the Oyinbos—the Peeled People. Or not.
Alhaji Ajanlakoko looked positively delighted with the question. You could tell he’d been waiting years for someone for such questions to be on the table.
He nodded solemnly and said, “The Oyinbo doesn’t know how to pee properly.”
He went on: “If you don’t respect the spirit of the Juju, the Juju will come for you. It’s everywhere—up, down, all around. You must never, ever pee on the Juju, and we don't want to accidently pee on the Juju. This is a common knowledge. Everybody knows that”
“So,” Alhaji continued, “when a man needs to greet his 'best friend', if he respects the Juju, he lowers himself as much as possible. That way, there's less risk of a spiritual splash. You must be careful. Juju doesn’t forgive easily.”
That explained the men. And it made perfect sense. There is a lot of wisdom behind that practice.
Now, what about the women? Why do they pee standing?
“Ahhh,” said Alhaji, “women are completely different creatures. People don’t understand how different. Let me tell you what my grandmother told me—the true story of our village.”
He launched into it without warning, like a folk historian on fire.
“Many, many years ago,” he began, “ten young friends—five men and five women—set out to find a place to settle. They came to a beautiful valley, split right down the middle by a river. For reasons only the ancestors know, they split into two groups of five: one group with one man and four women; the other with one woman and four men.
“The deal was, the man-led group settled on one side of the river and the woman-led group took the other side.
Can you envision that? – Ajanlakoko asked me.
Yes Alhaji, I replied.
“For twenty years, the two families lived in peace. Although there some argument between the males in the in the woman’s group. Meanwhile, each woman, on both sides of the river, gave birth to ten children—five girls and five boys. So, after twenty years, the man’s group had 45 people. The woman’s group? Just 15.
“One day, the eldest boy from the man’s side crossed the river to speak with his counterpart.
‘Brother,’ he said, ‘we need to revise the deal. We’re bigger now. We need more land. Things have changed.’ He was right!
‘No way,’ replied the woman's group elder. ‘Our parents made an agreement. Agreements must be honored.’ He was right too!
“Both were right. And when two sides are both right and refuse to compromise… there is war.
“Of course, the man’s group won easily—they were triple in size.
Since that day,” Alhaji said with pride, “in our village and all around everywhere, where people still have sense, a man with few women has a better chance of survival and be successful.”
He nodded again, solemn and sure.
“My grandmother also told me,” He added, “that monogamy is not natural. That’s why it doesn’t work for the Oyinbos."
"Look in the Bible—any man with power had more than one woman. I won’t mention names, so no one is embarrassed.”
He grinned. “Sure, some people choose monogamy. That’s fine. But it’s a new invention—Not much more than a thousand years, something the Christians came up with. Then the Jews in Europe followed. Why? What is the rationale behind? Nobody really knows.”
“By the way,” he added casually, “out of 2.2 million known animal species, only a tiny few are monogamous. Mostly birds. And they don’t need marriage laws to stay faithful—it’s just in their nature.
“Now ask yourself: if monogamy were natural for humans, would prostitution even exist?
“It’s not that I’m against it,” he clarified. “Some people prefer monogamy and sometimes it works. And sometimes it's not. But natural? No way.”
Then he leaned in with his favorite line: “You know what research found about why people wake up in the middle of the night?”
I shook my head.
“2% — full moon. 8% — need to pee. 90% — need to go home.”
He roared with laughter, and I had to laugh too.
“But don’t get me wrong,” he said, shifting tone. “The woman is actually the more important part of the human story.”
“In ancient times, when people fought wars, the victors killed the men and kept the women. Because the women matter. In nature, females don’t fight over males. The males fight each other, sometimes to death, for a chance to impress one female.”
"Who is doing do the hard work?" Asked Alhaji Ajanlakoko.
He continued: “The woman carries the babies. She suffers hormonal storms. She endures childbirth. She nurses. She raises and educates the entire next generation. Without her, humanity ends.
“In truth, the woman holds 95% of the shares in humanity. But men—with their egos and competition—steal most of the credit and leave 5% for women. It’s not fair. And it’s bad for the world.”
“Let women lead more countries, more companies. The world would be calmer, kinder.”
I nodded. “Alhaji, I agree with everything you said. But I still don’t understand one thing—how do the women pee standing, and without getting wet?”
“Ahhh…” he grinned, “Now you’re asking the right question.”
“You see,” he said, “in the village, the women do all the work. A good woman wakes before dawn, ties a baby to her back, and heads to the river to fetch water. She carries a massive calabash—like a hollowed-out pumpkin—on her head, and her baby on her back with a piece of garment tightened on her breasts.
“She needs the help of two women to lift the calabash once it’s full of water. She can’t do it alone."
“It's a long way to the village. So, imagine this: heavy calabash on her head, baby on her back, one breast pushed back to quiet the baby… and then, somewhere along the dusty path, a few drops of water splash her neck, and nature starts knocking."
“She needs to pee."
“Now tell me, how can she squat? She can’t! Calabash, baby, balance—it’s a whole operation. Her only choice is to spread her legs and release. Quick, clean, efficient.
“That,” Alhaji concluded with satisfaction, “is the women’s peeing system. Normal. Correct. wise. Natural system.”