So — the royal wedding is unravelling right before our very eyes — and to be honest I feel like a first class bitch because not only is there increased interest on my part about what will or will not transpire on May 19th — I’m also quite entertained by the spectacle of it all.
I was excited when Prince Harry proposed to American-born actress Meghan Markle last year — mainly because I loved the fact that she was older and had been married before. It would’ve been unheard of back in the day for a member of the royal family — with close proximity to the throne — to be granted permission to wed a woman of color who is closer to forty.
The fact that she’s divorce is no big deal because the Queen’s offspring have perfected that dance.
Of course when the news became official — the fascination with the most popular couple in the world was evident — as think pieces about how Markle’s racial background playing a vital role in the way Black women will finally embrace the possibility of a fairytale ending became all the rage.
That was around the time when I started to resent the upcoming nuptials — as I pushed back on the narrative of how a biracial woman’s good fortune would eventually validate the global appeal of women who look like me.
If Meghan Markle were a Black woman with deep dark skin — a wide nose and a name that takes a minute to digest — then I would be floored and impressed beyond words — but she’s the prototype of what we’ve been schooled to accept as the “best version” of a Black woman that you can hope to find — as a man of noble standing.
But — that’s not what makes me fussy about the event of the year.
As I’ve gotten older and more in touch with reality — I’m besieged with items of interest that range from how fucked up it was for White people to invade my homeland — to how really fucked up it is that I left my homeland for a place where White people are free to legally kill me.
I mean you can’t make this shit up!
Growing up in Nigeria — there was general adherence to the British way of life — which was the parting gift from our colonial masters — who forced their way into our native land and fucked up our customs — under the guise of Christianity.
The assholes made us believe that we had to start eating sugar (which kills by the way) and relinquish our age-old customs for the sake of their Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. And while they were preaching lies and spreading the poison that killed our deities — they were robbing us blind!
They cleansed us of all that we owned and pretended that it was a fair trade. They made us civilized by showing us how to wear ugly garments that were “lady-like” and teaching us how to speak the language of slaves — Queen’s English.
We were bequeathed English tea and assortment of biscuits that were supposed to make up for the permanent division of tribes — and the everlasting consequences of being brutally cut into pieces — that were never going to fit into the cohesive nation — that died when our resources became the curse of our lifetime.
The royal family continues to benefit from the crimes of their ancestors and the crown jewels glisten under the authority of the lives lost both on the battlefield and in the sunken villages — that won’t ever rise above the oily floods — that still hamper quality of life for the duty of supplying a superior lifestyle to world powers.
When I get this way — I don’t like myself very much.
Why I can’t I just enjoy the celebratory climate the way I did back when Princess Diana wore that massively heavy gown that took forever to fit into the carriage that carried her to the Prince of Wales.
Alas! Maturity can be an exhaustively bitchy disposition — when you can’t convince yourself that you’re being unreasonably petty — when ugly thoughts creep in — after the astounding cost of a royal affair become public knowledge.
I’m making up for lost time.
Time spent believing that perfecting the English language at the expense of my own native tongue was a more suitable route. Admiring the English accent as if it were the currency of global viability and mocking the way my own people spoke — because it sounded unpolished and embarrassing. Rejecting the beauty of our tribal ensembles because it didn’t fit the category of style that I deemed glamorous or elegant.
I’m not that person anymore — but I was — not too long ago — and I’m pissed about it.
I hate the British for destroying my culture and reducing it to a relic of what it was — which was magnificent. The deceitfulness — wrapped up in a bow of colonialism that threatened our gorgeous landscape — and terrorized the primal connection my forefathers recorded with their own translation of what they witnessed from the miracle of formation — will never be forgiven.
So — no — I can’t be excited about the exuberant coming attraction featuring wealthy people who accumulated gems the old fashioned way — blinding thievery.
And now that shit has hit the fan with The Markle clan who are turning this festive occasion into a full-blown circus of horrors — I can’t pretend not be somewhat amused at the notion that this might end up being the scandal that will finally break The Windsors.
However — I do like Harry and there’s the part of me that genuinely wishes him happiness after the tragedy he bore as a kid — with the death of his mum. And Meghan seems cool too — I mean she’s as good as they get when it comes to balancing stardom with the personal responsibility of philanthropic duties — which isn’t an easy combo.
So they should elope!
Leave the madness behind and get it done — with as little fanfare as possible. At this point — it’s hard to imagine getting back on track — after such a scandalous climate that has come into view literally days before the big day.
Even if the father of the bride does decide to make his controversial appearance — it will be too distracting and awkward for words. Nothing will upstage his presence — not even Meghan’s one-of-kind gown or stunning tiara.
The only thing that will make sense is for the lovebirds to sneak away and do what has to be done and then face the music afterwards — instead of wasting tons of money that doesn’t even belong to them anyway.
It’s the only way to halt production of another Lifetime movie — and that is more than enough incentive for Harry and Meghan to take matters into their own hands.
God will understand — the Queen however…