Spoiler alert

I met Folagbade in the strangest of ways. And let me tell you, I am no stranger to meeting charming men in unexpected places and in unusual ways.

But I digress.

When I met Folagbade, I was on my way to Nairobi to attend a conference on behalf of my employers. My work hours were long and brutal, and the role was challenging, making me question my entire life and exciting in a way that made it impossible to turn down weekend assignments and after-hours tasks. 

I ended up in the airport lounge by chance. After I cleared security, I went on a hair-brained search for an adaptor for my laptop charger and phone. 

Here's what they don't tell you about working in the media industry: you can never really turn yourself all off or shut down completely. News and breaking stories move at the speed of light, and you don’t want to be the editor who missed out on a scoop because your devices were dead or you just needed a minute to calm your mind after surviving the airport security screening process in Murtala Muhammed airport.

So, there I was, traipsing through the departures lounge in search of an electronics store, when I heard a woman call out to me from behind. She asked me if I was looking for an airport lounge, and I replied, “Negative. I’m looking for an adaptor to charge my laptop and phone.” 

“Where are you flying to?” She asked

“Kenya. Listen, I need to find an adaptor before boarding this flight.”

“You can charge your phone in our airport lounge. Kenya Airways passengers are welcome in our lounge for a small fee.”

“How much?” I didn’t really care about the price. I just needed a place to sit, think, and do some work.

“N10,000. We also serve hot meals, cold beverages, tea, and coffee in our lounge.” Coffee and the possibility of enjoying a steaming plate of jollof rice and chicken before my flight?

The lounge hostess didn’t need to say anything else; she had me at “coffee.” 

Usually, when I enter a new room or environment, I do a quick scan of the area and take mental notes of who is sitting in the room, outfits, exit doors, and other tiny details like furniture placement and hard-to-reach cobwebs on window sills and light fixtures.

But this time around, I was too focused on my mission to find a charging station to do my standard sweep. He was tucked away in the corner of the room with a laptop open in front of him and a black travel bag on the lounge floor next to his feet. 

Wait, I’m getting ahead of myself. Before I saw his face and outfit, I first heard his voice.

“Do you need help with anything?” 

I turned around, and there he was: polite but amused smile, dark gray kaftan, clean-shaven, tastefully bald, calm, and handsome. 

I didn’t have a second to fix my bewailed wig or reapply lip balm. I only had a second - a second that was pregnant with possibilities, choices, and questions - to answer him honestly or politely brush him off and return to my mission. 

I chose the former.

“I need an adapter for my phone and laptop.” 

He smiled again—wider this time around—leaned toward unzipping the front pocket of his bag, pulled out a white adapter, and pointed it in my direction.

“Is this what you need?” 

Yes, it was what exactly I needed and then some. 

“Yes, please.” 

Yes, please? What was that? 

Also, did my voice sound hoarse, or was I imagining things? Was what I was feeling the definition of instant chemistry? I thought that was a trope that Hollywood and romance writers fed women to get us to continue watching their soapy movies and reading their weightless books. 

If you can’t already tell, I was spiraling hard in that chilly airport lounge. Nonetheless, I accepted the adapter and plopped into a seat next to him.

“Are you flying to Nairobi?”

“Yes, I am.”

“First time? Work or pleasure?”

“First time. Mostly work, although I plan to do some sightseeing. You?”

I plugged my laptop and phone cord into the adapter while he answered my question.

“I live in Nairobi. By the way, my name is Folagbade.” He stretched out a hand. 

I firmly clasped his hand and saw an imperceptible expression flash across his face. 

“My name is Bella. I really like your name.” 

“I like yours too.”

Let’s pause here: I’m adult enough to admit that when I encountered Folagbade in the airport lounge, I enjoyed attention from men who fit a specific archetype: confident, successful, natural leaders, and dominant.

These men were unafraid to take the lead or tell me what to do when we were together and how to behave around them and correct me when I made mistakes or spoke to them in a tone they disliked or didn't appreciate. They commanded and demanded respect from me, and I obeyed their orders like a good little girl/adult woman who grew up in an abusive and dysfunctional home.

How quaint. 

Of course, I know better now. I know now that love bombing is real, and whirlwind romances are for beach reads and sitcom episodes. I know now that I am allowed to take my time to vet a man and see beyond his outward appearances, carefully curated responses, and unnatural ability to tell me exactly what I need to hear. 

Okay, let’s get back to the story: While I worked and responded to Slack messages, Folagbade brought me a bottle of water I didn’t ask for and even offered to plate and serve me food from the lounge buffet. I was smitten (hey, don’t judge me) and intrigued by this chivalrous man who had no issues serving a woman he just met.

Generally speaking, a lot of Nigerian men are not built that way. Archaic Nigerian societal rules have emboldened Nigerian men to feel entitled to a woman’s time, attention, and service. The average Nigerian does not serve a woman; she serves him. 

I have digressed again, haven’t I? Pardon me. 

Spoiler alert: This story didn’t end with me getting a lab-grown engagement ring, planning an Amalfi Coast wedding ceremony that would make Kim Kardashian jealous, or moving into a stunning and tastefully furnished townhouse with an ocean view backyard. 

A woman can only dream. 

Instead, the story ends with Folagbade sending charming video and voice messages, taking me out to eat at his favorite restaurant, where we laughed and talked until closing time, and inviting me to his home to enjoy a home-cooked meal in his spacious garden. 

The story ends with me returning to Nigeria with high hopes for a budding friendship and maybe something more serious with Folagbade and then promptly getting ghosted for three months while he traveled around Italy with one of the many women he had on rotation.

Hey, now, don’t feel too bad for me. My brief but thrilling experience with Folagbade inspired me to script and co-produce an audio drama series that I published on streaming platforms in December 2023.

That experience also helped me understand why a man as successful and wealthy as Folagbade was single in his mid-fifties. He’s a catch by any standard and definition, but I theorize that he gets a kick out of performing grand romantic gestures even though he knows deep down that he has no plans to commit to or take the interaction any further.

Folagbade is not a playboy or a man with commitment issues. He's beloved by many of his friends and family members and doesn’t need a woman to fulfill his emotional needs - his sisters, nieces, female cousins, and friends love him loudly and proudly. 

I was merely another fascinating woman that he could impress. 

And you know what? That’s okay. If I hadn’t met and experienced Folagbade’s brand of masculinity, I wouldn’t have felt compelled to create my dating guide, a set of rules that protect me as I navigate modern dating as an educated and attractive Nigerian woman.