How singer's "Scatter my dada' convinced me that dreadlocks is essential to romance

I was raised in a core Christian home, where dreadlocks was a manifestation of evil, but Duncan Mighty said otherwise.

I am a bald man. My hair has emulated Nigeria and joined in the recession. As Nigeria fell deep into economic crises, my hairline took a step back, one day at a time until it parked itself right behind my brain until I resigned myself to my fate and contacted my barber who conducted a mercy-killing for what was the last of it. It was a really sad day.

How did I get here? From a vibrant teenager living in Port Harcourt, Rivers State who wanted to have dreadlocks, I have become a man in his mid-twenties carrying the Sahara desert on his head. It is in contrast to the year 2009, when I decided to carry dreadlocks because of Duncan Mighty.

To those who don’t properly know Duncan Mighty, he is a god from the South-South of Nigeria, who makes music fit for the highest supreme beings. But he does humanity a favour and serves it to mere mortals like you and I. And that’s why he is worshipped by many. It is one of the main reasons why you are reading this article.

Duncan Mighty had exploded in 2007 after his evergreen hit song, ‘Dance for me’ featuring Sandaz Black had become public property. He followed that up with an album titled “Fully Loaded,” and while everyone could point to their personal favourite, I fell in love with ‘Scatter My Dada’.

The record which relied on Latino instrumentation dug deep into my young romantic heart and gave me ideas. As a teenager, I was hormone-driven, but mine manifested as manic love. I was a romantic, the type that wrote poems, daydreamed about sunset beaches, and birds swooping into the sea, and while my lover drank Pina Colada mixed with a dose of my smile. I had those fantasies, and I enjoyed it. I was in my little corner, chasing butterflies, and dancing with hot women, and serving their erotic needs.

Until ‘Scatter my dada’ came into my world and shattered my dreams. Literally.

The record eulogized Duncan’s love interest, promising her heaven and earth on the day she was going to leave him. It was the perfect love song, backed by a guitar and earnest vocals. The type that made you believe that this wasn’t a studio creation. It had a real life.

“Girl I tell you say you need a man wey go hold and protect you. Wey can always tell you say you fine. How you feel, e can understand,” he sang with a deeply emotive voice. I connected instantly. This was the soundtrack to my fantasies that I didn’t know I needed.

And then it got to the chorus: “You dey scatter my dada eh, baby. You dey scatter my dada eh, baby.”

And then my problem began. ‘Dada’ means dreadlocks, and I didn’t have that. In fact, I was raised in a core Christian home, where dreadlocks was a manifestation of evil, and people who smoke were simply burning the smoke from Hell, and inhaling it into their lungs. But not me. I was a good child, and Dada had no place in my life.

I was frustrated. I wanted to play the song to my love, and watch her stroke my full dreadlocks as I sang to her, “You dey scatter my dada…” Sadly, there was no Dada for her to scatter. There was just a ‘good boy’ crew cut, which was very disappointing.

The day I suggested it to my mom, she carried out an exorcism.

“Mum,” I said sweetly in my cherubic voice. “Can I keep dreadlocks?”

“You have been hanging out with bad friends. Tonight, we will conduct a special prayer for you to chase out the demons that they have brought to you,” she prescribed.

“But Mum…”

“Get out of my sight!”

I scurried away. She was visibly angry, and if I had pursued it any further, the timeline for that exorcism would have been brought forward, with a correctional dose of beating. I didn’t want any demon beaten out of me.

I didn’t have demons in me. Is it too hard for parents to understand my desire to impress my beauty with flowing black locks of happiness?

“Scatter my dada…” I could still hear Wene Mighty’s voice, all through my teens. And when I got into the college and had nobody threatening me with Christian rituals, I found a girlfriend, just like I had dreamt of, and tried out for my dreadlocks. But sadly, she didn’t feel it.

“Look, I have dada now,” I introduced her to it. “Don’t you want to scatter it?”

“Go and remove that nonsense.” She wasn’t feeling it. I took it off, and it broke my heart.

Today, I woke up listening to Duncan Mighty again…and as I stare into the mirror it became clear to me. ‘Dada’ was a synonym for ‘brain’. Love scatters our brain in many ways than we can imagine, and when we find that one person that takes over our lives and help us connect with the parts of us that are pure, loving and inclusive, we should always hold on to that. Love is a beautiful thing when done right.

Duncan Mighty found love. Someone scattered his dada, and he is a happily married man, with kids and a glowing career that has been decentralised from just music to different industries. It ended well for him.

My fantasies still remain, and they have powered me into being a writer for hire, where my active mind plays. And yes, a long list of people have had access to my dada and scattered it. Perhaps too much.

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