To be clear, a fat bunda is the focus of Damilare Kuku’s second book, Only Big Bumbum Matters Tomorrow – I mean, it’s in the name – but it definitely cuts into issues deeper than cosmetic concerns.

Nearly All The Men In Lagos Are Mad, her first book, was a collection of short stories centring Lagosian women and their unfortunate – and sometimes hilarious, sorry – experiences with men.

Her second book holds similar notes due to similarities in setting, culture, and Damilare’s own frankly Nigerian, flat-edged prose.

“I am going to get a Brazilian butt lift.”

“A what? You are going to Brazil?”

“I am adding fat to my buttocks, Màámi.”

Temilade Toyebi is a 20-year-old OAU graduate living in Ile Ife, Osun State, who wants to move to Lagos to get a Brazillian Butt Lift in Lekki.

The novel chronicles what happens when she announces her plans at the will reading of her recently deceased father, after eating some… special cookies.

True to the stereotypical Nigerian family, her Mum, sister and aunties do not understand why she wants to alter her body.

“You won’t be alive to live, dear! Did you not hear the doctor? Do you want us to bury you?” Big Mummy responded. She continued, “Come, Témì, since your father died, I have not seen you cry. Now you want to open your buttocks —” She paused as if the words were too heavy, and chose instead to swallow them, then turned to face your mother. “Hassana, are you sure this child is not possessed?”

This is where things start to get juicy (no pun intended).

The first chapter of the story is told from Temi’s perspective in immersive first person POV, but subsequent chapters take on the voices of other family members – her half-Hausa but self admittedly “mostly Yoruba” mother, Hassana, Temi’s beautiful but troubled sister, Ladun, Hassana’s rambunctious sister Jummai, and Temi’s aunt on her father, Tito’s side, the bleached but ever-present “Big Mummy”.

Damilare pulls us into the mental machinations of these larger-than-life women, humanising them through frequent textual flashbacks – Hassana and Jummai’s close connection until the latter’s dyslexia stopped her from pursuing further studies after secondary school, Big Mummy’s struggle for a husband, Ladun’s unresolved anger towards her parents, ignited by a heartbreak that still haunts her, and Temi’s experiences with bullying, social media, ridicule from her peers, and broken friendships.

Even though deeper themes are spoken on – like rape, domestic violence, and adultery – Damilare’s writing is immersive, straight to the point, and honest.

It doesn’t attempt to think for you, and it’s not the type of book you have to pause and ruminate over as you read. Maybe because it’s so firmly Nigerian, it was easy to fall into Damilare’s words and her characters’ worlds.

“Then he hit me again, after our second child turned two, and so I showed him that it was not the thing between his legs nor his broad shoulders that made him a man. We wrestled, and I won. My face might have been swollen the next day, but every part of him, including his long stick, felt the impact of my teeth and fists.” – Aunty Jummai.

The straightforwardness of her writing was true to life, it’s how you would imagine Nigerian women of a certain generation to talk about their experiences, but it made me wonder, how different would the book be if character experiences and emotions were explored more deeply.

If the running theme of turning to an almost violent religiosity for solutions was delved deeper into, if the psyche behind Hassana’s trauma around men was more sensitively prodded, what kind of book would it become?

Would it become a more real, more honest portrayal of Nigerian humanity if Temi’s apparent lack of grief, or almost mid-stride acceptance of her loving father’s demise was interviewed and documented?

I guess we will never know.

Moving on anyway.

The story is told in a non-chronological fashion, at first, we are invited (more like thrust into, but) into the Toyebi living room, filled with humming tension and the smell of burning jollof rice.

“Lawyer, we know he loved us. Please, let us move fast; you know I am staying in town.” Big Mummy pointed her talons toward the door, as if town was a place too far away to describe.

“Please, let him speak,” Aunty Jummai said. The two women looked at each other, each picking the other person up with her eyes and slamming her onto the ground.”

Then we are silently ushered into the humdrum and reflections of the women’s heads and so on, until the book wraps up in that same living room, a few days later, after we, the readers, have been on a journey through the family (and then some), with Temi rising to command the situation, and demanding for several family secrets (which we are now privy to) to come to light.

This polyphonic (i.e., many voices) and non-chronological recounting was riveting and surprisingly easy to maneuvre, it pulled me from the present to different points of the past and then back again in a fluid way that the author has seemingly mastered.

Kudos, Mama.

Anyway, even though Damilare’s blunt narrative leaves a bit to be desired, there are some things she does address interestingly well.

The Ultimate Omoge – The Beauty Standard

It’s no surprise that Only Big Bumbum Matters Tomorrow explores the overarching theme of beauty standards in Nigerian society.

Beauty has many definitions across different cultures, but for Temi, beauty wasn’t having a beautiful face…

“…Gosh! Témì, you are so pretty.”

“Lies… but thank you. At least if man won’t toast me, my best friend is permitted to lie to me.”

“No lie. Your face is stunning.”

“Na my face we go chop?”

…or long hair – two beauty standards she had already met. Temi’s ideal was a big, rounded yansh.

Her slim figure – her perceived defect – blinded her to any other features she might have otherwise embraced and even warped the genuine affections of interested men into a ploy to make fun of her.

“Was he talking about your skinny frame? Did he think his brother pitied you because you were thin and had no buttocks? You felt your crush slip away. You came up with an excuse and didn’t join them for dinner despite IK and Chuka begging you. After that, you avoided Chuka.”

Also stemming from this insecurity was her idolisation of Sylvia, an acquaintance from Temi’s university days.

“While Sylvia was a year ahead of you, she had never been high on the social ladder and mostly stayed in the shadows. However, since graduating, she had been winning in every circle, all because of that new ass”

From Temi’s fixation on Sylvia, now an influencer on social media, it was obvious that she saw herself in the other woman – they’d both been overlooked, wallflowers – and felt compelled to follow the same path the she had taken because their starting points were already so similar.

Sylvia, and others like her, became the standard for Temi.

It’s not news that beauty standards for women switch up like wind vanes. Today it’s voluptuous women, tomorrow it’s wafer-thin babes with protruding collar bones, and next year it may be bald women with ear implants.

In addition to this, according to this Business Insider Africa article, Nigerian women – out of all the women in Africa – place the highest emphasis on beauty and aesthetics.

According to the survey, 74% of Nigerian women between 18 – 25 spend a lot of time and money maintaining their outward appearance. Uganda and Ghana tied for second place, both scoring 68%, and right behind them were Kenya and South Africa, with 66% each.

Anyway, the point is that Nigerian women take beauty seriously.

It is also interesting to see how, growing up, all Temi wanted was to look like her shapely sister and mother, but as she matured and saw more of the world, the goalpost subtly changed into a longing for a booty big enough to pierce the hearts of men.

In an almost inverse fashion though, Temi’s sister was… how do I say this… Suffering from Success (beauty).

“I always had a love-hate relationship with my body. Yes, I loved that it was healthy, but I hated that it developed too early, making me the centre of unwanted attention. I couldn’t quite understand why it had such an effect on men. It drew them to me like alates to a fluorescent bulb. They all wanted to touch me; sometimes doing so without my consent. What exactly was wrong with me that made men stare endlessly? Why couldn’t I be straight as a pencil, narrow and athletic?”

Ladun, who was – at least in the book – the beauty standard personified, had been the recipient of unwanted male attention her whole life and started to resent her own body for the attention it garnered.

Damilare, in this way, presented a nuanced exploration of body image. She shows the contrasting experiences of those who feel marginalised for not conforming to traditional beauty standards – Temi – and those who feel objectified because they conform – Ladun.

Let’s give Ms. Writress her 10s, please.

Beauty in the Age of Likes

It’s safe to say that Instagram – and social media in general – strongly influenced Temi’s decision to “renovate” her booty.

“Time was not your friend; you needed to make the announcement quickly if you were to cash in on the new Easter discount you had seen on Instagram yesterday.”

Mind you, this “Easter discount” was for a BBL o.

It is well.

To her, it was simple. Sylvia was someone she knew, though mostly parasocially – so, of course, Temi trusted her – and the clinic she raved about was in Lekki, a wealthy suburb of Lagos, with a roster of celebrity clientele.

What could go wrong?

Temi spent the COVID-19 lockdown glued to social media, watching everything she could about the surgery, and as loneliness set in, she became more and more attached to the idea that getting her body done would elevate her above her problems.

The virtual world became Temi’s real one, and the opinions of people online began to matter even more than those of people around her.

“…the universe sent you a confirmation in the form of a viral TikTok video. In it, both male and female participants were asked which body part was most attractive to them.

Eighty percent said bumbum. “Breast will come when she gets pregnant. I choose bumbum””

Temi viewed being sexually desired/objecitifed as the goal. She didn’t care that it might be demeaning or offensive, she just wanted to be wanted.

Maybe this came from seeing how close her Dad was to Ladun before she left, or when she inexplicably started to lose her best friends, or all the bullying she faced.

Damilare did a good job of weaving one truth throughout Temi’s thoughts;

Temi felt “invisible”, and she really just wanted to feel important. This desire led her to believe that being wanted by others, even just sexually, would make her feel more seen.

Pressure pressure pressure

A comment from her aunt during her childhood sparked Temi’s self-consciousness about her body, and throughout the book, Temi is bullied for her figure.

(You see why you shouldn’t just be opening your mouth anyhow?)

Damilare does a good job at capturing how vicious Nigerian youth can be, and as with other negative themes in the book, it’s not explored so deeply that it’s majorly triggering.

“Who is that one with no bumbum?”

“Ahan ahn, why will someone use that girl as a backdrop?”

“Omo, bumbum is scarce.”

However, it accurately depicts the devastating impact bullying can have on people, leading to crushed self-esteem and a lot of self-doubt.

Everybody tell Temi “sorry”.

At ten she started to pad her pants with singlets, and by fifteen, she stopped wearing underwear altogether, believing that the unrestrained jiggle would make up for the fact that she was, in fact, without bumbum.

Boboola, one of Temi’s best friends at the time, certainly didn’t help matters by bowing to the pressure as well.

“Témì, are you serious? I took out a loan to do a Brazilian butt lift. It is the money my man gives me that I am using to pay it back. I am almost done with the repayments.”

Temi doesn’t outrightly acknowledge it, but her friend ghosting her and then reappearing with everything she wanted – a BBL and a man who loved her (despite his three wives) – made her understandably bitter towards the other girl.

Can you blame her?

All around her, it seemed like the world was moving on, and when it wasn’t, it was reminding her of her “inadequacy”, the feeling that she was not worthy or valued, unless she looked a certain way.

Final thoughts

Obviously, I don’t want to spoil the fun by revealing too much, but there are plenty of twists and turns, and some very fascinating character development and plot twists that I didn’t touch on.

At the end of the day, do I think you should read this book? If you’re looking for an easy, relatable read with many Laugh Out Loud moments, a main character who has a razor sharp mouth, and complex Nigerian aunties that hate each other? Then absolutely.

Plus, you get to find out why Ladun – Temi’s sister – left home, how Temi got the money for the surgery, if she did the surgery, and a bunch of other surprising family tea.

What it lacks in emotional depth, it certainly makes up for in captivating characters, comedic value and enjoyable prose.

Now, based on this review, we’ve come up with an index we think will be helpful if you struggle with issues similar to Temi’s.

Sometimes, you don’t feel enough, sometimes, the pressure gets to you, and most people feel that way once in a while – or a lot of the time too.

Acknowledging it and finding healthy ways to make yourself feel better are the next steps, so, let’s help with that.

The Beyond The Bumbum Index

Okay, so.

Have I successfully convinced you to read Only Big Bumbum Matters Tomorrow? If not, why? Don’t you trust my impeccable judgement and supreme tastes?

Also, on a more serious note, have you ever had issues accepting your body? What do you think your family would say if you told them you wanted to get a BBL?

You see that comment section under this? Use it, dear.