When the Aba Women Said ‘Enough!’ and Took Down the Colonial Clowns

They tried to tax Nigerian market women. The women turned it into the biggest L of the century.

The Day the Aba Women Declared War on Stupidity

In the bustling heart of Aba, where the air hums with market banter and the smell of frying akara, a storm was brewing. It wasn’t the kind you could hide from under an umbrella — it was the kind that made history and left clueless men wondering where it all went wrong.

The Big Mistake

It was a sweltering Tuesday in 2024 when colonial administrators — suits wrinkled, brains emptier than a pot of burnt rice — decided to tax the market women. Their excuse? “For infrastructure and development.”

Infrastructure? The roads had potholes deep enough to swallow a goat.
Development? The only thing developing was everyone’s irritation.

Meet Mr. Harrison: The Human Embodiment of ‘Meh’

The colonial taxman, Mr. Harrison, waddled into the market, sweat dripping under his dusty bowler hat. He called a meeting, thinking he could sweet-talk the women. He thought wrong.

“Ladies,” Mr. Harrison said, voice wobbling like cold custard, “this tax will benefit you greatly.”

Enter Nwanyeruwa: The OG Problem-Solver

Front and center stood Nwanyeruwa — eyes sharp, wrapper tighter than his excuses.

“Benefit us how?” she asked, voice smooth and dangerous.

Mr. Harrison stammered, “Better services, improved—”

“Improved what? Your salary?” she shot back.

The crowd chuckled. The walls of colonial confidence cracked.

This History Reimagined story reminds us of “If Queen Amina Was A Gen Z Influencer“

And Boom, the Revolt Began

The women organized faster than your phone battery drains.

• Blockades: Bags of garri sealed off roads.
• Shutdowns: Stalls closed. Markets froze.
• Ultimatums: Delivered with the precision of CEOs.

The colonial officials were baffled. How could women — women! — dismantle their nonsense so easily?

Lawyers vs. Wrappers

They brought in lawyers with briefcases, thinking jargon would save them.

Nwanyeruwa adjusted her headwrap. “You can’t tax what you don’t own. And you don’t own us.”

The lawyers left defeated, mumbling about “unreasonable natives.” No, sir. The only unreasonable thing here was underestimating Nigerian women.

Victory Tastes Like Fried Akara

The colonial clowns caved. The tax was scrapped. Mr. Harrison slunk away, bowler hat drooping.

The women danced in the streets, wrappers twirling, laughter ringing like victory bells. They didn’t just win a battle — they sent a message:

Mess with Nigerian women, and you’ll lose. Every. Single. Time.

Moral of the Story?

Never test the patience of women who know how to balance market stalls, homes, and entire economies. You’ll lose your tax, your pride, and maybe even your beer supply.

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