No woman likes a clingy, insecure man. But that is what we Yorubas are becoming, a frightened, insecure and second-rate nation. So fearful that we can't even accept one of our own because his mother is Igbo.
There was a time when the word swagger was synonymous with the Yoruba. Reflecting self assurance and confidence. We exuded belief. The Igbos secretly admired us. They adopted our clothes and music. They flocked to our churches. 
We accommodated strangers because we were so sure of ourselves, of our standing in the world, our stature, our swag that we knew our guests were not a threat. Now all that has drained away. We are now like the insecure man who marries a pretty woman and is secretly consumed by self doubt, fearing he is not good enough for her, tracks her every movement, obsessively going through her phone, hates her male colleagues because he is petrified she will leave him for soneone better. Is this how low we have fallen that we now fear those we once used to regard as culturally inferior to us? We once said the Igbos could not dance, could not dress, lacked poise and polish, were not as read as us. Now we work ourselves into a frenzy about them taking over a Yoruba city hundreds of miles from the nearest hamlet in the South East.
