Friends

A bottle of water sat on my table. I will sip this till my buddies arrive. The music blaring from the speaker makes my heart pound. One day I’ll understand how and why people love music loud. Across my table sits a man and a young lady. Excess bright red lipstick on her lips and she chews carelessly on a gum, a trademark of a certain profession. The man was rubbing his beards, said something to her and smiled. She rolled her eyes in an irritant way and took a sip from her lager. He winked at her and whispered something into her ears. She smiled broadly at him.

Emeka nudged me and sat beside me. ‘Guy, why na water you dey drink?’ he asked. ‘I no wan start action without you’ I replied. He twitched his nose at me and ordered for two drinks.

A few minutes later, Kola joined us. I can recall our undergraduate days, we were the coolest, and so we thought. The three musketeers we were.

Emeka has grown to be a modest man with a decent wife. We have tried severally to hook him up with a girl for a fling which has been unsuccessful. We think his wife has him pocketed whilst he thinks he loves his wife dearly. Today we’ll ensure he drinks more than two bottles so he returns home drunk. What are best friends for? He sees Kola and I as irresponsible.

I know Kola will die from a woman related death or live longer than Metusellah. He is an incurable womanizer. His new thirst for teenagers is appalling. The last time I visited him, while he saw me off, a tiny girl probably older than his daughter called him by his first name on the street. As an African man this is a mark of disrespect. He must have stooped so low for him to get this. The annoying part was that he smiled sheepishly and called the ‘mgbeke’ baby girl. I had to stroll away from them with a deep frown on my face. I won’t let anyone see me nor will I be associated with child abuse.

You don’t have to tell me I am the perfect amongst the three. I am not bragging when I say I have a balanced view of everything about life. I know when to get drunk. I know the limits of promiscuity. Any man that has this in control is the ideal man. I believe my friends think I have these in control, I know I don’t but what my friends think is what matters.

Emeka will always have something nice to say about his wife. He never speaks ill of her. The mark of a good husband but in his eyes there is emptiness. I can’t help but notice some flash of admiration when we leave him and flirt with the loose ladies. He won’t open up to us but we know there is something wrong. Though the boys in us want him to flirt around, the man in us wouldn’t want his marriage to crash.

Kola has a life literarily. The charm he used to win hearts of the most beautiful ladies in campus hasn’t left him totally. The peak of his career was when he met his match, a female version of him but the slight difference was Kemi wanted marriage at all cost. The result of the relationship is a daughter but no marriage. He convinces himself loudly that he’ll get married soon, but I don’t know if it’s to one of those ‘children’ he calls small chops.

I have the perfect life amongst us. So, I don’t hesitate to give invaluable advice. I know everything that needs to be known about relationship, marriage, dating, flings and women. Emeka especially needs to be tutored about bossing the home. He should know he is free to do what he likes. He can return home late; get drunk or order his wife like a slave. I can’t overemphasize these things to Emeka but he won’t learn.

While we chatted from politics to sports, I remembered I had to take permission from my wife to stay late at work for a few hours. I sweated profusely under the Air Conditioner as I struggled discretely to send a text message. I pray she doesn’t call back and hear the loud music from the speakers. Just about then, call from Ifeanyi came in. Oh! This Ijebu-Igbo boy again. ‘We dey Chikodi’ I screamed over the phone. He’ll come and shorten my ration. He never has money but he can finish a whole brewery if it’s free. Less than three minutes, he had already arrived. ‘Guys, I just come greet una. I no get money o’ he said. I hissed.

Emeka ordered two bottles for him. Shortly he received a call. ‘I dey with my padi, we dey chillex’. ‘No o, I no use am buy anything o’ he continued his conversation on phone. ‘Okay come collect am now’.

‘See the yeye boy. Na woman wan come collect money from him so o’ I muttered loudly.

At around 11:00pm we left. I forgot to send the message to my wife because of the call from Ifeanyi. I bought some groundnut and Tom-Tom from a Mallam by the road side. I still don’t know the story to tell this woman when I get home. I think I should call Kola. He can corroborate my story that we were at Emekas to settle a domestic dispute. If I don’t hide my imperfections, who will?

Oyingbo to Okokomaiko

In front of my wife’s mirror singing ‘wa gba control’ by W4 - a Nigerian artist. I love that part where I have to shout: “girl, you use me like a roll- on”. That’s the part I apply my deodorant (roll-on). The little guy who is whining stops to look up at me. I wink at him and he smiles. In addition to the deodorant or “prespirant” as i love to call it, I also bathed myself with some excess perfume - the journey to work is always long and sweaty and I still need to smell fresh when I get there.

It is better to board the long coaster buses that leave Oyingbo for Okokomaiko directly rather than take the small buses that stop at almost every bus-stop along the road. For those who ply this road daily, they know the cheapest and most sensible option is the long rickety coaster buses: Five people squeeze on a seat designed for four. The bus-conductors beg skinny people like me to sit with the plus-size women for this purpose. The half-empty or half-full buses are to be avoided because the comfortable seats would have already been taken. From experience, it is better to sit on the single seat closest to the exit or you sit up front with the driver. As for other seats, be ready for the worst. It is either you have dirty sacks of “ugwu” leaves shoved on your laps or your white shirt becomes stained by the sweaty and big upper arm of the “ugwu” traders. It seems and sounds unimaginable! It is however painfully so. Even with my concentrated smell of perfume, I get to work smelling of a perfume with a confusing mix of “okporoko” (stock fish) and “ugwu” leaves. There are also the front row seats which are not too tall-people friendly - they have to bend almost to the point of breaking in order to get to these seats. As for the “apoti” (bench) seats in the middle of each rows, not only do they have no back rest, the occupiers have to get up for anyone who wants to alight. Their clothes mostly end up getting stained by shoes of those alighting.

And there are the drug hawkers too. You will enjoy live testimonies and miracles about how a single drug cures almost all ailments. HIV and AIDS drugs are only available in these buses. There are also the stickers with the important messages for those who need them: “Cure for pile and Erectile Dysfunction”; “Magic ring from India”; “Get a job no matter your qualification” etc. Other voices to cheer you up also include the usual morning devotion by some commuters and the occasional cries of “enter with ya change” by the conductor or the agberos shouting at the conductors for loading fees with their breath smelling of “ogidigba”, “alomo”, “asianma” and “shepe”. Of course, the Fulani boys selling “Vicks” also amuses. Their effort at speaking “yoruba” is hilarious. Some of us end up buying Vicks even when we do not need it.

The conductor won't give me my change. I know it is because I look like “aje-butter” dressed up in a suit. At this point I remember the popular tweet “change can't be given to you. You must bring change”.

 You should know how it feels struggling for seats in a bus while dressed in suit. You must guard your pockets lest you lose your phone or wallet. The other option is to take off your jacket and tie at risk of getting your shirt stained. The same applies to when you are alighting. You must be vigilant!

Gbogbo er, o sanwo oo sanwo boole! (All passengers alight!). I still don't know why Lagosians rush down from a bus. The scene is like that of a bus on fire.

When The City Boy Visits The Village

The Stream

The stream was too open! There were some people doing it (answering the call of nature) in the open. Women were beautifully taking their bathes and others doing laundry. It was all beautiful but I could not join in. Not that I was bothered about hygiene. I was too shy to pull down my shorts. I could not fathom people looking at me while I let it out. The forest was the other option. My privacy was sure to be guaranteed there. Escorted by a cousin who is familiar with the terrain, I went to the forest armed with a paper and a cutlass. He chose a good spot for me to do it. After digging a hole with the cutlass, I emptied my full bowels. It was bliss! Fresh air gently soothing my bare buttocks, and a big fly buzzing around trying to perch on the goldmine. The paper came in handy. I swerve it around to swat the fly without success. I was not an expert in using paper to wipe - it is not as tender compared to tissue. I did not wipe well enough, I thought. I called on my cousin somewhere in the thicket also doing his thing. He told me the unimaginable, “use a leaf”. Oh! God! The cave men must have suffered. I felt worse and messier after using a leaf. I had also smeared my shirt in the process of getting the leaf. I felt like shit! All through my way home, my palms came up my nose a number of times. I could smell feaces.

The Food

Garden eggs! My cousin even told me how valuable it was in the household. Little wonder that it is cooked with the soup and serves as meat on our garri during week days. We tasted beef or chicken only on weekends and special days. I felt their parents are wicked – how can one eat carbohydrates with the assumption that garden egg is the protein supplement for the balanced meal. So, i knew it must be a great day when Uncle told us all to take a garden egg each from the basket for a nibble. You could see the joy in my cousins’ faces. That was my first time eating garden egg outside the soup. It tasted kind of sour. My cousin told me watch out for maggots. He joked that the maggots are very good for the body. I think he saw the odd look on my face when I took a bite. He grabbed it from me immediately. I had mistakenly picked up unripe tomato from the basket rather than garden egg.

Others

There were some other good experiences, we stoned down bats at nights; roasted cocoa yam in the wild - nothing beats the taste of cocoa yam and palm oil. I saw how garri was made – it tastes best when freshly made. I tasted some fruits which till today i do not know their names. I saw strangely colored birds. And yes, I killed my first snake; a tiny little creature probably a few days old. A great achievement that is compared to people who only have seen snakes only on TV.

So, when my mom came for a visit, she asked if i was going back home with her. My cousins were there, so I boldly said I was not, like a big boy. When I was alone with her, I confided in her; I could not hide my feelings. I wanted to go home badly. I missed the mattress. I wanted the water closet. I was tired of staying awake all night being scared of different insects flying around the only light bulb in the room.

When life throws you lemons…

It is obvious I'll go broke again before the middle of the month. I work 7am - 4pm teaching mathematics and computer education at an elementary school and also double as a Computer Operator for the school. With a meager salary the end of the month which is mostly inadequate to cater for my monthly expenses on feeding, accommodation and transport, I'm often incapacitated financially by the middle of the month. Survival is the main focus. Savings is simply out of the picture for now. In my bid to ensure the adequacy of this stipend till the month end and in a bid toward being prudent, i skip lunch. If you've being involved in teaching kids, you'll understand the importance of lunch. After an 8am - 12noon round of yelling and shouting, lunch is one of the things that help you keep your sanity for the next round. It's like the time-out in a boxing bout.

It's the third week of the month on a sunny afternoon. I have just finished teaching (three periods with different classes). While I was taking a break, worrying about my present financial predicament and battling well accustomed pangs of afternoon hunger, the boy walks in; 'Uncle, it is Jamiu o! He thief my biro', he shouted. "Not again!" I said to myself, "can't I just wallow in my worry without these children barging in". "Go and call me Jamiu" I told him calmly. Almost immediately, I could hear his scream from the other room, 'THEY are calling you'. He probably saw, animatedly 'worry' seated beside me, and thus he - 'worry' and I had called for Jamiu.

I'll have to buzz Gbenga as a reminder. He owes me a few thousand. I'll also chat Nonso. I'll beat around the bush a bit and hope I get the opportunity to ask him about the thousand naira he owes me.
'Uncle, uncle', one of the boys said tugging on the cuffs of my sleeves to bring me back to reality. Oh! I practically didn't know they were back and or if they had even presented their cases. Judging by the look on their faces, they were expecting my judgment. With no idea about what had transpired and not wanting to be bothered, I should just give one of them my pen to settle the rift. All of a sudden, an idea came up immediately in my thoughts. Why not take time to listen to their story. Perhaps this might cheer me up and I’ll stop bothering about my present financial predicaments and the hunger pangs. Even if this will last only for some moment. I'll have to call witnesses from their class.

Yes, I listened to the different versions of the same story and in the midst of listening I envied them. They have no real issues to worry about despite this seemingly important biro-theft incident. Nonetheless, to them it's a big issue more crucial than my economic predicament or even that of the nation. Soon, they'll grow and realize that 'thieving biro' is just comedy from all life will throw at us. I smiled for those few minutes and paid for their happiness with my pen.

The Office!

I open my mouth in awe when colleagues gist and joke about things that happened within the office walls. It has become a trend that when things happen, I am usually the last to know. The love triangles; the undying lust of the aged, these are some of code names I recently learnt for epic grapevine hot gists. I have myself to blame since I have chosen to focus only on the work alone thereby leaving little room to socialize.

When our prayer warrior cum cleaner connived with her pastor to help deliver the office from shackles of invisible demon dogs, I was the last to know. I was not even aware the devil binders who come in daily to pray got their pay after each session while my colleagues and I are told to hope and pray for the best at the end of each month. Imagine, this is the second month now with no pay. How do I tell the bus conductor to hope and pray? I am definitely treading a part that'll get me slapped or beaten.

The office drivers who complain and whine daily even have a more robust take home pay than I do. The essence of complaints about threats from their landlord or creditors is for people like us to help them financially. Sometimes with loans we never get back. It took awhile to comprehend that I was not the only one contributing to make their life a little more comfortable than mine.
While some of us fasted and prayed for salary to be regular, some fasted to trim down spending. If I had known that a cup of tea with a few spoons of cream and cookies does not nullify fasts, I would have sneaked to the kitchenette to do so like my boss who suggested the need to fast.

I got to realize that I was the black sheep of the office, along with 'longus' my tall friend. We never believed in the prayers. We opened our eyes, smiled and even 'YINMUed' at them. Surprisingly, when prayers got answered we were still told to hope for better days. We were practically expected to live on hope.

I was also the last to know that while my friend and I sabotaged the prayer sessions, the prayer warrior (our cleaner) had to organize extra prayer sessions along with the randy security man after office hours. The aggrieved driver who always had an eye for the cleaner gave me the steamy details. The cleaner would not show him a green light because he is married and most importantly, “he can't treat a woman right”. Need I say, she is the boss favourite. She shows more zeal during prayers than the rest of us.

I always have this smile on my face whenever I meet the cleaner. The smile says 'I know what you did'. Whenever she asks me the story behind my smile, I just respond by saying ' you saved the office with your prayers'.

Yes to homosexuality

I never expected any president of America in this new age of technological and scientific advancement (moral backwardness as well) to go against the touchy issue of homosexuality. I will not be surprised if developing countries and their leaders follow this trend as it is now a norm to make America or other western world’s our models in morality.

I have failed to adequately reconcile the relationship between rise in immorality and civilization. We have been made to believe that homosexuality which has a lenient name coined for it is a natural disposition from birth. Homosexuality is not a predisposition; it is a condition which results from hormonal imbalance or disturbed childhood. Traditionally or religiously it has no place. It is condemned by religions. Nonetheless, the agitators of this evil act term the religions or doctrines that condemn it as archaic. I heard about a gay pastor in the United States and I wonder what portion of the holy book he misrepresented to justify his evil beliefs.

I am sure some Africans will hail the recent decision of Obama supporting gays and lesbians. I do not expect wise people to seek approval or opinion of a public figure whose opinions are largely shaped to please the voting majority. We fail to realize that they are men like us and thus they are not infallible. They occupy positions of limelight in which most times their personal opinion may make or mar their political aspirations. Obama has been flip-flopping on this issue for some time and I was not surprised when some of his followers called his prolonged decision making as evolving.

And if by tomorrow my opinion is required about homosexuality, it will be shaped by my religion and seconded by my tradition. Does my opinion really matter even if I am contesting for a position? Does my singular opinion matter in a democratic environment where I know majority has the day? So if the majority like, by the year 2050 let them agree and legalize stealing and killing since it can be termed to be an orientation from birth and thus should be allowed in the constitution.

Between Belief and Unbelief

I guess the African superstitious traditional belief is one thing many cannot get out of their system. Most people of differing faiths are not true adherent of their religion because they still hold on tight to some traditional beliefs which have no basis in their religion.

Reasoning alone already nullifies some of these superstitions beliefs. Nonetheless, our fear of the unknown makes us slaves to these beliefs. How can one explain people who ought to know better concerning their religion yet they have more belief in fetishism.

A lot of folks do not even believe in their own prayers and neither do they believe in prayers from their religious heads, they prefer to be handed weird looking objects, miracle water or holy handkerchief. Their belief in this item clearly shows their unbelief in God.

So far, religion has been proven not to negate science and technology, rather religion attest to it. Thus, it is irrational to place our belief on talismans that have not been scientifically (medically) proved to be beneficial or have no remedial or healing power. Some look on to the crucifix which they hang on their neck or the rosaries which they count. To the best of my understanding, it’s our belief that makes the majority of these talisman works for us. It is absolutely not because they possess any power.

In conclusion, I will share the story of a mother who does so much house cleaning. She woke up very tired one morning while she has some cleaning to do. Psychologically she felt she was not strong enough for the days cleaning. Her little daughter was also whining so she had to pacify the girl with candies. She kept the remaining candies in her apron alongside her aspirin and resumed the cleaning. She got tired and dipped her hand into the apron to take some aspirin pills. She swallowed the pills ensuring she does not taste the bitterness. She completed the cleaning with so much energy bursting in her. While trying to wash the apron she noticed the aspirins. She had taken candies instead of aspirin and it worked for her.

All we need for our prayers to be answered is to believe. Fetish objects are facts that we do not truly believe in God to answer us.