AUSTERITY MEASURES ET AL
Dear Davy Jones, when do you know the holiday is getting too long? When you don’t seem to do anything right. I can feel it. My time is up.
Dear Davy Jones, It has started oh. Lesson no.1 – Moin-moin is cooked by steaming. Don’t ever, ever, use a pot whose cover can’t trap in the steam otherwise your mum will tell you how ‘useful’ you really are. Trust me, you don’t want to know.
Dear Davy Jones, Lesson no. 2 – when your mum comes into your room and sits on your bed, holding your hand and telling you deep stuffs, your childhood is over. You have to start acting like an adult. Otherwise, your conversation with your parents will end with statements like, ‘He who pays the piper dictates the tune’
Basically, things have gotten really bad. Dad has some outstanding loans – the devaluation of the naira didn’t help. Mum got suaved by one of her cotonou girls. Things are bad. Family issues, and mum told me all about it. We are kinda broke – actually we are broke which brings me to what I did wrong. So I heard hostel balloting had begun, for final year and freshers. Normally, I collect Emerald money from my dad, but I use it to pay the rent of the self contain I share with Kelechi – my bestfriend. So, in this day of austerity measures, my only offence was to ask for the normal emerald money. My mum asked, inter alia, if I was born prematurely – if you were so insulted in Yoruba, you would understand the gravity of such. My dad’s advice was to wait for balloting and that the decision was final as he who pays the piper…
I am thinking of a way to tell Kelechi…
Dear Davy Jones, It is on… Lesson no. 3 – Be careful about errands you were never expressly sent on… If badly executed, they have the domino effect. Your dad may be like, ‘For God’s sake, you are a professional, dress like one. No daughter of mine will traipse the streets of Lagos looking like a drag queen. What is the point of having your mother go shopping with you?’
So, the retarded lg guys – those ones that clean the gutter – packed refuse out of our gutter and refused to pack it up. Three heaps of refuse since forever in front of my house. Then some smart asses turned the front of my house to a lawma truck, dumping things when they thought no one was looking. This evening, I got into my knickers – more like bum shots – and started bagging the refuse. It took longer than expected. Dad came back and shot me the what-are-you-wearing-look. Mum berated me for spending the whole day doing lawma work. No gratitude. Went to bed grumpy.
Dear Davy Jones, I had my respite today. Thank God. I have been walking on eggshells around everyone. I talked to kelechi. She didn’t believe me when I said I just wanted to experience hostel life. I don’t blame her. I don’t believe me either. Austerity measures.
Dear Davy Jones, I wasn’t so lucky today. This brings us to lesson no. 4a – when making Amala, allow the water boil first. When you start adding the flour, continuously turn the stick in quick firm strokes. Don’t ever stop to fiddle with your phone or check an incoming chat. Ever. Other wise the whole family will eat lumps with efo riro and everybody will comment on how you will be a disaster as a wife. Lesson no 4b – when frustrated, think before you talk. That way you do not end up calling your younger brother ‘a loser with a fine face’ at the top of your voice. That was beastly.
School has finally resumed. *dancing shoki* can’t wait. I am tired of home.
Let me tell you a secret -_-
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