By Great Opara
It’s 3am on a cold tuesday morning. I’ve been awake for the last hour, while my room mates sleep, snore and fart on. I remain calm despite the various odours permeating the room, who am I to complain? There’s been a steady rise and fall of various sounds outside. It almost has a certain tempo to it, kinda like singing, mixed with crying coupled with screaming. I just assume some people are “praying” downstairs. It’s the safest assumption to make. Is nor like I’m gonna go check it out or anything, this isn’t one of those oyinbo films where everyone is a detective yunno?
I’ve been trying to coax this iron to work properly without burning my shirt for the last hour. No results. I’ll plead with it, we’ll strike a deal, all will be fine for a while, then the stupid thing will nw go back on it’s word and attempt to destroy the shirt. Breach of bloody Contract. *sigh* why do bad things happen to good people?
For the umpteenth time, I consider giving my clothes to the dry cleaner downstairs (dry cleaner o, Not ‘any wash’) and for the umpteenth time I strongly change my mind. There was a day I used someone’s white shirt hanging outside to clean my shoes. In my defence, the shirt did not look properly washed to begin with, but I don’t think Karma has time for excuses.
I finish ironing without any further damage to my clothes and I smile triumphantly. I consider going to the bathroom but, the “sounds” I heard earlier have not yet ceased. Don’t worry, I say to my spirit, we can hold it till morning:) As I climb back on my bed, 3 tiny things zoom past me. Tiny yet, too big to be mosquitoes. I attempt to refocus my aching eyes and they zoom past again. Shock registers in my mind. Adonbillivit! Flying bed bugs? These devilish pests have stolen wings? LOL that’s the “Jaja Spirit”. I slowly and calmly shut my eyes. This is probably just a bad dream.
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I got a new nickname today. Well actually, I gave it to myself but that’s not the point here. “GHOST” I just introduced myself as “Ghost” to a couple of girls in the lounge. Two of them just blushed and laughed. One of them gave me this “shey you’re not a mad person?” look. The last one immediately changed it to “willy-willy”. I’m not even bothered, it will catch on eventually. “Ghost” Dope shii:D
Today is the 42nd straight day I’ve gone without a bottle of coke or any other soft drink (poison) for that matter, and it feels good. In the beginning it was terrible, I was actually showing “withdrawal symptoms”, sweating and itching when I see any cold drink and all. But it’s better now, I have conquered the spirit of sugar and in future I shall give birth to healthy, bouncing baby boy quadruplets.
I have a date tonight with one mammy water like that. This girl is…dayuuum! Anyway, she invited me to her fellowship on campus and when I calmly explained to her that I do not go to church, her eyes lit up like banger during Christmas period. So, she’s coming out tonight to try to ‘convince’ me. Me and a beautiful church girl, chilling in a dark place at an ungodly hour? I wonder who’ll be doing the converting;)
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So, I decided to go home for the weekend. It’s been a while since I saw those people. My mum actually calls me at the end of each week and asks me if I’m gonna show face. You can’t blame her really, who wouldn’t wanna see their fine boy, last child:D
Thirty minutes into the ‘journey’ and I’m already regretting my actions. The Danfo is dirty, hot and painstakingly slow. I am of the opinion that our driver has taken this infamous ‘opa eyin’ mixture to help him “see clearly”. Cos there’s no other explanation for this shii. In 30 minutes he has almost gotten all of us killed at least nine times. Nine!
I begin to divide 30 by 9 and make other necessary calculations just to ensure that I know whether or not I’m actually gonna survive today. I’m wedged in between 2 yoruba women who are “overflowing with God’s blessing and grace”. In simpler terms, they’re Fat AF. One of them has been offering me a drink from her flask and winking at me since we began our journey. Lord! When I requested for a sugar mummy who had plenty to give away, this was not what I meant o.
Just when I’m sure things cannot get any worse. Our driver eases the Danfo into the thick of the traffic and kills the engine. All around us are vehicles of different shapes and sizes and the traffic jam seemingly has no end. I don’t really care, my ‘junction’ is just around the corner and after that I’m home free.
Two shots ring out in the dark night, followed by three more. It is undoubtedly a gun, or guns as the case may be. I turn back and through the rear glass smeared with dirt, I see some dark skinned, dark clothed figures running towards us. Interesting. I turn around and right before my eyes, our beloved Danfo is rapidly emptying. Even the fat woman to my left is gone. The glass window is also missing with her. Well, that explains it. I manage to make it outside and there, the race is truly on. Usain Bolt ain’t got nothing on these niggas.
One man is running and the wind is blowing his agbada back. He’s fighting against the force and flapping his ‘wings’. I almost expect to see him lift off the ground and fly to safety. These native attires are extremely useful is so many different ways.
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Home. The folks are extremely happy to see me. So happy that I decide not to tell them about my numerous encounters with death today. Before their mood will goan spoil now. The eba is steaming hot and the egusi soup is meat filled. I almost start to weep because…Joy.
The food is digesting well and I’m feeling relaxed. I attempt to gist and make small talk with my parents and this goes quite well. For a while. This CNN woman is going on and on about something and following the first sign of disinterest from my parents, I grab the remote and change the channel. Big mistake.
The first volley of hardcore and barely decipherable igbo comes from my mother and knocks me off course. Popsy quickly follows with some harsher words that cannot be repeated because of translation problems and legality issues. I’m too dumbfounded to even try to defend myself. As they’re winding down, momsy finishes me with,
” Just look at your big head. The only thing you know how to do is press phone and eat food. Mai frenn will you goan wash the plates. Nonsense”
East or west, home is the best.
Great Opara is…well, he’s Great, he likes to see himself as a peculiar, “tribeless” Nigerian. His hobbies include but are not limited to writing, eating, staring at his image in the mirror and talking to pretty females. Blessed with the gift of satire, this antisocial, introverted, unsung hero plans to use fiction to change the world. You can follow him on Twitter: @monsieur_ace
Great Opara.
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