Recession. Trust me when I say I never knew the definition of recession until now. It simply means when the prices of goods and services deny the very law of gravity by going up and soaring higher.
As we all know we’re in the season of change that in fact there is no change. No jokes. I cannot go to Goodies supermarket to shop and leave with change. Just the other day I went in with 1k to just buy toiletries, yunno tissue paper, toothpaste, sanitary pads, wipes and all. Normally before “sai baba” brought change, I would get change of at least 300 naira after purchasing my toiletries. However, on this beautiful day, I was told with a happy smile on the attendant face that (now listen to this, maybe you’ll find it amusing too) “your purchase cost N995 only and there is no 5 naira change. Would you come back madam for your change?” Imagine, goodies is at Ikeja, my hostel is at Pako. So who is this girl kidding? I mean 5 naira is as useless to me as the shit of my grandfather’s fowls in his house at the village. It cannot even get me ordinary “pear water”! I just smiled and said keep the change.
Anywaysss that is not the issue for legal consideration here at all! The problem is that my pot of delicious jollof rice, chicken and fried plaintain is missing and I’m about to cause a national disturbance far more than boko haram ever caused or Nigeria has ever seen. This one go reach Aso rock wallahi tallahi!
How can I wake up at 3 am in the morning with a hungry and grumbling belly to prepare a delicacy with the foodstuff I bought with all my money yesterday, and then after sweating it out in the kitchenette to prepare the perfect dish that’ll last me for a week or two, I return from the rest room to meet nothing? My pot grew legs and walked away! Vanished! Can you imagine?
Uno when you wear something new, whether a dress or shoe, your self-esteem and confidence level gets boosted. Now in my case, that is made possible with good food. Not just confidence o but my brain capacity, I swear. All those people that tell you not eat before going for a paper, they are what I call EOP. Ask your Igbo friend what that means. The painful part is I have a frigging test tomorrow afternoon and somebody wants me to fail. tufiakwa! The devil is a liar.
So right now, I’m going to trace the smell of my tantalizing jollof. Ah! I swear on my gateman dead father’s grave that if I find this thief, she’ll regret that she was born and her parents didn’t use a condom instead.
Wait wait! I can smell something like my jollof in my neighbour’s room. I open the door and turn on the light
“who is that?!, Jesus!”
“no its not Jesus it’s just me and I’m looking for my pot of jollof”
“are you okay? At what time? please turn off the light and go there’s no jollof here. Fuck!”
“Ahhh wohi doing this one sef”, I said. In my mind. This geh resemble one big gorilla I saw on tv one time. Physically and in size also, and me I’m just a mosquito beside her. So I cannot talk like that. I have to respeck her size. I close the door and walk sadly back to my room.
As I lie down in my misery hoping for sleep despite my hunger, just like Arya Stark in Game of thrones, I begin to name the people that I must kill.
“Iya Fati, my step mother, land law lecturer, the skeleton and bleached porter, the gala man that ran with my change, Vic O, my gorilla neighbour, my pot of jollof thief.”
Published by Hosanna William-Adusa the 1st and Great. Great Opara