I like this prompt because paying it forward just happened to me today, out of the blues. Whilst going through posts on my reader, a little note popped up and I saw this comment:
Congratulations to JACQUELINE who is the Giveaway Friday winner!!!!!! 😀😀😀
With the most comments on alocovivavoce.com, Jacqueline has emerged the winner of Giveaway Friday for the month of September 2015. Congratulations Jacqueline!
As a special prize, Jacqueline gets one of the following:
A 2000 (two thousand) naira recharge card of any network of your choice.
Or
A promotion of anything of your choice on alocovivavoce.com. Whether a product, service, idea or writeup, just let me know whatever you choose to promote and I would be at your service.
So once again, congratulations Jacqueline for being the top commenter for September 2015.
Sincerely speaking, I was quite surprised. I thought it was spam. Then I saw the name of the blog that it came from, so I gingerly clicked on it, reminding myself that April fools day had come and gone.
Anyways, I decided to play along and Viola! It is real. Now that certainly put a very big smile on my face 🙂
My initial thought was to ask her to promote my blog, but a little voice whispered to me: “you have received some pleasure and delight from this warm gesture, so why not put a smile on the face of another unsuspecting person” and I decided to go with the voice, so I responded to A Loco Viva Voce:
Goodness gracious me! This is a very pleasant and warming surprise. Not expected in the least and that is what makes it extremely lovely and appreciated.
My dear lady, thank you from the depth of me. This is such a heartwarming gesture. How I wish I could claim the recharge card, but since I am not in Nigeria it’s okay.
Better still, I can pay it forward and bless someone else over there with the recharge card.
Please let me know what you think and once again, thank you. God Bless
She came back with the response that it’s fine to send the gift of the recharge card forward to another recipient 🙂
So there you have it! Easily done and all in a days job 🙂
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Out of Reach.”
Frankly speaking, as the days go by; which by the way is turning out to be one of my favourite statements, I have no regrets about Ex’s that have been left behind!
They came into my life at the point in time that they should have and we moved on at the juncture when the show was over and their time was up to move on. Not all relationships are meant to last forever even when they were absolutely delicious. Nothing in life has permanence!
In my opinion, no place is out of reach to travel to if you want to and set your mind to. It is all in one’s perspective! One place that I visited and stayed for a while and wanted to stay longer than I was entitled to was Geneva – Switzerland. I fell in love with that city; its mix of ancient and modern. No Swiss gentleman was forthcoming to sweep me off my feet and other things in life were beckoning to me, so I had to journey forth 🙂
I don’t believe in dwelling on a past that is out of reach and done with. Thus, I don’t bother looking back at things that are not in my ability to resolve. Minor skirmishes with loved ones, where I need to apologize and make amends, I do that as swiftly as possible and try to mend fences.
I would rather continue my transformation by expending positive energy in creating better moments in the NOW. Moments that would translate to a better tomorrow when it arrives!
Yesterday is gone!
Today is now!
Tomorrow does not lie in my hands and will take care of itself!
Nagging painful pangs wake her from sleep. It is still a week to the Expected Delivery Date (EDD) but she knows that it is time. A cursory glance at the half parted window curtains shows the pale orange hew of the rising Sun. The day has dawned and it seems like it will be an interesting day.
The contorting of her stomach compels her to tap Desmond on the shoulders in an attempt to wake him up. He hardly rouses. He sleeps so deeply that wild horses would enter the room and take the bed under him and he would sleep through it all, she thinks to herself.
“Desmond!” “Wake up!” She orders loudly; wishing that she has a bell to peal close to his ears.
He grunts, snuffles and rolls over to his left side.
“Desmond!” “Desmond!” “We have to get to the hospital, right now!” “Except you want me to have the baby here in bed, you need to wake up.”
That magic word baby! His eyes quickly fly open, the cobwebs of sleep recede fast as his scrambling thoughts quickly process the information.
“Baby, as in baby?” “Right now?” His eyes fly to her contorting belly in stupefaction.
“Yes baeeby, dear.” “I think we are having the baby today.” “No more false alarms this time.”
He gathers his wits and quickly jumps into a pair of jeans, throws on a shirt, a hasty mouth wash and helps Debbie to the car.
She walks funny and sluggishly. Her belly feels like it is being ravaged from inside out and her stiff lower back, as if an ill-fitting screw is being tightened into it in slow degrees. She is panting and trying to keep calm, but this is her first baby and all the lessons taught in the birthing class fly out of the window.
They manage to get to the car, without baby popping out when Desmond realizes that he doesn’t have the keys and rushes back inside to pick it up. It is a good thing that they place a stick-on hook on the cabinet in plain sight. Too many times of searching for the keys have been reduced and less gray hairs sprouted!
He spy’s the cute new baby bag that Debbie has put together with things that she wants to take to the hospital still sitting by the new cot and grabs it, rushing out to his doubled-over Mrs. who was looking quite red in the face and growing waspish by the minute.
It is a hair-raising and palm sweaty drive to the hospital, the early morning work rush and the frequent traffic stops are not helping matters along.
”Honey, try the Lamaze breathing” he suggests, tapping his fingers on the wheel as he counts the minutes for the light to turn green; it wouldn’t do to run a red light, he had nearly run a red light at the other junction.
“And just what to you think I am doing?” ”Practicing my ballet steps?” She snaps at him.
The sudden rush of warm fluid down her thighs, her exclamation, growing pants and whimpering all turn Desmond’s stomach. He feels like using the loo all of a sudden, however, spying the hospitals cross a few meters across the road, calms him down a notch.
Hopefully, the hospital will be ready for them. He had remembered to place a call to Debbie’s Obstetrician.
A quick dash to the reception and with the help of waiting attendants, they are whisked to the labour room. A quick examination and a disappointing observation. “You are 3cm’s dilated.” “You should be ready in a couple of hours” the mid-wife intoned. She sets up of an IV line and a heart rate monitor.
The hours are crawling. Debbie is almost hyperventilating. The pain has grown hydra-heads and the waves of doubling contractions are like the twist of a hot rod. She now wishes that she had opted for an Epidural instead of satisfying her desire for a natural birth.
No one had explained precisely that it would be this excruciatingly painful and so mind numbing, that she begins to see pin points of white light zooming in and out of her pain riddled brain and Desmond is driving her crazy with his placating words.
At a point, she wants to jump off the birthing bed and run away. As if her running would leave the pain behind.
“Bend you legs and breathe deeply” Debbie, “Let’s see how things are getting along” the OB/GYN directs. A quick swipe with sterilized swabs, some pokes and prods and he expresses a satisfaction that things are moving along rather well.
You are 7cm dilated. Almost there! Almost there! Just hang in. The baby should be coming within the hour or so, he pronounces.
The back rub helps and annoys her at the same time, the poor dear Desmond is trying but nothing seems satisfactory at the moment. She wants him there but not standing on her last nerve.
Her short, smart bob is now damp. The tendrils hang in lanky strings like limp noodles. The herculean effort not to scream her head off can no longer be contained as the desire to bear down and push grips her.
A flurry of organized movement, the OB/GYN utters words of caution and encouragement not to push so that the cord around the babies neck can be gently disengaged to avert the danger of choking her wind pipes. Seconds, minutes tick past in a blurry, a surgical episiotomy cut…. at last, with that big push and heave of the uterine muscles, the hardworking baby slides out of her mom heads first, in a slippery bath of amniotic fluid and blood.
The squalling perfect cherub is placed on her mothers semi-concave belly. A crying and laughing mommy, a dewy eyed proud daddy admire the sweet red-faced bundle that nature just gifted them.
They sigh in gratitude, pleasure and relief.
“She is ours,” Desmond whispers in utter amazement. “Our Mary-Louise” – the combined names of the little one’s grannies.
It’s been an exciting, hardworking nine hours since dawn.
Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
In fulfillment of Writing 101- Day 14 Assignment: Recreate a Single Day
This award is in recognition of blogs that share positivity in the blogging community.
As the saying ”three times a charm goes,” in that spirit, I humbly accept all three nominations and merge the rays so that I can leave some fingers of some Sun shine for other friends of mine 🙂
In my native land, when a person wishes that the Sun will shine on you, they project Life, Prosperity and Brightness in your life. The spoken word bears a lot of weight on our lives even when we fail to realize it. In deed, the power of life and death lies in our tongues. When you lift up your face to the rising Sun, may the shadows fall behind.
A big thank you to my nominator blog-some friends. Do take a little while and visit their virtual corners.
The Rules:
Thank the person/people who nominated you
Answer the eleven questions from your nominator(s), in this case 32 questions.
Nominate eleven other bloggers and give them eleven questions to answer
The merged questions: 30 in all
Where is your favourite place you have lived?
Ans: I have lived in so many places, briefly and lengthy. From the Eastern part of Nigeria to the Middle Belt, North and West in my growing up years. Stints in Europe and migrating to the US. I presently live in Dubai – United Arab Emirates, but in the innermost part of my heart, my favorite place is the place of my childhood. A small University community known as The University of Nigeria Nsukka. It was a childhood of dreams; a place, where it took a community to raise a child.
If you could change one thing what would it be?
Ans: The fact that I didn’t start writing seriously earlier than now!
What is your favourite childhood memory?
Ans: Christmas in the village 🙂
What is your dream job?
Ans: My aspirations have changed over time and snowballed back to my passion and first love which is writing. It’s time to take it to higher grounds.
What was your best subject at school?
Ans: English, History and Literature.
Do you prefer to live in the country or the city?
Ans: I love both places and since I am living right now in a major city, it is better to be in love with it.
If you were stranded on a desert island which celebrity would you take with you?
Ans: I am not so much into celebrities but I could live with Oprah. I love the wisdom that she shares.
Everyone has a song that makes them want to dance, what is yours?
Ans: It is almost common knowledge that I will dance to anything called music apart from the cat’s noise.
Favourite colour?
Ans: I love them in splashes. Not fair to make me choose but there is something about orange and white.
Do you prefer camping, caravaning or staying in motels?
Ans: The thought of marauding snakes has made me not to enjoy camping; even when I was in the girls guide. Now, I would settle for the comfort of a decent motel. There must be a writing table in the corner.
How many different careers have you had?
Ans: Five
Name one aspect of yourself that you would consider quirky/odd/amusing/weird.
Ans: I cry over silly things.
What do you do to relax/unwind.
Ans: Reading, writing, dancing or lounging by the poolside, playing with my kids, people watching…..
Name one thing that is vital to your daily routine.
Ans: Writing things down and praying.
How many posts do you have in your drafts?
Ans: Fourteen posts.
Regarding blogging: are you…a) obsessed – you would be embarrassed to add up the hours you spend reading, writing, commenting etc. You also sneak a peek at WordPress while you are at work.
b) intermediate – there are moments when you can’t leave the screen, but there are also times when you don’t look at it for days.
c) you write your post and leave.
Ans: I think I am a B. I have been able to have a successful one week without looking at it.
The blogosphere is most often read through:
Ans: On my laptop.
Name one possession you covet – something that if your children/friends/family wish to touch, you hover over them protectively, watching them to make sure they handle it delicately, if you allow them to handle it all.
Ans: Nothing. My wedding rings, maybe? Oh yes! My laptop too! 😉
Name something that you read, or do, that you feel enhances your personal growth.
Ans: Asides from my Bible, lots of motivational books from different authors.
Since I enjoyed answering this question…If you could channel your soul into an animal, what would it be and why?Ans: An Eagle or a Panther
Ans: An Eagle. I would soar high and free. I would visit so many places and see so many things.
Who are your favorite published authors?
Ans: There are loads of them and more are joining the list. I am currently enjoying Marian Keyes.
What did you want to grow up to accomplish in your life?
Ans: Sincerely speaking, I am still growing up and learning new things. However, leaving my footprints in the sands of life through my writing, mentoring and life coaching would be my greatest accomplishments.
What is your favorite holiday and why?
Ans: A holiday at Emirates Palace Hotel in Abu Dhabi combined with Burj Al Arab in Dubai. It was pure decadence.
If you got to choose your last meal in life, what would it be?
Ans: A very large greasy steak, with mashed potatoes and a glass of Veuve Cliquot, to send me off.
What is your favorite temperature? Mine is negative 30 degrees Fahrenheit.
Ans: 30 degrees sounds fine to me.
Introvert or Extrovert?
Ans: I am a blend of the two. An introverted extrovert 🙂
What about yourself would you change if you could?
Ans: Stop eating too many sweet things.
What scares you the most? Claustrophobic, myself. That and I hate needles.
Ans: Snakes. I don’t mind being cooped in as long as I have a good supply of good reads and a jotter + Food
Why do you blog?
Ans: So that I can meet people like you. So that I can share my thoughts
Who is your favorite musician?
Ans: Women of Faith, Dido, Bob Marley, Whitney Houston, Celine Dion, Nigerian Musicians: It is a very long list.
Describe a time when you quickly switched from feeling at the top of the world to sinking all the way down (or vice versa). Did you learn anything about yourself in the process?
Despite conscious efforts not to be a depressing wet blanket, to maintain a sunny and optimistic outlook in life, there are times when life throws you sucker punches that leaves you gasping for breath and almost asphyxiated. You are left grappling at anything that will keep you from sinking down the bog that is eager and willing to swallow you whole greedily.
I can think of personal events that hit me in the solar plexus and dragged me from high to rock bottom.
I hate to pull out the tissue box, but I have also learnt that talking about these things, helps to heal gaping wounds.
The loss of my preemie baby.
2 consecutive miscarriages.
The loss of my dad.
A car accident that took the life of a young man. I was the driver!
Without expending a lot of adjectives and flowery prose, losing a baby or even a pregnancy plunges one from the delight of expectancy to nothing… to the pits of despair, hopelessness, anger, sadness, and a multitude of emotions that I can barely define. I leave the rest for you to imagine.
Hearing placating words during such occurrence was barely sufficient if not upsetting. I remember when I suddenly lost my 28 week old baby, and a friend said to me “don’t worry, another baby will come” all I asked was whether a child is a replaceable item like furniture?
My dad’s passing was not a sudden event. It was a painful, grueling battle with cancer and it was not the best of times. Watching the strong man whom I loved so much bowed down by a vicious ailment which left him the ‘sufferer’ and those around him stricken beyond words is not something that I would wish anyone.
We fought like Tigers, but we were left beaten, bruised, bloodied and we lost. Knowing that he was ill did not make the pain any less. My sole joy is that I can honestly testify that my late dad was a good, gentle and upright soul. I will always miss him.
Another event that struck like a bolt of lightning out of the blues was a car accident that I was involved in. You might want to read this A letter to the young man that died. That saying, that a split second can change everything about someone’s life remains true.
I did not come away from these experiences empty handed. I have learnt and still learning to live in the moment and appreciate it. That I can be strong when there is no other choice and not to take anyone or anything for granted.
My biggest lesson so far has been a spiritual journey in Trusting, Believing, and having Faith in God. He has been my source of strength, sanity and boundless peace during these stormy times.
If per chance sharing my experience (that it is possible for someone to rise from the shadowy doldrums to face the light) serves as a source of inspiration and hope for anyone, then something positive would have been achieved.
Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
P.S. No more soppy prompts please. I am out of tissue box. Thank you 😉
A dash into a six lane highway in pursuit of something that no one could tell, cost both of us so much.
They called it an accident, yet my spirit has grieved for long and the incident replays itself over and over in slow motion in my head. The screech and skid of the tires, the spinning and the abyss of blackness…
You died! How I came out of that vehicle with just a few scrapes was by the Mercy of God. I felt that I should have been more hurt than I was. The months that followed were extremely hard and it has taken a lot of Grace to forgive myself.
I always ask myself these rhetorical questions:
What was pursuing you or what were you pursuing?
What if I had left a tad earlier that day, would that have made a difference or would someone else be saddled with this burden of guilt?
Should I blame the Local Government for not installing pedestrian crossings on a highway; where it shouldn’t be?
Should I blame your foolhardy self for dashing into a six lane express by 10:30 in the morning?
Should I blame fate for putting me in your path and reconcile that it was meant to be?
I don’t drink, neither do I do drugs, so blaming intoxication is even out of the question!
My heart bleeds every moment that I think of this.
Every time that I wonder if you are okay where you are? If you ever had the chance to make peace with your God?
You were in your late 20’s and I wonder what dreams you had for the future; if any at all?
You have forever changed my perspective about life.
I guess I will never know the answers to my questions, but this I know for sure;
An assortment of okada, keke, and several kabu’kabu/taxi’s, park lackadaisically on the hard-packed earthen kerb, beside the gutter that Mama Put used as her frontage. This is a busy corner of the road side, which teems with human traffic.
Mama Put’s shack is brimming with customers going in and coming out. Some still have their toothpicks in-between their teeth, sucking in air, in an attempt to dislodge a tiny morsel that had stolen into a gap, whilst some insert a finger in their mouths, using it as a wrench to pluck out remnants of chewed meat.
Lunch time is one of Mama’s busiest period. These rushed gathering of men jostle each other for space on the worn wooden benches and the few mismatched plastic chairs inside the crowded shambolic tent of the popular buka.
The men are taking a proper break from the morning rush. Most times they leave their homes on empty stomach as early as 5:00am for the quick business turnaround of taking passengers to their places of work and trade. Leaving early not only helps to put more money in their pockets, but it is also a means of beating the unbelievable go-slow which builds up as early as 6:30 in the morning.
Hasty gobbles of soft Agege bread, slathered with blue band butter chased down with hot tea from the local Mai shayi, serves as a respite till lunch time. On days when there is a lag between passengers, then it could be a quick meal of hot fried akara balls and ogi or kunu.
Hot Akara Balls
From 6.00am in the morning till she closes shop in the evening, Mama Put’s domain is a place of systematic chaos. She endeavors to start early to cater to her early bird customers and it was not a strange sight to see a flashy car or two with a customer carrying a food warmer to make purchase and eat in the comfort of their office, shop or home.
Her rivals spread snippets of malicious gossip that mama uses spiritual powers to keep her customers enraptured, but these back talks neither stopped her nor did it deter her customers. Nkoyo – Mama Put’s real name – could cook. Her food is always tasty, fresh and her demeanor pleasant.
The men look forward to their lunch. It is a place of camaraderie; a place you need to be, to keep abreast with the goings on in the vicinity. Heads crowd the steaming pots of jollof and dodo, white rice and stew, porridge beans and yam; each customer making their request and pointing out their particular choice of a piece of assorted meat or fish, whilst those who waited on the next round of pounded yam straddled their benches and engaged in idle chatter.
As they crowd the eating arena, an overpowering smell of dried human perspiration clings to the air, mingling with the divergent aroma wafting from pots of food and this creates a unique smell in itself.
The deep hums of their voices rhyme with the kpom, kpom, kpom beat of the pestle and the mortar at the back of the tent where a young lad mashes the boiled yam – which occasionally mingles with beads of his sweat – into softer lumps for swallowing with native soup. Pounded yam is a heavy meal appreciated by the hardworking men. It kept the hunger pangs at bay for hours on end.
Pounded Yam
Over their hot plates of food, their loud voices compete to regale each other with anecdotes of the days events. Of cantankerous, corrupt officials who dot every few meters of the road, casing the riders and extorting money from them. Sometimes, it would be the story of an irksome passenger or a tussle with another rider. They argue over football, a division of thoughts depending on the persons Premier League of support and their gist’s are often interspersed with ribald jokes. They talk politics, share their opinionated advise about women, touching on this and that.
“Ha!” “Mama, na wa o!” exclaims a stocky regular. This poundo fit belleful person so? E small o, he carries on talking as he receives his plate of pounded yam and afang soup.
Mama generously cuts a little extra portion and adds to the lumpy mound on his plate.
A beg give me pure water, another customer known as Sadiq requests.
Mercy, one of Mama’s kitchen girl heeds his request and ambles over with a cold sachet of pure water, which is kept cool with the ice blocks purchased from the ice block supplier.
Sadiq, calls her “my wife, my wife”, pats her ample waist and Mercy giggles as she steps away to answer another customer.
Jollof Rice and Dodo
It’s a typical selling day and nothing is amiss until a customer rushes in, breathless with news of calamity. A demolition order from the new local government chairman is taking place. Makeshift stalls, shacks and all are being callously pulled down. They say it is to make way for modern stalls that Mr. Chairman wants to construct and sell or rent to the highest bidders.
Grumbling of mistreatment of poor masses in the hands of elected officials ensues. The men disperse quickly in order not to be caught in the backlash and have their properties impounded, as the rumble of the crushing Bulldozer is heard chugging it’s way slowly and surely, leaving destruction, tears and anguish in its wake.
Mama flounders as they hasten to gather crockery, aluminum pots, pans and other items that they can move quickly. Her thoughts are scattered to the four winds as she glumly watches her modest enterprise bulldozed to the ground. Tears leak out of her gritty eyes, rolling down her face unashamedly. She is caught in a wave of abject despondency.
Her sweat and efforts of many hard months fast turn into a crumpled heap of rubbish. It has taken so much to get to this point. To get to a point where she had a steady stream of customers and feasible income. Her family existed from hand to mouth; from the sweat of her brows and thoughts of her children, Uduak and Kufre’s school fees which is due in a couple of weeks cause more tears to well and brim over.
The bitterness of her situation pools and curdles her spirit. She rails and rants in anger, her vitriolic emotions overflowing its bounds. Her life has been a deep struggle; from one point to the other, that it sometimes feels as if the current sweeping her is too strong for her to keep her head up.
“Where will I start from?” Nkoyo mutters to no one in particular.
“How will I now catch up with my book me down customers?” She ponders fleetingly?
The vote she that she cast for the imbecilic Chairman a thought to regret and hiss over.
For as long as she can remember, she pays the local government touts protection money in cash and with free plates of food too. They extorted sums of pin money with promises that her space will always be maintained. She even contributed when all the vendors were approached to add their meager support to the Chairman’s campaign kitty.
Now that trouble had come calling, where were they to flex their lying muscles? Where were the thieving local government officials and their area boys? The Area fathers have slunk away like sly foxes with their tails tucked in-between their legs.
Nkoyo sits on an overturned mortar beside the rubble in weariness, her ambitions of expanding her business callously truncated. Her leaden legs are too tired to carry her home.
Glossary for words in italics that you may not know:
Afang soup: A vegetable soup originating from the South Eastern part of Nigeria – Cross River states.
Agege bread: A very popular low class bread baked in Lagos and favored by laborers. Usually very soft and eaten with so many variations of items e.g eggs, beans, bean cakes, etc
Akara: Bean cakes made from peeled black eyed peas and fried in hot oil.
Area boys/fathers: These are loosely organized gangs of young men, who roam the streets of Lagos. They extort money from passers-by, act as informal security guards, and perform other “odd jobs” in return for compensation.
Book me down: Customers who purchase food on credit and keep an account with the food vendor.
Buka: Local food canteen a step below restaurants. Food cheaper than the restaurants.
Dodo: Fried ripe plantain
Go slow: Slow crawling traffic
Jollof: A popular meal eaten in most West African homes, a one-pot meal made with fried tomato and pepper stew, rice, meat and spices
Keke: Tricycles
Kabu’kabu: Shared taxi
Kpom, kpom: Typical sound made from pounding.
Kunu: Popular drink consumed throughout Nigeria but mostly in the North. Made out of millet or sorghum
Mama Put: Road side food seller so called because her customers are known to beg for extra food for their plates ”mama abeg put more now”
Mai Shayi: Road side hot tea sellers
Na wa o: Exclamation which expresses so many things such as surprise, woe, you don’t say etc
Ogi: Liquefied maize meal which is thickened with hot water and sweetened with sugar and/or milk.
Okada: Commercial motorcycle used as vehicle for hire in Nigeria.
Pure Water: Water bagged in disposable sachets.
This poundo fit belleful person so?: Will this pounded yam fill me up?
I woke up startled by a scraping, sharp and niggling sound. It was that kind of sound that pierced and annoyed your eardrums. It’s persistence had managed to penetrate my sleep cocooned brain and I was forced to crank my eyes open, lying in the dark to listen.
No, it was not a pesky mosquito – the can of fleet that I bought had taken care of them. I spent a fraction of my meager monthly income for the purchase of cans of fleets which I rationed consciously in order to get good mileage for my money.
Neither was it a furry friend scouting for something to nibble. My apartment was so pauperized that I am sure even the rats knew I was poor.
The night was balmy and as was the tradition, there was no power supply whatsoever. I was practically spending a small fortune on those mosquito coils and fleets because I hated mosquito nets – they made me feel claustrophobic.
I had to diligently keep the single window of my one room shut in order to keep out the buzzing nuisance and in the evenings when I got back from work, I took a double insurance of spraying my room, just in case one recalcitrant mosquito had managed to sneak in. Those things could make a life miserable at nights you know; I’d rather they bit me, than buzz in my ears.
Well, I was glad that my situation would take a turn for the better in a couple of days. With my pay check, I planned to buy a small “I better pass my neighbor” TIGER generator. At least that would power my ceiling fan to keep me cool on steamy nights such as this, as well as disorientate the propellers of the mosquitoes. I had been saving for quite some time and the thought of progress was exciting.
What is that infernal noise? I wondered to myself. The niggling noise had gone up by several notches and was now accompanied by husky whispers of unknown voices.
My curiosity was piqued. In my state of semi-nudity, I tip-toed to my iron barred window to take a peek out of my window which faced the dirt road of our street. It was those neighborhood hooligans. Those bad boys spent their nights awake and robbing people of their hard-earned meager properties.
This time around the object of their attraction was my neighbor’s newly acquired old Golf GTI. It was not even qualified to be called a ”Tokunbo” and Bob was probably the 22nd owner of that vehicle. It looked as if it had survived some shifty and dodgy Colombian drug runs before making its way to my neck of the woods in Mushin, Lagos.
I knew how proud Bob was of his new possession. We had ”washedit’‘ with some goat meat pepper soup and swirls of beer at IyaBose’sbeer parlour, whilst listening to Bob regale us with tales of his escapades with the small, small girls in the vicinity. He could hardly wait to wow them with his ride.
In all fairness to him, he had tried to tush the ride up a bit. He had put in a fairly used car stereo which he purchased at a mechanic’s workshop, blasting music to the high heavens to announce his pompous entrance. The reams of the cars misaligned tires were covered by shiny wheel covers; I presumed that he bought them from the man under the junction bridge who sold a bit of every piece of nuts and bolts imaginable – I always wondered how he obtained such a stash. Rumors had it that if your car parts were missing, you simply had to go to him and buy them back bit by bit.
Bob said he was going to spray paint his car pretty soon and it will turn into a new car. By no means was I jealous of his success. I also had my own plans. After buying my generator, I planned to buy a small television, then a table top refrigerator before looking for my own four wheels.
By my projections, if I eliminated too many visits to the local bukka’saround and prepared my own meals on my kerosene stove, maybe, I would save faster. My savings coupled with my winnings from Baba Ijebu– by the way, I was so close to winning handsomely last week – would see better things flowing my way.
After observing the hoodlums for a bit, I decided to be neighborly about things. After all, I just couldn’t lie down cowardly and watch those crooked boys strip Bob’s car down to its bare bones. I decided to raise some alarm, using the hard end of my umbrella, which was the only weapon that I had, to rap against the iron bars and at least let them know that they were being observed, hoping that would deter them.
They were simply unfazed and they carried on with their business. I crept out of my room to Bob’s room which was just two doors away from mine, in the face me, I faceyou housing block that we occupied. I rapped urgently on his door, whispering “Bob, Bob, nathief o!” ”They wan comot your motor o”. I repeated this severally and eventually, after much shuffling and groaned complaints, he asked me to go away that I was disturbing his sleep.
Mouth agape, I went back to my room but I couldn’t sleep again. At the very break of dawn, I got up to fetch water from the shared tap to take my shower at the common washroom in order to avoid the morning rush and squabbles of neighbors who would want to use the facility all at the same time.
I had just passed Bob’s door and was almost at the end of the lengthy corridor, when I heard the squeaky creak of a door opening. Out of reflex, I turned to see who it was, and it was the live-in partner or wife – I never seemed to know who was what; at the rate girlfriends, wives and baby-mama’s came and went in the neighborhood – of Rasheed, sneaking out of Bob’s room.
Rasheed was one of the neighborhoods baddest boy. He was known for his famous thievery, but everyone seemed afraid of him. A popular belief was that he was in cahoots with some bad apples amongst the police, who were willing to lend their firearms for nefarious activities for handsome rewards from the stolen booty.
It was a confusing moment for me, because I was so sure that I heard his raspy smoke cracked voice amongst those decapitating Bob’s car last night. So it did seem that when he goes moonlighting, his partner/girlfriend/wife got engaged in her own private forays.
Half an hour later or so, Bob’s bellow was heard down the corridors. The enlightenment of his reversed status had just dawned on him. They had stripped his car down, taking everything including the brain box.
I didn’t know whether to feel sorry for him or not, but I listened patiently to his repeated curses and complaints for several days non-stop.
It was pay day. I happily purchased my generator. I couldn’t wait to hear the umm’s and aah’s that would float my way. I finally had something to gloat about. For days, I felt like a champion. My ceiling fan worked. My single light bulb glowed in the perennial darkness of the area. I had a new spring in my steps, sure that the young chicks I saw putting heads together and whispering when I passed were talking about me. About how eligible I was becoming. I puffed up some more – if I was a rooster, I would have crowed in delight.
My friend Bob was back to trekking and cursing. He needed a lot of money to rebuild his ride. After a lot of yabs and prodding from him, I agreed to give him a treat at our popular neighborhood hangout, in order ‘‘to wash” my generator.
We boozed into the night and eventually, half tipsily made our way back to our rooms to crash. My door was ajar. That surprised me. I blinked a couple of times to clear my vision, but my door still stood ajar.
In trepidation, I stepped into my humble abode, only to find that my beloved generator and all the wires had been kidnapped – it was small enough to fit into an big overnight bag. Unbelievable, I thought. It was all gone. I raised a hue and cry, searching for my possession in nooks and crannies but no one knew what had happened.
I gazed into the darkness which had only a few bulbs dotting the night shaking my head in sorrow and dismay. I knew that I would have to save for many more months to buy it back from the man under the bridge.
P.S.: To aid understanding, please check below for meanings of words which have been written in pidgin English.
Glossary of words.
Pidgin: This is an English-based pidgin and creole language commonly spoken across Nigeria.
Mushin: A suburb located in Lagos State, Nigeria. It is a largely congested residential area with inadequate sanitation and low-quality housing.
I better pass my neighbor, generator: Refers to the small generator (tiger) that is below 2kva.
Tokunbo: This has multiple meanings, but the predominant meaning here refers to used cars.
Wash it: To celebrate something good, like a house warming for a new home, a new job etc
Goat meat pepper soup: Goat meat made in a hot and spicy broth
Iya Bose: Bose is a shortened Yoruba name, and Iya Bose means Bose’s mother
Beer parlour: A tavern where beer is served
Bukka: Local food canteens
Baba Ijebu: Indigenous Lotto
Face me, I face you: A term used to describe a type of residential building in Nigeria, where a group of one or two room apartments have their doors facing each other along a walkway that leads to the main entrance of the building which consists the apartments.
a cooking pot and twisted tales 