Last updated on August 17th, 2018 at 08:45 am
I’m in this bus with my earphones plugged in; Fela telling me not-so-subtly that he’s basketmouth and he’s come again.
Generally, I’m not a pretentious fella but I’m trying very hard not to see pot-holes filled with puddles and litter playing hide and seek on their surface (It has rained). I just get angry when I see shii. You wouldn’t understand. Don’t try.
Despite the chaos, everyone is smiling and doing ‘nice’. It’s ‘loversmas’ period again and everything/one is about and doing.
Radio station is asking listeners to call in and say the best way to spend the day, I’m just there listening with half a ear when suddenly the hairy nigga next to me takes umbrage.
“It’s not lover’s day. They have turned it into a day of gross immorality. They will feed their immorality now. All the hotels will be full. Instead of them to go to orphanages and donate…visit the sick…assist the needy…”
Umbrage took me too.
But from the reverse.
Before you say why (you Nigerian people are too quick with that word even if Jesus comes today y’all will ask why), let me make some points clear.
1. I do not have money to pay for hotel. Sorry, mistake. I have money but I do not plan to take it to hotel or boo to take to hotel…what am I saying sef? Well, you sha understand? Good.
2. Love is love… Whether in hotel o or orphanage or hospital o…ife ni ife…so ne so…ifunanya bu ifunanya. Satzenbrau chikena!
3. “Religiosity” and “piousity” in most of their forms turns my stomach. (These words are not common. Contact me for their meanings if you do not understand).
Hairy nigga was full of these two ‘abominations’ and spouting them with utmost conviction. I kept smiling but was already seething inside. Then I had a Macchiavelli moment. I would write a poem for my people who were going to be hoteling if hairy nigga like make e choke.
Let me doctor your mind
Knead your beating heart
To the rhythm of mine
Make me your Dibia*
And I will bring rain to your southern crevices
Along those hidden parts we will till
Juices flowing, till will we
Till harvest comes
Again and once more again
Our fire will wed rain
as we together one
Dig deeper into pleasures
Two minds into a full karma
Speaking ancient tongues
Time may cease to be
But this solemn promise I make
I will oh your every ah
Till ecstasy is harvested
And rain is once more put to sleep.