Posts Tagged ‘Johnny Walker’

Ah. 2014 man.

2014 felt like a free kick. Defence lined up in front, protecting their crotches. Team mates waiting for the loose ball. Muscle pull.

1418160963[1]

I walk into my compound at the end of a work day. I walk in on Simba as he chases a lizard into the space between the AC and the wall. He looks up at me, confused. If he comes to ‘greet’ me, the lizard escapes. If he chases the lizard, he breaks our unspoken human – dog respect arrangement. He has to choose between me and the lizard, and it’s a tough choice.

That was my 2014, man. I had to choose between friendship and stuff. I’m just here looking at these stripes wondering if it was all worth it.

 

Simba chose the lizard over me btw.

I walk into my house, sorry room. There’s no power. Simba wants to come in too. I don’t have a problem with this when there’s power and the AC is on but with no power, his presence just makes the room hotter. But I am a good man, and I let him in. He repays the kindness by farting in the already hot room. One moment, the room was calm, next moment, the air is tense with dog fart. I’m just like ‘Et tu Simba? But I trusted you’.

IMG_20141005_142151[1]

That was my 2014, man. In my search for companionship, I allowed people close and they fucked shit up. I’m just here looking at my symbols wondering if it was all worth it.

I swear, sometimes I be at the beach and I see something from my past life; like my ex. So I call Simba and ask ‘Oi homie, ain’t that ***** in the distance?’.Simba comes over, takes a good look and says ‘It’s aii master, it’s just a wave’.

IMG_20141207_184636[1]

That was 2014 man. In 2014, loneliness became a place, something I could walk into and tell you the colour of its walls. It’s actually a mix of pink with soft grays and slightly damp walls. You know, the kind of loneliness experienced by one in a big city where there’s a traffic jam, but you are alone in your car, windows wound up, doors manually locked, playing the latest Asa album. The one where you celebrate victories by opening a bottle of red alone, or giving your dog an extra helping of Jo-Jo lamb sauce.

In 2014, I learnt gratitude. I’m thankful, man.

In 2015, I just wanna be more deliberate, man. And more thankful. I wanna be like the leper that came back to say Thank You. I wanna look at these things and understand they were not here before, identify my objects of gratitude, yeah that kind of thing.

I wanna use this moment to just say thanks to a few people who made 2014 worthwhile.

First, the Johnny Walker Company.See, when you are in my place in society, it can be stress going to the mall everytime to buy a bottle of whisky. But the good folks at Johhny Walker just brought out this 1 Litre bottle  of whiskey. So now, I can buy a few bottles and they will last me a week or two. Also, between August 27 and September 8, they had this price slash. So a One Litre bottle of Johnny Walker’s Red Label retailed for #1,560 as opposed to #2,870. I will forever be grateful for that, man.

20141123_142014[1]

Then the folks at Chocolate City, for dropping the most fire album of 2014. I put that ‘Chairman’ album on some whisky and got hit with some clarity.

Then most importantly, my landlady. Paid my rent for the 3rd consecutive year last week Wednesday and this good lady has still not increased the rent. That’s rare in Lekki, man. I’m blessed, man.

I don’t even know, man. See, last post, I said I wasn’t gonna come back here if the book wasn’t in print already. Well, it has been published. That’s it.

IMG_20141215_144649[1]

But you can’t buy it. Listen, man. I’m not yet ready to be a writer. See, in preparation of being a writer and stoffs, I’ve been fuxing with the writer community. Hell, I even made a checklist of things to get (and I’ve gotten them): Ray Bans, keep bushy hair, wear ankara print shapeless blouses, write with pencil instead of biro and pause after every sentence.

Then this happened.

Was at a book reading the other day, author reads from his book then folks in the audience hit him with a zillion questions: ‘Are you ghana dance? If we show you the money? Are you Ghana dance? If we show you the way?’ I said fuck you man. See, I hate to be asked questions man. So these books are gonna remain in their pretty brown cartons in my room till readers change. Or maybe I can reach an understanding that folks read the book, understand it as food for the soul and let things be. You ain’t Frank, I’m not the audience. No questions man.

I don’t know man. It’s tough man. I gottta go. No, really I gotta go.

Bless.