Would You Like A Taxi Or The Ferry?’

We were in the cafeteria, and the conversation spun, from Manchester City’s win, where to get beer at pump price, who looked pregnant, to the feasibility of office crushes and finally to…Dads. Surprised?

Feyi

E Go Show You Your Sin For Bible!

When you annoy my dad, he will bring out Bible and show you where you offend. He will show you your sin in the Bible and both of you will pray about it. After una don pray, you think the next thing is to hug and talk about how to further grow your spiritual lives ba? That’s when he will bring out the pankere – cane that bends but does not break – and almost claim your life with beating!

Feyi after the prayers!

Abayomi

Wa rora ma mu ni o!

I remember first time my dad saw me drinking. We went to a wedding at some faraway town. When we got there, there was no water or juice. My dad  ordered beer, I was thirsty: I ordered beer too. I made sure to avoid eye contact. They brought his beer, cold and frothing. He poured and gulped.

They brought mine too, as I poured, I avoided eye contact. I could feel him staring me down though.

Immediately I brought the cup to my lips, I heard him bark, ‘Wa rora ma mu ni o!’ (You will gently drink it o/Drink with caution a.k.a Use soffry and be gulping the drink)

My dad after my first cup!

Immediately I finished the first cup, he took the remaining in the bottle and said ‘Ehn-ehn! O ti to’ (It’s enough/You have reached your limit/I will now take over from here/Kindly exit the building)

Guess who finished the remaining in the bottle? My dad 🙂

Abayomi

‘Would you like a taxi or the ferry?’

Back then, my dad had a girlfriend. Whenever we were headed to school, she would join us on the ferry. My dad would tell us to move to the backseat while she would sit beside him on the ferry. On the return trip in the evening, he would ask her, ‘Would you like to take a taxi or the ferry?’ (in British accent)

One day, we told our mum this.

In the evening, as she served him dinner, she leaned in and asked loudly in pseudo British accent, ‘Would you like to take a taxi or the ferry?’

My dad looked at us with what in later years I got to realize as the ‘Judas Stare’.

You let me down son!

From that day onwards, we got no more ferry rides and thing is till date, we don’t know how they got to resolve that issue!

Kunle

I Could Be Your Pasta Queen

My dad liked Spaghetti Bolognese, you know jollof pasta with minced meat and very visible green peppers ontop!

The secretary knew and brought him a cooler of this once in a while.

My mum got wind  of this somehow and the next week, we had  on Monday morning: pasta and stew, Monday evening: pasta fried in curry sauce, Tuesday morning: Bolognese pasta, Tuesday evening: pasta and hot chilli sauce, Wednesday morning, pasta with palm oil and dried fish.

My dad as my mum served pasta for the 6th time that week!

On Wednesday evening, as we chomped mouthfuls of pasta wondering when the tribulation will end, my dad publicly said ‘Abike, ma binu’ (He publicly apologized to my mum on the dinner table).

Only then was normalcy restored.

Tunde

Whatever you do: under-dress!

When my sister brought her husband for traditional wedding, my dad took one look at him and decided he was but a struggling young blogger man. My dad sent my elder brother to make sure the women who usually came, took off their wrappers and put it on the floor asking for money did not get to do that and he basically gave out my sister for free!

At this point in the conversation, I decided when going for my traditional wedding, I would go dressed in shorts, beach slippers and hoisting a tiny knapsack. Hopefully, the bride’s parents show me such mercy and ask for only one pineapple and watermelon for their daughter. Amen?

Abayomi (Again)

During holidays, we followed my dad to his office. Deal was we were to read there. Mumu me come carry love letter along with my books.  It was from a girl that I just bought perfume for. When we got home, I checked for the love letter, I could not find it, I bone! As we entered the office, the next day, there was the crumpled, forgotten love letter on my dad’s table. He took it, opened it and read.

Immediately he finished reading, I say immediately he finished reading….

Guys, I can’t! Bahahahaha!

Parting Shots

I am currently reading ‘I Am Malala’ by Malala Yousafzai: the girl that was shot by the Taliban for going to school. It’s a good read considering the feminist talk social media has been awash with recently. If you want a copy, do like this: O/

Too Sure

I had a few days between jobs, so I lived each day, knowing that I would not be this free for the next 5 months. Each day was an adventure. Come with me, please.

Baba Ijebu

I always see these stalls with red machines. I finally discovered Baba Ijebu. It was a small kiosque with a cardboard on the wall with so many numbers. There were numbers by the bench, there were numbers everywhere. Some people came to play event, others match, others sure and some others, too sure.I asked one Bros that came to play how the thing goes. He said it’s just like Visa Lottery: you choose a series of numbers, if two of the numbers are picked that day, you win some money. You can bet for as low as ten naira (SURE) to as high as five hundred naira (TOO SURE). I asked how he chooses his numbers, he said it depends. He had chosen thirty six and forty two for that day.

I said ‘Okay, so how did you choose these numbers?

He said he simply timed how many minutes he lasted on his woman the previous night. Such pride.

***

You know how those people that know Maths always covered their workings back then? I saw someone doing that there. He guarded his paper and whispered his numbers. I said Okay, this one is too sure. I went to meet him that please, he should mentor me. He said he is building house in Ikorodu with his winnings. He gave me some sure numbers.

I played.

Results come out six times a day and three times on Sunday. Since I played hundred-hundred naira, it means I will win N24, 000 times 2: Too Sure.

I waited.

3:15 p.m. came. I ran to the store with my ticket. Mentor had assured me that the number will drop.

Baba Ijebu gave me some numbers very far from mine. My only consolation was that Mr. 42 Rounds’ numbers did not drop too.

You Don’t Know My Story

So I woke up that morning and said, what-the-hell, let’s go see a movie for 9 a.m. I arrived, smuggled an entire buka in my bag and took angle 90 in the cinema. The theatre was empty as far as I could squint. Movie was After Earth: Spaceship crashes, just two of them in a ship with the father-Will Smith-injured! That his small, fine son-Kaha has to save them.  At the point that Jaden Smith was chooking the dragon something, I started shouting ‘Wa sere! Wa sere!!’

As movie ended and they put on the light, I saw that some primary school has taken the cinema so all the chairs were filled with small-small butter children. They all looked at me as if ‘That’s the loud one: Brother t’oun ma pariwo niyen’. Such pride.

All I can say is those kids don’t know my story; they don’t know what I’ve been through. When they are my age, they will know why a full blown, full grown man can get such orgasmic pleasure from a N500 movie.

Working in a multinational

I have resumed work in the new place. Working in a multinational means anything can happen. I walked into the loo at 3 p.m. the other day and saw one of the Indians brushing his teeth. Serious brushing o: toothbrush in throat, scrubbing the tongue like rug. I was amazed.

As I wanted to enter the loo the other day, an Oriental stepped out. Sometimes, sitting on the toilet bowl here I think deep-of the shits that have gone before me: that of Orientals, Hispanics and Greeks, of my humble shit joining theirs in a global commingling and intermingling, of how far my shit had to travel to be here, of how this bowl all brings us together.

Just The Other Day

My friend, Ferdy married the other day.

The event was light and deep-at the same time. Pre-wedding, we asked Ferdy what he would do if someone raised hand when the Pastor says ‘If you have anything against this wedding, stand up’. It was joke o, until Ferdy entered the wedding venue with bouncer behind him.

Then the bride price was an amount that required small change (N20), and the groom had come with dollars. So there was a mad scramble to the Bureau de Change and finally, the nearest Baba Ijebu to get some small change.

Then there were floating candles on the table and…you know what? I’ll do a separate post on this.

Bye Bye

Parting Shots

Have you listened to ‘Let Her Go’ by Passenger? Get it, you’ll need it someday

Have you read Wicked Pleasures by Penny Vincenzi? It goes with the weather

Have you experienced a brightly lit hall, with sparking china, Obiwon singing ‘Obi Muo’ and the love of your life looking radiant? No? Gaan marry.

  

Insatiable

Temidire is all you could ask for in a man. He isn’t handsome neither does he know book like that. He often forgets to wear matching stockings. He is what Jemila and Rukky call ‘presentable’ or ‘just there’. All he has going are good intentions and an infectious laugh.

During the years of reckless abandon, you and the girls shunned all Temidires. You had lovers to warm stormy nights and laze Sunday mornings away with, lean muscled men with beautiful smiles.

As the seasons changed, you sang sad break-up songs and watched ‘Pretty Woman’ over and over again.

Several birthdays later, you realized a Temidire was exactly what you wanted. No, not wanted. All you needed in a man. Hardworking. Smart. Dedicated.

Yesterday, he asked you to be his woman, to wrinkle, and lose your sight and hearing with him.

To build colorful dreams of owning a small bungalow outside Lagos, with wide windows that bathe the room with warm sunshine, and capture the open fields.

There would be dogs and a truckload of children.

You would perhaps die together like that couple in the movie, The Notebook.

Perfect. It was all you often dared to dream of, wished upon stars and cast lucky pennies in fountains for. You should be happy and giddy with excitement. But you want more, or perhaps less, or a little bit of both. You want everything and nothing. Maybe it’s the fear. It’s too perfect. Who are you to truly have all your dreams come true?

You stare at the keys on the table, reach out for a pencil and your weathered notebook. You begin to write,

My dearest Temidire,

Today’s post was supplied by Toluwalase

Omo Toh Yuppy

Saturday was a full day. That means I hopped buses…a lot. There are lots of stories in buses. I am not talking of those told by the creaking chairs and groaning headboards. I don’t even mean those told by the conductor’s armpits. I mean those of Mrs. Phillip. Oh! A common mistake. I ended the story before starting.

Immediately I boarded the Obalende bound bus, I heard her voice. Bus preachers. I once had a bad experience with one. He was Akwa Ibom, I know because he called Jesus ‘Yezzuz’. He shouted at the top of his voice. At a point, I told him to stop shouting-that I had had a long day, that Lagos life is not easy, that we should Observe Chill. The other occupants called me the Anti-Christ. Since then, I let preachers preach.

This one was interesting. So interesting, I will share. She said it is bad for a woman to be the one sponsoring the home. She said once in a while, the woman should see fine shirt and buy for the man, but that’s it. When the woman starts buying rice, fuel and dispenser water, nnkan be. She said it happened to one doctor in The America who did not see work for 12 years. After he called her, four hospitals in Houston employed him.

She said one sixty-five year old woman called her. The woman had never been married.  Two weeks after, the 65 year old woman got proposed to.

She brought out complimentary card. She said ‘Who wants?’ All the young girls collected.

I did not collect. I focused on the the Lekki Toll Point; the green-white-green Ajah buses, the tail lights of cars in front of us, the payment checker, the car owners pressing their phones and the ones who leave their queue and drive in-between other cars.

She said a woman came to meet her, because every man she sleeps with dies after a while. The woman looks as if she can’t swallow eba and has a thin voice.  She prayed for the woman. Now, everything is fine. She said a couple had stopped sleeping in the same room for three years. She saw in vision why the marriage has K-leg. Now, they have reconciled and their love is sweet…again. She said one fine boy did not have good job. She said after just little deliverance, he now flies a lot, infact people now call him ‘Small London’.

She stretched the card again. I collected.

That’s it o

Don’t judge me. See, my life is good, but sometimes, it is as if somebody is pressing something somewhere. It can be that I will go to three ATM’s and all of them will seize my three different cards. Shuo! Then, see book I say I am working on, I have hang. Even if it’s her healing stories she shares with me, is that not bestseller?

So I might call. I might not call. If I call, you will get the memo (blog post)

Return Trip

Immediately I saw the driver wearing a woolen jacket at 2 p.m. with 37 °C weather, I knew nnkan be. I took front seat. He did not disappoint.

He told us he is sixty five years old. He said he has been driving bus for forty one years (and still counting). He said he used driver money to train his children, and now they are all on Instagram. After he said anything, I would reply ‘Boss’. I was like Samuel .L. Jackson in Django, I was his hypeman.

Calvin Candie: We will be having cup cakes for dessert
Stephen: CUP CAKES

He finally looked at me. He said I will ‘Go Far’. He called me ‘Bobo Toh Yuppy’. He made me his Personal Assistant (P.A). He told me to be adjusting the side glass for him since he does not have conductor. I was the first person he gave change. When people asked for their change, he told them to Meshonu (‘Shut Up’ in Igbo). He said he has their type at home.

He drove like he owned the road. When area boys asked him for fifty fiber, he removed his cap, so they will see his face well. I was in the front seat with him-I was that close to power. We went far, then the bus spoilt. One loquacious woman at the back said he should return our money. He went hard on her. He said ‘Egun lo ma je fada e. Baba e. Se oju e ti fo ni? Iya-lal-ay-aya-yay-ay-ay eh’. (PLENTY SWEARWORDS). Everybody became calm after that. He drove us to the mechanic. He said everybody should stay in the bus while it is being repaired. He said they should not make noise. He said only me can get down.

Guys, I have to go catch another bus now

Signed: Bobo Toh Yuppy