Wasted Weekend

Somebody save me, let your warm hands break right through me just save me; I don’t care how you to it, dang, dang, ding, dong. Yeah, I know I mashed up the lyrics a bit; Sue me. And for those who haven’t caught on, that’s my version of Remy Zero’s theme song for Smallville and a summary of my weekend.

My new week resolution: Stay off series. When buying bootleg DVDs stick to movies. But the problem is that I didn’t buy the 2^nd, 4^th and 5^th seasons of Smallville nor the 3^rd and 4^th seasons of Alias lying in my wardrobe; eating my time. Got to summon the courage to return them and not borrow anymore.

I wasted a neat portion of last weekend watching Clark Kent beat up psychos. How did it start? Let me take you back to Tuesday. I woke up that morning and realised that I had dragged my feet too long about taking computer certifications so I decided to ask my dad for the money for the first exam. He agreed within minutes and I figured it will take me about 2 weeks to get ready. I decided to put in a few more nights at the office to augment whatever extras blogsville left me with in the day. My first night: Wednesday. Should’ve been very convenient what with the sallah break the next day but a few minutes to six pm and my younger brother calls to inform me that he’s a few metres away from my office; coincidentally, the boarding school he attends gave them the sallah break off. And of course, the nitwit couldn’t call in advance so there went my night at the office (not as if I looked forward to that anyway).

In my hurry to leave the office that day, I forgot the book I was studying for the kain exam. Perfect excuse to spend the next day watching Smallville. No such luck though, thanks to NEPA. I relocated that day to a cousin’s house where there was light (at least, before I arrived). Thanks to NEPA again, I spent the afternoon there trying to carry my little niece, prevent here from jumping downstairs and eating potted plants.

Friday. (I hope you’re keeping track here). I managed to make it to my office to get a few hours of study off plus collect my book thus nullifying all excuses not to read at home. (Who needs excuses anyway?). At the office, I met a few people online and spent more time chatting instead.

Today is Saturday. Actually early Sunday morning but if you consider the fact that I haven’t slept since Saturday, you’ll understand why I call it Saturday. I actually tried studying but I got bored quickly and decided to throw in one episode of Smallville. Just one episode. Couldn’t hurt, could it? One episode became two, two became three. Three became… you know the drill. NEPA does their thing a couple of times and just before my battery runs out they undo their thing and Clark Kent is up and running again. The time now is 3:09 am and my battery is at 79% and still charging so even if our transformer chooses to explode this night, one more episode will still get in. Yipee!!! By the way sef, why does Clark like confused Lana when fineeee Chloe is tripping all over the place. They should let me play Superman so I’ll rewrite the script *wink*. Did I feel sleepy at any point? Of course. But I made coffee *double wink*. All for Smallville.

On to other EQUALLY IMPORTANT matters, I’ve decided to give calling BIG CRUSH a break. I don’t have enough gist with her yet and calls now tend mainly towards asking whether her cold has gone and whether she has started her computer lessons. The next thing we’ll be discussing the weather. Tufiakwa! I took a hint when I called once and she didn’t pick cos “her battery was low”. Can’t blame her though (am I attracted or what?). The break’ll just be for a week and hopefully with the help of certain peeps on blogsville, I’ll have rolling-on-the-floor-with-laughter-with-tears-rolling-down-my-cheeks yans (that’s an official call for help).

On another note, I just posted profile pictures on my hi5 and facebook accounts. Had an influx of friend requests, profile comments and picture comments too. I really am not a bad looking fellow. The one problem: the postees are all guys. Not a single girl. Do I hear snickering? Ekene? Stuck? It has nothing to do with my prestigious all-boys secondary school.

Can’t leave Lex waiting for too long. Let me return.

Somebody save me, I don’t care how you do it just save me….

We thank God O!

Isn't (s)he pretty?

I’ve been for a while trying to figure out how the minds of Nigerian politicians work. Are they just plain, good-old, stupid? (Abi do they think we are the stupid ones?) Or wicked? Or greedy? Or childish? Hungry? Playful? As in what exactly drives them to act the way they do? As if to compound the mystery even further, some weeks ago I stumbled on Alamieseigha’s speech at his thanksgiving. Yes, that’s right…you heard me, thanksgiving. The things we see in Naija. A common thief escapes from UK for money laundering dressed as a woman. His men whom he incidentally stole from give him a hero’s welcome. He gets arrested in Nigeria and after wasting his time (abi was it ours?) he gets away with a slap on the wrist and foreign health care. After which he gets another hero’s welcome? Pays courtesy calls at the state house, does thanksgiving... Do you blame me for wanting to know how their minds work?

Anyway, at the kain thanksgiving, he gives some long speech about his “Journey through the valley of the shadow of death” (God and His Word has suffered at the hands of Nigerians). Here are some excerpts and a few of my more printable thoughts and comments. Knock ya self out:

“………………………………………………………………………………………”

“………………………………………………………………………………………”

“……………………………………………………………………………………….”

Oops! Fellow bloggers, never procrastinate O. I read the kain article and started my post while I was still burning with anger. When the anger subsided, I put the typing aside and promised myself that I would continue typing later. By the time later came, I couldn’t find the paper. I procrastinated looking and right now, there’s no hope of finding it anymore. Anyway, there’s one thing Alamieseigha said that I just can’t forget, for the mere stupidity of the comment. Let me give you that while I continue looking for the newspaper.

He said that while he was in Dubai (abi was it Germany?), he needed to travel to the UK and he called two of his children that were in the UK to fly down to meet him (wherever he was) so “they could help him carry his bags” that “we know he is an old man and can’t carry his bags alone”. Talk of stupidity my friends. Pay round-trip tickets for 2 children when you could have simply tipped a porter (abi na bell-hop, dem dey call those kain people). Or maybe that wasn’t the reason why he called his children down, maybe I’m over-estimating the stupidity of these guys. What I ask, nevertheless, is whether this is the kind of “wisdom” he has been using to administer Bayelsa state. Little wonder some exaggerators say that in his time, there was only one road in Bayelsa (I hope they were exaggerating o!)

That’s all peeps. (This last statement constantly reminds me of a former schoolmate who couldn’t tell jokes and deliver his punch line well and had to say stuff like that so we’d know the joke was over). Let me get back to looking for the paper.

P.S. As you must have noticed, I have something against Alamieyesigha. I don’t deny it. I know a lot of you excuse his troubles as a result of falling out without baba, I’ve heard my aunt say a couple of times, “…but Obasanjo is a bigger thief…”. Nevertheless, he should have been punished for the one he was caught for and when a government with liver comes in, they could feed on OBJ. As it stands now, Alamieseigha, Tafa and the rest like em’ have done their “fair” share of punishment and no future government would like to revisit their case.

Oshodi and other unrelated things

I didn't take that picture

“…you are a bastard”

“…your papa, your mama be bastard…”

“…I say you are a bastard”

“…all your pikin na born-throwaway…”

Bloggers don’t get scared O! You guys are aight. The above is only a snippet of a driver-passenger(s) “conversation” in the bus (one of the many) I plied on Saturday. The time was sevenish in the evening, the traffic was mad, the driver was rough, folks were jumpy with tempers on the edge.

Aren’t y’all already asking what I was doing in that bus by that time of the night? I was on my way to Oshodi from Mile 2. Ehen? So you’re now asking what I was doing in both Mile 2 and then Oshodi abi? Oshodi was on the way home and mile 2 was on the way from Festac. What? More Questions? What I was doing in Festac? You know what? Lemme start from the beginning.

In my last post, I hinted that I was supposed to hook up with BIG CRUSH a.k.a radar-blip (from now on, I’ll refer to her simply as banc… don’t even bother; you would never figure out how I arrived at that pseudonym…infact, if you do, I’ll send yu credit :-)). Anyways, I called banc during the week and we couldn’t come up with a venue so we decided that I go to her house on Saturday. I’m naturally scared of other peoples’ parents especially those of girls talk less of fineeee girls. Nevertheless, I threw caution to the wind and agreed to meet her there.

Saturday came.

I was washing my clothes that morning when I felt and saw the onset of a drizzle. I whispered a quiet prayer and the day became clear. I felt immediately that God was on my side. Let me let you in on a little secret: I’ve been praying some one-liners about this whole banc thing; that if it is His will, He should make something work out between myself and her.

But not all signs that day were positive. In one of the buses I entered on my way there some guy was preaching. I usually don’t listen to bus preachers (my reasons would be the subject of another post). However this particular preacher’s voice had a way of penetrating through the sounds of Switchfoot my mp3 payer was emitting (I’m loving Oh! Gravity, by the way) and I was hearing parts of his message. Particularly the part where he says: “…and all you girls going to see your boyfriends…” and goes on to tell a gory story about one such girl that was used for rituals along the way. As I hear him, I tell myself, “well, I’m not a girl so the girls here affected can take note”. As if he read my thoughts, he extends the message to boys going to see girlfriends. My response to that one?: by the second dictionary definition of “girlfriend” which I want to believe he meant, banc is not my girlfriend (at least, not yet :-D). At this point I didn’t want to hear more (cos the next thing would have been clarification of the meaning of the word “girlfriend” to include banc) so I plug in my earphones tightly and hear no more.

I found banc’s house with little difficulty and the ball got rolling… At this point let me summarise my visit:

I’m liking banc a lot:

She’s brilliant, fineeeee, friendly, down-to-earth, listens to rock…. Let me stop here incase banc ever gets to read this; we don’t want doctors to be faced with an extreme case of SHS (Swollen Head Syndrome).

Yep, that was the summary of my visit. Let me expand, we gisted plenty, went out to eat (Tantaliser’s jollof rice is …arrrgh… the thot leaves a bad taste in my my mouth. I guess it was just that day’s rice anyway cos I’ve eaten stuff from tanties more than a few times and those weren’t so bad). We also walked around a bit and talked a bit more. I originally planned to spend 2hrs there; arrived by 1:30pm and left by 6:00pm. Do the maths. My pocket isn’t complaining so much either, so everyone went home happy. In summary, I had a swell time and the best thing is that she said she did too; I like to believe that she wasn’t just being polite.

On the journey back, things weren’t so swell as the initial snippet must have indicated. I was passing through notorious bus stops after dark and honestly couldn’t help remembering the preacher from the to-trip. I got home safely though. Thank God. And I’m yet to be convinced that He isn’t on my side. Though certain things banc said tend to indicate that my work might be harder than I initially imagined.

She said that her next relationship should be looking at marriage. I don’t mind that but she also said that the person she would marry is probably already working. Now, that worries me cos I’m still in school and even though I plan to be marriage-ready quickly, things don’t always work as you plan. Also, have I ever said that banc is older than me by exactly 11 months, 5 days??? But age is just a number, isn’t it???

The second thing she said that worries me a bit will not be understood without knowing the kind and nature of advice that I have received. Here’s a sampling of them (Yes, I know I’m a jew-man; I’ll add one to that, I’m nerdy too):

“Don’t start what you can’t finish” (Jide)

"...i think u should go visit her in her house and gist..." (A Kel called wonder)

“Be yourself” (Ayo)

"...there is no rush for anything in life. what is meant to be will be..." (Stuck in her throat)

“You don’t have to spend so much the first time” (Jide)

"...the beach?..well, as long as you have the van danme(did i spell it well) look, an ak45,pocket knife...cos when one of those igbo smoking agboros decide to obtain you of ur 'cab fare'...u go know.
u could buy snacks or chocolates, go to her house, just seat outside in your car...em...sorry...bicycle?..lol.but really, i think most girls are really impressed with conversational skills and realness in a guy, than how deep his pocket is(sometimes)..." (fantasy queen)

“Don’t plan what you are going to talk about” (Ugo)

"...beach ke? she might want to eat fish and chips. thats at least 800bucks?..." (femme)

“Ask her to show you around” (Tony)

“Make your intentions known early so you don’t get stuck as a “good friend” (Jide)

“Long distance relationships can work. Don’t wait till you graduate” (Jide)

Thanks Guys.

With reference to the last one above, she disagrees, “…likes her boyfriends around…”. Maybe, I’m thinking in fast-forward and will soon be tripping on my shoes-laces. I think from now on, I’ll maintain a wait-and-see posture and, as stuck-in-her-throat advised, let what will be, be.

In addition to all the advice I’ve received so far, I’ve learnt a few things on my own too:

The responsibility of keeping a conversation interesting isn’t yours alone; the other party also has a part to play.

Don’t judge your rating in the crush’s eye by the other people around her/him. As I was leaving, Some guys came around in a car (for the peeps who haven’t coded yet, my car was…some months away from reality) I may be wrong, but I think she didn’t mind being with me instead and the guys got impatient and left.

By the time my mind is through with the analysis of that day’s events I’ll have more “lessons”; it’s (my mind) currently facing an overload of information.

In the while, she moved a pawn when she called to thank me for visiting. My bishop now has access to her rook (who plays chess in here?). The next move is mine. I’ll keep y’all informed. Have a great day.

To piss or to be pissed on?

Choosing what to wear to work today was tricky business. The dilemma started last night when NEPA didn’t restore the power they “seized” in the morning and there was every likelihood it wouldn’t be restored by the next morning, making it impossible to iron. And trust NEPA to justify paranoia; I woke this morning to darkness. My what-to-wear dilemma was further complicated by the following:

1. I was limited to clothes that could be worn without ironing

2. The fact that I don’t have as many pairs of jeans as I would have loved (who does anyway?)

3. I was supposed to see my BIG CRUSH this week and would have wanted to reserve one of my more better-looking outfits.

4. I would be sleeping…erm (coughs)…working overnight at the office tonight so I needed to wear something comfortable enough to work and sleep in… and trousers that won’t get dirty easily (or least, make the dirt no show) so I just have to carry only a spare shirt.

5. Tomorrow, I’ll be going out and I gat to look presentable enough. I’m sleeping at the office, remember? So I’ll have to carry the shirt I plan to wear.

See my problem? Rocket Science abi?

After sleeping over the problem, I made a decision, had my morning devotion, took my bath, cleaned my teeth, had breakfast and looked at my watch…

Wow! I had 15 minutes to spare before my usual departure time. I was overjoyed. You won’t understand but when you tumble out of bed with 45 minutes to get ready for work for about a week and end up forgetting to pray or carry your phone or take a bath on a couple of days, you’ll know what I’m talking about (I’ve never “forgotten” to take a bath yet O!).

So here I am rejoicing on the inside and thinking, “what can I do with a good 15 mins?”, my youngest cousin wakes up and is trying hard to jump on my back. Trust me naaa, I’m doing a great job keeping her off. From this point on, I’ll utilise a timeline in my narration.

15 mins to go: That’s we are abi? I decide to send a text message.

11 mins to go: I’m through with the first message and decide to type another.

6 mins to go: I’m through with messaging cos I’m almost out of credit and for want of something else to do, I decide to sit in the parlour and wait it out.

5 mins to go: I’m all relaxed wondering when I’m going to see this radar-blip and thinking up possible opening lines: Here are some of the best lines I thought up: “Hey, how are you doing? You look…” Sorry, that’ll be all for that trailer. Hold the thought for a few days and I’ll tell you what I actually said. Now, where was I with my timeline?

4 mins to go: My butt is feeling cool…

3 mins to go: “cool” is a little cooler than usual and maybe a little wet.

2 mins to go: I’m sure my butt is wet. I dismiss it as sweat.

1 min to go: Na wah o! This one wet pass sweat O! It has to be water, blood or piss. I start praying.

0 mins to go: I jump up. The bottom of my shirt is soaked. Same as my jeans; the same pair that took me at least 8 hours to decide on. Upon a little investigation, I find out that one of my cousins started his night on that chair and took a piss there before migrating to the room.

5 minutes later: I’m running to catch up with the neighbour I hitch a ride to work with; wearing a different shirt and pair of jeans. She has been waiting for a while. I settle in her car, panting… and thanking God that she waited for me and that I found other clothes to wear and then…

…I feel some more moisture in my boxers. I smile to myself wondering if all that piss came from 1 child and let it dry.

Accomodating me

My uncle and aunt whom I’ve been staying with since I came to Lagos for my I.T. have been so nice and I planned on doing this entry just about them to describe how nice they have been.

But as I type this, I do it with a sprained left thumb… I think the kids have made a case for themselves to be included, I have gotten the message (ouch!) and I will talk about them too.

Now back to my uncle and aunt. You know how people say that when you experience good luck for so long, bad luck is on its way. That’s the way I feel right now. These my relatives have been soooooooooooo nice, I constantly feel it’s about to end.

I think I’ve dilly-dallyed long enough. What exactly is “nice”?

How about the fact that the only work I do in their house is…em, let me see… wash the mug I use for tea in the morning and that is when I’m not in a hurry to leave.

I rarely make my bed (the kids undo my effort within the hour, so don’t blame me),

I don’t fetch water (I used to but found out I could get away without doing it, me I no be suffer-head),

I don’t wash plates (Yes I know I said I wash my mug but mugs aren’t plates; are they?)

I don’t wash clothes…OK, you got me there; I do but only my clothes,

I don’t cook (That one is for their own good),

I don’t sweep, clean, change babies nappies (There are no babies and no nappies),

I don’t wash bathrooms, rock anybody to sleep, sing lullabies

I don’t climb trees to pluck mangos for anyone, make brooms from palm fronds, plant tomatoes, nothing.

Name it, I don’t do it.

Apart from that, they are so generous with food, money, name it. I know that in many homes you dare not go near the pot if you aren’t a member of the family. Here, I’m not only encouraged to go near the pot, I’m also pushed, from time to time to put stuff in it. I strongly resist the push (bread will do when I’m hungry)

Also, as an I.T. student, I get a small stipend from my employer which is big enough for me to be considering taking that blip-on-my-radar out (my big date still hasn’t happened, don’t worry, when it does you’ll know. NEPA would give light you for the rest of that day). As I was saying, my stipend is large enough to take care of me, my transport, feeding, credit, the occasional gala, chewing gum money etc yet my uncle gave me some extra the other day.

Infact, I’m treated like a celeb/aje-butter here. I mean, to the extent they give me rice and stew in different plates. Now that doesn’t happen even at home in Warri.

But the kids…

Before I go on, let me categorically state that I love children. So you can let all ya kids come around me. Nothing go do dem. I promise. (two fingers crossed behind my back)

But then, there are children and there are cHiLdReN. My cousins can be summarised this way: “I hope I wasn’t that way when I was their age”.

They are rough, have little respect for other people’s property, ignore all instructions below 6 repetitions, they see dirt as good (Omo detergent, una don see wetin una cause? Sorry my peeps in jand may not understand, Omo detergent has this advert like this where they “see dirt differently”). Back to the children… they take privileges as rights, are polite only when they want something from you, love to touch my things, the other day day, they took turns in pouring my cheap perfume on themselves, one of them broke my padlock to get to my earphones, they run into the bathroom and lock it just as I’m about to use it, some still bed-wet and my bed is seriously endangered whenever I don’t sleep in their house

Now, don’t get me wrong, they love me but to them, to love is to punch, slap, jump on, pinch, bite (I mean, the youngest, a girl, bites my butt, my fully-clothed butt though, for fun. Imagine!!!). And they can yab ehnn… I’ve been called gorilla, idiot, orobo (Their neighbour, a similarly pesky kid, started that one). I’ve been asked if I was mad, crazy, whether I went to school, and don’t be fooled by our being Igbo, the yabs know no ethnic boundaries.

Some things they do make me wonder, others make me smile and comot my cap for parents especially mothers that have to tolerate this from their children for God knows how long.

To mothers, you got all my hugs and kisses. To my aunt, you’re the best. To my uncle, I got your back anytime. I’ll be rich really soon and I must reciprocate. Your kids will be welcome in my crib anytime. To my cousins, Ebube my thumb is still paining me, if it lasts longer than 2 days, I’ll tell your mum… no, your dad (wicked smile on my face). Somto, your addiction to TV will put you in trouble. To Amara, stop biting my butt. I don’t enjoy it as much as you. And the three of you, DON’T CLIMB MY BED, DON’T OPEN MY WARDDROBE, DON’T TOUCH MY COMPUTER OR PHONE, YOU’LL COMPLETE THE BOURNE ULTIMATUM WHEN I DECIDE YOU COULD, NO, YOU CAN’T FOLLOW ME TO AKOKA, AND YES, I MEANT IT WHEN I SAID I WASN’T GETTING YOU ANYMORE SWEETS.

P.S. I know most of you blogonians will start thinking I’m lazy. I am, I am, I am. It’s the way forward. All the lazy peeps in da house put ya lighters up. Oya. Where my lighter? Ebube!!! Somto!!! Where’s my lighter???

Awwww, Aren't they just so cute and harmless??? Don't be fooled by that, my friends. One of these "cuties" here is my butt-biting cousin and the other is the pesky neighbour that calls me Orobo. Can you guess which is which?

Bighead on TV

I have appeared on TV exactly…em…(scratches head)…em… once in my life. It was back in primary school; I think primary 5.

TV station: boring Delta TV.

Occasion: My school’s speech and prize-giving day.

Guess who was getting a prize… yes, it was me. I used to be a brilliant boy those days, you know.

At least 10 years had passed and no more TV appearances for me and a couple of weeks ago I would have gotten another.

TV Station: Can’t be sure but probably something government-owned like LTV

Occasion: Environmental Sanitation

Guess whose environment was dirty…

Here’s the full story:

I decided to spend that weekend at another aunt’s house instead of my regular uncle’s house. That morning she woke me and my cousin, her son up that it was environmental sanitation and we should go and keep their environment clean. We grumbled but obeyed. Like 30 minutes into the exercise, there was a little chaos. The mallams who had been conducting their usual mallam business (whatever that is) suddenly got up and doing, closed their shops and started cleaning.

The boys playing on the street hid their balls and disappeared into their homes to watch from the safety of their windows.

All pedestrian traffic vanished.

I have always been quite slow to react at times and my cousin is worse so we just hung around and paused our cleaning to watch.

It turned out the commissioner for environment or something like that was in the vicinity with a long procession of sycophants and government workers plus a few cameras. We thought they were just passing through but the drama was just starting.

The next thing we heard was, “Number 4, Obasanjo Street (Not the actual street name, of course), your environment is dirty”.

Wait a minute, the street name sounded familiar; I asked my cousin and he confirmed that what I just heard was our address. The procession stopped and the next thing I’m seeing all sorts of colourful uniforms jumping out of vehicles. It was like a carnival. There were like 3 shades of green, 2 shades of pink, black (Of course, we all know who that is... our dearest olopa), brown and purple (if you count trousers) and white. The vehicle with the mega phone kept repeating the same “Number 4, Obasanjo street, your environment is dirty” statement and added a few more. The uniforms started harassing the occupants of our compound (There are 6 flats there). They asked everyone including my elderly aunt to come down and clean gutters, promised to “seal the compound” and “arrest us all”. We were informed that we had “broken the law”. A crowd gathered. A shouting game started. That evolved into a blame game and ended as an who-go-do-pass-who game. Me, I just stood by, watching, laughing… and, with the corner of my eye, ensuring none of the cameras came around. Being a big head, if any did, some part of my head would be caught. And we won’t want that, would we? The next time this big head is going to appear on TV, it’ll be for my take-over of some big corporation (MTN, my eyes are on you). Jokes apart though, the whole episode raised some pertinent questions that I’m still hoping to get CONVINCING answers to:

*Is it appropriate for civil servants to have political affiliation? Because all the local government officials present that morning wore action congress t-shirts. Abi isn’t that enough proof of affiliation?

*The uniforms and co that were harassing us that day, didn’t they have their own environment to clean?

*What does the law say about environmental sanitation exactly? Do they have the right to arrest people and seal up compounds?

*Does it make economic sense to ask people whose time is worth a whole lot more to come out and clean gutters on the roads?

*Did the said commissioner and his cohorts visit highbrow areas like Lekki, VGC and Ikoyi and ask the “big men” there to come out and clean as well?

*What exactly constitutes your “environment”? Cos we were being harassed over a major gutter beside a government-maintained (coughs)…er… unmaintained road?

A whole lot of other questions popped up that day between myself, my cousin and the rest of his crib unfortunately I can’t remember most. What I kept on saying that day was that a lot of what we were blamed for was the responsibility of the “blamers” and we have taken rights as privileges for so long that no one’s really sure which is which anymore. This is not to say that we can’t act in the event that the government fails but not to the extent that they threaten to arrest us (and almost get bighead a second TV appearance) for not doing their job.

Perching Simplified

Could it be the one in white? Or the one in Orange? No? OK Maybe it’s the one in the Ankara??? No its definitely not the one in Ankara; she’s talking too animatedly and she’s too distracted to be the one. Forget the one in brown; she’s definitely not the one; there’s too much intent in here demeanour. The one in Orange? Can’t be… she’s standing; that would not happen if she was the one. What are we left with??? The one in white? Most definitely, she fits the bill; eating a little too fast, talking a little too little, more than a little annoyance written on her face. She’s definitely the one who bought the food that the remaining three women were sharing; some obviously taking more than a “percher’s” fair share.

Can you beat that analysis? Nah, I don’t think so especially when you consider the fact that all that was conducted from my bus window on my way home from work and within the span of a minute. That kind of expertise comes only with experience which comes only from over 8 years active perching experience.

For those ajebos here that don’t decode slang like we warri boys, the term “perching” in English refers to the simple and time-honoured act of begging. But I think “perching” sounds more dignified so I’ll stick with it.

When exactly did I start perching? My memory is hazy (maybe because the beginning coincides with the beginning of my memory) but my earliest memories say primary 4.

How did I start? When we were going to school those days, my mum would give us a biscuit which when compared to all the “wonderful” things I could have purchased with 5 naira in those good old days, didn’t seem so crispy anymore. My solution? Yeah, you guessed right… I perched. For 1 naira coloured water (aka ice cream. So “creamy”), for bits of “kuli-kuli”, for choco milo (they’ve re-resurrected that product; new perchers have been born), for chewing gum, sweets, coconut candy (still love those), sausages, “kpo-kpo garri” (Can’t blame you if you don’t know what those are, I barely remember myself), and even other people’s biscuits.

I got into trouble once in primary 5 when my seat mate who daily “supplied” me peppermint and ice cream was discovered to have been robbing his parents to “feed” us and that technically made me an accomplice (I think his folks still look at me somehow today). I paused for a while then.

Just a while though…

In secondary school, I learnt the slang “perching” and the new rules in the game. Perching in my school was something else, it was an institution. First of all, I think every extortionist senior is a percher of sorts. The next worse group were boarders; our victims? Day students. We perched their snacks and yummy lunch off them. Till today, I remember how yam and fried egg cooked in Yinka’s house tastes. Perching didn’t start or end in the class; the HQ was the kiosks where snacks, drinks and ice cream (same colored water though more tastefully done. FAN’s Orange Drink ruled then) were sold. Some went for break to buy, some went to perch, the rest just waited in class to perch for the surviving remnants.

A popular proverb says that “As the hunters (insert perchers) learnt to shoot without aiming (insert: perch mercilessly), the birds learnt to fly without perching(pun unintended)”. Boys had to devise methods to deter perchers; of course, the best inventors were the perchers themselves. One of the first options, was not to spend or soak garri (that’s right, we perched for even that) anymore. That wasn’t sustainable so most guys just resorted to hiding… hide where? Provided you were on the school premises, the hardened folk were bound to find you, even before the first spoon. Things were hi-tech those days; I’m convinced guys had motion detectors, infrared, night vision, remote olfactory sensors and other stuff even the U.S military hasn’t thought of yet. When hiding stopped working, our boys invented the most disgusting means yet; they started spitting (Yes, saliva, phlegm, the whole bunch right into the food. On bread, it could be mistaken for butter). Now that deterred most, including me but some guys were unstoppable, talk of addiction.

Heroic stories abounded, mere boys were transformed into legends based either on perching prowess or deterring capability. I particularly remember the story of how Yomi was perching out of someone’s bottle of coke and out of a corner of his eye spotted his father who had come on an unscheduled visit. His father had seen him perching… what did he do? He returns the bottle of coke, “You can have the rest of MY coke, I need to go and be with my father”. That was just brilliant.

Perching popularised certain phrases in school:

“Abeg, one gulp”

“Make I base your soaks”

“Dat guy na miser”

“Chop alone, die alone” etc

So you thought sanguine, choleric, san-mel, etc were the only personality types available? Perching brought out new ones: perching-coy, perching-pity-face, perching-by force, perching-silently. I think I was a perching-pragmatic-easily-disgusted-not-so-easily-deterred-with-plenty-of-self-respect. Quite a combination. Right?

Somehow when I left secondary school, I stopped perching. Infact, I’m now a little reluctant to accept even when offered and I offer a lot myself too. But my past has become my history. I hope none of my guys really remembers those years… the stories wouldn’t look too good outside this blog (definitely not on my biography), the tales could fall into the ears of my children and they could become perchers, my epitaph could mention that (Arrrgh, that would be distasteful). In summary, please don’t tell anyone.