Written By: Ogu Chinedu
“If you think you are too small to make a difference, you haven’t spent the night with a mosquito” African Proverb
Three days later, the reminders of his untimely return were still there for johnson to see, not only did he have the nightly battles with mosquitoes and cold to deal with because of his semi-door, the bodily wounds were still taking up time to heal because of the harmattan. He was walking with a limp, eating with his left hand and swallowing ungrounded food. In fact, the only consolation had been Tolu. Despite walking out on him the other day, Tolu had consistently provided him with food and medicine for the past few days; albeit with little words exchanged between the two of them. This morning before she left for work, she had brought him bread and akara, and then dropped a food flask by his bedside. Johnson was so drowsy that he only managed to stutter a ‘thank you’ before she left.
He looked at the small wall clock resting by the television. Ten o’clock! Johnson jumped up from the bed while cursing under his breath at the pain. It had been weeks coming, this meeting with barrister Muazzam. It was a meeting of huge importance to him, and to think that it was to come up today of all days. Johnson knew he was in no good physical condition for a meeting of that nature, but he had always believed that when one has a passion, nothing should stop him. It was exactly three weeks today that he met ‘barrister’ at one of the newly opened malls in town. In his usual character that fine Thursday evening, he had embarked on an evening stroll around the city to ‘feed his eyes’ on the new structures coming up, and of course the girls. it was not like O’town was a mega city, but one would argue that although the government was generally considered a fraud, it was doing enough to draw infrastructural development. With things such as Razz-styled hotels, bigger malls, modern day brothels and pot-bellied men, it was natural to have an influx of beautiful girls. For johnson, this was a major factor. After all, he who walks around, sleeps around. Continue reading Fine Bouy Rich Pimples.(Episode Four)
FBRP: EPISODE THREE(III)
Written by: Ogu chinedu
life they say, is often filled with bright colors. it is even believed that at its lowest ebb, it is never darker than grey. yet, as johnson walked away from the eguru police station that morning, he wondered why all he could see was black. Dark, pitch and silent black. the kind that held no hope of light.
It was fifteen minutes past the ten o’clock hour when johnson weakly flagged down a taxi some blocks away from the eguru police station. It was the sixth taxi he had flagged since he stepped foot on free soil, but the first that had actually stopped. After a few hassles about the price, the taxi driver had grudgingly agreed to a few hundred naira. By the time the rickety yellow vehicle dropped him at the dusty entrance to the street, it was just five minutes to eleven o’clock. The street was deserted and a fierce harmattan breeze was at its full force. Johnson sighed and spat at the sight of a wet rag obviously fresh from being used on a fish tray, flies were already having a feast on it. This cursed street again! he thought to himself. As he approached the black gate that stood in front of number 7, he noticed a freshly printed paper pasted on the gate with what appeared to be leftover eba. If you have not paid your rent for next year, better prepare my money or prepare to pack out of my house. signed Landlord. Johnson let out a wry smile and banged the gate behind him. joker! big time joker!
Later that evening, just at the time the sun started its painless journey to find its bed, a loud knock woke johnson from his own slumber.
“person no dey this house?”
The voice behind the words sounded familiar, but it did not sound like a voice he wanted to hear. Johnson quietly crept up from his bed and peeped through the hole-infested curtain. Njide! the debt collector. A million thoughts flew through his head. What could Njide possibly want? surely he must have heard that ‘fine buoy’ had been incarcerated in the poor man’s hotel and had therefore come to collect his money before someone killed him for good. In these streets, it was money before neighbors, or brothers, or whatever. Money first!
“my friend open this door jhor!”
Continue reading Fine Buoy Rich Pimples(FBRP): Episode III
Written by: Ogu Chinedu
‘Cell B’ was no pleasant place, not for a criminal and definitely not for an innocent like johnson. It was filthy. It was dark. It was dusty, with cobwebs at every curve and an overpowering stench of poo just by a never opened iron window. As if the sore state of the room was not enough, the inmates were nothing to write home about. Definitely not recommended as roommates.
They were not many, as one would have imagined. From the voices johnson could decipher, he could make out six individuals, from the slaps he had received from sunset up till the first light, he could make out four hardened fellows, and from the wailing and pleas, he could make out two weaklings. Johnson himself was of-course one of the two weaklings, and the sixth individual. What pained him most was not the slaps or lack of sleep, it was how he ended up in that place. The events leading up to his rough-handling by the police was laughable at-least to anyone that heard the story, even though the wounds on his body wouldn’t permit him that leisure.
Continue reading Fine Buoy Rich Pimples.(Episode one)