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Continuation: Episode 2

If only parents knew how much of euphemism we youth need in information dissemination to us, the world would have definitely been a better place long before the popular king of pop, late Michael Jackson sang about it. As I rolled from one corner of the semi foamed bed and bamboo with a torn blanket and some itching effects of peeled yam, all I could resonate in my mind’s ear was “Girls, marine, diabolical powers, don’t touch or hug any to stay alive. You need to see the way I cuddled my little testament bible given to me by Gideon International right on the assembly ground in my beautiful school as if they knew my life will be in danger in the next few weeks. I was so glad I have something to curl around as the last defense in a dark room, dark village, and dark people even my dark information giver of a grandpa. 


All through the night I could hear the snore of all the people in the different sections of the barn and it was all but me that was sleeping peacefully, and as I managed to catch a glimpse of doze and that was it, I dreamt of all sort of nonsense that anyone could ever dream of ranging from how a beautiful girl was waving at me with a tuber of yam and how three ladies were hawking mangoes side by side and smiling at me. The one that got me up with a shout of “No I don’t want” was when my own classmate showed up in my village with a bottle of Green Sand soft drink, a drink I so much cherished in the early 80s. Her name was Tinu, she came on a Rally bicycle and shouted my name and running up to me with the bottle of drink handed it over to me. It was then, I asked what she was doing in my mother’s village and the answer slapped me into another reaction. Can you believe it? She said, “Jaiye, I am from this village”. what? That was like having a password to my shout from the dreamland, “No I don’t want”.

As if grandpa hasn’t done enough damage, he was the first to rush up on me with numerous bible quotations and telling me “They wouldn’t succeed in initiating you before you leave this village”.
By the time I gained consciousness from my semi-sleepy eye, I felt like going back or calling my mom to pick me up the next day but no thanks to the Nigerian government and the ITT fraud that made it impossible for GSM availability for commoners then in Nigeria. So I was stalked in this village and there is nothing I can do about it.


The following morning was way beyond my imagination, as I remember being pulled up by my grandpa for an early morning prayers in the church only for me to discover it was still as dark as I left it the previous night but the time was already 5:30am yet the unyielding dark colouration of the sky says nothing about morning rays. As we moved out all I could see was the old kerosene lamp with a glass shield and cover for the kerosene compartment. Different sections of people can only become clearer when you get closer but without it, all you see is moving lamps in the dark as if it was a village filled with ghost holding lamps in their invisible bodies.


The morning sermon changed my mind about some possibility of fun in the village as the preacher was a dark ebony man with moustache like that of a formerly crooked drunkard that would love to drape his moustache in some cold ‘33 larger beer’ for taste and only met Jesus when situation was bad for his atrocities in Drink 101 and Women Philosophy. Never mind me it was just my way of assessing people in my premonitions. The man was good, using his Ijesha accent to preach the word of Christ with some funny stories. He had more stories to buttress his point than bible quotations and that was fun to me because I grew up with more bible quotation kind of sermon.


By the time we returned home it was 6:35am and to my greatest surprise, all I could hear in the next 20-25mins was ‘poh! Poh!! poh!!! From different sections of the village while I was still trying to get some sleep as the enemy of progress would not allow me to sleep all through the night. I decided to step out but apart from the cold I could feel, I discovered everywhere was becoming bright a bit and as I uttered my greetings cold smokes were coming out of my mouth and the respondents to my greetings. Wow! first time witness of heavy harmattan smoke in communication just like my first American Film on Christmas day “Coming To America”.


You will be shocked if I told you that we had over fifteen relatives already waiting to see me, the Lagos boy and then the unending introduction began. Ah! Damola, don’t you know Rebecca’s daughter in Ibadan, she is the one that gave birth to this young man here. I was trying to thank God that the trauma was over when they started dragging me up and down showing off with me as if I just came from the U.S, well, as a sharp Lagos boy I was determined to enjoy my stay. I asked for where I could get an orange to buy and when I told them I needed a N1 (One Naira) worth of orange I saw an unbelievable commotion as everyone ran in and came out with a basket full of oranges.


The afternoon period was my little temptation hour and I tell you, it was a period of conflicting noise, as I had a feminine grip to my face from behind and because my human system is still in good shape and can respond to touch I knew it was time to calmly remove the blindfold and what I saw surprised me. The lady that covered my face from behind was my grandmother’s younger sister’s second daughter Kemisola(please try to trace my lineage with smiles, my mouth was wide opened because she is so beautiful that it made me remember the story of an old witch trying to get a disobedient boy in an evil forest (you know the tales by moonlight children stories). The last time we saw was when she was in Pry six surprisingly, my mind was just telling me to be careful of this little drama queen and no thanks to grandpa’s earlier warning shot the night before.


The desire to stay back at the village knew no band as this little drama queen of a relation Kemisola, the girl with over five hundred IEDs in grammatical blunders per hour has now arrived from Ise Ekiti, the major township settlement after Afolu. She is just a beauty packed in some sort of bad grammatical upbringing. All I could just imagine is who will marry this my extended blood of a sister? She is so beautiful and very funny to be with, but what lack of proper education has done to her spoken English was far more than what a continent can explain. As if she was a carcass for the Eagles, fifteen minutes after she arrived in the farm settlement, different shades of girls from the village started coming to great her and at this point, my mind was skipping as I remember grandpa’s warning about the village girls.


Oh! Who will come to my own Macedonia to help me? The youthful battle is getting up to stare me on the face.


I will stop here, till next week.

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