So my head has been boiling nonstop for weeks now. The boiling is so intense that you can actually cook a pot of beans with ripe plantain on my head. However, the boiling is not really my problem, my problem is that I can’t feel the enormous heat my head is producing. I mean my head is so hot but when I touch it, it feels so cold like ice. That’s my problem. One, I can’t say what the problem is but I sense I have a problem I can’t deal with. Two, if my neighbour knows the enormous heat my head is producing he won’t bother refilling his gas cylinder. He should just place his pot of beans on my head and go and sleep; I will remove it when it is done.
So I am trapped in my misery. I have thought of several things that could be the source of this endless boiling. Honestly, finding the source has become more elusive than the solution.
Am I heartbroken? Who or what could possibly break my heart? I thought heartbreak is meant for people that have booboo and bae? So what’s my own, when I am no ‘boo’ and I have no ‘ello bae’. The moment power changed hand; I saw the handwriting on the wall. I fasted and prayed over it and it was revealed to me by my ancestors that I can’t maintain the title of “booboo kiti” in the recession that is coming except I want to go back to the village. I called ello bae and showed the handwriting to her, and told her that I don’t want to be her “booboo kiti” again. My name is Akonauche and I have decided to embrace the full weight of my name; before she could start the sobbing, I was long gone. While in BRT and stuck in traffic recently, I saw her inside Range Rover Evogue, she was scooping ice cream from a big bucket of Coldestone and three decker Domino’s Pizza on her laps. That could have been my hard earned Twenty Thousand Naira she was eating and licking away just like that. The back seat was filled with shopping bags. I quickly thanked my ancestors for saving me timeously. Our eyes met and I quickly removed my eyes and did sign of the cross. Later that night she chatted me up; “I am happy you left” and I replied, “I am most happy I did”. She started ranting; “what’s wrong with you? You are not even remorseful. I am removing all your pictures from my Instagram handle and blocking your sorry ass. You are not man enough”. I replied, “Lol. Who picture epp?” She called immediately but I saw the missed calls when I woke up and a text, “you are hurting me and you don’t even care. You are too selfish”.
Having ruled out the possibility of being heartbroken, I thought that workload in the office could be the reason for my boiling head but as the annual vacation for lawyers approaches and workload for lawyers decreases, I realised that the boiling is still intense. I work in the litigation department of a large commercial law firm in the heart of Lagos. Honestly, I must admit that the workloads have been crazy. Sometimes I have to leave office very late and on getting home still stay up late just to meet up with deadlines. Sometimes when I sleep I could see the deadlines sitting on my bed with their jaws rested in their hollow palms or my supervisor’s shrill voice reminding me that failure to meet up with deadlines is an appraisal issue. One morning after working late into the night, I was rudely woken up by my phone around 8:30am and my supervisor was on the other side with his shrill voice, screaming; aren’t you supposed to be in court today and it is already 8:30am and you are not yet in the office? I literally dropped dead. I got hold of myself and told him a big fat lie; sir, I am already in court. What do you mean you are already in court? Are you saying I am blind? Yes sir. That I am blind? No sir. Am I not staring at your wig and gown hanging in your corner? Are you high on a cheap something this morning? Sir, I am already in court. I took only the case file home because I have a spare wig and gown at home. You have two wigs and gowns? I can’t remember what he said next before hanging up. That my heart was racing is an understatement. I had so much adrenaline rush that I wanted to just zoom off like Clark Kent and find myself inside the courtroom. I live in Lagos Mainland and the Court is in the Island. My village people have finally gotten me. They want me to lose my job and come back to the village and start smoking igbo and drinking kai kai. It won’t be long the Igwe will discover that I am a wasting talent and he will decide to empower me with a motorcycle and I will become an okada man with my LL.B and B.L certificates. Then one mgbeke will start rubbing white powder and red lipstick just to seduce me and become my baby mama. God forbid. I quickly opened WhatsApp and posted an SOS message on my University and Law School Group Chats. Luckily, two colleagues are already in the court and before the Judge I am to appear. I quickly asked one of them to hold brief for me and plead with the Judge to stand down my matter as I am stuck in traffic. He did and the Judge graciously stood down my matter. That was how I was able to save myself that day but not without going to court with the case file and spending thousands of Naira in buying new wig and gown. I cursed that day and wanted to tender my resignation letter but the pile of unpaid bills and responsibilities that stare at me every minute of my life made me change my mind.
Even as I type this jibber jabber my head is still boiling. It’s even more intense because I know that when I get home, there will be no light and my neighbour’s generator will be on. The noise of his “I pass my neighbour” generator freaks me out. He can leave his generator on from 7:00pm till morning. How he does that I don’t know. Out of anger I feel like blowing whistle on top his head. So that he will explain how he got the money he spends on storing up fuel just to leave his generator on till daybreak. Even when NEPA will be gracious enough to restore power in the middle of the night, his generator will still be on and scattering my head because he is on his bed snoring and I will be awake. I have had cause to go out at night to pull out his plug and very soon I will pour salt inside his fuel tank.
I have also thought of Lagos traffic as the cause of my boiling head but it is not the cause. Lagos traffic only increases the boiling. I don’t even want to talk about the traffic thing. I think I should just leave that one aside and serve you a sausage of my Lagos traffic diary in my next random thoughts.
For now, let me come and be going to where I can drink cold beer with goat meat pepper soup.

Weekends are for fun in Lagos.

I need to read more of this!!

You're a genius.

BlackDBagba:
I need to read more of this!!
You're a genius.

Lol! Thank you.

Eyes rolling

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