Aborted Romeos — Six

[ThatYorùbáGuy]

Aborted Romeos — Six


Lagos, Life and Love Lessons


"Hey, fine girl."

"Hey wassup, how are you?"

"I'm good. How was your night?"

"It was awesome.

"Did you dream about me?"

"I didn't dream last night. Too tired."

"Haba. At least play along naw."

"No, Silly boy." She was smiling over the phone. I could sense it.

"I miss you, Zara."

"I know."

Silence.

"I'll be going to the Island today I need to go see Uncle Wems."

"Oh Okay. You just wanna go see him, right?"

"Yeah. I've not seen him since he got married."

"Okay o. Call me later yeah?"

"Sure"

"Byee"

"Bye," then I hung up.

Nigeria is one heck of a big bowl of fascinations, and Lagos is quite a mouthful. Lagos's comparatively small expanse of land is no dealbreaker for the droves of people that come to it for every business and mischief a man could have in a city as this, after all, every man is an adventurer at heart.

 I had planned to go to two places today: to see my 'post-marriage' uncle, and to check on Maami. 
Now I decided to act the proverb by killing two birds with one stone, only that my mother's place at Isolo is so far off Lagos Island where my uncle lives that I have to throw my stone carefully. So much for killing two birds with a stone.

Just as every profession has its qualifications, being mean and possessing bloodshot eyes are prominent requirements to be a certified agbero in Lagos, or so I thought when I took my fare change from the mean-looking bus conductor and walked off the road to Dover Street, where uncle Wems lives.

"My boy! Come in, come in." I returned his contagious smile as I entered the tastefully furnished living room.

"Good morning sir."

"Are we even still in the morning?"

"It is almost noon already."

"Well, you're welcome."

He walked off to the freezer in the adjoining dining room to fetch a big yoghurt drink.

"You want some kilishi?"

"Yes sir."

Your cousins would be lucky to have an uncle with good brains now, wouldn't they?" He didn't wait for a response and added quickly, "And this old guy's gonna have a handful of them around."

Typical of my uncle to say that.
 I was about to step down the crunchy kilishi with some yoghurt when his wife joined us.

"Good morning my in-law," Mope said, with a smile repeating a finely chiselled set of white teeth.

"Good morning sister Mope." Ahh, the woman is beautiful indeed.

She was much younger than Uncle Wems, and I put her to be in her early 30s, not much older than I am myself, but older still.

"It's so nice of you to visit."

"Thank you, but your husband will fight me if I don't come to visit."

"Abi o," he said, grinning at my lighthearted comment.

"Let me get to the kitchen. Food is almost ready."

"I can eat this combo all day." I was referring to the half-empty yoghurt and kilishi in front of me.

"Haba, no o. Just eat this as an appetizer till proper food is ready."

While my teeth handled another mouthful of kilishi, I thought about Uncle Wem's friends, Rotimi, Aliyu & Chuks. So far, only half the camp is married, with Aliyu being the other married man among the four friends. My thoughts went particularly to Chuks. I asked my uncle about him.

"Well we spoke on the phone yesterday. He was at his babe's place. I even spoke with her."

"I'm glad for him. After his wife died, I feared he was gonna run mad, literally."

"It's been two years now."

Chuks got married before his other three guys, and Naomi was already a few weeks pregnant when they tied the knot. He had rushed her to the hospital that night and waited for the news, but when he heard it he was devastated, and his world went dark. Or how do you expect a man to behave when, instead of the news of a newborn beautiful baby and a healthy mother, you tell him that both the baby and his wife are no longer alive? But there's an adage that says he who lives, lives, and he (or she) who dies, dies.

"Uncle J, food is ready." The way she said it made me feel old. Call me by my name goddamit.

"Thank you."

"Honey, come and eat." My uncle stood up and ushered the way to the dining room like an enthusiastic host.

I was looking at a flaming hot bowl of vegetable soup and Poundo yam and fruit juice before me. What joys of assorted meats and cold juice to go with it?

"Wow."

**********

It was already 4 p.m. before I took the bus from Obalende to Oshodi where I will take another bus to Isolo.
Women.
My uncle had suggested I stay till tomorrow morning, and his wife had backed him up rather half-heartedly.

"You can stay in the other room and leave tomorrow morning when it's safe."

Her manner of expression reminded me of some lectures about using non-verbal cues for effective communication, and while she said those words, her body language spoke the opposite, which could only mean she never meant what she said.

"I still need to get to my mom's place." 

"Okay o. My regards to her."

She had said so with mixed body language, as if telling me, 'That's better. I need alone time with my husband."

It was past 7 p.m. when I knocked on her door. The heavy traffic was a daily ritual for the typical Lagosian.

"E kaale ma." My mom was one of the special people for whom I prostrated the whole length of my body in respect.

"Bawo ni, how are you?"

"Mummy I'm fine." There was a box TV and an old CD player in the sitting room, which she rarely uses. She would prefer listening to the radio any day.

"I thought you would be here yesterday and I prepared Waterleaf soup but you didn't show up."

"I had to clear up some unfinished work."

"Ehen? Okay then."

"Did you cook that your chicken stew?"

"I made some just in case you decide to come today, and here you are."

"I'll eat everything."

"Ahan, didn't you eat at Wemimo's place, abi his wife didn't offer you food?"

"But I'm hungry."

"Everything is the kitchen, I can't eat all that food, but too much food can cause indigestion. You know that. When last did you deworm yourself?"

"It's funny how you still talk to me like a teenager. I'm twenty-something, you know."

"If you like, be 80 years old, you're still my child. Besides I just want your well-being."

"Nawa o."

I went to my old room to change into some comfortable clothing and came to the kitchen to get some food. The kitchen was neat.

"I heard Tope just gave birth."

"Ahan, is she married?" Tope was my classmate back in high school. Her family and mine were family friends.

"Since when? This is her third child."

"Nawa o."

"Which brings me to my question. When will you get married?"

"I just left university."

"Are you being funny now? You left university five years ago, and what has that got to do with you starting your own family? 

"Are you comparing me with Tope? She's a woman, and I am a man."

"Shior. Your dad was 25 years old when we had you. You are 28 years old."

"I'm not even financially balanced yet."

"That's the mistake many of you young people make today. You want to make all the money in the world before settling down. You better don't use Wemimo as a yardstick. That one is a woman wrapper. 

"At least he's married now."

"At 45!"

"Nitori Olorun. Mummy please can we postpone this discussion till tomorrow?"

"So that you can run away?"

"No naw, I wouldn't do that. Mummy please I need to use the toilet."

"Go o. You'll come and meet me."