Catwalks in and collapses into a chair, lights up a cigarette, puff out smoke, eyes blink repeatedly as if to wade off an uneasy settling of a perching fly. Suddenly, there is head movement, first tilted to the right,then to the left as if in observation of something forlorn.
A phone rings by the corner, one hiss- loud and forbidden reverberated through the open space. long curled up nails scratch the surface of the black chair. Legs crosses as shoes are violently kick off. A light shines directly in the background, there is a swinging mic. Fine hands grabs a hold of it and turns slowly forward to face a podium of watchful eyes.
There is this crazy circle that runs the surface of this planet earth and earthlings have decided to blindly abide by it, oh that is not a problem as long as everybody is minding their own business. But minding one’s business cannot be far fetched in this case because it is time to blast anybody.
You see that your uncle that licks his mouth whenever you approach in your fine suit and polished shoes and request a million dollars? Or is it that woman in your family who churns out naked lies of praises and chants in a bid to get you flashing a wide grin: money speaketh, dropping things. Or is it that long forgotten acquiantance who re appeared because he saw you on TV? What about your caucus of gbeborun friends who were never there but their never turned to ever when the cash, pomp and pagentry started to roll in.
Okay, Let me address this one, that your babe that left you for the rich bald man sleeping in an agbada suit, she is now back, pleading and tempting, saying oh glory glory, James you are the one for me. That guy that saw nothing in you because you came from a poor, untushed background who now fakes an accent just to pronounce your name beautifully: he wants to have you. Tufiakwa, infact thunder and storm fire the shining forehead that sit and pant in the name of hailing you just so you could do some dropping things.
Is it not ridiculous that we fool one another alot? Is it not outright mumu-ity that after all said and done, you claim you are a nice person and you let them rub your grey hair ( oh how you toiled, even the soil wept for you).
Please I know what you are thinking, the crap they say ” it is the rich and finest that people roll with- if this is so, what happened to the ugly and poor? Yet you will go to the market and make a purchase from them.
It is very funny how people are quick to ignore you, look down on you; head shaking in pity, some will even form efissy for you, shakara olode “you are not in my calibre.”
Because of money. When you now start making it after suffering-mind you, they never supported you one bit, any support you get is like some form of compensation. Make we sha just ask after am ber ber. Some will even haul insults at you and tell you to forget your rubbish passion and dream.
When the tables turn, that rubbish will turn to lobby-lobby for cash, they want to eat from the fruit of your labour. All those akargom uncles.
And you want to allow them. They come to you and ask for help, it is now you are remembered, it is now trouble looms for them, it is now you are a god, it is now…
Are you okay? Gbaun!
Where were they when you needed them? When Enny ( that one even get time ) dey shout support your brothers and sisters in any way little, sacrifice, help, you don’t know who is who tomorrow, let your priority be more about giving than receiving, you are there forming, this is 21st century, we do as we like.
Er, when the tables turn, let us all do as we like. If your medulla oblongata will be to serve good use, when you hear ” my brother my brother…” Abeg which one be brother brother?
Or famzing association : she is my aunty’s sister. Which one is my sister, aunty sister?
Colleagues in distress: guy how far now? Oh boy! you don jand! Abeg! Abeg! Carry your buccatta.
Congregation of eyeservicers and witnessses: Er, bros that your tie na correct. I told her you just arrived from London. Please spare me the thrash talk
Hailers connection: My son, the gbogbo artist, sweetest! ( hell, you are not even my mother) please park!
Lastly, the family muwamuwa connection: You have to help your brother, I carried you when your mother went to the farm, you are who we look up to… heheheehehhe…. go and sleep joor.
Just take a break, think about your life and be realistic about these people, since you carried your buccatta: pains and struggles, let everyone carry theirs too. So we can have a common ground and carry shoulder up too will not reign. Please don’t talk to me about how they already know they did you wrong but didn’t realise it then ( you too, you are not realising it now), serve them ice cold, then negotiate later. These people are not loyal.
My rant is over.
P.S : no ask me questions that dwell on the shores of mumu-ity. I talk my own, talk your own.
Why so serious?
This column is a social experiment and
Lisa Kokoko Heels is just a realist ranter.