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The Way Of Life by …Stephen Eke

The Way Of Life by …Stephen Eke

It is raining and I am looking out a window. Life is a funny place. I once wanted nothing more than to go outside with my Superman Paynt and get wet (Tueh! Remove your mind from the gutters) under the rain but Bro Ugochukwu was the devil then, preventing God’s children from playing outside in His showers of Blessing. I cannot count the number of times I and my siblings hatched plans to steal the house key from his pocket and escape outside as he loved sleeping whenever it rained.

I remember a day when we successfully stole the key from his pocket because he was really tired after Aunty kemi from the next compound came around. Good lord knows what kind of play they were playing earlier that afternoon while they thought we were sleeping, that he slept all through the heist and we even folded paper in the form of cigarette and put in his mouth just to pepper him.

That day, playing under the rain, I could identify with Mandela and how he felt after being freed. I wished for a day when I would be free to lie naked under the rain, maybe with a Cow and Chicken Paynt, without wahala.

Look at me now, rain pouring, key in my pocket, freedom to go out as I want but I cannot because I don’t have Superman paynt anymore and I am now an uncle, a modern day brother Ugochukwu. Aunty Kemi where you at?

But such is Life really. Sometimes we long for something so much that eventually when it has the chance to finally happen, we no longer have certain factors like the superman paynt and youthful innocence required to play in the rain of the chance.

I mean there was a time my entire life’s ambition was to kiss. I practiced with my pillow. Practiced in my head. Abi na for dream? This son of man was nicknamed McKissinger. Everybody in school had kissed or was kissing somebody supposedly. I mean even Rattus and Faith, unarguably the dirtiest students in school, I walked into them at the back of JSS1B kissing.

My shest!

I was worried. Perplexed. Maybe I was too much of a good boy and it seemed babes were only kissing the bad boys. Tega, Kel, Sixtus (like how do you kiss someone named sixtus kwanu) . Maybe I needed to start bouncing. You know, not be the one who answers the questions in class, not be the one carrying first. Because it seemed something biblical was happening. The first was being the last (in kissing) and the last was not just becoming the first, but was even getting double promotion head boy.I had a girlfriend then but if I was good, that one was gulder. So no hope.

But somebody say at the appointed time!

Somebody say the ways of the Lord are not the ways of men!

Just kneel down wherever you are and begin to give him praise, glory and adoration.

Because 🎵what a man cannot do. What a man cannot doooooooo**🎵

It happened. 4th July, 2002 between 4:40pm and 5:00pm.

Oh yes! I remember the exact time. I dey tell you say na my life ambition. So you want me to easily forget the day iheukwu mere. Na wa for you oh!

It was what my English teacher Miss Jennifer will call a Red-Letter day. I couldn’t believe it. It was totally unplanned. We had always stopped at hugs oh but baba as we hugged finish and we were separating, cheeks brushed against cheeks and before you’ll say 1, 2 buckle my shoe, lips was on top of lips.

Mckissinger crossed from the dream world into reality and what has been good for the goose, became best for the gander. When I got home, I had never been happier to wash plate. I’m sure Mumsi noticed. Nwanne I was scrubbing the back of pot with new vigour. I didn’t even want to talk to anybody. Brush mouth? Mba biko.

In my dreams that night, Mckissinger threw a kissing cult initiation party. We were in a bush alright but instead of flogging my back with machete, scores of well sculpted umu aka were kissing my back and I was screaming Ouch and crying. Tears of joy and Obago.

I walked into school the next day to applause, teachers bowing and calling me master, red carpet, and flower girls littering my way with shine shine. In my head though.

Cue in 🎵chisos owu otu a ka idi. daddy!! odi onye di ka gi🎵

But such is life; sometimes we spend so much time wondering how certain things will happen, gritting our teeth and just much ‘adoing’ over nothing when naturally in their own time they’ll happen.

Surely there have been several things that I’ve jonesed for, like earning 50 thousand naira when I was still earning 10k. I felt anyday dem begin pay me that kind money ehn? Azzin Five times my salary? With my 10k I could still buy beer and fish peppersoup talk more of 50k. Their papa! Iyalaya won. We go scatter area.I remember the day the first pay entered my hand. In my mind I was like so na so to be rich man dey be? Where the ladies at? Hola Hola!

🎵Coming through issue. We can now use 5k and do tissue. Haters Who you epp? You don baff? You even get soap? 🎵

Chai!

But fast forward to five months later, if the alert enters my phone, I would almost want to go naked, go to a place where three roads meet at 12 midnight, and curse the malafukin accountant paying such money into my account. I couldn’t believe I had slaved and worked my ass off to be promoted to earning miserly not even peanut sef, more like mustard seed 50k.

But that’s how life is Sometimes. We long for something so much that eventually when it happens we realize it is nothing special and when we have it, we just want more and more.

And it is with this thought in my head that I look out through the window and I appreciate the rain for bringing me memories, and in its own silent way teaching and reminding me not to take life too serious. Some things will come in their own time and even as I strive for a better day, to be content and not overly worry myself and be down while trying to answer life’s what how why where and when questions, hard as it may be.

Mass is ended.

And oh! I love this weather.
Weather for two.
Wobe Juice and I
Regards,
Uncle Stephen (Profett)

P.S; Wobe juice can inspire eh! Na wa oh! Ok ya thinking it’s just rain and looking outside window.

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Posted by:- on October 12, 2018.

Categories: Literature

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