They are known by
Eskimos as the most calculating people on planet E. Their music is true proof
that if you play copycat for long enough, you might just sound like the real
thing. Their country is the only place where you can find drug dealers,
lesbians and some Al Shabaab fellas hanging at the same strip club. These
sneaky bastards are responsible for more than 70% of internet based scams. They
are the reason why people in Mali prefer to speak Portuguese and not English.
They have released more awful movies than the whole of Africa and Asia (and
wherever Eskimos come from) combined.
They are BAD!
Nigeria is the
true definition of Ninja Territory. These schmucks are the closest thing Africa
has to the five mafia families of New York. They’re some goddamn bullies I tell
you. They can hack into your bank account and sweep your cash in a blink (yes, don’t argue). They’ll then call you soon after your landlord throws you out
like,
“…yes, I believe
I’m talking to a Mr. Onyango Opio? Yes, er…we have taken all your money. Do not
worry; it is in a safe place. We are going to invest it in drugs and human trafficking. It is very good business…normally we shove the drugs in the humans
and sell the whole package. All the profits will of course be reimbursed to you
– in form of a sizeable donation in your name to Ayman
al-Zawahiri, our supreme leader. Thank you for being a part of the
fight for the cause.”
Whether a movie
is from Ghana, Zimbabwe, Togo or even the US – as long as it has black people
with slurry shoot-me-dead accents, it will always be called Nigerian. That is
what I call badness.
I love the girls
in Nigerian movies. If you’re lucky (like I was) there’ll sometimes be a girl
with booty the size of a sub-county. They have some of most exquisite babes onthe continent. I saw Genevieve Nnaji stepping out of a shower and I was
definitely sure that is what my first wet dream must have looked like.
So I threw my
feet over the sofa armrest, picked up the remote and went Nollywood.
Shit
Ten minutes in.
Besides a very painfully slow soundtrack, nothing has happened. They’re still
sweeping the compound. The scene then changes to a Land Cruiser snaking its way
around pot holes. For some reason, no matter the time of day, their headlights
are always on; it is like they’re trying to add some luster to the ram shackled
roads. Then the overly obese “chief” starts a detailed discussion with a very
fine dame about overwhelmingly unexciting class – related topics. She smiles
sweetly like it is the best vibe she ever heard. Marriage arrangements are made
blah blah blah…>>fast forward>>…blah blah blah…he realizes she’s
the ghost of his third wife.
What the –?
Okay, here’s the
thing – let us be realistic. If you found out that you’ve been shagging a ghost
for God knows how long, would you suddenly breakdown in tears and start mopping
like a lil bitch or would you get the hell out of that joint like you’re bat
shit crazy?
Cut the scene
before I slit my wrists you sleazy, narrow minded nincompoops.
It is hard for me
to admit that I made a mistake…so I won’t. Watching Nigerian movies isn’t bad
at all. But I won’t talk about it anymore. Go and read more awful facts about them elsewhere.
You’ll learn from
them that you can decide to be a bad motherfucker in your own right. That is
exactly what I did when I was born. I came out with this Sylvester Stallone
snicker like,
“What are y’all
lookin at? Ay, you with the awful green dress. Yes you – can’t you see I could
use a bath five minutes ago? I stink like death. And please pour me some vodka
while you’re at it, will you?” I then turned to mum, “Mum, tell the other women
to try not to dress like local town lesbians next time I’m born.”
As a self
proclaimed bad boy, I don’t celebrate birthdays, Christmasses, anniversaries or
any of all that she-bang. Because one, I did not know my real birthday till I
was 13. Mum would sometimes tell me it is on the 15th and then
correct it to 18th when slightly drunk. She’s more sincere when
she’s drunk so I picked the 18th (it even makes me 3 days younger).
That doesn’t
however mean that I’ll take the fun out of it for other people. That’s why I’ve
crashed more birthday parties than – I don’t know, whoever has crashed the most
birthday parties. Wait, wouldn’t that-? T-That would technically be me, right?
*thinks*
Okay…this is getting
a teeny bit confusing.
I crashed some
party at UCU last semester and boy, was it a drag? Me and my fellow goon heard
some people chanting “Happy birthday to you…” and he looked at me like, “sounds
like liquorish! I’m the life of any party - let’s take over that joint and show
‘em what time it is.”
We stood close to
the exit and tried to fit in. We didn’t even know who the birthday girl was or
anyone else for that matter. The only acquaintances in the room that we could
relate to were Gilbeys, Johnny Walker, Uganda Waragi and White Mischief
chilling over there on a table in the centre of the caucus.
It was close to
midnight, and these fellas were still giving speeches about how special the
babe is and all that social crap. We just kept on clapping impatiently and
clearing our dry throats, one eye on the table. Just when I am about to call it
a kaffu (dead plan), small plastic
disposable cups were passed around. My buddy started rubbing his hands in glee
and even managed a smile for the first time since we arrived. They handed him
his and he held it gratefully with both hands.
Then his face
went blank.
I looked at him,
puzzled. But I needn’t have asked – they handed me one too.
I peered into the
cup and found that the contents were nothing but popcorn. And poorly prepared
popcorn at that.
I died…twice.
Sensing our
dismal reaction at their token of “generosity”, the emcee quickly announced
that there were some new faces in the crowd who hadn’t introduced themselves
–us. We were supposed to state where we’re from, what we do, how we were
related to BD girl, love life and all that. It was apparently only the two of
us who were unknown…my comrade elbowed me to go first.
“Er, h-hullo
everyone…my name’s Arthur. I’m from MUK and I’m a friend to a friend of the
birthday girl. Er, relationship status – I’m in a flirtationship!” No one laughed;
the joke was obviously lost on them, “y’know…more than friendship, less than a
relationship?”
Nothing…no reaction.
I.literally.started.sweating.like.a.whore.in.church.
…
The seemingly
infinite silence that followed was broken by the other goon. He cleared his
throat loudly and stepped forward.
“Hi…my name is
*insert your dog’s name*. I’m from around. I don’t know the birthday girl at
all. I’m just here to take the drinks back to the shop when you’re done. I wish
you’d hurry up because it is long past midnight.”
The way they
kicked us out!
SMH
A
few days (or weeks, or months or even years) later, there was another birthday
party near my hostel. This time, I was invited. From my previous experience it
dawned on me that if you’re invited to a birthday party, you should be
courteous enough to come with a drink. Sadly, I’m always broke (I’m even still
paying bar debts of 1998). So, I didn’t suddenly go yeppeee because there
was simply no way I was going to spend 17k on a muzinga for these babes.
Some of my better
thinking friends came up with a plan. They bought five sachets of Zed Waragi,
five sachets of Royal Vodka, five sachets of London No.1, five sachets of
Coffee Spirit, five sachets of Empire and a bottle of pineapple juice quencher.
They mixed it all up with very cold water and put it in the freezer for about a
hour.
It was the
sickest, meanest, roughest, sweetest drink ever! I didn’t touch that shit
because it had death spelt all over it.
At exactly 1 am,
there was a massive brawl at the roadside. I came to the balcony with a
cigarette hanging from my mouth to check it out. Three guys were tearing each
other apart over some really drunk babe. I didn’t have my spects on but I could
swear she was wearing one shoe. Some other guy came out staggering…asked her if
she wanted to go home and she accepted. They hailed a boda-b and left the three
guys still flexing.
They hadn’t even
noticed that the babe was gone.
* * *
I don’t know if
some of you noticed – the sun was rather shy in rising today. That is because
it was afraid of being out shined by the most complete girl I know. Today is
her birthday and she is real special to me so I want to do that drum roll and
scream HAPPY BIRTHDAY +rashydah sarah!!! May your Dreams stay Big and your
worries stay small.
I’m currently
celebrating it with a coupla bad bways over some kush, shisha and your
facebook pics.
Mob love.
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