Good morning people…
I started this post on Friday evening, thinking I was gonna finish it and post it Saturday. Then I spoke to a friend of mine and something came up so I decided to put the post on hold till Sunday evening when I would have the complete story of how my weekend went.
It’s a ridiculously long post so, like a Nollywood movie, I decided to break it into two parts; Part I and II…
On Friday morning, my pet pig said to me; “WTF? Oink oink oink oink oink! Oink oink… Oink oink oink, you filthy pig!!” For those of you who don’t speak Piggerish, she basically told me that the whole house was filthy and she was threatening to move out if I didn’t do something about it. So I spent the whole of Friday cleaning up the house. My brother was coming back home that day too.
After cleaning, I went to the market and cooked enough food for 100 Rwandan refugees, bought extra batteries for my dildo and organized fuel for the gen. The plan was to not leave my home till Monday/Tuesday, if possible Wednesday.
While I was cooking, there was someone at the gate. I ran to see who it was and alas! it was my gen-guy (the guy who services and repairs my gen). I was very surprised to see him because he had already done some work on the gen earlier in the week. I was thinking he maybe forgot a spanner or screwdriver or something.
He does lots of small jobs in this area, especially repair work, but he also owns a little shop where he sells electronics that my industrious Aba brothers manufacture… things like Elgee irons, Samsing Tvs and Parasoniac table fans. I like him cos he’s a simple guy and I respect his hustle. When I first moved here, a carpenter who did work for me referred him to me. That’s how I met Chuks.
Anyway, he said he came to invite me for a party. He and his friends had organized a late Val’s Day dinner party and he wanted me to be his date…
Now, I’m the kind of girl who believes in the underdog. I know what it is to fall from grace to grass and to have people treat you differently and make you feel as worthless as a one-naira note. Because I know, I like to go out of my way to be civil to the “little” people, those who serve me in one way or another. I feel like it makes them feel appreciated.
I keep names in mind, I say hi whenever I go by and on PMS-free days, I might even offer a smile. I never ever refer to bus drivers and conductors as “Driver” and “conductor” cos I know they hate it. It’s “Oga” and “Bros” respectively. And I don’t do it to score points with anyone.
But this is exactly how it turns around and bites me in the ass. Somehow, in the minds of these wankers, my “niceness” is interpreted as “green light”. Their egos convince them that I must find the Chicken Republic uniform with the matching paper hat irresistible and sexy. Or my greeting is a sign that I’m contemplating a future in bus conductor heaven, where we would both wear old dirty vests together, and not shave our armpits together and spend eternity hanging from the door of 14-seater buses shouting “LAYKEERANDABA!!!” (Lekki Roundabout).
Before all those people who have bus-driver uncles or conductor-cousins start spitting fire, you need to hear me out first. I’m not a materialistic girl… You can ask any of my broke-ass exes. It’s not about the money for me. But it irks me how I’m the only girl I know who gets approached by these fearless men. It’s very insulting.
How does a simple “Good morning sir” or “Well done bros” translate to “Please bang me senseless and let me be the mother of your seven unborn children”? HOW??