 |
| Mpumelelo Macu |
Over time, I have come to realize that we are all storytellers in need of listeners. The only difference between me and you is that I am willing to pen my play with words. You know it is true each time you pout because s/he is not listening. You remember the little lowering of your spirit each time it happens. You know the little embellishments you've added just to elicit a laughter. You know when they are more than just embellishments. Exaggerations, in fact. And sometimes, something even more, the kind that defies an English term.
To convince you to agree with me, I will tell you a story about what happened on my way back home. It was supposed to be a peaceful ride. It started off as one. Until this man in the back seat received a call. He started slowly. Gently. He had even called himself a gentleman. I believed him. My mistake. Don't blame me. Even you would have. I told you, his words were slow. Genteel, like a gentleman. It consisted of a litany of repeated words: don't call this line again. Don't call my mother again. Don't call any member of my family again. A break. Rinse. Repeat.
 |
| Hammed Okunade |
I suppose the reason for the breaks are because he cut the call and the person on the other end (who I shall later find out to be a girl) kept calling back. I suppose because it won't make sense otherwise. Since I am not a gossip, I resisted the urge to take a look and see for myself (which btw, took every ounce of my self restraint). I should have suspected then. But it will be like judging the world through my lens. Expecting everyone to have my bad character. A typical me would have sung this rhyme once. Maybe twice because of the largesse of my heart (believe or not, I am still a Christian with a heart full of love). The third will be needless. I would have blocked the person if he wasn't getting the message. I don't think life is really that complicated as we make it seem. I almost admired this man’s patience. Almost.
Until the threats began. They were like dying embers being kindled. The driver was the fan. You see, there is a reason I let people throw tantrums in peace. While I wait it out without a word or reaction. The driver had not learnt this lesson. He snickered and threw an offhand comment. It came out as a hype. All hell broke loose. Suddenly, this man was under the spotlight. The bus was his stage. Damm! He loved the attention. So he forced himself on us and began to scream, ‘marriage is not by force.’ His voice rose with each ear. When he had it all, he began to tell his story. How this girl, whom I gathered he was supposed to marry, called his mother and told her that he is part of a secret society because of the nature of the pictures he posted.
The most infuriating part of the tantrum was the specifics. Somehow, this news got to his mother and it destroyed his "G Wagon." So he had to take the bus "in disguise". That is not all. I would have easily forgiven him if it were. His words came as whiny high pitch sounds. “I travelled by flight to come here…even though my father is a king.. He has his money and I have mine...because of you, they spoilt my iPhone 16...is it my fault your brothers are still squatting in your parents place? I will bring down your nursing certification. No! Don't tell me anything. Don't speak that English for me. Your father is a common military man. Head of ranks na my Godfather. They will sack him." And on, he went. Profanities upon profanities. The worst was when he said, "I am in a bus right now, if I do not do any of these let me have accident and die."
 |
| Sunday Abegunde |
Dear friends, I quickly told the driver to stop let me come down. And since my self control has always been poor, I stole a glance as I came down. Don’t worry. I did it with style. The kind that does not show that I am a gossip. Or that I will tell you. I saw the man. Ife m furu ejuro anya. Truthfully, I think he may die. Simply, he didn't look it. Whatever he claimed to be. Being rich keeps you on a threshold you do not know how to go below. You'll know luxury. The kind that makes you order bolt if your G-wagon has been destroyed. The kind that makes you not to lament too hard (to strangers—with so much pain—at that). After all, how much is money? What is there in a G-wagon that you can not buy again? You may even want a change like a Rolls Royce or a Lamborghini. And see it as a blessing in disguise. Instead, he came whining in our ears and forcing us to fan his ego. Why he even decided to join us, the hustlers, in our humble ride still baffles me.
But it is not what he did not look like that gave him away. It is what he looked like. His skin knew the sun like it was family. Perhaps it’s only because genes didn't favour him. I understand it can be that way sometimes. But I have seen wealth penetrate genes. If you doubt me, I will ask you why you are quicker to carry rich peoples’ babies. Why do you tug their cheeks and call them fine? Why don’t you think same for the child by the roadside? But I digress. It is that he didn’t look out of place that did it for me. In fact, he looked like he belonged.
 |
| Oyemike Princewill |
Finally, I know one or two rich people. I know the common thing they share: they rarely make noise. Especially in this BAT era. What for? So you goan kidnap them? Moreover, if you have arrived, you have arrived. We can see it for ourselves. You do not have to scream it to the world. Your three-piece suit and the gigantic building on your family land screams it for you. I know about the chief in your village. If we take him for an exception, you will find that it is the empty vessels that make the loudest noise.
I thought about this man as I walked home. More than I’d like to admit. Night was fast approaching. So was the chill. I shuddered and walked faster. I will be tired by the time I get home but better tired than dead. Tsk! I hated his guts. His story. The way it revolved all around him. I found it vain. Even more, that it is so one-sided. Not to sound like a gossip, but I am all for full disclosure. If he put the loudspeaker for us, the least he could do was give the girl an opportunity to talk and us, to listen. But he refused to share the stage. The girl pleaded and pleaded. I know. I am a judge with little facts. I do not know what happened or how this particular story began. But I believe that a person who must tell a story must listen. This is justice! (not gossip).
I refuse to be him. So let’s talk. Heart-to-heart. Are they topics you want us to talk about? Tell me about them? Is there need for improvement? Let me hear. Give me a review. A feedback. Anything. I just want to hear from you. Send a mail here Ogonna Annette Onwudiegwu. If you are subscribed, you can just reply the new blogpost alert mail.
Entertainment 🤍🌟
ReplyDelete