Hmmmm, sounds quite strange isn't it? Well, don't freak out yet, I've got a story. A super interesting one. It all began with trying to grab an opportunity to pocket some unplanned quickie cash. But at the end of the day, (not trying to claim equality with Jesus) I died but resurrected.
“Catch them young”, this is what the Bible says, but certainly the youths of nowadays are not being caught young in matters related to money. They call it cash, some even call it rubbers. When it comes to money, everything changes. Anyway I’m not surprised. If the bible should say that the love of money is the root of all evil what more do I expect.
I met my very good friend-Francis (not his real name). This friend is one indeed but I had to doubt when he narrated the story of his quest for N200.00 (two hundred Naira) to me. At first I was astonished at the story but I guess I don't have to be, because it's the new trend. It was just being desperate for money. This is a TRUE LIFE STORY; I can swear this with my new Iphone 7 (As if I had one)
Hear his story...
It turned out to be a miserable night after that very hectic day. I was just coming back from work and very tired. I was also thinking of how to complete the N5000.00 (five thousand Naira) I had budgeted for a pair of black Italian shoes that I had seen a friend of mine wore to a recent ceremony. I had gone to Eziowelle to do some electrical works that I was sure would fetch some money that would give my pocket some little boost, at least for the week. I finished late and the person I had worked for told me to come the next day for my money. I was not happy. In fact I was angry. But he was a friend and I could always meet him. Nothing, I mean nothing was in my pocket except a pair of pliers. That was the beginning of my woes.
As I was going home that fateful night on my motor cycle, a guy flagged me down. I didn't know him; I guess I have never seen him before. I stopped to hear him out. He actually thought I was an Okada rider and asked for a ride. I could have carried him free of charge. But I thought there was nothing wrong if I collected some money for fuel. We bargained. I asked him to pay N200.00 though I knew it was more than the supposed price. He asked me to take him there at N100.00, but I refused. I knew that during the day, the fare to that place was N50.00 but I told him N200.00 because I badly needed the money then. In the long run, he agreed to pay me the N200.00. He hopped in and we zoomed off. I smiled. Maybe I would have cried if I had known the person I had just allowed on my bike.
The night was cold and breezy since it had rained cat and dog all through the day. Shortly after, a conversation ensued between us. He asked me if I was feeling cold. Of course I was and I said so. I added to myself “that's why you have to pay N200”. In my mind I thought he asked out of human kindness. I started seeing him as a good friend and hoped he would add more money to my fare. I don't know if I was supposed to feel that way but that was what I felt. I'm the type that don't hide feelings, If I’m angry with you, you will definitely know, and if happy, you will likewise know. That’s by the way. We continued on the ride.
He offered to pay for my massage if I wanted to. I asked him what he meant by that. He replied that I was acting like a village boy. He said, “E be like say you never know wetin dey happen, where you from come sef”, he chipped in. I told him I didn't understand what he was saying. But I got interested. I asked him who will massage me if I needed it (My first mistake; continuing the discussion). It was then he told me he was referring to prostitutes. He called them hot babes-best remedy for a cold night. He even offered to pay for the sex if I needed it. See me see promo o. I rejected his offer. What I wanted now was my money, first, not the fun. Moreover, free sex has always proved to be even costlier. It was then I started having the thought that the guy on my motorcycle wasn't a friend as I thought he was. Was he so much rich that he sponsored sex for free; but haggle N200 fare with me? Or was he just so passionate and caring to make sure that I get warmed up. What happened some minutes later gave me the answer.
I wished so much that we reached our destination soonest. No sooner than later, he told me to stop, just beside a very busy guest house. The house was bubbling with life and light. I stopped for him to come down. He came down and I stretched out my hand in a way that was shouting silently, “please give me my money, no long talks”, but he restrained to my utmost confusion. I became impatient, it was already night so I needed to start going. Meanwhile, I started my bike and it just grumbled and stopped. Lo and behold, there was no petrol in my motorcycle tank any longer. I asked him to give me the money so that it will enable me buy the petrol and head home. He disagreed, instead he told me to follow him into the guest house and at least take a look. Knowing full well the dangers of going to a guest house especially the ones of nowadays, I also refused. He persisted that I should come take a look at the young ladies who are barely naked, referring to the prostitutes. He also said even if they don't touch me, just a mere look at them and their naked bodies will take the cold away. I was confused. I was worried. I was tempted. I have not gone to a guest house before (don't even ask me why) so I decided to check it out that night. There is always a first time. I asked him what was going to happen to my motorcycle which was dried up due to lack of petrol. Assuring me that there won't be any problem, I agreed and we went in. Even If I disagreed, there was no fuel in my petrol tank. Maybe this guy offering me drinks and free sex will provide money for fuel. Nothing was in my pocket remember.
Inside, we were treated like very important persons in a big occasion. The attendants ushered us seats and we sat down. I wasn't comfortable sitting while my motorcycle was parked outside. I raised the issue of petrol again, it was then he decided to give me money to purchase the petrol on the condition that I would come back to the guest house. Funny enough, he only gave me money that could buy one litre of petrol; no balance. I bought the fuel and came back to the party hall. As I recall this story now, I became very sure that if there was at any point that this guy`s jazz started working on me, it was when I got the petrol and decided to ride back to the guest house. How could I have? The only two things that could have made me take such a decision that led to my death (well, actually nearly) were: jazz and or the prospect and promise of free warm up.
At this point, he offered me drinks, but there were all alcohol. I bluntly refused to take them. Even on ordinary days, I don't take alcohol. The two of us were alone at the table which had some bottles of drinks; beer- one was empty (probably this guy had taken care of it), a bottle of malt and a can of a Lucozade Boost. Was there anybody on the table before? I didn't and may never know. Why the variety of drinks? Francis didn't know. I began to look around the bar. Mehn! I saw things.
First of all, if the air in the bar were to be analyzed, it would contain more alcohol than oxygen. Despite the fact that it had rained, it was really hot inside the bar. “Hot babes” -in the words of my guy, were dancing very hot music, wearing very hot clothes in a very hot room. I looked on and saw someone I know. A very young-barely-sixteen that I usually see around our house. She was wearing an ultra mini skirt that should pass better for a belt. I was baffled.
I heard my `host` ordering for more drinks. I turned and reminded him that i don't take alcohol. He told me to take one of the bottles of malt on the table. I said no for I was cold and wouldn't want to take any drink for any cause. He said that he won't be happy if I don't take anything from him. I looked at the table and saw a sachet of locozade boost-ordinary lucozade boost, I decided to take that. He willingly agreed and it was shown all over him as he beamed a smile.
I wanted to take it home but I felt it would be odd if others had their drinks on their hand and mine in my pocket. Well, I know you may have started to wonder what type of person I am? Party? No! Beer? No! Not even Malt. Well after my experience that day with the “ordinary” Lucozade boost, I may not even be able to collect an ordinary Lucozade boost in the public again.
I opened the drink myself. It was still intact, I was sure. I was enjoying both the naughty view in the bar; and drink. At a point, the music started to sound farther and I started to feel sleepy, no, I should say dizzy. My vision started to get blurred. Reflexively, I wiped my face over and over again. I was literally fighting with my eyes to keep them still open.
My head started spinning like a korosa (hope you still remember it). I remembered I had felt this way, sometime in the past. It was the first and last time that I –though unknowingly, drank a glass of chilled red label, worst still on empty stomach. I looked at my hand, I was holding a sachet of half filled `ordinary` Lucozade boost, but it seemed I was having something extra-ordinary inside me. I called on my guy and told him that I needed to start going since I was feeling sleepy. I wished I was actually only feeling sleepy. He asked me to wait while he finished his own drink so he can escort me. I consented.
Gradually, the whole cold came back to me. I could hear the clanging of my teeth louder than the Davido`s Aye playing. I know say no be my body wey I carry come I go carry go. I wanted to call on my guy who was talking to someone else just behind him. I opened my mouth but no word was coming out. No, I couldn't even open my mouth. I was losing control of my senses. I could only see vague figures of people moving around the bar. Probably, they had thought I was only drunk. I was not. I was losing control of my senses. The bar became darker and darker and at a point I couldn't even open my eyes again. Somehow, I felt I was going down into a valley. I guess it was when I reclined my head on the arm of the chair I was sitting on. That was all I could remember. I guess I passed out... The next place I saw myself was on a bed in my room. I opened my eyes and saw my mom and my sister wiping tears and rejoicing, probably they seem happy that I have finally opened my eyes. I was confused. I was weak but I felt better; better than the last time I could remember. I felt like I have slept for one week. I asked them “What happened?”
To be continued next edition...