Someone asked a question several years ago.

It didn’t make sense to me then so I let it go

‘Why bother myself with that now’ was what I thought

The answer would be ‘yes’ anyway when the time comes

So I went back to playing with my friends;

Then I went to school;

Shortly after that I got married

People said I had become ‘responsible’

What for, they didn’t say.

Woke up this morning and didn’t feel like work

Something just didn’t seem right

Whatever happened to all the dreams I had growing up?

Whatever happened to all those lofty plans?

As I contemplated whether to go to work or not

I remembered that question I was asked all those years ago

It makes sense now and I can’t seem to let it go

I had thought the answer would be a straight Yea

But as I ask myself that question, I wasn’t quite sure

So I ask you the same question:

Would the boy you were yesterday be proud of the man you are today?

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Segun and I grew up together in Makoko. You could say we were best friends. We learned many of life’s lessons and indulged in some of the most ridiculous foolishness together. If you came to my house back then and didn’t meet me at home, then you were sure to find me in Segun’s house and vice versa. We were a great team. Although our friendship was very competitive, as we always tried to outdo each other in almost everything- bicycle riding, gymnastics, academics, football, athletics, dating- but that could never stop us from celebrating each other’s successes. When we got into trouble, either together or individually- and we did a lot of times- we always could find a way out of it, together.

Our friendship could be said to have been ‘passed down’ because before we were, our fathers, were. Segun’s father [we call him Chief] and my Dad are best friends. We grew up listening to some of their escapades, many of which we never would have believed if we hadn’t heard it from both of them at different times. One such story was the one they told us about when my brother was born and they had to buy a ram for his christening. Neither of them had a car, so they took Chief’s motorcycle. After buying the ram, they decided it wasn’t necessary for my Dad to take the ram back home in a taxi, so what did they do? Chief rode the bike, my dad sat behind him holding one end of the rope that held the ram which had no choice but to run after them, bleating for dear life. Poor thing!

But this post is not about our fathers.
No.
It is about how Segun and I almost left this world to be with our fore fathers, on two separate occasions.

As I said earlier, Segun and I did everything together, well almost everything. We started dating together although I think I lost my virginity before him but if you asked him, he’d probably say he had sex months before me. That’s one of the few things we never could agree on.

Segun and I used to visit our girlfriends together. When either of us met a new girl and wanted to go see her for the first time, we went together. So when Segun told me he had met a new girl and wanted us to go see her together, the natural response was yes.

The girl, Bose, lived in the Eredua area of Makoko, a predominantly Ilaje community. If you knew the Ilajes then you would know they love living in ‘riverine’ areas; they are good swimmers and they also love to fish- not on a grand scale but they do a fantastic job using simple tools- nets, spears and their bare hands.

When Segun and I got to Bose’s street, as is our practice, especially when we are visiting a girl for the first time whose parents we know are very strict, we did what we always do- we walked up and down the street, on a reconnaissance mission, plotting how best to get the girl out of her house without arousing any suspicions from her parents. Eventually we settled on sending a little boy we saw playing on the street, who said he knew Bose, to go and tell her we were waiting outside her house. A few minutes passed and neither Bose nor the little boy showed up. I remember us joking about the boy going to tell Bose’s father that some people were waiting for her outside. But Segun said the boy wouldn’t do that after collecting his =N=20.00. He said there was honor amongst thieves.

Unfortunately, that was what happened exactly. The next thing we saw was this boy coming out of the house accompanied by four grown men all carrying fishermen spears or gaga as they call it. Then the boy pointed in our direction and said something to the men which we both couldn’t hear but immediately he finished what he was saying, we saw the men running towards our direction. We assumed they weren’t coming in to invite us in so we took to our heels and let our legs do the thinking for us. Both of us escaped unharmed but Segun ensured Bose paid the ‘price’ a few weeks later.

The second experience was even more dramatic. Segun and I had stolen his Mum’s car to attend a party that fateful day. We knew we were already in trouble for taking the car without permission, so, after the party, we decided to put the car to more fruitful use by visiting one girl Segun had been checking out at Otto Police Barracks, in Ebute Metta. We thought we might as well get good value for the punishment we were sure was waiting for us at home.

When we got inside the barracks, I stayed back in the car while Segun went to look for his girl, Scholastica. Thirty minutes on, Segun hadn’t returned to the car with Scholastica. The plan was for him to bring Scholastica, and one of her friends back to the car. I was getting pissed at him because I was sure he had forgotten about his promise of hooking me up with one of Scholastica’s friend. Fifteen minutes later, I decided to go in search of my friend. When I got to Scholastica’s block, I saw a crowd gathered around my friend. Had I known that the man holding Segun was Scholastica’s father, perhaps, I would have gone back quietly into the car. But I thought someone was trying to harass my friend so I ran to the spot to ‘rescue’ him. The following ensued when I got there.

Me: Segun, Whats happening?

Segun: I don’t know

Scholastica’s Father: You don’t know? You will know very soon. By the time I lock you up for a week, you will begin to know.

Then the man looked at me and asked, ‘are you together?’

Me: Yes, he is my friend. What did he do?

SF: ehn, so you came to destroy my daughter’s life together abi? This is how you Yoruba boys do. You go gi’am belle run abi? God don catch two of you.

Before I knew what was happening, he had asked one other man, a police officer, to hold me too.
Minutes later, after begging profusely, the man asked one of his officers to escort us out of the barracks. He warned us that the next time he catches us in the barracks, we wouldn’t be that lucky. He said he would shoot us ‘where we wouldn’t die’ so we would live with the consequences of our philandering for the rest of our lives.

The officer escorted us to Iddo Terminal [about half a kilometer from Otto] before he went back to the barracks. Segun and I stayed at Iddo for about an hour before going back to retrieve his Mom’s car. We had survived another ‘shave’ with death. We lived to die another day.

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My Mum, Iya Segun, can be too frank. If she had something to say, she said it without any recourse to who might be listening to her [who probably shouldn’t hear what she had to say in the first place]. If she felt a need to correct you or tell you something, she did so anywhere, anytime, most times, without thinking she might be embarrassing you.

As a young boy, I had to put up with a lot of ‘verbal abuse’, that as some point I used to doubt if my Mum loved me. But as I grew up I began to understand that it wasn’t that she didn’t love me, she just wanted me to change some of my ways and she felt that saying all those things she used to say would make me listen to her more.

While growing up, I was fond of leaving my mouth opened while watching TV or listening to someone talk. I wasn’t doing it intentionally but I just couldn’t help it. That used to get to my Mum a lot. She would tap my lower lip to tell me to close my mouth. Although that used to be so painful, but it was nothing compared to her calling names because of it. I can remember those names clearly even now. Her favorite was ‘elete momorimomo’ [mammoth lips] and I don’t have big lips, at least I think so

There were times when she would say ‘Broda yo l’oke, eyin la ko ri’ [I am finding it difficult to translate that but I think it means that my teeth is what you first notice when you see me approaching]. That used to be painful too.

As I grew up though, those words didn’t matter anymore; in fact, my Mum and I used to joke about it all the time as I got older and more matured and gained better control of my mouth muscles.

But nothing Maami said in the open can be compared in gravity to what she discussed with you in the ‘closet’. If Maami woke you up at 12 midnight to discuss an issue, then you knew there was something really serious happening and she wanted your full attention and subsequent quick action on that matter. Those midnight conversations usually started with:

Se emi ni iya e [Am I your mother?]

Once she started like that, then you knew you were in big trouble.

I had one such conversation with her one fateful day, although this conversation didn’t happen at the stroke of midnight, I knew it was as important as any other that Maami had called for in the past.

Let me give you some background into that conversation. A few weeks before then, my Mum had complained, openly, that I was receiving too many female visitors at home. She went on and on about how I disappear into my room with these ladies and never come out until hours later and she didn’t know what we were always doing in my room and that at my age I shouldn’t make ‘chasing’ women my priority.

Obviously that didn’t seem to have worked. How could it? I was on a roll [so I thought].

When my Maami noticed that the initial approach didn’t work, she resorted to a different method- the ‘Am I your Mother’? method.

Maami: Ablackjamesbond, sit down; I want to talk to you.

Me: Yes, Maami

Maami, Am I your mother?

Me: Yes Ma

Maami: I don’t think so. Because, if that were so, when I talk to you, you would listen.

Me: I listen to you Maami

Maami: Really? Ok, if you do, then how come I hear these girls still come to visit you whenever I am out of the house? Are you ready to father a child?

Me: Maami, they have stopped coming o. Nothing like what you are thinking is happening. Moreover, they are just my friends.

Maami: Gbe’nu dake! O tun paro fun mi [Keep quiet! How dare you lie to me?],

Are you the only male friend they have? Are you the only boy in this neighborhood?

Se iwo nikan ni olo’ko ni adugbo yi ni? [Are you the only one with a penis in this neighborhood?]

Me: [At a loss for words, and shocked to hear Maami’s last statement]…rara Ma [no Ma]

While she was talking, we heard someone knock the gate.

Maami: Who is that?

Female Voices: Good afternoon Ma, please we are here to see Ablackjamesbond.

Maami rolled her eyes at me, sighed deeply and walked into her room.

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She called him and asked;

 ‘Can you come over?’

‘Yeah’,

He ‘flew’ over.

‘Take me’…she said.

He wanted to take her but not in a hurry. That’s not how he had played it out in his mind. He had planned to take his time. He had hoped to take her on a journey of ectasy, step by step.

‘Take me’, she ordered.

He obeyed.

‘Take me faster’

He obeyed again.

‘Take me from the back’.

He did.

Afterwards…

‘Wow! that was not bad at all’, she said.

I hope so. He said.

‘You were in such a hurry’ ; No foreplay, no touching, you just got down straight to business, she said.

What? he exclaimed! 

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