I do not.know what is wrong with my barbers.

I do not understand why they get excited when they see me in their salon.

I do not understand why they ask for my digits so they can be my friend.
One was saying ‘i like women who barb. Dem no dey give their men trouble. All these human hair girls, give me 120k for human hair, their men don suffer. See reasonable human being here”.

Honestly, that up there is an insult to me. Because it implies I’m a low maintenance female. I hate it when men judge me by my simple looks and say ‘this one no dey make hair. She’s not materialistic. She no go dey buy buy”

Ahhhhh!!!! You have missed it o. I am materialistic sir. Baje baje gan an ni sir. Na money I dey wait for sir. My taste is higher than my income sir, that’s why I’m lying low sir. Cutting my hair is for economic reasons sir. E keyin wole ke submit ete sir. E stop gbogbo shobolashon, shoboloyoke sir. Aja o nii gbeyin lomo lo sir.

The last time I went to barb, I don’t know if it was my hair he was cutting or if he was caressing my head. Or maybe it’s because I was sick and I imagined it as a head massage. The guy was just tenderly flipping the clipper across my head, asking me if he should make it lower or leave it. I didnt even want to stand up when he finished.

Las Las, I will manage to grow my hair and turn it to dada. Because I’m tired of barbers wanting to be my friend because they think I’m not loud.

Mom said to me ‘any job you see, even if the salary is little, just take it like that. Start from there and you will get something better’.
That was what went through my mind when I got this job at Area 2, Garki that year. It was the type of job I liked-blogging, reality TV show, serene office environment. The only caveat was that the take home pay could not even take me home. It was not even sufficient for transportation. Mom died in November and few days after she left, I got about(or more than) five job offers between Lagos to Abuja. I applied to those places months before she died. However, it looked like the heavens opened just after she died. It was so surreal. I really cannot explain how these things happen because it is one of the mysteries of life. Same thing happened in overdose when dad died too. A 24hour miracle, a major life change.

I remember a certain phone call I received from a close ally and sister. Let me even say her name-Ope Adeiga. Hers was the realest and most honest advice I ever got. She called me one day in the morning and said laughingly ‘i heard you lost your dad. Awww, welcome to the club😁😁😁😁.” Maybe she was even giggling.
When she asked me for detail, it was all too easy to let her in because she had been there before me. She is an orphan too. And when she lost her mom, I was working in Lagos and asked her to see me. She came to my small room at opic estate and we talked. She told me she was still yet to cry. She was serving in Abuja and had to rush back abruptly. I was working at Compass newspaper that period so we left my house together. We departed at Berger and that was the last time we saw physically before I left Lagos but we are still in touch till date. I felt so sorry for her that day.
So that day she called, after I gave her the details, she said “don’t worry. Do you know how special you are in the sight of God now? Imagine what it means when you are under the direct protection of the almighty, when God is now your direct father. God doesn’t joke with us o. So, take heart”.
I think there’s a truth in that statement because each of my parent’s death opened tremendous doors. Some doors I had knocked consistently for years opened on its own volition in those two separate instances.
This job I’m talking about was among the invitations I got. I declined the two invites I got from Lagos. I never showed up.
I resumed working at area 2 and continued to apply to other places. I had barely worked for one month and a week when I got an invitation to two other better places. I went to write a test at this new place this week and went for interview at the second place the other week. The first was a construction company in a quiet Wuse Zone 2 and the second was at a South African Travel Club in Apo.
I was the highest scoring female and 3rd or 4th overall at the construction company and was subsequently invited for the next stage-interview. It was a large room with five interviewers and I was standing at the middle. I aced it and was sent a message days later.
At the travel club too, I went for interview and aced it. So I was invited to start the training as a new intake.
I was so confused on which job to take.

I started going for training at the SA travel club. We were about 10 or so. One of the trainers, a lady was so impressed with me that she said ‘i’m sure our clients would like to close deals with you. You look just so perfect for the job’. I smiled. Then I cringed when I remembered the other juicy offer waiting for me.😊
During this training, they made us to know the job was flexible. They start work sometimes 11am and close by 5pm BUT their major working days were Friday, Saturday and Sunday.
According to the lady ‘if you are a churchy person, you can’t work here because some of us are Christians too but we don’t go to church because of work.

And we don’t talk religion here. We don’t want to know whether you are a xtian or Muslim. As a Muslim, you can’t got to mosque too because Friday is our peak period.”
It was a certain Musa(name withheld), a northern Muslim who spoke first in his heavy accent “but I have to go to mosque on Friday. Again, my family lives in sokoto and I have to travel by weekend to see them”.
“No, you can’t do that again if you want to work here. So if you don’t pray on Friday, will you die? There are Muslims here who don’t also go to mosque on Friday. You can do the prayers at home when you close”
Musa would have none of it. He could not contain his anger. He was livid.
“No, you can’t tell me not to pray”, he said
“And who do you think you are?” She replied
It was turning to a row. Everyone was murmuring. All of us were not happy. They even called their boss to address Musa and put him in his place. We all watched helplessly.
On our way out after the training, we all unanimously agreed it was not a place to be. You don’t do or talk religion ke?

It helped me seal the decision so I didn’t turn up the next day. Not even because of no religion alone but because the bosses talked like garrison commanders. They were too daring. The environment was too toxic. That was not how to start a career. And I would not even work Monday to Sunday anyways. Emi omo ola? ka ma ri ni poolu wi.
So I went to this next place-construction. It was in a very quite neighborhood that I had to hire a cab and we still got missing. I picked up my offer letter and it was so juicy. I resumed the next day for training. But that was where I met a narcissist. A small boy who was heading my team. He was also part of the interview and had seen our CVS and credentials. This boy was just a Bsc holder who just started his Msc at ABU. He saw that we had intimidating resumes with experience so he used hooliganism and running mouth to try to make us look lesser than him.

Not me sha. He focused on my friend Muri(not real name). He found every opportunity to wash Muri and to speak down at him. Muri had worked with a conglomerate in kaduna as a sales person. Besides this, he had other great sales experience from big companies around. I came with an intimidating Msc coupled with my Lagos work experience and brief Abuja work experience.
We had an official car-a sienna that we used for trips. Our jobs involved negotiating sales with architectural firms, Quantity Surveyors, Estate surveyors and co.

Let’s call this guy chimezie. He’s an Igbo guy. The first day we were all going out in the car, Muri sat beside him in front while myself and Otolo sat at the back. Only three of us were employed out of the hundreds who wrote their exam and attended the interview.
Chimezie began by saying he couldn’t be driving us all over Abuja o. He was not our driver o. Who among us could drive?
I exchanged looks with Otolo. They didn’t say driving experience was a must when we applied. They didn’t even mention it during the interview.
After my accident at ibadan while driving, I haven’t touched anybody’s car since then. A friend once bought a car and came to show me. He asked me to enter and move it forward. I said mba. I’m not driving anybody’s car again except it’s mine. Imagine now telling me to drive a company car. Job wey I never collect salary. Aa nii resu.

Chimezie drove us that day. He first did his own business. He went to the bank, saw a friend, parked us and stepped down to gist. He drove us to another place to pick something, maybe his cloth. He never told us anything, he just drove. He was our boss now😊(omo ale jatijati)
On another day, as we were set to go out, he asked Muri to come drive. Muri took the steering but could not steer it. He was moving rather slowly. He said it’d been long he drove(probably fear of jamming company car too dey dia). Chimezie flew off the handle and began to insult Muri-“so what do you know how to do? And you call yourself a man? You are just so dumb. You don’t know anything. Did they tell you people I’m your driver? From tomorrow, I will not follow you out, if you like, don’t drive the car. Even a child can drive this car, as tall as you are, you are so clueless……”
He said so much to the extent that I became angry. I was boiling. Muri just bent down his head and was stammering. I felt so much pity for him. That Igbo boy would be younger than him if they compared their birth certificate.

However, with me, I always gave it back to igbo boy so he couldn’t mess with me. Everybody disliked Igbo boy. He was rude to everyone. He was a narcissist. He believed he was everything.
We started plotting our exit from the company when we noticed that what they promised on paper was far from their reality. Besides, I never ever told Mr Banji I was working. The man was giving me monthly stipends and food so I was okay without a job but I just felt it wasn’t right to be living off my old man. I didn’t need that job because I was hungry or broke, I just needed it for my sanity. I was bored.
One day I told Igbo boy I wouldn’t be able to come to work the next day. I was home when he called and demanded why I didn’t inform him I’d not be at the office. I didn’t go because I had exhausted my pocket money on tfare and needed to get cash from Mr Banji. I said I told him now. He angrily cut the call.

The next day, I got to the office and he marched me to an inner office, gave me a letter signed by him without the knowledge of the HR or the management. It was a query. Igbo boy was querying me for missing job. They paid my colleagues and he outrightly told them not to pay me.
He said I should write why disciplinary action shouldn’t be taken against me for skipping office and that I should attach my birth certificate, degree certificate and probably an affidavit that I’d not do that again when responding.😁😁😁
I laughed at the impunity, the sheer madness and stupidity of a wannabe hired to work in someone’s company but behaving as a CEO. He asked me to leave immediately.

I picked my bag and left. Guys advised me to inform the management so that I could at least get paid. I said no need. I refused to shalaye😁 I went to sit under the tree outside. All the office staff came to sit with me under the tree o. Everybody was talking about him. Of course, I knew I was leaving at the end of that month but that kind of sealed it for me.

I never went back.
I got another job again. I went for the interview. While asking me questions, I mentioned that I write for bellanaija. They googled my name, saw one of my popular articles and the interview questions became the topic of the article. Their work involved a lot of travelling and meeting music stars and doing interviews. I didn’t see myself doing that. I was invited for the next stage but I couldn’t make it. I had to travel to the north.
I made up my mind that I was done with private jobs. Only that I didn’t know where or how I’d get a government job. I had gone to the Federal Civil Service Commission with Dad before all these and nothing came out of it.

However, I began to notice all these staff buses that dropped people off in my area every evening. I saw news agency of nigeria, state house staff bus, ministry of defence, ministry of agric etc and I began to long for it. It finally happened for me. And I’m not going back to private jobs ever. Except it’s a freelance gig, cash and carry. And I’ve never seen/imagine myself spending 35 years in govt either. That’s the most productive part of my life. I’d be in my sixties at retirement. Say wetin happen na. My mom retired at 40ish. My dad retired at 50ish. That’s why when I see people who hide other people’s file in govt office so that they will not go past them, I usually laugh at them. Or people who reduce their age so they can work for long. It’s not a do or die for some of us. I don’t want to die here. I don’t intend to spend the whole of my future being a servant. Is that not what they are called? Public servants? I love my job, yo but I don’t intend to die there.
Now to the end of this story, or a summary. I walked away from Igbo boy that year without saying a word. It is risky for you to offend me and I walk away without saying a word especially if you have cheated me. It’s better to draw me back so that I can at least vent my anger verbally.
I walked away but I never forgot Igbo boy. I had only one wish-to see him again, at a higher level. Both my friends left too.

My wish of seeing him again got fulfilled in 2018. I had just walked out of h-medix that Friday afternoon where I got this huge birthday cake and other nice stuffs. I was heading home when I saw this boy walking on my street in Garki.😁😁
He was sweating. He carried a backpack that had seen better days. His feet was dusty. No car to drive again. The mumu never even had a car then. It was just the company car he drove. He didn’t recognize me again. I smiled. I fixed my gaze on him. He looked at me and said
“Your face is familiar but I can’t seem to remember where we met”
Oluya😁😁😁. How you wan remember na?
“Let me remind you. You remember xyz?”
Immediately I mentioned the company, recognition dawned.
He said with tight lips “oh I remember you now. How are you? Are you into cakes now?”
I could see that the “werey”(craze)never fully left him. So I replied
“No, I just got it over there at hmedix. Turn around. Can you see that big office? That’s where I work now”. It was an epic moment for me. A day we all pray to live to see. The Lord prepared a table.for.me in the presence of my enemy.
“I’m just going home with this cake”, I added for effect.
He couldn’t talk again. So I asked again because I needed to know if he had killed the CEO at that company and occupied his seat. “Where do you work now? Are you still at xyz?”
“No, I left since. I’m just on my own now”, he said.
I laughed. Of course, it was very obvious that the guy “was truly on his own” walking all over Garki. We all know the meaning of ‘i am now on my own” in this present Nigeria. It means you are just on the street, looking for survival. And a cocky guy like chimezie would surely stay long on the street.
Muri went on to work with first Bank as a contract staff then he got this good job at EFCC. He called me while on training in kaduna. I was so happy for him. I told him that I saw Igbo boy. We laughed and laughed over the phone. All is well that ends well.

The first job I got in Abuja was at this foremost newspaper company. But I can’t talk about it because Jonathan Eze works for their CEO now. Adiye o ki n jefun ara won.

Dear Young Person,
Please respect your mother and her family. Take care of your mother and do not neglect her family members too. They may never need your money but be good to them. Because when the chips are down, they are the ones who will be there for you.

If you are lucky to have a good father like mine, love him and care for him but never worry about his family except they earn it. Because these ones will never be there for you. They are patriarchy Kings and queens-the lots of them and they are so entitled. They feel so entitled to your calls, nay, they feel so entitled to your very life and existence. The extent to which you worship them determines how much attention you get from them.

If by a stroke of circumstance, you find yourself born to a deadbeat father, a sperm donor, an errant dad, a traditional man who tries to punish your mother for having you, well, you have two options
You may choose to look the other way and say “father forgive them for they know not what they do”
Or

You associate with him at your own discretion. Because, they never truly change. They are a time bomb. They do not truly repent. They think they are God’s gift to women nay the entire world. They are narcissists. Education does nothing to rid them of the cultural and misogynistic societal junks in their slimy brain. That’s why they are deadbeat parents. They are the ones who whine before they pay your school fees. They are the ones who feel your education is too expensive.

They are the fathers who never show up during your milestones. They are even ready to deny you in the wink of an eye.
What about their families? They are one of a kind. Never expect anything from them. Don’t even look at their side. There’s a reason why they are so irresponsible. It’s all evident in their son, your father.

The last time I saw my uncle, when we were at their village with my mother’s son, he said ‘yetunde, you have two plots of land here o. Whenever you are ready, come and build it’.
I was shocked. He continued
“You can use it to build hostels for students of ire polytechnic since you can’t live here”. Iree is just a walking distance from my mother’s town. Iree/inisha/iba are small friendly towns not far from each other. There’s a shortcut from her village straight to iree.

So, I can inherit in my mother’s village? I became mischievous and asked my uncle whether I could also approach the king for a chieftaincy title. I wouldn’t mind being an Erelu or Iyalode😁

However, after dad died and the dark one, my mother’s son informed his father’s people that the house belonged to his mum, they walked away angrily. They stayed aloof. What effrontery? Why would a woman inherit?
This whole rant isn’t even about inheritance. I just needed to rant. Shots fired.

Let me go and eat my homemade eggroll to calm my fiery temper.

My mother was eight years younger than her husband. But she had more foresight, strength and power than him. When it came down to taking long term decisions that’d determine the future of their children, building a house or buying a car, my mother was the head of the family 😀😀😀 and I will forever stan a queen. She was not a yes woman. She was a woman of steel, a god.

My father would never have had anything to his name, not even a house or a car. He believed so much in education and in training his kids. Not this alone, he believed in living life to the fullest. And this he sure did. Papa enjoyed his life so much that I still envy him. He staged the best parties ever. He bought choice clothes but not lands.

There’s a story dad told me few months before he died. Of course I knew the story but he was talking fondly about mother this very day, with a twinkle in his eye and some pride in his voice.

“One day, before I got back from Lagos, your mother had called the bricklayer, a carpenter, painter, architect and asked them to give me estimate. She only invited me to the meeting. I was shocked but I had no choice than to play along. That was how she made me build my house. That’s also the reason why I put her name on the documents. That house belongs to your mother, nobody can drag it with you”.

This was the day he told me where he kept the house documents and that my mother’s son, the dark one knew where he kept it.
The story is that dad was never serious about having a house. We lived in a rented property for a long time. While all his friends were moving to their houses, dad was never impressed. After spending on education, which he did superbly, he spent the rest on frivolities or things that appealed to his taste.

One day miraculously after much prayers, he came back and said he got two plots of land. He bought only one plot and the other dashed to him by a certain prominent man. We were happy. They went to check the land and it was at a good location. But that was where it ended. Dad simply moved on with his YOLO life and forgot about it. Mom begged and nagged but he wouldn’t agree to even do a foundation.

So, she soon retired from NIPOST and what did she do? She got her gratuity, marched to the land, called that meeting I explained earlier with builders in tow. That was how she singlehandedly started the foundation. When dad saw that she meant business and was building, he stepped up and began to pump money into it. They did the house in three months and moved in. At the time they moved, everything was not in place. But mom said she was no longer going to stay in a rented house, so she woke up one day and packed. I was in school when they called that they had moved. Imagine, leaving school and having to trace your new house by directions.

It was mom that facilitated the painting, decor and furnishings of the house. Infact, I had to give her kudos. She did it bit by bit. You’d just come back from school and meet a brand new drapery or kitchen cabinet or TV in your room. My mother had plenty sense.

Years before this, she called me into her room at the usual 4am for a serious talk. She wanted to buy a car since her husband was an unserious man😀. She badgered him, begged and did all she could but he wouldn’t budge. He didn’t mind standing by the roadside in his police uniform waiting for a cab. My mother thought it was shameful. So she asked me to borrow her the 55k in my account. I had just finished secondary school that year.
Her first car was a Mazda 626 and when Mom bought it, dad’s eyes became clear. He began to beg to take the car out. He began to drive it round town. Later, he got an official car from his office, a golf. It was after this that he got a Mercedes Benz. But mother must always lead the way before he wakes up.

I don’t think marriage favours women in Africa and Nigeria. Apart from the burden of raising children while the husband walks free or is transferred from one state to the other, the woman still bears the blame if anything goes wrong. Her husband takes credit for all her hardwork and labour. I don’t think this is fair.
My mother was a storm, that’s why she gave birth to a riot like me😀.

Because I’m not a yes woman too. Nehi!!!
My sister is a yes woman, a Ruthie kind of person. But not me. It irritates me when a woman is a yes woman.
Who is a yes woman? A woman who doesn’t have an opinion. Who waits on her man for everything. Who runs with her husband’s decisions even when he’s clearly leading both of them into the ditch. It’s a woman who can’t look a man in the face and say ‘no, we won’t have it your way. We will do it the right way. When you are ready, follow me, I will take the lead. They are women who fear their husbands. They struggle to be accepted. They don’t want him to be annoyed.😁😂😀 O lagbara gan
How can a lion give birth to a cat? Impossicant!!! I am a cub.

She would send everything from ibadan including pepper and locust beans. She would tie money discreetly in the bag without letting dad know. She would then padlock it and ask him to give me the bag and key. She gave me 50k the year she died when I went home for Easter and she told me “don’t ever be sad even if you aren’t working. I will always send you money every month”. While in school, she used to call us aside and add to whatever pocket money we got from dad. My mother was a republic.
You see, this is why i can’t cut some people any slack when I see how they treat their kids. It irks me because we were all that mattered to our own parents.

My mom would have been 60 on May 15th. And we would have rolled out the drums. Except for Coro. Coro would have spoilt it but we would have postponed it.

Mother really suffered after having her first son. That story always broke me whenever she told us. She was carrying the boy from place to place when he had a strange ailment months after birth. Her own health suffered for the latter part of her life. No, I can’t tell my mother’s story.
It’s too painful and it will break me. I remember staying with her at UCH, sleeping on the chair checking on her whether she was still breathing or not. She was our backbone, a shield. When she died, I knew the shield had finally been taken away and it was only a matter of time. I was scared.
Life really played a fast one on me. It made me so disadvantaged. Many of life’s battles could have been easily fought and won with my mother in tow. Many decisions would have been long taken and executed. Life would have been a lot easier. I go to ibadan and hang in my uncle’s house. Home is no longer home.

She died on a Saturday night. And it was tough. I went to my then neighbor’s house and we were praying together thinking she’d wake up. She didn’t come back.
What was Mr Banji without my mother? He was just a man without bearing. She brought the bearing to his life. She brought the achievement. She gave birth to the best kids. What would have happened if she didn’t have us? I really wonder.

If you see a child who lacks motherly presence, you’ll know because it really shows in their life. They are so disadvantaged. People even try to cheat them(those people always pay for the rest of their life though).They don’t find it funny. They leave some important parts of their life unattended to. They become careless. They take anyhow decisions.

That’s why Jonathan Eze looked at me one day, shook his head pitifully and said ‘who advises you? Who keeps you in check? Something is wrong with you o and you don’t know”. He’s an hediot sha. I told him that yes many things are wrong with me and that I own my madness.

Yes, I’m taking all of my life’s decision all by myself, without holding consultations and I really don’t care if it pleases anyone or not. I have become the garrison commander of my own affairs, so deal with it.
I can’t really continue this write-up because I’m broken already. But I may talk about how she advised/influenced me in getting a job in a subsequent post which I will title “Job Chronicles”. Let me go and cry first 😞😓😢😰😟😕

When I saw the trending video of the ekiti man that denied his son from following him home because of coro, I compared and somewhat interchanged him with the other trending Zambian father who spent 21k$ on his son and the boy chose not to show up for his exams.
Here, we see two examples of parenting and tough love in display.

The ekiti father whose action seemed harsh but firm has become a state champion while the other father got summoned by Zambian police for child molestation.
You see, if it was the ekiti man that gave birth to that boy in the video who didn’t show any sign of remorse and still sat as his father was beating him, that boy would have turned out better. Because I’m sure the ekiti man would give him quality education but would never send him to a 21k$ school and he’d have grown up to respect his parents.

Bringing that situation home, I compared that man to my own parents too. Now, parents as they grow older are known to relax their tough stance on their younger kids for no good reason. While they raise their older kids very firm and unbending in their principles, when you see their last kids, you wonder if those ones actually came out of the loins of same parents. But in this ekiti man’s case, apparently old age didn’t make him lose his firmness in raising properly behaved kids.

After I left the university, I began to see things in my parent’s last two kids that made me wonder if they lost touch with their parenting skills.
While we, the older ones were raised with canes, punishment and firmness, our younger ones were raised without canes or firmness. They got all the good things of life on a platter of gold.
My mother once locked her soup in the kitchen when I was disobedient to her. After my SSCE while waiting for admission, she employed me as a sales girl without pay. She only paid me with hi-malt/maltina and hot bread sometimes. I went to agbeni, dugbe alawo, orita merin to buy goods to stock up her shop. She took me round and showed me to her customers and every little mistake I made in buying blue instead of red got me a lot of tongue lashing. I was naturally lazy growing up, but not on my mother’s watch. She was able to chase some of the laziness away.

We were not spared from her cane either. Dad never caned but you’d pray that he should never invite you for ‘the talk’ where you will smell yourself.
Growing up, they didn’t even have money. He was just a struggling public servant, both of them. I got sent out of school few times for school fees. There were good times and bad times while I was growing up.

Even in my part three, didn’t I stay in Canaan hostel for a semester on the goodwill of my friend, Tobi Tella when there was no money at home? It was so bad that exam was approaching and I had not paid my school fees….40k then. Was it not my friend Ashollie that spoke to another friend who borrowed me money to pay after sitting for the first paper and we were sent out? Was it not in Dr T’s room I used to go and eat yam and egg? Was it not me and Bukky that lived together that year? I can write a whole book about that semester. The times we went to bed hungry. The time she wanted to surprise me by cooking beans because we were both hungry and I had slept like that. She slept off too and it was the smoke that woke us close to midnight.

All these things made me grow up. I saw life from both ends. So when life also tilted to the good direction again, it started when I was in part four on IT and by part five, my wardrobe was a supermarket and I lived in one of the best hostels around. The best in my entire five years in that school.
But this is not the gist. The gist is about the way they raised their last kids. They raised these ones as if they forgot their parenting skills or lost it as they aged.
My mother’s son, the dark one once shared on our siblings WhatsApp group how he forgot to go and write his entrance exam at Uniosun. Why? Bee la n bini.

Dude woke up, got dressed after his parents left for a function and started watching film. Yes, he went to put on the gen and watched film till late afternoon before he remembered.
Even though I laughed at the story when he told it but it wasn’t funny then. He lost admission that year because of ‘feem’. He later went to Osu and his least qualification now is Msc from same school.

Dude started driving by always collecting the car from mechanic on their way to repair. He was in Ss2-3. He bashed the car severally and left it for his parents to repair. He drove off to see his friends.

The first time I drove was when I finished university. And when I bashed the car, I ran away from home. That was the sane thing to do if you were raised in the 80s by yoruba parents. My brother bashed cars severally, even got arrested for wrong driving and he always got away with it.

But this one eventually grew up.

The worst ones are the last borns. Say what? These ones don’t experience any hardship because by the time they are born, life has already changed for good in the family. Last born got driven to his high school in a Mercedes Benz when it was the best car of the season. Dude lived in a 150-200k apartment at ile Ife while I lived in a 30k bedspace hostel, the highest I ever paid till I graduated.
I got home one day and saw dude wearing this huge wristwatch. Dude is fair. So let’s call him the fair one. I moved close and told him I liked his watch. He looked at it casually and muttered his thanks

‘how much did you get it?’
’30k’, he replied
I almost fainted. Because I was on IT in Lagos that year and my salary was 7k while commuting from Ketu Alapere to Oshodi-Isolo everyday.
One time, the fair one got angry and went to lock himself in the guest toilet at home for hours. His parents got worried and came to call me to beg him to come out. Youdonmeanit!!!!
I just strolled back to my bedroom. His mother was even crying. Very funny. Someone that when hunger wire him, he will come out. They were now fussing over him.

By the time he came to live with me in Abuja, I saw weeen. Dude would lock me out of my own house to go and watch ball. I’d return from church to find my door locked. We had only one key. He will pick after plenty rings. Thirty minutes later, he will stroll in casually to open my door then head back to finish watching the ball.
When he was about leaving for law school, dad paid his school fees into my account and told him. Dude started collecting it little by little, 5k here, 10k there.

I came home one day to discover he had carried my box and a new bedsheet. When I confronted him, he said he needed it and he had no time to go and buy. But shouldn’t you ask me first? I was livid. Dude didn’t show any emotion. I called his father and raked. He begged me to come get another box from his office the next day. When I saw this beautiful modern version of the box which he got from sahad stores, all my anger vanished. When dude saw it sitting pretty on my wardrobe, he began to keep malice with me.
This fair one’s entitlement mentality was so mind numbing.

This post is getting so long so I will continue this labare in the next post.