8.
The man strode around, looking much more confused than myself. His igbo dialect flowed unbridled into his semi-anglosized mutterings. My continuous stare at him must 've attracted his attention...or, maybe, my "I-was-once-white" NYSC T-shirt. He crawled to me at a juju-man's pace.
"Nwa-nne, kedu?" He finally vomited. I pretended a bit as if I didn't understand him...I actually did. My partial knowledge of igbo language had been kick-started on my 15th birthday, when a tailor in Aba offered me "udele" as meat for my celebration. Well, without mincing words, I enjoyed the meat. On a later visit to Onitsha, I demanded for Udele at a restaurant! Guess what reactions followed...
"I'm fine", I finally lied. The man wrangled his tongue for about three minutes. I could understand terms like; From Umuahia, Children's party, etc... My eyes popped with grandeur the moment my ears picked up a sentence like "O uzo'a na'gha Uyo?". My excitement as a stranded wayfarer was submerged by my pride as a lawyer. "Let me just take you there, the road is quite confusing", I offered.
The man almost danced his heart out. At this point, I thanked God that people's thoughts didn't float above their heads...he would have noticed that I had better dance-steps bottled up within.
His two beautiful children sat comfortably on the back seat of his Toyota Tundra 2013 truck. Obviously, he had traveled from Umuahia, intending to make his children attend a Children's Christmas Party in Uyo, but missed his way. I kept telling him I just enjoyed helping people as part of service to my country. That's how to stay proud even in poverty.
"Goodu boy", he said repeatedly, spraying saliva on the dashboard as his tongue wrangled, "You should meeti my daughter, inugho? She's a beautiful fine gal. Ini factu, ka nyeghi my complimentari cardu". With this, he produced a semi-metallic pan for a complimentary card. This must have cost a fortune.
We finally got to the venue, of course, at my direction. The party was on. Children were scattered all over the place, disgracing my memories of childhood and humble beginnings ladden with child-like innocence. The man hurriedly produced his wallet, dragged out a couple of notes without counting, and dumped them on my laps. "ThankI you", he screamed and hurried his children out to join the madness. The small can that lay beneath his seat followed his hand as he dug in and out. He sprayed something that smelt like raw alcohol under his pink face-cap. He was excited.
I started the stroll home, about ten notes of one thousand naira in my left pocket. I hurriedly swapped it to the right. My left shoulder was dislocated, so, I wouldn't risk losing my left hip too.
As I walked to the "keke-cyclists'" park, I completely abandoned thoughts of the demon who now lay subdued in my phone.
My mind kept flickering around the children on the dance floor. If these, as they say, 're the future leaders of Nigeria, then, gentlemen, we ain't seen anything yet.
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