The Procrastinating Perfectionist

Hola peeps.

Hate to start this entry like last one, but it occurred to me yesterday I haven’t had a non-splatter-filled poop since stomach started acting up following return from Zanzibar. What I wouldn’t give for a faux constipated regular doodle now. Must find time to get checked out at the clinic. Oh my, where are my manners? Happy new year, y’all.

While we’re on the gross subject I must confess farts have become increasingly pungent. Even worse, fart today sounded like one of those sirens played at reggae concerts or in Nigerian clubs after a baller orders champagne. For this reason, I have taken to exercising alone until stomach issues return to normal. Miguel suggested I try colonic irrigation and I responded with a newspaper article poopooing - pun intended – the “science” behind such crap – yup, pun intended again. Back in the ATL Miguel was led to believe colonic irrigation works after some chick he fancied kept prodding – hee hee…these puns just keep coming – him to try it. Sherlock Homeboy, i.e. moi, saw through this sophistry and later discovered her mom worked at an establishment that offered such treatments. It took all my persuasive skills to stop him from giving it a go. However, I couldn’t prevent him from getting a tattoo when this Delilah convinced him tattooed guys are the dernier cri. Punk Miguel tagged along with her to a tattoo parlour and ended up getting inked in Arabic lettering for what he was assured stated, I Love Jesus. As if a non-Muslim African American tattooist would have a clue how to spell his own name in Arabic. Things us guys do for women, eh? Oh, forgot to mention, few weeks later we learnt Delilah had been dating the tattooist all along. Punk Miguel got played. Hee hee hee.

It’s first week back in Juba after a two-week stint in Nigeria for the Christmas holidays. As is norm whenever I leave Juba, I fell ill and am just recovering from a bout of cold. Was welcomed into Lagos by petrol scarcity and it cost 2.5 times normal price for a taxi ride from airport to crib. Fuel supply returned intermittently during the holidays, but not before I bought petrol from the black market at 3x recommended retail price. Petrol scarcity in Juba, petrol scarcity in Lagos…one cannot get a break, huh? Last time I experienced petrol scarcity this bad was during the Abacha years when I accidentally imbibed petrol while siphoning the fuel from my brother Tayo’s car into a jerry can. For 3 subsequent days petrol fumes would emanate from my bowels whenever I belched. Notwithstanding, time in Lagos was surprisingly relaxing, maybe ‘cos I didn’t frequent the Lagos office as I am wont to doing and I ate properly. Overdid it on malt drinks, plantain and ice cream ‘cos knew I wouldn’t get ready access to these in Juba. Weighed myself at gym 3 days ago and I had packed on 3kg in just over 2 weeks. Not bad. After first day at gym this week I lost 0.5kg. Uh oh.

Like I used to do with shoes and CDs I went all out on suits. So here I am getting 4, yes f-o-u-r, bespoke suits made to impress Ms. Hayek, yet she didn’t deign to respond to the Feliz Navidad greeting I sent via Whatsapp. Booo Ms. Hayek, booooo. While we are on about extravagant purchases, my crazily expensive, but crap as can be, HP phone’s acting up again. Latest bout of crappiness occurred after OS got upgraded to Windows 10. Now, I don’t see missed calls, cannot delete events from calendar and when phone is within 20 feet of a TV contact list becomes inaccessible if TV is tuned to the BBC News channel. Why BBC specifically? Like I have the foggiest. I would smash the phone, but it cost an arm and a leg, plus it is so heavy if someone tries to mug me I could probably bludgeon their arm or leg with it. On another tip, I fear the HP phone is jinxing my other Samsung phone as I have had to replace screen guard thrice in 2 weeks. Had never dropped Samsung phone until this new Windows 10 OS on HP phone was installed. Must be Windows/HP Big Brother causing folk to bump into me, so I drop Samsung phone. C’mon, what other plausible explanation is there? Speaking of Big Brother, I understand algorithms sending targeted ads based on one’s search history or webpages visited, but how do you explain a targeted ad appearing on web browser following a face-to-face discussion about a novel topic. Are our phones or laptops also activated to eavesdrop on a discussion and then send ads that way?

Maybe I should be more worried about my thumbs ‘cos of new veritable screen protector I bought in Juba 2 days ago. It must be made of transparent steel ‘cos to send a simple message I am having to depress thumb on screen, place a bit between teeth so I wouldn’t scream, and then bang on thumb repeatedly with a hammer. If I keep this up folk at the spa would have to gimme a discount on mani+pedis ‘cos won’t have any thumbs left.

Back in Lagos, I went to normal mani+pedi spot but they had moved, so decided to try a spot 2 shops away. Now I don’t mind folk being innovative so didn’t react much when the pedicurist brought out a cheese grater for treating soles of feet. Started to get worried when she proceeded to dip feet in tomato paste garnished with chunky bits of onion and set an elevated temperature on the thingy used for soaking feet. Is this a pedicurist or a cannibal hoping to Jedi mind trick me into being her next meal? When she got to my hands she asked if I wash clothes manually. U what? Now what does that have to do with anything? I let her finish the poor excuse for a mani+pedi and left for massage appointment.

Like I stated in last blog entry, I find it hard to reject folks, especially females, but I somehow summoned the courage when masseuse attempted to make massage, ahem, pervy. I told her – okay, more like demonstrated to her - in no uncertain terms – okay, more like politely - I wasn’t interested. Dunno if it’s her massaging technique, or ‘cos I declined her offer, but ended up leaving there dripping in massage lotion. It was so bad car headrest felt like that scene from Coming To America where couch had oily head stains after the Soul Glo family got up.

Remember other traits I wrote in last blog entry? Well, God musta read blog too as some dude I lent bucks 3 years ago contacted me while in Lagos and offered to pay what he owed. Woah, just woah. Told ya Lagos wasn’t bad. Even Slovenian neighbor from Juba loved her time in Lagos; her trip coincided with mine as she had travelled down to see her boyfriend. Saw her more times in Lagos than I had in almost a year in Juba.

Aircon in room blew up, but didn’t bother to get it fixed as it occurred on penultimate night in Lagos. Had to fix jalopy though. Even though I get the car serviced just before every trip I make to Lagos it still causes me more and more trouble. First, the front passenger window would not go up so had to buy a new “engine” for it. Ever notice how Nigerian artisans try to make things more complicated than they are so they can fleece you? They tend to use words like “engine” to describe middling gizmos, hence why the rewirer – another quintessentially Nigerian (African?) job description – recommended I replace the “engine” of thingy that causes window to go up and down, and plumber suggested I replace the “thermostat engine” in water heater as if the word “thermostat” is insufficient to explain the gravity of work he needed to do. I half-expected the tailor to complain about the “engine” of the fabric as reason for not having suits ready on day he promised. Punks.

Next, the ball joint of the front tyre would make a rattle so bad I ended up driving at excessive speeds, and with the radio blasted at a high volume, just to drown out the noise. You know you drive a jalopy when you do stuff like that. Ha. Recall another jalopy I was handed down when I first moved back to Nigeria in 2005. You know you drive a jalopy when your dad asks if you know how to drive ‘cos you bug him for money to fix car for the umpteenth time. You know you drive a jalopy when a mate asks if you pay tithes as he cannot get why car keeps breaking down so reckons it must be something spiritual.

All in all, didn’t mind too much driving jalopy around Lagos ‘cos didn’t experience much traffic save for day I went to see parents at Apapa. Dunno when the horrendous traffic situation will be resolved for good as different administrations seem unwilling to fix the road or disperse the glut of articulated lorries that create gridlock. Mom’s driver had to wait on the expressway to direct me on how to maneuver one-way, i.e. drive against traffic, to get to the home I was raised in. Sad. Just for kicks I turned on the voice prompt in Google Maps to see if their algorithm had been fine-tuned to account for Lagosians’ penchant for driving one-way. It hadn’t. Booo Google, booo.

On eve of departure from Lagos, I met up with tighty-whitie mate and three others from boarding school. Confirmed premise from last blog entry on how folks don’t really change, even though we have 8 kids between us. One of the guys, Timmy, has always been a character and that coulda resulted from his being left to his own devices as a kid since there’s at least a ten-year age gap between him and his nearest sibling. Dude still dances like every song is from the New Jack Swing era, so you can imagine his 2018 is already made after Bruno Mars dropped Finesse. Timmy had an acrimonious divorce that left him shattered, but now feels like God’s gift to women since he started dating again. Dude suggested visiting South Sudan to “sample the honeys” even though I told him how conservative the country is. Unlike in Nigeria he would not be able to get away with sowing his wild oats willy nilly and might be forced to marry the woman should he get caught, paying a dowry ranging from tens to hundreds of cows. Timmy’s response? “Cows?! I am such hot stuff the girl’s parents are gonna give her to me gratis. I might throw in a family-size bucket of KFC as dowry, you know, just to fulfil tradition.” Yup, with friends like Timmy I would get beaten up in South Sudan.

We reminisced about school days and folks’ nicknames. There was Feeling K. Collins (aka Funso Aladetoyinbo). Nicest guy you’d ever meet. He stuttered a bit when he spoke, but never had a temper unlike other school mates who had similar speech impediments. This was a guy who was himself from secondary school up until the moment he passed away after uni – no one could remember how he died – and never tried to hang with the in-crowd or pretend to be something other than what he was. A heckuva guy.

We talked about how as students in JSS 1 we would go for socials (aka entertainment) on Saturday nights and dash to where girls were dancing as soon as a song we liked came on. But, instead of asking the girls to dance, we’d turn around and continue dancing with each other and hope our backs bumped into the girls, so they’d turn around and we’d then dance with them. Full disclosure: I asked a girl in my class to dance once and was “nailed” - that was term used when someone was soundly rejected. The rest of the night was a blur. All I remember was a herd of boys in my year chasing me to be the first one to remove the metaphorical nail from my head. For days afterwards, random folk would come up to me to enquire if I was the one that was “nailed” so appallingly. I boycotted socials for a while after that.

We recalled how we would rub soap into hair to save time showering in the morning. I tried to be overly efficient with that stuff and started rubbing soap into hair before bed. Stopped after hair turned orange and folk started questioning if I was an albino.

No doubt I musta told y’all of time in SS3 we decided to get even with a girl that was smelling herself a bit too much by surprising her on Valentine’s Day with a tin of cookies that was filled with poop – my poop – and 3-day old beans.

Then, there were the memorable fights like when Sinclair, puny dude with a hearing aid, whupped a much larger boy soundly. In JSS1, a girl, Oghomwen, beat up a mixed-race boy, and felt invincible enough to attempt it on another boy. Unfortunately, she took on Calabar’s finest, Victor Inyang, and dude didn’t play. Her fighting career ended after that.

There was the girl who we joked that anyone who dated her would have to be equipped with a face mask and an umbrella ‘cos she had halitosis and spat when she talked.

There was Victor Onwubuke who was so hungry he ate kulikuli (snack made from groundnuts) even though he had a groundnut allergy. Perhaps he hoped he would be immune - kinda like folk who say they do not eat pork but choose to eat bacon just ‘cos it doesn’t have “pork” in its name. No such luck. Dude broke out in bumps like a black Hulk and spent 1-2 days away from class recuperating.

Lastly, we couldn’t help remembering our first awkward steps at approaching the fairer sex. Unsurprisingly, Timmy had total recall when it came to these cringe-worthy moments. He seemed to derive a certain concupiscence with each recollection. He would laugh hysterically and then regale us with incident after incident, like when he walked behind a “couple” for 20 minutes without a word being exchanged between them. Good times….

Soooo, less than a week in Juba yet feels longer; already getting a case of wanderlust. With visas for Kenya and Uganda expiring soon, and same for SS residence permit, I fear I’m gonna need a new passport before the year is done. This is not accounting for visit to Thailand I had hoped to squeeze in next month to see mate on a 3-month culinary course in Bangkok. Not sure I can make that anymore ‘cos one of visa requirements is an NDLEA clearance certificate, the acquisition of which is as daunting any task Hercules ever faced. If I end up not making first ever trip to Asia next month at least I can relish the fisherman pants a mate got me from Vietnam. Once I learn to knot them properly I am gonna rock them everywhere, the office, yoga, kickboxing class, church…. I am talking everywhere. Plan to do same with suits as well. Booo Ms. Hayek, booo.

Tot ziens and God bless.

PS

Sorry, forgot to explain Funso’s nom de plume. You see Funso had a thang for this girl Amina Jimoh and we kept egging him on to talk to her. Dude acquiesces and makes the fatal error of telling us not only that she rejected him, but HOW she did so: He went up to Amina and asked if she had feelings for him; chick responded in the negative. At that time, Funso was already nicknamed Kasali - after the security guard from a Nigeria sitcom - ‘cos his bunk was closest to the door. Unfortunately for him, Phil Collins’ Another Day In Paradise was getting massive airplay when he asked if Amina about her feelings, so poor Funso goes from Kalasi to FEELING KALASI COLLINS, better known to his friends as Feeling K. Collins. David S. Pumpkins eat your heart out. RIP bro.