We catch flights not feelings

Hola peeps.

First weekend back in Juba since whirlwind month-long vacation and recovering from jetlag. Good thing Coach is away in Ethiopia, so I don’t have to get out of bed for kickboxing classes. It’s over 2 years since I started and still loving every minute of it. Should really get off my arse and compete in an exhibition fight even if I’d get beat.

Arrived on Wednesday morning and headed to the office after dropping bags at home. Took all I had not to empty contents on top of office table on the floor and splay out on table for a long, overdue nap. Struggled to stay awake until end of that work day, unpacked bags and picked out clothes for the next day – all these were in an effort not to fall asleep early. It sorta worked ‘cos woke up at 8am the next day and felt refreshed enough to arrange two hour-long meetings. Returned home and it all came crashing down: slept at 8pm, woke up at 1030pm, and didn’t get to sleep until 330am Friday morning. Same thing happened last night as couldn’t sleep until 3am this morning, thus plans to go running and work out were swapped for a lie-in until 11am. Dreamt Serena Williams flirted with me in the US Open Ladies changing room. Erm, what was I doing there in the first place? Anyhoo, it’s 4pm now and I’m choosing to skip a bbq to quickly type down thoughts to y’all before it’s 2019 and I kick myself for not informing y’all of goings-on in my life.

Was supposed to be on a relaxing vacation but flagellated self by booking a ridiculously tight, even more than is my wont, travel schedule. This is perfectly illustrated by return trip to Lagos from the UK, where I drove to Loye’s crib after arriving at airport at 6am, showered, changed clothes, grabbed a quick bite, then went back to airport to catch a 10am flight to Dakar (via Abidjan). Now you see the advantage of having many siblings that live across a wide swath? God bless Chief.

Speaking of Chief, my stay in the UK intersecting with his, pre- and post-US trips. I made him breakfast and did other stuff a responsible son should do. As usual, my sisters trooped to the family crib with provisions when Chief arrived, but never seem to bother when I am the sole occupant of the house. On the second day of his arrival I had some errands to run and dude called intermittently to discover when I would be returning home. Did he miss me? Nah, dude needed someone to make him dinner as he had subsisted on a banana, croissants and orange juice while I was away. But sisters had brought over food the day before, surely he coulda just placed them in the microwave anddddd oh yes, Chief mightn’t be able to work a microwave! Come to think of it, why would he? His wives cook his meals in Nigeria and if he’s ever in the UK at least one of them is around at same time, or his daughters are available. Dude’s spoilt man.

I recall over a decade ago before I finally moved back to Nigeria Chief returned to the house incredibly famished for some reason. He screamed at Ayo and I – for we were the ones residing there then – to make him something. I checked the fridge and informed him there was vegetable sauce, so he requested for amala. Told him neither Ayo nor I could make what he desired and suggested he settle for eba as that was in my culinary wheelhouse. Dude waited until his hunger was satiated before he went off on an invective about how he could cook up a storm from when he was a teenager – Ayo and I were in our 20s then – and how spoilt we were – we were both unemployed at that time – and he just kept lashing out. If I knew then what I know now I coulda countered with, “sure…sure…bet you cannot work the microwave, can you?”

I love the dude though. He has accomplished a lot in his life and as much as he rants my siblings and I know he loves us. In fact, I think he may love us a bit too much. I jokingly refer to the dude as my girlfriend – behind his back of course – ‘cos he stresses almost as much as a jealous gf would.  He complains if 2 weeks go by and he hasn’t heard from me. And like a true needy gf he won’t call to check up on me, but would instead complain to my mom, sisters, drivers, anyone who’d listen, until they call and prod me to call him.

Just like some gfs I have had, Chief is a hoarder. My goodness! I never realized how much until I had to use his bathroom when I visited the family in Lagos last month. I had arrived the day before from Juba and missed Naija food so much I went directly to an eatery from the airport and overdid it on the pepper. By the time I got to the family house and gobbled down some more food I had to go, so requested to use his loo. On the way in I noticed his study was packed with old newspapers – Chief reads at least 3 newspapers a day – and 75% of his massive bed was the same, newspapers and books. Dude sleeps on only a third of his bed ‘cos of all the junk on it! What is he doing with all those newspapers anyway? I do not recall any of my siblings aspiring to be a suya merchant as a kid, so he obviously cannot bequeath them to us.

I tell you what, it would be fascinating to watch the help (attempt to) clean his room. Does she take off all the junk on his bed, change the bedsheets and put them back on, or does she place them in the study with the rest of the junk and he accumulates new junk before it’s time to replace bedsheets again? Now if he had a help like MY Harriet he wouldn’t be able to acquire much junk on the bed due to her perverfid interest in ensuring one’s bedsheets get swapped at least thrice weekly. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen her since I arrived 3 days ago. Is she avoiding me? Has she decided to stop playing our own version of ‘how soon before they get together’ that hit TV shows tend to stretch out for as long as possible before they run outta plotlines and then force a coupling up to drive up ratings? But I digress…

On the floor a few feet from Chief’s bed was a veritable mountain of hats most likely acquired from aso-ebi for the gazillions of events he has attended over the years. When I got to the bathroom I discovered the sink and the bidet had the original faucet fittings from when we moved into the house back in June of 1980! Unbelievable.

From when we were kids Chief would receive gifts and never use them, so much so that Kinzo never bought colognes but just nicked them off Chief. Dude had no clue they were missing.  A couple of years ago I discovered an unopened first edition Kindle amongst his junk and gave it out to a friend after Chief confirmed he didn’t know what it was, let alone who had gifted it to him. But I digress….

As I investigated some more I discovered a dusty, unpacked shower curtain hung on his existing shower curtain railing…. two unopened bottles of Listerine mouthwash – probably long expired – by the bathtub, I could go on and on. Wait, are these hoarding traits hereditary? Is that why I still retain chargers for phones I long since disposed of? Or why I still return 2TB portable hard disk into original packaging once done with it, even though I utilize the disk every day at work? Am I gonna be sleeping on a quarter of my bed in my 70s ‘cos rest of it is occupied by photos of Harriet? Yikes.

As expected, during our time together in London after enquiring about progress of work in Juba he delved into my private life.  Seems he and mom jointly agreed to end their moratorium on prodding into my private life sometime last month ‘cos mom raised same subject when I saw her in California 2 weeks later. Jokingly told Chief to hook me up with a diabetic sugar mommy, i.e. a sugar mommy not interested in, ahem, “sugar”. Geddit? He didn’t find that funny. My “serious” responses to them involved so much weaving and bobbing Mohammed Ali musta been cheering from the grave. Even Kinzo’s at it! Dude called 3 weeks ago to say he gave my number to a classmate of mine from primary school. He had bumped into her at a wedding in Lagos and while catching up she asked him about me and mentioned she had a huge crush on me back when we were kids. That was all Kinzo needed to hand over my details to a girl I don’t have any recollection of? At this point if I brought a Martian home I am sure my parents would cheer and ask how long before they expect their half-Martian grandkid.

As usual, highlight of trip was time with my daughter. She’s such a blessing man. I know I’ve done loadsa crap in my life, but God really rewarded me with her. She’s pleasant and doing great in school. For whatever issues the ex-wife and I have I must say she’s done an incredible job in raising our daughter. Couldn’t FaceTime with her on Sunday due to wonky internet connection in Lagos. I hope I can get through tomorrow ‘cos when we spoke two Sundays ago, she was on holiday in Greece and while updating me on her adventures she mentioned a boy called Dino whom she met while there and said he had returned to Cyprus. Okayyyy? Her next statement stuck ‘cos she mentioned how much she missed him and was planning to send him some present she’d made from Lego bricks. U what?! She’s never made me anything from paper let alone durable as heck Lego bricks!  Wish I had this Dino’s last name to investigate further. What sorta name is Dino anyway? The only Dino I know is some corrupt joker of a Nigerian senator who wishes he could aspire to a Trump manqué. Yup, he is that pathetic. A mate from uni, Dean Shorter, nicknamed Deano, was a womanizer extraordinaire. I hear he’s married with kids now, but still…my point is you cannot trust guys either named Dino or with nicknames that sound similar.

This is where y’all females may wonder why I’m getting my panties in a twist. Well, maybe ‘cos my panties were literally in a twist during that FaceTime call with my daughter. You see, I pride myself on being a meticulous packer and so was shocked when I discovered during the eve of my departure from the US that I hadn’t packed enough underwear. Thus, was forced to wear underwear inside out as there wasn’t sufficient time to wash and air out dirty underwear or go grab some from a store. Plus, there must be some research as to why guys are so attached to underwear. Instead of replacing boxer shorts with frayed elastic waist bands I find myself actively setting them aside, saving them for weekends when I plan to be indoors, so I’d rock them while lounging. Makes no sense.

Oh yeah, just remembered Dean Martin, another renowned ladies’ man, was also called Dino. My point’s made.

Tot ziens and God bless.