TJ was driving; I was busy feeling like a gangsta on Facebook. We were returning from the mini mart, the only source of groceries in the estate. It was a dull Tuesday evening and we needed some snacks before we contemplate how to go about dinner since we didn’t cook in the house.
All of a sudden, TJ screamed: “Guy dey alert, guy dey alert!”
I quickly looked up. Lo and behold, a very round, voluptuously sumptuous piece of female behind was swinging from side to side like a pendulum. The owner of the glorious behind was a fair-complexioned young woman who should be in her early 20s.
TJ quickly drove up to where she was, honked his horn. As she turned, I hopped out of the car and walked up to her.
“Hello, I’m Baboon, I.R Baboon,” I started.
“Haha! What kind of name is that?” she questioned.
“It’s a nickname from the cartoon series I AM WEASEL. You watch cartoons?”
“Alright, so what’s your name?”
I and Sandra got talking. She sounded smart, but I never believed most of the things she told. The looks she gave me was the typical rosco-scamlook! We walked for bit and she had already passed the set of blocks next to our street where she said she stayed.
“So where are you headed?” I asked as my lazy legs beginning to “complain.”
“The mart,” she said.
“Alright,” I said nonchalantly.
We kept talking until we got to the mart. As soon as we got in, she said she wanted to get airtime for her phone, MTN to be precise.
“Go ahead,” I said with morenonchalance.
“You will get it for me now,” she said, giving me the classic olojuwasewase.
I frowned. My displeasure could not be hidden. Not because I couldn’t get her the airtime, but because I suspected that it would be her game plan and she refused to prove me wrong.
“You and who?” I asked in a very low voice, disregarding the grammar I had been speaking.
“Na so you dey do your own? You just see person now nownow, you carry am come mart and you dey ask for recharge card. Nne. This is so 2006. Abeg I dey outside. If you buy finish, come meet me,” I said as I walked out.
In a few seconds, she was outside with me.
“What was that?” she asked
“Nne, na this thing wey you do dey give Igbo people bad name,” I blurted, as I called TJ on the phone.
“Guy how far, abeg drive come mart come carry me… Oh you dey close… Nice one.”
I returned to the babe… “Ehen… give me your number, maybe another time, we fit pally up properly. No be this kain your skooskoos style.”
She gave me her number and I saved it as SANDRA RECHARGE CARD
As I was still speaking, TJ pulled up and alighted almost immediately.
“Nigga how far… Babe what’s up. You look familiar,” he said as he scrutinized her face.
“Me? Really?,” she asked, with her face looking scared.
“Yes now. Baboon, you remember that babe wey I tell you say e and Gombe jam near Mega Chicken wey been wan make we buy am chao that day that day.”
“Na she be this. Her name na Sandra abi?”
“Na she jor. Guy make we dey go. I sabi am”
I looked at her… “Shey you see yourself. You don dey cast.”
Few days later I was chilling at home when another of our housemates, Mensah called.
“Guy how far. That girl wey you block wey wan run you recharge card P, wetin be her name?”
“Omo I don fuck up. See casting. I just jam the girl. She say make me and Asumo carry am go supermarket weydey that complex wey we dey chop.”
“Choi! Na she and Asumodey inside now. Wait make I call Asumo make e bail.”
Few minutes later, they were home.
“Wetin happen,” I and TJ asked with eagerness.
“Omo we leave am for the supermarket ball out o. Na she sabi as she wan take do. Na the full squad she wan run the same paroles. She no even get fear of God.”
“hahahahaha…. Make I run call am,” I said.
I quickly dialled her number. She picked:
“Howfar. It’s me Baboon. The one you asked for recharge card the other day.”
“Ah! E be like say we plenty wey you don run the recharge card P. Anyways, my guys just told me they picked you now now and you wanted to tax them again. Nne you no get fear of God. Upon wetin I tell you that day. Nne you don cast.”
She hung up.
I called again.
“What is it!” She screamed.
“You want airtime? MTN o” I said with a giggle.
She hung up!
I.R Baboon is a Mediocre Writer, Journalist by mistake, Media Gate-Crasher, Part-Time Rapper, Aspiring Revolutionary!