Perks of being an ajebota

“Ajebota!”

“Omobota!”

“Londoner!”

“Americannah!!!!”

My nerve failed me; I was shy. The room was filled with university students like me so I thought oh well, English should be the lingua franca here. But I thought wrong as different voices spoke one language in unplanned unison. A language I understood but barely spoke. Being a sucker for the white man’s language, I took pride in speaking it in a polish and soft way whenever the opportunity to impress presented itself.

A stout woman, an easily angered one, who shouts too often as she types on a white and black rusty typewriter. Who uses a typewriter in this Hewlett Packard and Lenovo generation? I thought forcing a smile despite my frustration. The hard rocky way the typewriter sounds each time her strong fingers struck the keys is one of the flames that ignites her fiery anger, the other I’m quite unsure of.

She asked a question in my mother’s tongue. My brain was too tired to decode whatever she said. In my innocence I looked dumbfounded, my brain slowly processing what she said letter by letter, trying to place the ‘amis’ ( mark) where they belonged. “Shey o gbo ni? “ She barked. “Ma, I don’t understand” I said softly. I never understand things, I say that with sarcasm most times, but today was different. I didn’t understand her question.

My mumu look when dumbfounded, irritated her, which led to her calling me names. I wept internally, as amebos turned from whatever they were doing to see the tiny ajebota. My uncle tried playing my knight in shine shine armour, which worsened the already bad situation. “Is she a small geh? Shey she cannot speak for herself ni?” she said in a weak, unpolished English, which made me understand why she barely spoke English. “Maybe it is her bodyguard sef” one busybody said from behind, which resulted in thunderous laughter from every corner of the room. Nice one Bovi! I wept more inside, this time for my Oba Awon University (OAU) graduate of an uncle.

I knew I was going to pay for this insult he received, thanks to me.

She shunned and asked how it mattered to him. My inner eyes were tired of crying at this point, it was almost becoming visible. I almost cried.  He was hurt, but waving it aside with an air of maturity he pled on my behalf, she sent him away nonetheless.

She calmed after playing the drama queen and switched to an unbelievable calm side I never envisaged. Adjusting her glasses, she gently explained what she meant. The fear in my eyes brought that effect, I guess. “Why did your bodyguard follow you?” she questioned. “…he’s my brother ma “. “So your daddy cannot allow you to come  by yourself, is he afraid Lagos boys will come and toast you?” she said ,rolling her eyes . I forced a smile. How old are you? What school do you attend? What level are you in? The questions kept rolling, in my mother’s tongue of course! I replied in same tongue, supported with my fingers and hands in motion.

I resorted to doing things the systematic way, which is one of the many things my country is known for. I earned the love and support of the woman with a nice drink :D

                                                                                                                                      G.L