“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