The Toasting

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CURTAIN OPENS

Some of us take our humble beginnings for granted. We become so proficient at doing something after years of trying and failing, that we seem to forget how it all started for us.

I remember the first time I asked a girl out. (Omo scratch that, the first time I toasted a girl… it’s oyibo people that ask girls out). This was way back in secondary school.

Peer Pressure is a terrible thing.
I was concentrating on being studious and getting good grades but my brothers and sisters, everyone was busy having a girlfriend.
Even one dude whom we nicknamed Rattus rattus, which is the zoological name for rat, had a girlfriend Kehinde…by the way, he got the nickname because during one of the biology practicals we were asked to bring rats, the rat wey this boy carry come ehn, fit born rabbit

What it is that he told Kehinde to make her his girlfriend, still baffles us till date. But omo Last Last, he had a girlfriend and I didn’t.

I tried to console myself with all these motivational “Slow and steady wins the race”, “the race is not to the swift”, “It is not of him that runneth but of him that the Lord showeth mercy” talk…but no be my village people again, they won’t let that mercy touch me.

Whenever the bell for Short break, Long break or Closing time rang, you could tell who and who had found young love. Their holding of hands, sharing of zobo, strong buns, and the well beloved iya biliki’s ‘babadudu’ as well as buying of ice-cream (better known as Wacol for we real niggas) for each other were obvious signs.

As for me, my own true love at that time was far away in Ghana, in the person of Osei Yaw Ababio, the famous author of the widely used chemistry textbook for secondary schools in my day.

I used to think it was because I was a junior student and maybe the shorts I was wearing was what was hindering my progress but omo this was ss2 na and still no show .

You won’t believe it but one of my friends, even had the audacity to have like 3 babes in all the scarcity, while Ababio was busy telling me about covalent bonding that was not coming to light in my Life.

Don’t sha get me wrong.
I could talk to a girl normally. Teach her any subject she wanted but to open mouth begin yan her the koko eh! That’s when my Chinese ancestors manifest and begin speaking “chin chan cho” via my mouth.

I remember vividly, whenever Mass got to private intentions, which happens after prayer of the faithful, my private intentions were simple and succinct

not like die die sha

Notice how the program is two days after vals day

At a point, I was thinking maybe this whole thing was hereditary and maybe my father had done something to annoy one girl when he was a lot younger and she don swear naked for him first son . Or maybe someone in my family had swindled all these chinko people coming into the country, hence causing Chinese to become my native language when I got to the “yarning the koko” part.

But alas, I was proven wrong by an event.

It was just a normal saturday. My parents had gone for their normal Igbo people meeting, when I heard the doorbell ring.

*tadam*
**tadam tadam tadam**

In my mind I’m like, who be dis one wey no play with toy wen e small. Na my doorbell e wan come use?

I stood up and opened the curtain to see who it was.

Blood of Vic O!!!

I couldn’t believe my eyes.
(In d’banj’s voice) Kokolets, 1, 2 at my door.

My Good Lord had finally done it.
What I was looking for afar had come nigh.
Poof! Like magic, Angels appeared before me, singing and dancing, blowing trumpets and saxophones, to the highest of heavens. Shouting, ‘hosanna! hosanna!!’, while I knelt down and worshipped His name.
I adored Him for his goodness and mercies. I glorifed, praised and exalted. He was the Lord that never failed. The provider for the needy. The Reverend father in church, had preached that the year wouldn’t end without my miracle, and here it was.

Chai!
I flew into my room quickly to change.
Real niggas know that when you are inside your house you should be wearing just boxers and singlet, it helps for cross-ventilation.
Beht real niggas also know that when a lady is coming to the house you need to be well arranged also.

With Immediate alacrity, I put on one of my Christmas shorts. These angels deserved something I reserved only for heavenly beings like them. Entered popsi’s room and sprayed small perfume.
All within 3 seconds. (Yes, if you believe it you can achieve it! Halleluyah somebody!)

I prayed once more not to speak Chinese as I opened the door.
Immediately they saw me, they greeted “Good afternoon, broda!”

In Nigeria our beloved country, “brother” and “brodaaa” are two different things.
This was the first indication that shit was about to hit the fan. If they had broda-zoned me, then problem dey.

I tried to escape quickly
“Hello, fine girls, how are you?”
“Fine SIR” one replied.
This wouldn’t be easy, I told myself.

As if trying to zone me wasn’t enough, the other one said the words that saddened me and broke the camel’s back.

“Please, we are looking for BB”

Now the Million Dollar Question…
Who is BB?
Honestly, if BB was, say, my neighbor upstairs, I would have been Happy. Even if BB was my own popsi say maybe e don tell d girls, “don’t call me daddy Stephen, call me BB baby” I for even happy sef.
But this was just the height.

BB was…
Hmmmmm
E Pain me gaaaan
In short, let’s end this Story here.
This is too embarrassing.
THE END.

Okay let me pity y’all,

You wouldn’t believe it, BB was my younger brother.

Imagine!
My female teacher never even find me come from school even if it’s to tell my parents about my stellar performance in all subjects, make e be say dem count am say woman don come find me.

Imagine my own younger brother!
Small Boy!
Not one, but two mogbono feli feli babes. The colour drained from my face.

I cancelled the hereditary theorem from the cause of my problems. I opened the door for the young ladies, watched as they came in, in all their young sexiness and sat on my father’s seats bought with his hard earned money.

“BB, some girls are looking for you” I said in the sternest of voice I could muster, to convey my unhappiness at this occurrence.

“Oh! Okay broda Stephen, that’s J-girl and Barbie! (“Kai! See umu nwa names!” I said in my heart with my big-brother stern face still on) they are my friends”

“Before? Will they be your mechanics?” I wanted to say. But I quietly contained my ‘Painment’ and walked towards my room.

Another Sight caught my attention.
If you see the big bear hug these girls gave my brother eh! Jesu christi mimo!
If I add all the hugs I have gotten right from when when I was a child- from various loving aunties and Uncles- till now e no go still reach wetin I see.
Kai! I was dead.

 

They say curiosity killed the cat.

It also killed Uncle Stephen that very day…I tried as best as I could to remain within the confines of my room, but alas I just couldn’t.

A voice kept telling me to pass the living room and go to the kitchen to drink water. After minutes of what I would like to assume was resistance, I conceded. As I entered the Sitting Room, I was greeted with loud laughter. The girls were really really laughing and I couldn’t help but notice how their faces had, “I’m really enjoying this BB boy” written over it.

Mogbe!
See, the small boy even bought them malt which they had barely touched because his gist was too interesting to take a break and drink malt.

Pouring that water into the cup must be one of the most painful tasks I have accomplished all my Life. Their voices rose louder and louder in laughter, punctuated with “really?” “like seriously?” and all the other lingo common to ladies at this age. The one that pained me the most was when one of the girls said loudly “Ah! This boy you can whine girls eh!”. The only thing I could whine, was my waist and at that point, I tried to whine it and it felt very stiff.

I went back to my room and tried to lie down and think about the true meaning of life, but somehow I found myself at the sitting room again. As I walked in, the girls were standing up. It seemed they were ready to leave. “We are leaving Uncle, Goodbye brodaaaa” they both chorused as I stepped in. Iyalaya e!!! Is your brother’s Girlfriend that they will call uncle, I cursed in my mind but responded, “Oh! Wonderful, hope you had a nice time?”. “Yes we did” they both replied.
I watched them leave through the curtains in my room and saw them turn by turn, give him that glorious hug again and Ababio appeared on my shoulder to point out that, “Charlie! Dex is wat de be calen covalent bonding”

The “worstest” part of it all was that my younger brother carried on like “izz nothing”. On digging deeper later, I found out that he was the lady’s man in his school while I was Oga at the Top of Lastma in mine.

That night, I even stole the phone popsi bought him last term as a result of making straight A’s in all his subjects to see his text messages. I had aforehand not been interested but after what played out before me today, my interest was piqued. As I went into the toilet and locked the door so I could peruse the content of the phone very well, a text message entered and the phone displayed brightly

MEMORY FULL PLEASE DELETE SOME MESSAGES.

Chineke nna!
The text messages where from different babes o. No kind name I no see there. Jane, Temitope, my angel, Mine, Sweetheart, Chocolate, Baby, Landlord’s daughter.

The most recent messages were from J-girl and Barbie. Individually indicating how much they liked Him and how they enjoyed spending time with him.

To which he replied the same thing to both of them…

“Nothing can feel more heavenly, than spending time with You my Angel. Thanks for coming today”

Even as a guy and his brother, I felt that Line.
(Abi u no feel am too)
And as I looked at other text messages on his phone, I slowly felt my body, being adorned with the LASTma cap, shirt and trousers, and last but not the least an aboki-polished Black shoe.

THAT NIGHT I CHARGED (**INSERT INCREDIBLE HULK SCREAM HERE**)

GHEN GHEN
GHEN GHEN GHEN GHEN

I couldn’t continue like this…
I knew I needed external help and I knew where to get it…..

THE END
WATCH OUT FOR PART TWO
(yes! I know its painful. I’m sorry it’s not you, it’s me)

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34 thoughts on “The Toasting

  1. Mehn, Stephen, this gist is so not good for my health. See as I dey inside men's room dey laugh. Lordie! You're a master! Part 2 osiso!

  2. Wow!!!!!!!!!…. Knowing how good u re with humor stories , my interest was piqued. I always knew that you will not disappoint with a new one…Thumbs up…Voted too

  3. Boss..nice one as usual,hp dere won't be a day wen we will hv 2 vote which will be our best strory from u abeg o.e go cause trouble…part 2 biko..d new look is very gud,more matured..

  4. Hahahaha!! Steven!!! Steven!! Why u sha like to dey leave us high and dry these days ehn!! Lol! But u 4 just swallow ya pride get lessons from BB na! Lol! Oya, last time o, no more part 2!! U don dey nollywood us o!

  5. Okay, nice piece, very nice piece, Had me laughing and really enlightened my mood, but I must say I dislike you now for that not finishing up. Lol. I'll wait.

  6. As much as I want to laugh out loud, I can't because I am in the office but it still leaked out though. Good one bro. I like your style… But that your Lastma cap, hope say e no tear back then.

  7. Pingback: The Toasting II | 100% Nigerian Humor

  8. Hehehehe. Dis dude is good with what he makes people feel with his pen and notepad or rather fingers and smart device. After reading Jazz I felt I was too busy to vote or comment. Despite laffing uncontrolably. But not this time I’ve voted with my 2 mails. And am personally gonna BC dis link. Our village pple shashant succed. Lmao

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