Wednesday, March 28, 2007

My man Fridayscoco....

Thank God I got some work done yesterday. I ended up having a couple of drinks with the guys on monday night and left early. To be honest, I think everybody’s a bit stressed out at the moment, so there really wasn’t any madness, ope o! I might be hitting the library this morning, but I need to type up a letter quickly.

It’s a letter of invitation for my guy Fridayscoco to come and visit. You guys might remember me mentioning him in ‘Friends like these…”

I know what you’re thinking. No, Fridayscoco is not a common houseboy o. The guy is my main man! In fact last December, he was known as my Personal assistant. Na the guy even give himself the name.

I met Fridayscoco through my longtime homeboy and former flatmate Akinzo. Akinzo moved back from NY a couple of years ago, and lives down the road from me in Nige as well. Fridayscoco used to be a pump attendant at a petrol station that Akinzo frequented, and Akinzo just liked the dude. When Fridayscoco lost that job, he needed a new one and a place to stay, so Akinzo said he could stay in his BQ. They already had a housegirl, so the dude pretty much just helps in any way he can, mostly by running errands and stuff.

My first day in Lagos, I walked across to Akinzo’s house, and Fridayscoco opened the gate. The guy damned near hugged me o!

“Bros Fineboy! I don dey wait you bros!”

Ah ah. Where do I know this joker from? I realised then he must have been Fridayscoco ‘cos he sometimes picked up the phone when I called Akinzo from London. Apparently he recognized me from some of Akinzo’s pictures.

Later on, Akinzo and I were catching up in the living room, when Fridayscoco walked in.

“Bros, na me go dey drive you for this Lagos o!”

“What makes you think I can’t drive in Lagos?”

“Ha! Nooo bros, this lagos driving na kolo driving o!”

His mind was made up. Me sef I just gbadun the guy so I agreed to let him drive me once. Akinzo said he was a good driver, so I wasn’t too worried. Later that afternoon, he took me to see a couple of people, and he was just cracking me up, asking all kinds of strange questions.

“Bros FB, shey na true say for Yankee, you and bros Akinzo just dey organize all those American girls like water?”

And he always started laughing excitedly when I confirmed Akinzo’s stories.

“HAAAA! Bros mi, u mean am?? Chei!”

I ended up getting attached to Fridayscoco o. The next morning, I came downstairs and Mr. Morris told me that one of my friends was waiting for me. At 10 am? Fridayscoco was just chilling downstairs o. He had told the gateman that he was my PA, and he was reporting for duty. The guy had showered and everything o, ready for the day.

“Ah ah. Fridayscoco. How far?”

“Bros I dey. I don ready o. Anywhere you dey go, na me and you. No shaking. Make I go wash the car?”

This guy was serious o. He ended up driving me that day, and before you knew it, the dude was with me 24/7. The drivers at my house ended up hating the guy, because apparently ‘the bobo too dey demo!’ When he wasn’t driving, he was busy marvelling at my friends. One night, after I had walked a couple of guests to the gate, he goes,

“Bros mi, these your Yankee friends na wa o. I no go lie you, mammy water go dey among them.”

“What? Mammy water ke?”

“No vex bros Fineboy. But that yellow one wey just comot, she fit be mammy water.”

I laughed. “Why?

“You no see as all of them fresh, fine well well, come dey laugh ‘rererere?’ I never see woman like these ones o. They fine no be small.”

“I can hook you up o.”

“Me? God forbid. Me I no fit follow that kin’ woman o.”

“Why not?”

“Bros mi, you be my person, I no fit bobo you. One day like that, I go one hotel for Ikeja, go drink pepper soup. Come see yellow yellow babies! Ha! They boku for there well well. I come begin mark one. The day wey I carry am enter room….hmm bros Fine, the thing wey my eye see ehn?”

“What did you see?”

“Bros, coolele! As I comot all my cloth finish, she off light, come commot her cloth sef….. Na im I look her leg o. Bros Fineboy! Na goat leg dey there o! If you see as I run comot bros, my leg dey knack my head for back!”

“Ha! Fridayscoco! You can lie ehn!!!!”

“Oooooh Bros Fineboy, you no go wan hear my own....."

"You mean she had a goat's hooves for feet?"

"Ese Ogunfe! (Goat's leg!) If you like we fit go the hotel sef, people don know am well well for that area. Na winch now.”


The guy had mad stories. At first they were hard to believe, but the guy himself seemed to really believe them. And seeing the amount of nonsense I experienced with the guy last December, I wouldn’t be surprised if some of them were true.

I gave Fridayscoco a bunch of t-shirts and a pair of jeans, and if you see the way the guy used to remix the clothes, you wouldn’t believe it. One morning, I called him to meet me at Cubes ‘cos I knew I was gonna be drunk before the end of the night, and didn’t wanna drive myself home. Omo, when the guy bounced in ehn, my friends were asking me if he lived in America or England. As in the dude was fresh! He even had a chain hanging from his belt loop to his pocket! Awon Usher guys!

One of my boys from the states JJ, came to Lagos to get married in December. He came with his fiancée, Krystal (who’s American) and some members of her family. Fridayscoco went with us every time we took the foreign visitors out, and he was really eyeing the Krystal babe’s cousin, a 22 year old chick called Alisia.

When he first told me, I laughed it off, like, ‘see your mouth like you like am.’ Omo, believe it or not, the babe too was feeling the guy o! She told Krystal, who told Akinzo. When I first heard, I thought I was gonna die of laughter. I really shouldn’t have been surprised, because the guy sef dey denge like Yankee boy. Fridayscoco was positive that this would be his ticket to Yankee. That’s how one day the Krystal babe started bombarding Fridayscoco with her thick Yankee accent.

“So what you do?”


“Your jab….what kinda work you do?”

“Oh, I’m a footballer.” He grinned. (This is true. He aspires to play professional football)

“You’re a football player? Really? Like for a team?”

“Yes.” I don’t know why the guy was nodding his head.

Ha! I was getting worried.

“You gotta be a wide receiver or a kicker, ‘cos you don’t look big enough to be no quarterback or lineback or nothing like that. Haha…you gotta be ‘bout a buck sixty maybe!”

The look on Friday’s face read “Yeeeeeeparipa, which one be dis?”

I jumped in quickly. “Nah, he plays soccer.”

“Oh… you go to school down here, or did you study in the states like Akinzo and ‘em?”


“Yeah, yeah.” He smiled. I could tell he was lost so I jumped in quickly to take the heat off him.

“So Alisia, you like it in Nigeria so far?”

Fridayscoco looked thankful. He used style to excuse himself, and he had many close brushes like that. Funny enough, they actually started to talk on the phone, and they even keep in contact now. Only God knows how they communicate o!

Fridayscoco is just an all-round correct guy men. The only time I ever got pissed off with him was at my homeboy Roroski’s Sallah barbeque party. I allowed the guy free rein most of the time, and since he had no problems blending in, I always just let him do his thing. Roroski had his bbq on a roof terrace at his house, and most people were up there, just chopping and shacking. But you know Naija moves now, there’s always one VIP section. It was downstairs, and a few of us close friends were kicking it there.

At some point, I needed to get a bottle of something and went up to the terrace. Who did I see right in the middle of the floor giving them mad steps??

Ha! Fridayscoco was the center of attraction o, doing ‘yahoo yahoo’ dance and singing “why me o?” Ha! I just got my drink and yelled out to him “Kokomaster! Enjoy, enjoy!”

When it was time to leave, I got somebody to call him for me. We got into the car, and my guy started reversing…….and reversing……and GBOWW!!!

The idiot had slammed into the generator! I came out of the car to look at the damage, and saw that he had chipped the paint pretty badly. But na just paint abi, no problem. Roroski asked me, “Are you sure this guy can drive home?” Why not now? I asked Fridayscoco if he had shacked. He replied no, and he didn’t even look tipsy, so I believed him.

My people, we hadn’t even gotten out of Roroski’s estate, and this morrafucka had dented the whole side panel after brushing up against another car! Heee! I wan die men! If you see the way I screamed at the guy to park ehn!

“Bros mi, no vex.”

“Are you drunk?”

“No o.”

“My friend give me the keys!”

Even I had been drinking, but there was no way I was going to allow this weré to drive home. The next day the joker didn’t even really remember what had happened. I now realised that when the guy was giving them all those yahoo yahoo steps, na vodka dey talk.

That was the only time my main man pissed me off. Oh, and one other time when we were stopped by one policeman at some checkpoint on the mainland.

Officer: Chairman, chairman. I dey hail!

Me: How you dey officer?

He leans against the window, and peers in…

Officer: Na you we dey look now. You know say na Christmas.

Fridayscoco: (Yelling) Why you stop us now? Yeye policeman wey dey wear slippers!

Officer: Na fight?, you want wahala today? Park well well, comot for road! I will deal with you maslessly.”

Me: Shut up Friday. Officer no mind am, abeg.

Officer: Park, park, park.

Me: Officer, no need for all that one now. Here.

I put my hand in my pocket.

Fridayscoco: Bros mi, no give am anything! Come search! Na because of am you come back come Lagos?

Officer: My friend, you are provoking my temper! I will deal with you o. Shut up your mouth!

He turned back to me.

“So you be international sef. I don know. Na only foreign currency me I dey collect o. Na Christmas we dey.”

I give him a N5oo note.

“Chairman, ah ah…….from a whole oversea?”

“Don’t worry I’ll see you later…I’m still in the area.”

“Okay o. (He looks at Friday) Na your chairman save you today.”

We drove off, and I warned Friday never to try that nonsense again, before he got us arrested. The stubborn goat wouldn’t budge.

“Bros, na we dey Naija. We sabi holo them. Nothing dey happen!”

I’ll holla soon, y’all!

Monday, March 26, 2007

One of those days....

Thank you guys for all your visits and comments! I really appreciate it! Damn, I’m amazed by how many people are enjoying this blog o. Thanks for the love y’all.

Whew! Sorry it’s taken so long to update guys, I’ve been swamped with school work and group meetings and stuff. It’s been a long morning today sef, and I don’t think I can take it anymore. I don tire men. And Finebabe is not around, so I’m reeeeeally not happy! I’m in such a foul mood. Meanwhile, I think I’m gonna slap my course advisor men.

This morning she asked me what my dissertation topic was, and I told her. She gave me one kin’ blank look and said, “That’s not good enough, Fineboy! What are your sources? Empirical data? Theories? How are you going to test it? Blah..blah…blah..”
The woman na one young Indian woman wey dey always feel too smart. She doesn’t even try to sympathise o, she even suggested that I might fail if I don’t get my stuff together. Imagine! Na she go run down!

The annoying part was that she was intermittently taking bites of one crusty sandwich as she was talking to me. There was now a glob of mayonnaise on the corner of her mouth the whole time. Eww! She no come fine again! Men I don’t even wanna think about that nonsense anymore. After my meeting with her, I met up with my friend Annie at the library. Annie is a really nice girl from Hong Kong, very sweet and funny. But, God forgive me, her breath is always ‘stanking!’ Men, I feel bad saying that ‘cos she’s so lovely…but damn! I offered her my tube of softmints and she said no o. We sat talking for like 30 minutes and men, e no easy.

I’m gonna go ahead and do as much work as I can now, then meet up with the rest of my coursemates at one of the uni bars for drinks later. My only wahala with those guys is that dem too dey drink men.

They never let me leave after a couple of beers o, na until everybody don begin talk nonsense, begin fall for ground. And I’m like the only black guy, so I don’t always want to come across like the angry black man, so I go just dey play along.

There’s one guy in our crew, Leity. Cool dude from Alabama, looks like one of those Abercrombie & Fitch frat boy types. The guy na my guy from day one oh, and that’s how last November, on one of these our drinking nights, the guy told us he was gay! Gay ke? I’m like errr….okay. The guy is a cool dude…whatever his sexuality is his own problem. But men, since then, whenever we get a few drinks in our system, the guy starts making all these funny jokes.

“Fineboy, you’re one sexy piece of chocolate ass….”

“Give me a hug, Fineboy”

Men, the shit gets uncomfortable. And I notice say na only when the guy drink. One time he said he had a hot date with a Brazilian dude….would I like to join? And burst out laughing.

That’s what me I don’t understand about Oyinbo people o. When black man don dey, we go begin dance. When Oyinbo man don shayo, na to begin yarn nonsense. One other guy, Lee, always tells me to dance for them. The first time he said it, I thought “Should I be offended? Is it because I’m black? ”

But now, I understand that they just like my moves. Omo, I go begin dey dance all kin’ nonsense dances and they like it o. I’ll give them the shoulder lean, give them “the motorcycle”, and depending on my shayo level, I even give them bugle or some old school shit. Any yeye dance, these guys would be like “Wow, Fineboy, you’re such a great dancer!” LOL, I love it men. I be like superstar for there. Dem never born me do those kin’ steps for black club o.

And there’s one girl there, Zoe, one Canadian babe. She’ll be dancing in front of me with that her small yansh, giving me one yeye ‘seductive’ look, like I’m supposed to be turned on. Joker.

And she used to send me texts starting with “Hey honey….” Or “Hey sexy..” I had to tell the girl to stop that nonsense o, before she puts me inside yawah with Finebabe.

Anyway, I’ll see them tonight, and if anything interesting happens, you know I’ll let you know. Let me get back to these damn essays. No vex abeg, my people....I have so much work, I’ll update really soon!

Tuesday, March 20, 2007

Son of my Father....

I was awoken by a phone call from my popsi this morning men. Omo! The man called at like 7.30, and I was still half-way in dreamland when the man started . See, my pops doesn’t just call to talk . The guy go use grammar explode your head! Na so the guy wan use English dabaru my brain today o.

Popsi: Well, son, what are your instincts about the Atiku fiasco? Nigeria is markedly facing an irrevocably devastating cataclysm no matter how much these bloody despots try to dress the situation up……..

What??? Men, me I’m having a hard time deciding between scones and eggs or yam and corned beef for breakfast, and this baba is talking politics this early momo. Since I started my master’s at this school sef, my popsi has just started seeing me as some young genius that he can be discussing current affairs with. I wouldn’t even mind if the guy didn’t use all these words to finish me! Ah ah!

Me: Yeah Dad, it’s a pretty sad situation.

Popsi: Of course it is son, but what are your thoughts? You as a third world youth, surveying the world through the eyes of one who is not only an envoy in the diaspora, but also a citizen and denizen of both civilizations. Your perspective is particularly unique in terms of your intrinsic loyalties, isn’t it? Your birthplace in the west and your so called motherland in the third world must make the reconciliation process a battle…….

Chei! This man men! Omo, this guy should leave me alone! All this grammar! I just mumbled something about the whole world being in trouble, and said I had to hurry up and get ready for an early morning class. After I dropped the phone, I swear I almost had to pour cold water on my head because it was sizzling!

Popsi men, the guy na one kin’ guy. When I wrote my personal essay for my master’s, I sent it out to him and my older siblings to edit. Meeeeen! If you see the way the baba scatter grammar for the thing eh? As in, I got his comments back and I was confused. The guy wanted to wound me with oyinbo o. I didn’t even bother trying to decipher what the hell he was trying to say in the e-mail men. That’s how I would have asked the baba and he would have given more machine gun fire. I just allow am men.

I think my popsi’s employees have suffered it the worst.

We used to have one driver like this, Mr. Sunday. Just remembering the dude is cracking me up. He was short and stocky, with a thick neck and a basketball head. Remember Giringori from new Masquerade??? The guy looked exactly like him. In fact, maybe na the guy sef.

As in, Mr. Sunday was a character. One day, he came to work, and he had apparently gotten into trouble for something. All I remember was my popsi shouting,

“Sunday, your impropriety and incivility have begun to reach insanely astronomical proportions! Your portfolio of misdeeds is ridiculously embarrassing and if you don’t make an effort to change, you’d end up like just another statistic in the number of employees physically assaulted by their employers. You should be thoroughly ashamed of yourself, and this is the last admonishment you will ever get from me, you imbecile!”

My popsi went inside the house.

Omo! Mr. Sunday was dazed. The guy just sat on the pavement, staring into space for a minute. He now started scratching his head with both hands, then started rubbing it, and then finally burst into tears...…as in serious weeping o!

You had to see it to believe it. Our steward, Mr. Morris noticed Mr. Sunday bawling his eyes out and went to find out what was wrong with him. As in, the guy’s shoulders were heaving up and down, and he was mumbling something in Calabar, almost wailing o.

Mr.Morris: Sunday, wetin happen now?

Mr. Sunday looked up at his colleague.

“Ha! Morris! Oga don kill me o.”

Mr.Morris: How oga take kill you?

Mr. Sunday: You dey ask me question....aaaaah.... I say Oga don finish my life patapata. Chineke! My pikin dem go suffer o.....

Mr.Morris: Sunday, no dey cry now. You no know say you be big man? No cry. Wetin happen?

Mr.Sunday: Morris respect yasef o! Respect yasef! I dey tell you say I don die finish, you dey ask me tory. Eeeeeeeeeh! (loud weeping)

Mr.Morris: Sunday, I wan help you now! If you no talk, how person go take help you?

Mr.Sunday: Chinekemeee! Oga don sack me o! Oga don send me comot.

Mr.Morris looked at him in shock. “Sack ke? Wetin you do?”

Mr.Sunday: I no know o……haaaaa (Calabar mumbling)

Mr.Morris: So why oga go sack you? Wetin oga talk gan gan?

Mr.Sunday: Haaaa! Oga swear for my mama and papa o! E just dey fire the English one by one on top my head. Karatimbim, paratombom! Oga swear for me well well! I no hear one thing wey oga talk o! But the grammar wey im use, I no say this one na the battle to end all battles. Help me beg oga, abeg.

That’s how my popsi came back out, ready to leave for work. He saw Mr.Sunday crying on the ground.

“Sunday, are you alright?”

Mr. Sunday lay prostrate on the gravel. The crying now entered full gear.

“Aaaaaaaaaah! Oga abeeeeg sah! Eeeeeeh! Take me back Oga sah. I no go do bad again oga. My papa, God bless you sah. Eeeeeeeeh! I get four pikin….”

“My friend, get up and get in the car! What in the world do you mean ‘take you back’? Who fired you? What a twit!”

Mr.Sunday sprang up, a huge grin across his face. “Na God go bless you oga!”

The funny thing was that Mr. Sunday was actually a very brave guy. He wasn’t afraid to curse people out in front of my popsi o, and the dude had the filthiest mouth ever. He was a short little trouble maker.

I know I’m diverting away from the original topic, but let me yarn you about Mr. Sunday small. Kai, una sef like tory! Anyway, the guy used to harass people on the road all the time, and the guy’s catalogue of curse words was something else. The dude was hilarious.

If he saw a girl walking by in a miniskirt, he would say “See this yeye monkey! Na ashawo o! Na another woman husband she dey follow o!”

The guy would cuss anybody on the road. His usual weapon was the can of insecticide in the glove compartment. If he was cursing somebody out he would shout,

“Wait, wait. I go flit your face now. God punish you!” and would start fumbling around in the glove compartment.

I’ll never forget one incident one morning, on the way to school. Mr. Sunday was driving, I was sat at the back, my brother CM was in the passenger seat, and my cousin Teni was in the back as well. Apparently, some guy nearly hit Mr.Sunday's car. That’s how he started.

“Damboroba! Your mama go die! You dey crase, I know say no be ya fahicle sef! Your papa sef no buy bicycle. Sharrap!”

The other guy looked pissed! He signalled Mr. Sunday to park, so that they could fight, while as usual, Mr. Sunday started fiddling around for his insecticide.

“I go flit your face! Na me go marry ya wife today….come make I flit your face! Yeye man!”

The other guy was unfazed. He shouted at Mr. Sunday to follow him, so that they could park in a nice spot and fight. The guy’s eyes were red o!

The guy made a left, and Mr. Sunday followed him. We were egging him on as well, and he goes,

“Leave am, I go beat am ehn, im mama sef no go know am. Bastard man!”

When the guy wanted to make the next right, he pointed right and trafficated, well in advance. When Mr.Sunday made the right as well, the guy pumped his fist in the air outside his window, as if to say, “Yes! Come on!” The guy was up for it o.

Na so Mr. Sunday begin sweat. The guy in the other car slowed down and trafficated and pointed left. Mr. Sunday attempted to turn right, saying to us “No mind am. If no be say you go late for school eh, I for beat am well well.”

What?? There was no way we were going to let the guy off like that o. All of us just started shouting,

“Noooo!!!! Mr. Sunday follow him, follow him! So you can beat him up and teach him a lesson!”

The pressure was too much, and his pride was at stake. Mr. Sunday reluctantly followed the guy and parked behind him. He was sweating profusely now.

We were just cracking up at this point. The other guy was fuming!!! Kai, this guy was sure to brush Mr.Sunday's life!

The bobo jumped out of his car and bounded to Mr. Sunday.

“My mama? Heh, my mama?”

With one short quick move, the guy had jacked the short and stout Mr. Sunday, lifting him clean off the ground! Chei! Mr. Sunday was shaking like a leaf. I think the dude was even disappointed that Mr. Sunday was such a punk. He goes,“I go break your head today! My own mama?”


"Hehn? My mama?"

We heard Mr.Sunday saying at the bottom of his voice, almost whispering,

“Gree me go, bros. Gree me go abeg.”


“Gree me go, my senior bros. No disgrace me in front my pikins dem.... I just dey make mouth. My mouth too much....”

Oh My God, I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so hard in my life. The guy just dropped Mr. Sunday and spat at him as he walked to the car. When he got into the car, Mr.Sunday didn’t say anything for like 15 minutes. Then when the way don clear well well, he said,

“Na because of una I no beat that man o. Yeye man, im mama for no know am.”

That was Mr.Sunday for you o. Joker.

Anyway, sorry, back to Chief Fineboy. That’s how the man is always using grammar to scatter his employee’s heads o. Even we, his kids, used to be on the receiving end of his oyinbo assaults. We hated getting into trouble, ‘cos he would make you feel like an ass without even touching you.

I remember one time, I went to this party with my older brother and my friend Prettyboy. We didn’t tell anyone we were going out, and when we got home at about 1 am, Chief Fineboy was sitting in the ante-room by the front door, asleep on a sofa. Damn! He had clearly been waiting up for us. As soon as we walked in, he just looked at us, and said “You urchins finally arrive. Welcome home,” and went upstairs.

We were dumbfounded. Thank God! No yawa! My popsi was travelling to the South of France the next morning, and we were supposed to be joining him in two days. We used to go to Provence every Summer for a week before heading to London. Our family always stayed at this villa that belonged to Monsieur Perpignani, Chief Fineboy’s French friend and business partner.

The next morning, I went to say hello to my popsi. That’s how the guy just looked at me.

“Morning. You boys continually choose to act like buffoons. If you want to be buffoons, I will treat you as such. By the way, your France trip is cancelled.”

Yeeeeepa! Men I wan die o! Remember as a kid, all you lived for was your trips abroad during the holidays? Kai, I was gonna go back to school with the same bafs and shoes. That was the worst punishment ever. That was typical Chief Fineboy o. His weapon was always his mouth, and if I start giving you examples of some of his verbal assaults, we go dey here all day.

But I think his worst punishment ever was the 404 episode. Omo men, I’m getting teary-eyed just thinking about it. See, my late grandfather had a Peugeot 404. Before he died, he left it in his will for my popsi. You know those ooooooold 404’s with the diamond shaped headlights? Like 1950 something!!!!!Well, Chief Fineboy loved his popsi to death and was so proud of the fact that his father had left him the car. It was parked in a garage at the house for ages, until one yeye driver that we had, Baba Ala, had a bright idea.

“Eskis sa! That 404 is still very good o! Ejo sah, please give me the car. It’s in very good condition.”

I think my popsi just thought about it, and said….hmm…if the car still ran well, it would be an honour to his father if he actually made use of it instead of just leaving it parked there.

Kai! One day, I was leaving school with Prettyboy (he was coming to my house), when I spotted the car. Hehn!!! It couldn’t be that 404 o! Everybody was walking out of school, and that bastard driver, Baba Ala, had gone and parked the 404 between a C-class benz and a lexus. This couldn’t be happening! Jesus Christ! I was so bloody embarrassed, I just walked past the car. That’s how the guy started shouting o…

“FIIIIIIIIINEBOY!!!!!! Wa o! Je ka ma lo le!!” (Come here, let’s go home!)

Bloody hell! EVERYBODY turned to stare at me and that morrafucka Prettyboy just disappeared into the crowd like he didn’t know me o. Men! I got into the pangolo car, and I think I died. The seats were even high again, so everybody would see you as you rode around in it. All the babes were cracking up, and my rep suffered a devastating blow that day.....chei!

Needless to say I never lived that one down, and I never forgave my popsi. He even tried to give me one yeye explanation.

“When one’s parents bequeath something of such enormous emotional significance, it’s only right to appreciate it and utilise the gift. I hope you shall do the same when I leave the 404 to you, son.”

Yeah right.

Anyhow, let me run….more sweet tonic coming soon for y’all! By the way, Finebabe I’m missing u o….I know you’re “reading”. Get it?

Sunday, March 18, 2007

Aunty Lori.....

I AM SO PISSED! I lost some crazy gist that I had for you guys, thanks to this blogger thing, which didn't work at all for like 4 days! For some reason it wouldn’t let me save or put the post up and it didn’t allow me to copy and paste either. After I lost it twice, I thought 'forget it' and was gonna just check my e-mail and go back to bed. Then I saw this e-mail and I was like “I gots to give you this gist briefly.” LOL.

It read “Hey Fineboy, I haven’t heard from you in like forever! How are you doing? What are you up to now? Bet your still being a little player. Holla at me baby! xxxx Lori.”

Okay, so Lori’s this ‘aunty’ that I went out one date with. It’s not even like that…lol….it’s just that my flatmate in Yankee, Akinzo, used to call every woman that was more than four years older than us ‘aunty.’ Lori was 29, and we met at this really nice chill spot on a night out with my partners in crime, Akinzo, Roroski and Mr. Diablo. I thought she was hot, and I could also tell that she was older.

I was only like 21 then, and was half-expecting her to slap the hell outta me when I walked up to her. A Nigerian ‘aunty' woulda been like “Who’s your mate???” But Yankee’s a different world altogether.... Lori was actually really interested, and we exchanged numbers and then talked on the phone and exchanged e-mails a few times.

Lori and I arranged a date. The plan was to meet at her apartment and then go out and do something. I thought we were gonna chill at her apartment for a little while, probably knock back a couple of drinks, and then go to dinner or something.

As I drove into the underground parking lot of her apartment building, I called her to let her know I was close by. I parked up, and then looked in the mirror to make sure say everything dey correct order.

Omo, na so my stomach begin do anyhow o. Of all times, why now, ehn? I let one rip briefly, make the thing no go catch me inside her apartment now. Gaddem!!! It was silent, but quite poisonous and deadly. Wowsers! Who begged me to eat that jollof indomie and egg that Akinzo cooked last night now? Too much pepper men. Lord have mercy. Even me sef that I was the culprit, I jumped out of the car and slammed the door quick, fast and in a hurry. Whew!

As I comot the car, I begin wiggle and shake well well, make the aroma no go follow me inside now. Haba! You guys can pose o! U no dey mess? Ha! Even my hot, uber-bougie babe dey mess o!

Anyhow, I picked up my phone and called Lori,

“Hey hun, what floor are you on?”

“I’m already downstairs cutie!”

I turned around and saw Lori walking towards me. She looked hot as usual. See body! We hugged.

“You ready?” she asked

“Yep,” I said and started looking around for her car.

“We’ll take yours.” She said and started walking towards my car.

Hehn!! Mine ke?

“It’s the black beemer right?”

“Err, yeah”

Chineke! That’s how I started whispering a prayer o. “Almighty Lord, King of Kings, rose of Sharon, God of Jacob…..Lord of miracles…..please Lord just do me this one miracle….please God let the stench have dissolved before we get to the car…..wonderful Jesus, please….”

We got to the car in like three seconds! I now started fidgeting around with my keyless entry remote like it wasn’t working…just to allow a couple more seconds for the horrible whiff to disintegrate.

Like a true gentleman, I opened the door for her and went around to my side. When I opened the door…JESU KRISTI!!!!!

Men the stench was as thick and potent as ever! Wowsers! I looked over at Lori. Men, the babe was just staring straight ahead, cross-eyed, like she was about to faint. The babe sef no even wan open mouth, make she no go vomit. I was so embarrassed I didn’t know what to say. It was now freezing outside again, so I had to turn on the heater. Imagine… real hot mess!

We got to this restaurant that Lori directed me to. As we entered, I noticed the place looked rather swank. But I had done my budgeting, pata pata I go spend like 60 bucks, no shaking. The waiter brought the menus.


See prices! Ha! That’s how she now started ordering.

“May I please have the crispy risotto arancini for my starter……erm and the Canadian veal over haricots verts for my entrée…….and a glass of Sauvignon blanc please?”

Ehn! This aunty wicked o! I started calculating. Yeepa! Lori’s meal alone had entered like 65 card! Omo, I scanned that thing up and down like five times. I knew I had like 125 bucks in the account, but cable company never comot their own money inside o. And I still had to buy petrol. Chai!

Allow me now, I was still a broke-ass college student then!

“May I please have the warm Mediterranean salad…and still water…”

And I was starrrrrving o. The waiter sef looked at me like I was a madman. But I had to be careful, and that was like the cheapest option. If not, na me and aunty Lori for wash all the plates for their kitchen that night. The were waiter even brought a bottle of still water o, when all I wanted was a glass from the tap or sump’n!

The food came and Lori was just quaffing away. Kai, I was salivating men…her food looked meaty and scrumptious. And it smelled sooooo good men. Me, I just begin pack salt and pepper on top my salad to garnish am. Na God go punish this aunty agbaya o. She didn’t even offer me a taste of her meal, and had the nerve to say my salad looked ‘lovely’!

After we finished eating, Lori goes to the waiter,

“Oh I don’t think I have anymore space for dessert…”

Ehn Ehn! You for order chocolate cake now!!!! See her mouth like dessert.

Men, when the bill came, if you see the way I boned up ehn! The waiter sef wanted to laugh. I just paid it and we got out of there.

Throughout the ride back, Lori was just yarning away, all happy, while my own belle was still rumbling. I wanted to say to her, “It’s not your fault. Your stomach is full abi?”

I dropped her off, and for ages after that, she kept asking for another date.

Not I o. Not Fineboy. You don see mugu?

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

Friends like these...

I've been sitting in my Uni library all morning trying to figure out what the hell I'm gonna do for my birthday this summer. I have three essays to turn in, and exams to study for, but na only birthday dey my head. Imagine.

I have a few things in mind. I haven't had a party in years, but I'm thinking of renting a cottage in the Lake district on my birthday weekend for like 30 people. But the main problem is that I have such a diverse group of friends. I have my "bougie" (bourgeois) friends that I grew up with. My best friend Mr.Prettyboy is one of those. You remember those friends that, as kids, their houses were always fully AC'd up and they never came out? The ones that had bedrooms with sofas and huge toyboxes and every games console? No be say me I suffer when I dey small o, but you know what I mean now.

At prettyboy's house, there was nothing like eba o. Strictly lasagna or prawn vermicelli with strawberry parfait for dessert. They even had a poodle that used to come and lie on the bed! Those days i go just dey look that dog like say, if them born your papa well, come and sit down near me. Bingo oshi!

Then I have my agbero friends. You know the ones you meet from around the way, like in your grandmomsi's area , who think you're just a full aje butter? You learn to speak Yoruba from them and you get inititiated into the toasting local babes game. UUUH! See you, don't front o! Everybody has accosted some 'local talent' at some point as a teenager!

I have one guy like that, Orunmila. Omo, the guy's neck is fat as hell, hence the name Orunmila or Orun for short. I met Orun through my friend, Ose years ago. Orun is his distant village cousin, and I just gbadun the guy from day one. He used to organise buka rice for awon boys back when my momsi would have killed me if she knew I was eating it. Na with Orun I first climb okada o. Only once I might add, lol. Yeah right. Anyhow, the guy sabi organise local babes hehn? In fact last December, the bobo outdid himself.

Like a week into my holiday, we were sitting at the dining table in my house, chopping rice and beans with that crazy pepper stew that has like 100 pieces of meat on it. Kai, buka food sweet o. So what if iya Risi dey wash something inside? Story!

Anyhow, Orun in between mouthfuls goes, "Fineboy, you don mayan since you land?"

Me: Huh?

Orun: Mayan. You haven't poporompo'd since you got to Lagos.

Me: What does that mean?

Orun: This guy why u dey yarn like confirmed ju man! Have you baluba'd since?

I finally caught the drift. "Why? you get local talent for me ni?"

Orun: No be me??? I get one baaaaaad babe like this men. If you see her ehn? O bad gan.

Me: Na Unilag babe abi na LASU?

Orun: Omo forget that one. This one na home-schooling.

I burst out laughing.

"Whatever man, me I don't want."

A few days later, me and a couple of my guys, Roroski and Akinzo, were lounging out on the lawn just drinking Night Train and chopping chicken suya. Abi you no know night train? Ask your naija friends. Anyway, na so Orun land o. For naija, there's nothing like phone call to even find out whether or not you're at home. Boys go just show!!!

But, omo! If you see the beaurrrrifull chick that he guy landed with! Everybody just open mouth. And you know Naija boys can look. Omo, the babe was BAD! She had on those sexy skinny jeans that the Yankee girls be wearing and some bad-ass heels, with hoop earrings, everything. See body!!!!. Obatala o!!!! I swear if I was still in NY, I woulda said this one na from Dominican republic.

Orun introduced her to everybody as Ehi.

All she muttered was "Hi."

The guy sef saw the look in my eyes. This one na pure cocoa butter flawlessness. I was speechless. I called Fridayscosco to organise drinks for our guests, and asked the babe, "Ehi, so do you live around here?"

"No," she smiled.

I don dey already plan as I go pour sand inside Orun gari if he had any plans for this chick.

"Are you Orun's girl?"

"Noooooo!" she begin smile at fineboy.

Men that answer sounded a bit funny. The way she said it men. The thing bother me. That accent. Kai! It was like when your momsi asked the housegirl if she had stolen meat and she said "Mummy, not me! Nooooo!"

I now realized why the babe was only answering in monosyllables. This babe na refurbished housegirl men. Chai, but she was delicious I swear. If this one enter Yankee, men na Jay-Z them go dey chase am. I decided to still try.

"Your'e gorgeous to look at o." Macking skills abi? Emi naa mo.

"Ohh, tenks. You too you're fine now." (razz blushing)

Yeeeparipa! Omo, I no fit men. I no fit!!!! Omo yi razz men. This babe sounded like something straight outta Ajegunle. Her looks were banging, but men, I had to have some standards. The babe had one kin' smell to her as well. It wasnt like a stink, but it smelled like cheap perfume and/or one of those local creams men. The rest of the night I just avoided her inviting eyes. She was fine though....Chineke...

Anyway, where was I? Isn't it crazy how I always start talking about something and jump off on another tangent? Sorry!

So back to my birthday celebrations.....who to invite? Okay, so there's Prettyboy them, a couple of my 'Orun-type' guys, my cousins Tola, Reni, and Pudding, my babe and....hmm....Ngo?This is a bit of a dilemma o, because Ngo is a very good friend of mine. She is mad funny, very down to earth and an all-round cool person. So why dilemma? Cool down now. *cough* *cough* Ngo and I used to do some *cough* stuvs before.

Wait now! Ahn Ahn....the thing is Ngo is the type of person you can kick it with all day, everyday, play playstation with, yarn about football, and she can cook her ass off. But those attributes are the same things that rule her outta the relationship sphere. She's too much like one of your buddies, you know?But anyways, Ngo knows I have a babe now, and we don't do anything anymore o! And if I tell her that I'm doing something for my birthday and don't invite her, she'll never forgive me! Besides, having Ngo and her crew around will liven up the party like crazy! They're so much fun. But mi o fe lo daran men! Anything can shele...Ngo is a bit crazy as well, as in wire dey touch for her head sometimes, who knows what she might go and say there?

Last but not least I have a couple of close Jand 'bredrins.' Naija boys o, but they don turn to confirmed wha gwan boys. I dunno how they'll flow with my other friends. One of them, Splacka B, is bloody hilarious. At my cousin's birthday party in London a while ago, one Derin chick (a friend of my cousins) said she was feeling the guy. As in, that time she never hear the guy yarn now. So I go over and tell Splacka, "Men this babe is feeling you o."

The guy looks at me, then at the babe, and he's like "Yeah man! Mynah!"

So he walks up to the babe.

"Yes darling, y'alright?"


"You cool yeah?"

"I'm fine. Derin", she extends her hand.

"Splacka. True say I seen you all night yea, and man like me's thinking you're buff you nah."

WTF???? When Derin told me later I was fucking embarassed. Men, why naija boys go dey go morph into ghetto Jamo guys? I don't understand men. Splacka is a very close friend of mine though and I HAVE to invite him and a couple other 'wha gwan' peeps. But omo I no want kasalaka or embarassment that day o.....I'll let you know what I decide.

Monday, March 12, 2007

Lagos on my mind-random recollections

Men, I just spoke to my bro LL on the phone men. He's like 10 years older than me, and is an official 'Lagos big boy.' The dude always bloody depresses me when I speak to him. That's how last month he was yarning me how he and his boys were rolling out to New York for fashion week. Imagine! Me wey I dey live for NY before sef, them never born me make I dey go fashion week when I dey there....and these are guys earning naira!

You shoulda seen LL and his boys in Lagos last December. Those guys roll hard, and they were just looking at us Jand and Yankee boys like jokers! In fact, one time we were on LL's friend Akin's boat on our way to Ilado beach, and the guy was constantly saying "Tell those your London friends! We go mess them! That one that they'll be coming to Lagos with their little £1,000.00 and want to be speaking fonee, talking to Lagos lie this year o! We go finish them!"

Me I no talk o. Chai, little 1k pounds ke?

As in, I'd be chilling in VIP at La Casa with LL and his guys and there'd just be Cristal bottles everywhere. I swear I've never shacked so much champagne in my life. Even at the famous all-white beach party, LL and his guys rolled up with a cooler full of Veuve Clicquot.The only thing I was constantly thinking in Lagos was how much i couldn't wait to move back to Nige. Dunno how some people can settle abroad for ever. Men Naija sweet o.

Last Christmas, I used to roll with nothing less than 30k in my pocket. It's ridiculous how much money you spend in lagos though, like on some days I'd end up spending so much dough on a night out, that I'd have to go to the Standard Chartered ATM at the Palms to collect another 40 or 50k. I don't even think it's so much buying stuff as much as it's unforeseen expenses.

Everywhere you go, somebody is hailing you, and as I'm a big softie, i go just dey throway money. It's not hard to get head go just dey swell.

Bouncer at Bacchus: Big Bros!!! Respect!!! Na you o bros, u just dey shine!

Me:You this guy sef, u don come again...oya hold this one. (1k)

The good thing about squaring the Bacchus guys is that when they know you, you never have to be queing and struggling to get in, or fighting to enter VIP. And me I can't do non-VIP in Naija o!

Dude on Wheelchair outside Silverbird: Ha!! Egbon mi!!!! O ti lo wa ju! Oloun! American bobo, wa sere jo! (Big brother, you're too fly man! I swear to God!)

Me: Gba gba, ko to sa mi tan. (Here, here, before you sing me all the praises in the world.) (N500)

Wheelchair Dude: More blezzings egbon mi! More blezzings!!!

That wheelchair dude got my money every freaking time I saw him. He would roll alongside me as I walked all the way to my car. Am I really soft or is it just an ego thing? Men I don't know. It's just the Naija way.

As nice as it is when the area boys are singing ur praises, the other side can be scary as hell. One day during this last trip, I was rolling down the lekki-epe express on my way back to VGC from the phone store at Silverbird. I had to buy a new phone 'cos one olori-buruku had fapped my phone from my pocket at Vault the night before. I had been shacking Henny and Powerhorse all night so I didn't even miss it when the bastard took it. Don't ask me why I even went to that Vault o! Anyway, there was traffic and I hadn't realised that my window was still down from when I first got into the car and had wanted to allow my AC to cool.

I was sat there looking down at my new phone, when I heard a voice in my car that startled the shit outta me. Omo! This agbero was leaning so far into my window, he was practically halfway inside my car.

Area boy: Egbon mi! E wa n kan fun mi ni beyen! Mi o ti jeun lataro. (Big brother, find me something, I haven't eaten all day o)

The dude wasn't smiling and he had that classic gruff, coarse-as-hell area boy voice. Now I'm thinking 'Shit!This guy wants to rob my ass.' My pocket is full of 1k notes, about 25 of them and I damned sure don't wanna even think about pulling out the bundle. So I start looking around the car like somebody might have left some dough on a seat. I'm shitting myself at this point, and then have an idea. I open the coin compartment in my car and lo and behold there are three dirty N20 notes that I must have gotten as change from the last mallam that sold me PK. I hand them over to him.

Area boy: Emi le n fun le lehi. Iwo le fi elei jeun ni? O fe fumble abi? (It's me you're giving this one. Would this buy YOU a meal? You want to fumble abi?)

Kai. I'm sweating like a Sallah goat now, just waiting for this cursed lagos traffic to move. God knows what this guy's carrying.

Me: Ahn ahn. Duro now. (Wait now.)

I bend forward like there's money under my seat. He starts looking down as well, and I've spotted a nice space where the traffic has started moving in the other lane. Without looking up, I slowly move my joint into gear and freaking zoomed forward into the next lane! The guy was so shocked he almost fell over! I immediately wound up my window and locked my doors. Until I got home, I swear my heart didn't stop beating. I never carried all my money in a bundle again after that.

Another interesting thing about Lagos last December was the amount of beautful women out there. Damn! From the Yankee babes to the London babes to the ones my boys and I like to call 'local talent,' they were there boku boku. And how come babes at weddings are always looking super fine? I don't have an explanation for that one o. I won't name names but there were a lot of Nigerian girls looking hot in lagos this December o.

Speaking of weddings, I had to go to quite a few last December. I had of course got out the Boss and Armani suits and was finishing them o. As in, the ladies were feeling dude. The one wedding that I was looking forward to was my cousin Jide's though. His new bride was 25 and is a former QC babe. You know what that means. BABEFEST!

So that morning, I decided to get a trim and a shave, just to look extra fresh, as I really didn't need a haircut. I couldn't be bothered to go to my regular barber, T Diddy all the way on the mainland. So I drove up to the barbershop at VGC's shopping mall. As I walked in, I called my little cousin on the phone, "Dare, who's the best barber in here?" He tells me it's one guy called ChiChi. So I ask for ChiChi.

ChiChi: Good afternoon sir, oh Dare is your cousin? Hah, welcome welcome! Sit down, bros.

I tell him I just want a little trim, and that he should just follow the pattern. Just clip it a little and line me up.
That's how the guy just started o.

ChiChi: So you live in London bros?

Me: yeah

ChiChi: Bros, i tell you, if i go to that side, I know I'm gon' make it men. Hah!

The dude starts singing Akon's 'Locked Up' in the worst voice ever. I'm trying to figure out why this joker is auditioning for me.

Chichi: (laughing): Bros I'm telling you! If I enter that side ehn! Hah! I do rnb, hip-hop, slow rap, rugged rap..

Omo! I'm wondering what the hell is going on here. The guy was just yarning away in his fake American/British/Moroccan accent. Next thing I know, grrrrnnnnnn! The guy just bloody well shaved off everything on the side of my head!!! Sopono o! And he just kept yarning. At this point, I didnt even want to confuse him by saying anything. I was just waiting. Damn. Long story short, when the guy was done ehn, i was looking like one of those little bush boys running on the side of the road. A little higher on top, sides low, one a little higher than the other tho, no fade. All my waves gone! Come and see my hairline! That shit was so crooked and so far back, it was beyond repair. Was this guy really a barber? Omo, I was weak. I just gave the guy his dough and walked out. The guy even had the nerve to ask his father to come back and see him. 'God punish you' i thought to myself.

Men, I tried every thing in the world to fix that shit with my hairbrush. No luck. Needless to say, I got to the wedding looking fresh to death otherwise. Kai. My older bro LL saw me in the church and just burst out laughing. E no go better for ChiChi I swear.

Meanwhile I saw this popular, hot former QC chick at the wedding reception that I hadnt seen in ages. She lives in America now, and men she was looking super-delicious. We talked for ages, but i was bloody paranoid. I kept feeling like she was staring at my crooked-ass hairline when she looked at me. I finally had to make a joke out of it.

"Men see this nonsense haircut that one yeye barber cut on my head this morning o."

You know one of those ones that you're expecting that the other person would say "It's not bad now, you're still a cutie." Men the babe just looked at it and started laughing o. I swear I didnt even want to yarn again. She didn't even disagree with me. Her papa.

Sunday, March 11, 2007

Virgin blog!

I've finally created a blog! I've been thinking about it for a minute, but couldn't get round to doing it. I'm a bloody huge procrastinator if i might say so myself. But Baba Alaye and Bimbylads have inspired me! A little bit about me: I'm a naija boy(man) in my early-mid twenties......recently moved back to London, after studying and living in New york for the past 5 years. I never thought I'd come back to this wack-ass city, but when one school like that gave me admission to do my master's, omo i couldn't say no o. U know one of those schools that u have on ur CV and ur supposedly set for life? Well, we'll see now. I get done this year, and I'm facing Naija straight.....the prayer is that I pass the bloody exams.

As in this is the hardest shit I've ever done in my life. In Yankee, I was one of the smartest guys in every class I had. At this school, omo I no dey even open mouth for class. Let me give u a typical seminar conversation;

Dr. Thatcher-"Mr. Fineboy, what do you think are the implications of Black's Median voter theorem on the U.S. legislative system and how would it have been significant in the outcomes of the 2004 U.S. elections?"

At this point, all these former Harvard geeks and Oxford chaps turn to me....the token black guy.

My heart is pounding like crazy at this point......Chai! Omo! This fucking guy wan disgrace awon boys ni sha! What the fuck is Median Voter Theorem?????Who told me not to do the readings o? Last night I was looking at December Naija pictures on ofoto and looking at strangers' pages on hi5!

Me-"Err...the median voter theorem is very significant in U.S. politics. Looking at the last U.S elections and the margins between both can only make a direct inference. For example, in the 1999 democratic elections in Nigeria we saw president Olusegun Obasanjo of the PDP win a decisive victory. Even in that case, you see the Median voter theorem at work....

Everybody's starts staring at me at this point, and even the professor's probably thinking "WTF did this joker just say? Wetin consign Obasanjo with Median Voter?" The guy can't be bothered to even discuss it further with me and starts talking about something else.

Men, na so i dey always escape hot water for this fucking school o! I'm sure everybody just wonders why the hell i dodge every question and talk about Nigeria, b'cos they obviously don't know shite about it. Na their wahala be that.

School is not the only thing that's difficult about this city. In America, I had my own crib, a phat ride, and a correct job. In this jand, I have to hop on that bloody underground everyday, with oyinbo people frowning face for no reason. The other day, on my way to Uni, I was sat across this middle-aged oyinbo man that was just staring directly at me, with a frown on his face. I made up my mind not to stop looking at the twat, and the guy too didnt stop o. We sat there for like a minute, just boning up at each other. That's how one fat fuck that was getting off the train just left one pungent mess o!!! Men i didn't even hear anything...but that thing smelt like a bag of rotten eggs! Kai! Oyinbo mess is always on another level o! And the crazy thing is that nobody even behaved as if anything had happened. Omo, i stopped staring at that were and just got up and walked to the next door! Bloody hell!

Anyway, I'm rambling I'll start hittingyou guys up with daily gist tomorrow. So much to tell y'all!Peace!