Welcome to Lagos! The home of the never ending meeting that achieves nothing. It’s been 3 hours. Yeah, you heard me right. 3 hours in this cubicle called a conference room. I’m being assaulted by the overpowering fumes of Ladies man’s aftershave on one side and the smell of stale weave on the other. I’m choosing to breathe in the stale weave cause who knows what jazzomatic fragrance Ladies Man is wearing today. You can all laugh at my sudden deep rooted belief in jazz but as my mother says African Movie Magic Yoruba is not just a show…Its real life damn it! I refuse to wake up in any forest wearing an unflattering white wrapper with an earthenware pot on my head. No Siree! They next draped, white thing coming anywhere near this body better be a wedding dress or so help me God… Abi, with all the blinking chairs in here he just had to choose the one next to mine didn’t he? Hissss.
I’m particularly weary of him as he asked me for a loan yesterday. Naturally I said no as I need all my money to buy holy water to protect myself from jazz and deranged stalkers and anyway we all know money and work colleagues should never mix. He kinda looked me over and gave me a funny grin. I immediately ran home to pray because I’m sure he was sizing me up for ogun owo. Probably thinking the money gods would be pleased to have someone with my ample proportions as their latest sacrifice. I rebuke such. Maybe I should agree to use some of that “Back to sender” soap my local family members are always raving on about.
Yawn… Lord how much longer is Grumpy going to waffle on for? He’s now at the board drawing some charts to do with goodness knows what and doesn’t even seem to care that no ones listening. I’m not even sure he’s noticed that Chipmunk is either asleep or dead. Hmmm! Jokes apart the boy hasn’t moved in 45 minutes sha and his necks at a funny angle. I’m putting my money on dead. I write a note and pass it to Boli Lover (we have established a truce during these long hours of torture called our weekly review meetings). The note said “Bet you 200 Naira Chipmunk is dead”. He scribbles and sends it back. “Deal”. I sit back and start thinking what I can spend my 200 Naira on. I need credit or I can buy 1 stick of suya or maybe I’ll just go crazy and try out the refreshing taste of Fan ice yogurt. Whilst I’m busy day dreaming, Boli Lover gives Chipmunk a rather vicious jab with his pen(which looks suspiciously like mine) and he jumps up screaming “Ye kokoro!”. Darn there goes my fan ice dream. Would it have killed him to croak for my convenience? Not sure that sentence even makes sense but I’m too bored to care. Boli Lover, who can’t breathe from trying not to laugh, stretches out his hand for his money and I pay up. Through out this whole freak show, Grumpy hasn’t even turned around to see what’s going on.
What is it with you guys and meetings? You have a meeting for eveeeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrryyyything. You have meetings to decide if you should have a meeting. Yesterday I was in a meeting to decide if we should have our morning coffee at 8am or 8.15am. Who gives a flying frig? I hadn’t even noticed the coffee came at a particular time let alone formed an opinion about weather it needs to come later or not. What difference does 15 minutes make? What they need to have is a meeting on the cockroaches that keep jumping out to surprise me every time I open a blooming cupboard around here. Now that's a meeting I'd be happy to spend 3 hours of my life in. They have no fear those darn things. I’m screaming and smacking the table with newspapers and they just kinda stroll along like “Don’t you rush me lady. I’ll scuttle into hiding when I’m good and ready”. Better still they can have a meeting about the lack of a decent place to eat around here. I’m surrounded by Buka's and Whore houses masquerading as respectable establishments.
I kid you not. The other night, having worked late I decide to pop into a restaurant near my office to pick up some take out. Maybe the red lights bulbs, smoky interior and fat ass women dressed in sequined hot pants should have told me something but all I was thinking was, sod the diet I’m eating anything I can get my hands on tonight. After squinting to read the menu, I order and sit down with a drink to wait for my take out. There I am minding my business when a guy walks up to me and says
I naturally assume he’s talking about my ice cold can of Coke. So I say
“I think it’s about 120 Naira”
Rather excited he grabs a chair and sits at my table. I am already irritated. How much does a can of coke usually cost or why does he need to sit down and discuss it.
Really?! 120 Naira. That one cheap o abi na per hour?
I’m confused. Do they sell coke by the hour? I decide to ignore him and go back to trying to figure out how these women managed to fit their humongous butt cheeks into such small pieces of fabric.
“So talk now. That 120, na per second, per minute or per hour? I no think say fine girl like you go fit cheap like that but I just say make I try my luck. But wait make I talk true. Na only 60 Naira I get for hand as you see me so. So I no go expect you to talk. You no even have to move sef. I go do all the work. You fit manage? . ”
60 Naira? What the he..?
Dim smoky interior…check
Half naked women…check
Pervy drunken men…check
Pervy drunken men offering me money for my God given assets...check
Oh Lord I’m in a den of iniquity, I’m being propositioned and for 60 naira at that. If I wasn’t so petrified I would kick him all over the damn place for even daring to think he could have a piece of Mena for less than a can of coke. Prat!I need to get my God fearing behind out of here before someone I know sees me.
“Ah ah baby! Where are you going now? Oya come now let’s just play a little before you go”.
God forbid! I would rather hack of my own leg with a rusty bottle cap than risk catching some unknown disease by being in the same room with this cheap ass perv. They can keep their take out.
I dash out and I’m immediately blinded by the natural light. As I’m standing there blinking, trying to regain my sight someone taps me on the shoulder.Thinking its Pervo guy, I swing my handbag (which weighs a ton), smack him in the face, kick him in what I hope are his crown jewels and make a run for it. It wasn’t till I got to the office the next day to find Boli Lover sitting on a cushion with his lips swollen to the size of sausages(like the guy doesn't have enough problems with the opposite sex without me disfiguring him too)that I realize I’ve assaulted an innocent man. Not to mention the fact that I've been seen coming out of a knocking shop by a work colleague. Great I’ll just sit here and wait for the termination letter from HR to arrive. Luckily he chose not say anything about the assault or the implications of my restaurant choice. So I have been forced to develop a friendship based on secrets. That's cool with me for now but should I ever choose to run for office, you do know Boli Lover will have to be exterminated?