The car made me do it.

Mena!

Shhhh...Must you whisper so loudly?

Sorry.

Sorry for yourself gbeboruns. What part of my mother must not find me did you not get? Please don’t use your need for gist to spoil my own.

We’ve said sorry now.  O ya tell us what happened.

Well, after deciding on my strategy, I put my plan into motion. I lured my mama into a false sense of security by snuggling up with her and having a Walton family moment.  I pretended to enjoy Tinsel for 15 minutes and then I told her I was going to go for a brisk stroll round the block and check on the car to make sure it was all ready to go.

And the idea of you strolling briskly anywhere didn't get her alarm bells ringing? 

Unlike you lot, she trusts me...Most of the time anyway.

My mother beamed at me and said... 

“I’m so proud of you Mena. You’ve really grown up and I’m glad you’ve decided to take this situation in your stride. I love you darling.”

Huh? Did she just say the “L” word?

Ay Caramba! We’re going to hell!!!!

Shut it Brain! No ones going to hell. Well some people are but we aren’t. God understands we need to do this.

Really? Kind of missed the whole you can commit arson for personal gain part of the Bible. Anyway she said she loved us. She never says that. I want to be loved Mena. Let’s succumb to the love and drive the jalopy.

Hmmm…I did feel all warm and fuzzy inside but then I thought about the shame of having to drive that disaster to work on Monday and I hardened my heart.

I nipped outside and took a sneaky look around to make sure no one was watching. I then  proceeded to spritz a generous amount of perfume on the worn foot mat, surrounding upholstery and attempted to start the car.

3 attempts later; all sweaty and out of breath, the bloody thing finally splutters into life. At this point I lit a match and dropped it on the foot mat and waited for the car to build up some smoke and maybe a few tiny flames. The plan was to run screaming into the house to tell my mother that as I tried to start the car, there was an almighty spark from the wiring dangling from beneath the steering wheel and I barely made it out of the car with my toes intact. 

We would grab the fire extinguisher from the kitchen and  put out the mini flames. She would realize she had almost lost her baby in a fiery ball of flames and she would immediately have the car scrapped and buy me my jeep. Ahhh yes! I’m a genius.

THAT’S YOUR INGENIOUS PLAN?! My five year old could come up with a better plan than that.

Well I’m not interested in what your snotty nosed, MENSA wannabe, 5 year old can do. So stop interrupting.

My lips are sealed. I can’t wait to see how this plan of your pans out.

Anyway, the damn foot mat just refused to catch fire. So I ended up pouring almost half a bottle of my Black Orchid by Tom Ford on it (Well worth the waste if my plan succeeds) but nada.

It’s a sign from God Mena. Let’s just forget about this and go inside and eat some Blue Bunny. You know how much you love Blue Bunny? We’ll slip into something comfortable, turn down the lights, turn the dial to Smooth FM and just have our naughty way with that tub of ice-cream.

Be quiet you food tramp. I’m trying to save us from a future of ridicule here. I don’t want to hear one more peep out of you. 

I struck another match…

I don’t think you should …

BRAIN! BE QUIET!

I throw it into the car  and I was just about to give up and go get some kerosene when there was an almighty bang and a ginormous fire ball comes out the car door, singeing off my eyebrows and knocking me to the ground.  Is that burning weave I smell?

Naturally the noise and flames has everyone, including my mother, running outdoors,  only to find me lying on the ground by the burning car with melted weave running down my face like tar and a box of matches in my hand. 

Hmmm...This does not bode well for my future. Brain, maybe if we lay really, really still no one will notice how suspicious this all looks.

Brain?! Are you still there? Oh my God! Maybe the explosion has jarred something loose up there.  I probably have only 70% brain function or something left.

I doubt you had that much to begin with you twisted fire starter.

Speak to me Brain! SPEAK TO MEEEEEEE!!!

Now you want to talk to me huh? When the sh.. hits the fan then you want to hear from good ol'Brain. Well kiss my grey matter. You want to know what do? Just jump in the burning car and end it all  now. Believe me, it would be the humane thing to do because I’ve never seen your mother turn red before and is that a vein throbbing in her forehead?  Yep! Ending your life in a fiery furnace would be a piece of cake compared to whatever she has in store for you. And for the record, I just want to say; a woman like you should not be allowed to roam the streets and thank God you didn’t have a chance to reproduce and populate the earth with more stupid people like yourself.

Ok, you can insult me all you want later. Right now we need to figure out a way to get out of here before mother loses interest in saving her Prado and the house.

So whilst everyone was focused on dousing out the flames (which weren’t as bad as the initial fire ball led us to believe), I snuck into my fathers study and I’ve been hiding under his desk ever since. I could hear my mother calling my name interjected with words and statements that the blogger people would never let me print.

I found some kola nut and a bottle of Peach schnapps in his desk drawer. I figure if I nibble on it sparingly I might be able to survive under here for a week, only leaving the safety of the desk for bathroom emergencies. Either that or I’ll get so drunk on the Peach Schnapps I wont even care if she finds me and drags me naked behind her Prado, through the streets of Lagos. 

When bad cars make good people do bad things.

Psssttt…Yes you! Come here.

Mena? Is that you?

No! Its Dolly Parton after a disastrous tanning booth accident. What the hell do you think Dumbo? You are reading Mena’s Blog aren’t you?

No need to be rude. Maybe if you weren’t hiding under a desk in the dark we might be able to recognize you. Speaking of which…Why are you under a desk in the dark?

Be quiet. You ask too many questions. Is there a law that says one is not allowed to chillax under ones desk in the middle of the night with the lights off? I didn't think so.  Look stop slowing me down, this is going to be a very quick blog update.  I’m in hiding from my mother and I’m scared that the sound of my frantic typing might be heard by her bat like ears and reveal my secret location in Daddy’s study.

What have you done now Mena?

Me???!!! Why does everyone always think stuff is my fault? I’m the injured party in this fiasco.

Really?! So how come you’re the one in hiding.

Errr…Cause my mothers crazy.  You ever tried dealing with crazy? I know, why don’t you pop down to Akin Adesola Street and try to reason with the loony by the traffic lights about the fact that he’s causing an obstruction that could result in an accident and see if you come back with any ears. In other words, you can’t reason with crazy people. So it’s easier for me to stay in hiding until this whole thing blows over.

I’m sure you’re all wondering what happened?  How did your great heroine,Mena,come to be in this position?

Well, after I was introduced to the metal harbinger of death, I tried to reason with my mother…

How could she expect me??!! A newbie driver, in the death race arena that is Lagos, to survive the aggression of other motorists in that flimsy excuse of a car?

That didn’t work.

What would her friends think if they saw me in that tin can? She had to consider the family rep.

She just yawned, scratched her bum and continued watching  Real Housewives of Orange County.

The only men I would attract were mechanics looking to chat me up so they could get to the rare brake pads or whatever it is my antique automobile had lurking under its hood.

She paused momentarily at that and I could practically hear the metal wheels in her brain turning, trying to figure out if she was actually punishing me or herself by letting the eligible bachelors of Lagos see me in anything but the best.

Brain! I think we might be unto a winner here.

Don’t hold your breath missy. It’s your mother we’re talking about here. Remember when she chained herself to the gate on her birthday so your Dad couldn’t leave the house to go to  his cousins funeral until she got her birthday present? She was there for 2 days, caught malaria and even had lizards nesting in her hair but that woman stood her ground. So I doubt your pathetic attempts at manipulation are going to work on her.

Thanks for the support Brain!

Eventually her mental cogs ground to a halt.  She turned to look at me and said...

“You can only use the husband card so many times young lady. Anyway I have accepted the fact that I’m stuck with you. We all have our cross to bear. It will be nice to have one of my daughters living at home so when your Dad and I get too old to fend for ourselves you’ll be there to change the bed pans and stuff. So don’t stress yourself with the hubby thing anymore. There’s no GREAT shame in being a spinster. There’s a little but not a lot these days. Now please leave me alone I’m watching my show.”

Brain! Story don get k leg. Can she truly not be bothered by my lack of a potential hubby anymore? Can my one major bargaining chip be gone? We need to head to our room and regroup.

2 hours later…

Think Brain! Think! There has to be a way to get out of this.

Look I’m tired of thinking. I hurt and when are you going to eat some food dammit?! I need fuel to function. I’ve been sending signals to your tummy all afternoon or what did you think all the noises coming from down there were?

Gas?

That’s just charming. And what finishing school did you graduate from missy?

Look we don’t have time for bickering. We need to work together on this. Now focus.

By Samanja's  moustache! I think I’ve got it.

Err…No! That’s not it. Lets keep thinking.

It is Brain. If there isn’t a car to drive she can’t make me drive it now can she? So we just need to get rid of the car.

I promise you, this isn’t a good plan. Let’s do some more begging or buy her some rhinestone lace or something.

It will work. You’ll see. Stop being such a chicken and let’s get to work.

So I went downstairs to my mum, knelt down in front of her and apologized for being such a spoilt brat and not appreciating the gift she had given me. I threw my head into her lap and forced myself to cry (It’s actually quiet easy. I make myself imagine what my life would have been like with the tribal marks my Dad wanted to give me when I was born and the tears of relief come flooding down). Yep! I gave the performance of my life. By the end of it my mother was stroking my hair and singing my oriki to me. Telling me we all had to start  from somewhere and I should be patient, that my time would come in all things.

I actually felt pretty bad by the end of it.

But apparently not bad enough to call off your plan we see.

Wo’eva. Just because she was being mother-like for a change doesn’t mean she’s a reformed character. She backed me into a corner and I just did what I had to.

Devil daughter. God forgive you.

Story. That evening, operation Bye-bye Banger(BBB) commenced.

Back with a banger

Warrup Peeps?!!

Miss me?

No?

The feeling is mutual losers.

Brain and I have just returned from a chillaxing holiday. Hence the lack of blog updates. Well that and the fact that the letter "A" has stopped working on my ibi ise laptop and so no one understands a word I write anymore. Shame you peasants have been stuck here in 100 degree heat. It’s a pity but you all can’t be bigz girlzs like moi. Abi Brain? Give me a mental high five jo.

Really? Big girl?  No be you we see struggling to get into your economy seat to London the other day?  London na holiday? Shio.  And dey no tell you say Orobo no dey fly economy? Instead of you to have saved all that money you spent at Ice-cream Factory on a business class ticket; you were now harassing other lepa customers, trying to squeeze into your seat. Na wa for some people. Creamy goodness no go kill you.

Ahhhh!!!! I told you not to buy an economy ticket. See???!!!! We were seen and now everyone knows we aren’t rolling in wonga. Why must you always embarrass us?

Shut it Brain! It was either fly economy and shop like crazy or fly business class and buy our new Autumn/Winter wardrobe at Liverpool Street market. So excuse me for thinking about our fashion credentials. Ungrateful organ.

As for you. Me? Orobo abi???!!!!!!  See how people like to start with me?  You also want to bring my bigz girlz status into disrepute by announcing my budget travel itinerary to the world huh? As my driver likes to say when provoked “Thunder fire your left testicle!!!”

En! You dey curse me?

You never see curse. You better remove the one functioning member you have left from my blog before I send lightening to the other one. Nonsense. 

I don’t know why people can't mind their own business. So what if I flew economy? No be the same place the plane dey go? Or do they make the economy passengers parachute into the Atlantic ocean and use their luggage as life rafts to the UK? 

I beg! You can all say what you want but 3 suitcases of baffs says different, so kiss my heiny. The only thing left to complete my new wardrobe is the ultimate accessory…

A man?

Places to go?

Real Auntie Funmi hair?

A lepa body?

You’re still here? You’re obviously allergic to lampashing. No probs! Kiss your remaining love ball goodbye.

Wait now! Why are you running? Sex is overrated.

Joker! As I was saying, the one thing missing from my life is a car.

With my new baffs it would just be wrong for me to be red cabbing and hopping lifts all over the place.

My new Marc Jacobs Hobo deserves to ride in style and so I bit the bullet, sat my parents down and demanded my own car (Insisted on a jeep in a metallic olive green to complement my skin tone) or else I would be forced to take drastic measures.

Yeeeeaaahhhh well! I haven’t been allowed back into the house since and I am currently sleeping on Peanut Boys sofa. His Mrs. isn’t too thrilled by this and has taken to vacuuming the sofa whilst I’m still asleep on it. But hey! The jokes on her cause what she doesn’t know is I actually rather enjoy the sucking sensation good ol'Dyson Handy Vac provides.

You’re sick!

Takes one to know one pervo.

Anyway. After numerous pleading text messages, my mother has finally agreed to let me come back home. So I walk through the gates on my first day back and the first thing I see is my mother and Tony standing next to her 19gogoro Prelude Honda Accord. I have a bad feeling about this. I hadn’t seen that car since I was about 5. I thought it had been scrapped and its bits used to make chicken cages. Lord! Where the hell did she dig it up from and more importantly what is it doing here?

"Good Mena you’re home. Come and look at your new car." says my mother trying very hard not to laugh.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Ye! My stomach o. Bigz Girlz cruising in her 2 door, 1979 Prelude.  You sure say your Marc Jacobs no go catch fire if it enters this your new car?

Waka!

"Mummmmmmmmmyyyyyyy!!!! What is this? This isn’t a new car. This rust bucket is older than me." I moan. Looking in despair at the heap in front of me.

"You are obviously not ready to come back home. Tony! Escort her out of the gate."

"No! Wait! I’m listening." I say in a resigned tone.

 As much as I've enjoyed the time spent with my new Dyson lover on my brother’s sofa, I miss my room and all my stuff. If it means allowing my mother to deceive herself that I will drive this death trap to get back in, so be it.

"Oya get in the car and let Tony show you how it works." says mummy dearest shoving me towards the rust covered eyesore. 

It looks like its grinning at me and its freaking' me out. Why did I ever read Christine by Stephen King?

I open the passenger door and I’m overwhelmed by the smell of camphor and damp.

"Mummyyyyyyyy!!!!"

"Get in the car my friend. You just want to be posing on my husband’s money. He hasn't upgraded my Prado and you want jeep? Over my dead body."

Ohhhhhhh!!!! What kind of life is this? Someone would think we were poor the way this woman makes me suffer. Sebi I have relinquished my Porsche Cayenne dreams. The least they could do was get me a Picanto or something.

You! Picanto ke????!!!! You wicked o. You wan kill the car? Na everyday you go dey change suspension.

I’m too traumatized to deal with you now.

I get in the car and the seat immediately reclines of it's own accord and I’m left staring at the roof, where someone has written “One way to heaven!” next to a lovely illustration of skulls and crossbones.

Oh my God! I’m going to die in this recycled tin can and I’m not even sure I’m going to heaven. Boo Hoooooooooo!!!

"Mummmmmyyyyyyyyy!!!!!"

"That can easily be fixed. You’ve put on weight on your trip and it will be a good incentive for you to diet. You don't want the seat reclining when you’re driving now do you?" She says trying hard not to laugh.

Insult upon injury. She's leading me to an early grave and she thinks its funny? I can't be her real daughter. I must be the child of her love rival who died in a tragic accident and my father forced her to adopt me.

Tony returns my seat to the upright position and asks me to pay attention.

"Ok Madam! This motor old so na delicate touch you go dey use."

Wo’eva

"Why does it have 3 pedals? and why is the gear stick funny? What's with all the numbers?" I ask

"Madam?"

"The 3rd pedal on your left? What's that for?" 

Gee! Am I speaking Mandarin?

"That one na clutch now."

"What’s a clutch? I'm used to just 2 pedals. The accelerator and the break."

My mother starts giggling hysterically..."Original driver!" 

I ignore her. I'm not going to give her the satisfaction of getting upset.

"Ah! That one na automatic. This car na manual." says Tony, trying very hard not to laugh as well.

Manual? As in manual labor? 

"Mummy! I can't drive a manual!"

"By Gods grace you will learn or you will go back to your red cabs because Tony is no longer allowed to take you anywhere. Now pay attention"

Tony clears his throat and begins...

"To start the car you first need to open the bonnet…"

Huh? What the hell is he talking about?

"...turn the key and then…"

Tony then proceeded to jump out of the car, lift the hood and whack the engine with a metal bar tied to the bonnet. Slam the lid shut, jump back in the car and pump the clutch furiously before the old banger spluttered into life.

"You see how I do am small madam? E easy or make I show you again? You just have to be fast, fast. Maybe you no go dey wear those your koskos shoes when you dey start the car so you fit run well, well."

You’ve got be kidding me.

I look at him, turn to look at my mother and started to cry.