Ali had a Dream (4)

His uncle had spent most of his life abroad, so calling him a name he didn’t bear did not quite go down well with him. People who called him by his children’s name ended up being frustrated because uncle Kamal will not respond to such calls.

“Say my name! I am Kamaldeen, and not Baba Shade! What in the world is wrong with Nigerians? Aaarrrgghhh!” he once charged at his friend while at a party; his friend had brought to the party three hot dames, and anything near “Baba whatever,” was bad for business.

“Ali! So of all the shirts and polo shirts in that wardrobe it’s this one that caught your fancy right?” he said, “you too like better thing. See your head.” Ali turned around one more time so to send a message to his uncle that that would be the last of the shirt he would be seeing in his house. “Who doesn’t?” Ali grins.

Just then, Ali proceeded to the refrigerator -that was his favourite place in the house, followed by the kitchen- he brought out four cans of beer and returned to the living room.
On seeing the beer cans with him his uncle said, “Hmmm… EeekkaaA! I trust you.” And they both laughed yet again. Ali was his favourite nephew, and he loved him so much.

*****Definition of Term*****
EeekkaaA: someone or a group of persons very good in doing ‘bad’ things. (It can be used as a noun, pronoun, verb, adjective and adverb.)

Ali passed his admission letter to his uncle, “What’s this again oo?” he asked, as he read the letter, “Oh… finally…” he said, “…your dream course… congratulations boy. Your father would have been very proud.” And he raised his beer to the lad.
“Thank you sir.” Ali beamed; just then one of the ladies joined them in the living room and settled beside uncle Kamal. She was scantily-clad and had helped herself with some chocolate ice-cream.
Uncle Kamal then introduced her to Ali, who to his greatest surprise didn’t believe it. 

“This is Ali, my nephew I do talk to you about,” he said, and she faked a smile. Then he turned to Ali and said, “Ali this is Jenifer, she’s a sophomore student of Obafemi Awolowo University, your school.” Ali mouthed, “Hello,” but the actual words didn’t quite come out.

Jenifer was the lady he saw on his way to his uncle’s place who he had tried to talk to only for her to tell him his clothes are torn and he needed clothes not girls in his life. She then flagged down a bike and sped off. Jenifer however was suddenly interested in him, pretending not to remember a thing.

“Oh oh… Great Ife!” she said, as she held her spoon in a fist.

“Eeerrr… actually I just got admitted…” Ali stammered. 
“Oh that’s nice, congrats. What course were you given?” She asked coolly in the most sonorous voice Ali had ever heard, just then uncle Kamal cuts in “His dream course of course! He’s the one I told you about that rejected your school on two different occasions when he was given Medicine and Computer science have you forgotten?”

“Ahan… uncle Kamal…!” Ali said embarrassed, “you don’t have to be a whistleblower, you won’t get paid” and they all burst out laughing.

Ali peeked through the corner of his eyes as they watched TV and caught her staring. What could she be thinking now? he thought, and then he turned to her as though to say something. His opened mouth however would birth no word. She smiled and winked at him, and then proceeded into the other room.
So shapely she was even the number eight had fewer curves. The bum shorts she wore gave him enough room to take in her straight hot legs.

“WOW!” he suddenly said absentmindedly, before he realized he shouldn’t have said that.
“Hey! Young man… get your eyes off that girl.” Uncle Kamal warned and creased into a satisfying smile. Ali smirked and relaxed into the armless arms of the cushion chair, “Obafemi Awolowo University… here I come.” He said to himself.

Angel MESSI

Ali had a Dream (3)

(CONT'D) 

Mama  Ali’s  moniker  also  varies  due  to  the  flexibility  of  her  ever  changing  trade. Mama  Ali  being  the  most  popular,  to  the  less  popular  ones  like;  Iya  Gbenga  (No  one ever  called  her  Iya  Aishat,  firstborns  and  lastborn  are  the  main  children,  second-borns are  almost  invisible.),  Iya  Alata,  Mama  Melo;  while  the  kids  mostly  called  her  “Mama Boda  Ali”  (simply  put,  uncle  Ali’s  mother).  This  is  Nigeria  and  respect  is  a  thing  that flows even in the bloodstream  of  unborn babies.

Mama  Ali’s  shop  was  one  of  the  shops  that  occupied  the  ground  floor  of  the  two storied  building;  other  shops  includes:  a  barber’s  shop,  a  boutique,  a  bet  shop/game house,  and  a  shop  that  housed  an  office  desk,  two  blue  plastic  chairs,  a  bench, typewriter,  desktop  computer,  and  a  whole  lot  of  files.  A  placard  was  pasted  on  the  door with  washed  off  writing:  “ESTATE  AGENT.  To  Let,  2  &  3  Bedroom  flats  for  lease.” The  shop was perpetually empty. 

************
Baba  Ali  owned  a  mechanic  shop.  A  school  certificate  holder,  but  he  somehow managed  to  speak  Queen’s  English  (I  am  sure  you’ve  met  people  like  that).  He  served as  a  cook  to  a  British  couple  at  a  tender  age  of  twelve,  and  went  on  to  live  with  them  for twenty  four  years. 
“Tunde  boy,”  as  he  was  fondly  called  by  his  master  went  on  to  learn all  he  could  from  the  Briton  who  was  a  qualified  mechanical  engineer  that  worked  with Volkswagen at  the  time,  until  his untimely death alongside his wife  in  a  motor accident.

Baba  Ali  was  the  best  mechanic  there  was  in  the  busy  city  of  Yaba.  Ali  however wasn’t  interested  in  his  father’s  trade,  and  upon  his  father’s  death,  the  shop  was relinquished to a stranger.

Baba  Ali  was  a  generous  easy-going  man  who  worked  for  free  most  of  the  time, and that  invariably  left  him  broke  and  at  the  ire  of  his  wife.  He  didn’t  care  less notwithstanding;  as  long  as  he  could  provide  for  feeding,  and  his  children’s  education and  shelter,  he  was  satisfied.  The  issue  however  was  the  occasional  luxuries  his  wife wanted  to  enjoy. 

“We  must  be  frugal  in  spending,”  he’d  say  to  her  whenever  she  came crying  for  money.  He’ll  then  give  her  the  money,  and  ask that she  used  it  to  buy  whatever  she wanted; or  to  buy food and also  stock her  shop.  Yea,  you guessed right.

************
“Ahan?  Ali  what’s  wrong?  Why  is  your  shirt  torn?”  Uncle  Kamal  asked,  surprised as  he  opened  the  door  for  his  nephew.

“Uncle  it’s  the  bus  I  entered  o!”  Ali  lamented.  “As I  was  about  to  drop,  I  had  no  idea  that  my  shirt  was  being  held  back  by  a  knocked  out screw…”  he  paused, took a brief look at his once lovely shirt and continued,  “…all  I  heard  was  the  sound  of  the  tear  and  people  telling  me ‘sorry o’.  I was embarrassed.”  He hissed.

“Eeyah…  thank  your  stars  it  wasn’t  your  trousers,  that  would  have  been  the  peak of  your  embarrassment,  and  hope  your  boxers  are  clean?  ‘Coz  you  never  know,  the  next bus  you  hop  on  might  chew  your  pants.”  uncle  Kamal  laughed  at  his  just  concluded hilarious  joke,  but  Ali  didn’t  find  it  near  funny,  he  only  managed  a  grin. 

He had spotted  a beautiful  girl  on  his  way  to  his  uncle’s  place  and  had  hoped  to  get  her  mobile  number only  for  her  to  embarrass  him. 
“Why  must  it  be  today of  all  days  that  I  now  see  someone attractive?  My  God!”  He  said  to  himself  as  he  watched  the  girl  and  her  friend  stop  a  bike and  disappear  into  the  noisy  chatter  of  Lagos.  He  stood  for almost twenty minutes, speechless  and  defeated  at  the bus stop.  

“Check  my  wardrobe  and  see  if  you  can  get  something  that  fits,”  his  uncle  finally said  amidst  laughter  as  he  picked  the  channel  changer  and  buried  himself  in  his  couch. Ali  let  out  a  wry  sigh  of  relief  and  gratefully  dashed  to  his  uncle’s  room. 
Uncle  Kamal lived  alone  in  a  3-bedroom  flat  located  in  Ogba,  in  the  city  of  Lagos.  His  two  wives  and five  children  lived  in  Boston.  He  was  a  promiscuous  man,  so  it  was  no  surprise  when  Ali saw  the  silhouettes  and  backs  of  two  ladies  --who  he  guessed  should  be  in  their  late teens  or  early  twenties--  stroll  from  the  kitchen  to  the  other  room  in  bum  shorts  and  tank tops.

Some  minutes  later,  Ali  joined  uncle  Kamal  in  the  living  room  dressed  in  a brightly  coloured,  flowery  blue  shirt.  He  announced  his  presence  with  both  hands  wide apart  like  a  peacock showboating,  “Uncle Kamal how do  I  look?”  

(To be continued)

©Angel MESSI

Ali had a Dream

(CONT'D)

“Warri…  Warri…”  Aishat  recounted  to  her  family  later  that  night,  as  she  sounded as  if  she  spoke  through  a  throatful  of  tightly  packed  phlegm. 

“The  Landlord  was  going  to have  his  bath  jejely  o,  when  he  caught  her,”  Aishat  said,  (she  was  now  talking  normally)
“He  was  tying  a  towel  when  Mama  Bornboy  suddenly  grabbed  his  towel,  almost  letting  it loose,  and  flung  her  potty  into  the  air  as  though  she  were  spraying  money  on  an exquisite  couple  at  a  traditional  wedding.”  she  laughed,  and  so  did  every  other  person  in the  parlor

”Nyama!”  Gbenga  said.  Aishat  ignored  him  and  continued,  “he  was  shocked and  didn’t  even  know  when  he  started  pleading.  Moles  of  Mama  Bornboy’s  shit  were hanging  and  dripping  from  everywhere,  even  Baba  Landlord  got  some  piece  on  his  bald head.” 
Some  of  them  had  started  laughing  again,  but  she  continued,  “I  think  she  must have  caught  some  of  his  pubic  hair  combined  with  the  craze  of  the  splashed  shit.”  They all  laughed  out  loud  yet  again.  Since  that  fateful  day,  the  landlord  has  been  stylishly avoiding  the  madwoman  as  it  was  near  impossible  to  evict  her  from  his  house. 
Mama Bornboy  was  trouble;  with  her  protuberant  belly  and  magnificent  buttocks.  She  gave birth  to  ten  children,  -all  boys,  three  died  at  child  birth-  hence  the  moniker  “Mama  Born boy” was birthed.

“I couldn’t find the corks,” Gbenga quickly announced as he placed the bowl of bottles at Ali’s feet in order not to receive a resetting slap or thunderous knock.

“I think Suuru took it.” He lied, (Suuru was Mama Bornboy’s fourth child, Gbenga’s abettor). It was futile nonetheless, because Gbenga never saw the knock coming. Ali pretended to believe his lies in other to allow Gbenga some space to feel comfortable; but when it did strike him, it left him writhing on the floor.

“My friend bring those bottles closer!” Mama Ali ordered whilst he writhed in pain.
“A child that says his mother will not sleep, he himself will know no peace. It did not touch you very well. Nonsense.” She chastised him.

Ali and his mother filled each bottle with groundnuts --they were of different sizes. Mama Ali was a judicious petty trader; she sold different goods and rendered various services that change as the seasons.

“These big big bottles are five hundred naira,” she said to Gbenga some minutes later, who now sat coolly studying an army of ants that marched across the gutter,

“can you hear me? You have started playing again abi? You this boy! You will not kill me” Mama Ali lamented. Gbenga furrowed and grumbled which almost brought down the wrath of Ali again, “Ehn?! You said what?” Ali asked, suddenly alert to the boy’s protest.
“Nothing” Gbenga replied.

“Those bottles, the big ones,” Mama Ali repeated, pointing to the bottles, “it’s five hundred naira; last price four hundred and eighty naira, that’s if the person has good mouth,” she said, as she held her left ear tightly, which signifies that the little boy had ears and they were meant for listening to instructions.

“These small bottles are three hundred naira last last, and these kenkele ones are hundred naira.” She revealed, “Shey you heard me?” she sought his confirmation, “Yes Maami I got it.” Gbenga said. “Good, now go and call your sister for me let her hear it from me before she go and do Good Samaritan with my groundnuts” Mama Ali ordered.

****Glossary****
Jejely: calmly; softly; gently
Nyama: something nasty
Good mouth: courtesy
Kenkele:  smaller than small

“Maami let me go and rest a bit, I’m on night shift today” Ali said, and left his mother as she added her newly made goods to old stock.

***Mama Ali’s Inventory***
1 dozen of sachet Peak milk
3 tins of Three Crowns milk
5 tins of Peak milk
6 bags of sachet pure water
5 pieces of sachet Milo
2 dozens of sachet Cowbell chocolate milk
8 tins of tomato paste
1 carton of Indomie super pack
1 empty carton of Indomie ‘hungry-man size’
3 plastic cans filled with sweets, sugar and seasoning cubes
Half-full 5 litres plastic of palm oil
Empty 5 litres plastic of groundnut oil
Empty crates of soft drinks
11 bottles of groundnuts
2 Ancient mechanical and electric grinding machines
A worn-out sewing machine...

(To be continued.)

©Angel MESSI

Ali had a Dream

“Ahan?  Maami,  that’s  not  entirely  true,  a  roaring  lion  kills  no  game.”  Ali  protested, while  his  mother  fried  groundnuts;  she  sat  on  a  small  stool.  He  held  in  his  right  hand  an A4  paper,  and  printed  on  it  boldly  was  the  crest  and  name  of  a  school.  He  had  gained admission to  study  Chemical  Engineering.

“Obafemi  Awolowo  University  is  one  of  the  best  schools  in  Africa  offering  this course,”  Ali  said,  “Besides,  you  are  aware  of  my  sentiments  for  that  school  and  its  rich heritage  and  history.  You  should  be  proud  Maami,  very  proud.”  he  teased  his  mother. Ali  stood  tall  and  glowed  with  pride. 

He  was  only  nineteen  and  had  finally  been  given the  chance  to  study  his  desired  course  --his  ‘dream  course’  as  he  always  put  it--  in  the most  coveted university in Africa. He  had  an  IQ  of  149  which  oftentimes  made  him  solve  mathematics  and chemistry  in  his  dreams,  and  whenever  he  woke  up  without  completing  it,  he immediately  got  himself  a  pen  and  sheet  of  paper,  and  continues  till  he  got  the  final answer. 

He’d  written  UTME  on  three  different  occasions,  and  had  been  admitted  on  all three;  however,  he  wasn’t  given  his  dream  course  until  his  third  attempt.  The  first,  he was  admitted  to  study  Medicine  and  Surgery;  his  second,  Computer  Science;  he declined  both  admissions.

Obafemi  Awolowo University
Chemical  Engineering
Their Papa!
He  was on top of the world.  “I  best  them!” he said to himself countlessly. His mother indeed was  very  proud;  he was her pride, her morning star. 

Since  she  lost  her  husband  to  cancer  (how  Baba  Ali  got  cancer  was  still  a mystery,  because  cancer  is  believed  to  be  a  wealthy  man’s  illness),  she  had  grown  an inexplicable  fondness  and  extreme  love  for  her  children  -  the  eldest  being  Ali,  and  his two siblings,  Aishat and Gbenga-  and  the feeling was mutual.

Aishat,  now  in  senior  secondary  school  3,  was  fast  causing  stares  amongst  boys in  the  neighborhood;  but  none  dared  ask  her  out  because  of  her  brother.  He  was fiercely  protective;  a  ferocious  tiger  that  could  be  dedicated  to  a  goal  even  if  it  was  to kill. Gbenga  on  the  other  hand  was  in  junior  secondary  school  2,  and  all  he  could  do was  eat,  sleep  and  talk  to  animals,  insects  and  birds. 

At  age  six,  he  once  climbed  an electric  pole  all  in  an  attempt  to  talk  to  a  bird  that  appeared  to  have  a  few  detached feathers.  He  was  however  disappointed  because  as  soon  as  he  got  hold  of  the  electric wire,  the  disturbed  bird  jets  to  the  sky. 
People  shrieked  in  horror  when  they  finally noticed  a  little  being  up  there  on  the  pole,  and  before  one  could  say  “Goodluck Jonathan”  the  land  was  covered  with  people.  The  boy’s  saving  grace  was  the  fact  that there  hadn’t  been  power  supply  for  four  years;  so  the  pole  to  little  Gbenga  was  a  bigger drier  than  that  at  his  backyard.  Mama  Ali’s  eyes  were  bloodshot  and  tears  were beginning  to blur  her vision as she stared at her last born  in utter disbelief.

Later  that  night  when  she  recounted  the  ordeal  to  Baba  Ali,  he  almost  died  of laughter.  He  watched  his  sleeping  son  and  said,  “Definitely  we  have  a  NEPA  official  in our  family  already,”  then  he  laughed  some  more.  Of  course  Mama  Ali  didn’t  find  it anywhere  near  hilarious. 

“What  in  the  world  are  you  saying?”  she  argued  furiously  with her  husband  before  leaving  for  bed. 

That  night  Baba  Ali  served  himself  dinner,  and pleaded  all  night  long  as  he  tried  to  get  friendly  when  something  hard  hit  him.  However, there would be no forgiveness on this day  –heaven’s  gate was shut.

Gbenga  nevertheless,  would  boast  of  his  solo  feat  of  being  the  only  child  in  the neighborhood  to  have  ever  climbed  an  electric  pole  without  a  ladder,  although  never  did he try it  again.

“Congratulations  my  son,”  Mama  Ali  finally  said  to  her  son,  “I’m  sure  God  will surprise us.”
“Thank  you  Maami,  Iyanu  ma  shele,”  Ali  said. 
“Sugarcane  is  sweetest  at  its  joint. Very  soon,  we’ll  leave  this  slum.  I’ll  buy  a  mansion  for  you  on  the  island  once  I  start working  with  Chevron,”  he  paused  and  continued,  “And  when  I  become  the  petroleum minister,  Maami!  You  will  enjoy  ooo!”  His  mother  could  only  smile  as  she  put  both  her hands  forward  as  though  to  receive  a  gift  and  muttered  softly  “Amin,”  she  rubbed  her hands  on  her  face  and  placed  it  on  her  chest.  This  was  a  sign  in  acknowledgement  of her son’s wishes, whilst  she carried it to a  supreme being.  

Then  she  said,  “You  must  go  to  Ogba  and  tell  your  uncle  about  it,”  she  had finished  frying  the  groundnuts  and  began  to  pull  out  the  firewood;  Ali  instinctively  took  a bowl  of  water  and  sprinkled  it  on  the  red  hot  firewood.  The  conviviality  between  smoke and  ash  produced  a  hissing  sound  that  settled  on  everything  close. 

“You  know  I  can’t afford  to  send  you  to  the  university,  and  this  factory  work  you  are  doing  cannot  pay  for your  education  either,”  she  paused  and  studied  her  son,  he  was  growing  faster  than she’d  anticipated,  “Besides  you  will  have  to  resign  and  the  stipends  will  stop  coming  in.” Ali  nodded  in  agreement,  “Yes  I  will  see  him  on  Sunday.  I  am  off  duty  on  Sunday.”  He said.  “By  the  way  where  is  Gbenga?”  he  suddenly  asked  his  mother,  “I  told  him  to  bring the  bottles  I  washed  earlier  this  morning  at  the  backyard.  That  boy,  will  he  ever  be  able to  carry  out  petty  chores?”  he  beleaguered,  “Gbenga!”  he  shouted  and  folds  his admission  letter  into  his  brown  leather  side  bag.  He  now  sat  with  his  mother  as  they both  separated  the  skin  from  the nuts. 

“G  b e  n  g  a!”  he  cried  yet  again, 
“Yeeeeeeeesss! I  am  coming  ooo!”  Gbenga  cried  from  a  distance,  he  carried  a  big  bowl  filled  with  clean empty  bottles of  dry  gin  -chelsea, seaman,  squadron-  on his head.

“You  no  dey  hear  word  once.  Since  wey  Ali  don  dey  call  you!  Nonsense  boy.”  A short,  fat  woman  blessed  with  zebra-like  stretchmarks  and  discolouration  due  to bleaching  bursts  open  her  door  and  caught  Gbenga  just  in  time  as  he  walked  past,  she held a small  covered  bowl. It  stunk and Gbenga  instantly knew  what  was  in the bowl.  He could  only  wrinkle  his  nose  and  quicken  his  steps. 

She  has  been  caught  defecating  in her room again for the umpteenth time. Mama  Bornboy  never  listens  to  anybody,  not  even  the  landlord  could  coax  her  to use  the  toilet.  “I  cannot  go  and  carry  ‘goloreah’  (gonorrhea)  or  ‘stafilokocos’ (staphylococcus)  from  that  dirty  toilet  abeg,”  she  dared  to  say  to  anybody  that  cared  to listen.  She  was  the  only  tenant  capable  of  engaging  the  landlord  in  series  of  heated arguments and fights  -other tenants  referred to her as  the landlady.

“Can  you  imagine  ehn?  Ai  fini  peni,  ai  fiyan  peyan  lo  mu  ara  oko  san  bante  wo lu;  meaning,  it  is  the  lack  of  decency  that  makes  a  bush  girl  ro  attire  into  the  town;  what nonsense!  Ehn?!  It  is  your  husband  that  will  give  you  gonorrhea  o,  not  my  toilet. Besides  when  it’s  your  turn  to  wash  the  toilet  that  is  when  you  will  have  back  pain  or malaria,  and  your  children  are  as  useless  as  you  are,”  the  landlord  once  said  to  her when  he  first  caught  her  some  few  years  ago  with  her  mobile  toilet,  and  she  gave  him her  petty  excuse. 
The  stench  was  awful  and  the  Landlord  flexed  his  verbal  muscles  on her;  Mama  Bornboy  however  was  a  typical  Benin  woman,  she  would  not  be  dilacerated “Warri no dey carry last.”

(To be continued)