TRIALS OF BRODA SEGE

Nigeria is the kind of place where all you need is data (borrowed or stolen), phone (android or iPhone) and popcorn (real or imagined). It was on one of those ‘Nigerian political and social telemundo’ days that kasala burst in my area. I can’t remember whether it was Buhari or APC that day but it was at that point where the dramatic me sighed, dropped my phone, clapped my head in astonishment and shook my head (yeah you get the drill), that as soon as I picked up my phone to continue that we all heard ‘yeh, yeh ara adugbo e gba mi, won mu mi lo o’ (neighbours help me, they’re taking me away)

and behold it was Broda Segun. Let me introduce you to Broda Segun.

We all have those corpers that have refused to finish service. This one has not stopped serving since 1984 and has graduated from Broda Corper to Broda Sege. The stereotypical boys who wear boxers and yellow tops (or whichever top is your area branch office cloth) because as far as I am concerned, Broda Sege is the president of their association. He’s always carrying either keg or black ‘happy family’ bucket to fetch only God knows what. The ones that play kizz Daniel all Saturday, Tope Alabi on Sunday without going to church 

and enter parachute on Monday morning with purple shirt with black shoe and brown belt to ‘go to work’, well you get the drill.

Back to the story, after I heard his shout, I shut the curtains as carefully as breeze would, stopped my music, me I’m nor at home o. Almost immediately, Iya Kafaya and her gang i.e. those women that are always at home, appeared and with them came the much anticipated noise. I stylishly peeped through the floral curtain covering the heavily barricaded window, alas, the ofofo spirit has still not left me. After some time, there was relative peace followed by ‘commentations’ (all those may God help us o, how did it happen, children of nowadays) and then complete silence. They say patience is a virtue and I knew fully well that as soon as my mum came back from work, gist would flow. Needless to say, as soon as my mum parked in the house, Iya Kafaya came to ‘pick bitter leaves’ from our compound and told the whole gist.

Apparently, Broda Sege’s ‘parasuit’ had attracted some other area boys to him. Broda Sege started feeling fly, riding in Benz, flexing with dem boys in exchange for his ‘English expertise’. Sha sha, soldiers came earlier that morning to capture him. They claimed him and the boys had duped their oga and since the boys are now nowhere to be found, hence Broda Sege.

Side note: thank God I didn’t agree to start dating that stupid boy called Tade, so that thin thing can dupe soldier, that’s kuku iPhone and Mercedes work. This secret will die with me.

     Some three days after, Broda Segun came back literally. They came to pick him and they couldn’t even drop him, well, that’s their business. You know those beatings where there are no visible signs, just pain and inaudible murmurings of eh that will increase in octave to yeh at the onslaught of hot water treatment, well, Broda Sege had them. So we went to greet him, we’re neighbours after all.

    As soon as my mum and I entered, Broda Sege widened his eyes and wanted to ask me maybe about Tade’s whereabouts, trust me to carry face. He wanted to put me in his position, idiot, my mum is no soldier but I was sure she would panel my body. God came through for me and the sympathisers all echoed, ‘Pele, take it easy, don’t say anything o, God will judge them’ but we all knew “the goat does not suffer from curses”. Kafaya was sha helping him press his body. He had tales to tell, tales that I will tell you later. In short, after I left there, I couldn’t stop laughing and I almost felt bad until Iya Kafaya started her own story and yes, on Sunday he went to church.

I'm so sorry for the late update, let's just say life happened. Now that I'm back, I've come with a little gist. Enjoy. 

And till next time,

Your very own

OMO AYAN

❤