This Na War!

Last weekend I saw this movie titled "This means War!" The flick though a girl-movie in many ways was beefed up for the guys with many action scenes by McG (One of my fave directors by the way). In the movie two best friends vie for the heart of one girl whom they both met (separately) and fell for. 

What impressed me about the film was the honorable way the guys did it. No hard feelings, or personal grudges... just plain healthy competetion, "May the better guy win" if you will like to put it that way, and I enjoyed it to the end. But this post is not a review about the movie, no. I remember a similar incident in school days back at UNN. and in good faith I think it's safe to share it here. After all, it's been nine years...

In other to avoid some infringement of copyright law and all that, I have decided to title the post in pidgin thus the name, "This na War!"...

It's 2003, I was in second year and the six months strike had recently been called off after that infamous cult war (thumbs up if you are old enough to remember it). I had just moved into the Boy's Quarters (BQ) of a house at Ikejiani Avenue "Off Campus", having hustled up enough money to leave Akpabio hostel. I was now a bigger boy. Now let me give you a short analogy of  male hostels and BQ's then in UNN.

Those days guys who lived in BQ's were seen as the bigger boys and girls trouped to visit them because they were assured of their privacy. They liked the private toilets, furnished apartment with fancy posters, TV's, air-conditioning e.t.c.(whether your BQ was actually stacked or not is a different story). Hostel dwellers on the other hand were the last carriers.

In male hostels where you had five genuine room-mates and about four illegal squatters in a room (as big as a parlour in a block-of-flats in Festac), nobody bothers to furnish much because several other guys would be using without much care for maintenance.

As for female visits, by the time a girl comes to see you; first of all, coming up the stairs she faces the battle of leering male eyes and cat-calls (shouts of tanker!, a derogatory term for a girl with a big ass), when she finally makes it to your room, she has not less than six male roomies to contend with and of course that rank masculine odour which no girl likes especially when it comes from five different guys...

There's also the issue of privacy. Every conversation you make with your babe is just general knowlegde except if your guys are understanding enough to leave the room. But how many of them will be? And when you want to get down, making your guys see reason to exile for you is as hard as pulling nail from the wall with your teeth. And let me not bring the case of one room-mate who was a self-ordained pastor because that's another story for another day...

Those days if you were asking a girl out, one of her questions was " Where do you stay?", If your answer was Mbanefo hostel or Akpabio hall, your chances of getting her were as good as a team named Accrington Stanley FC winning the English Premier League.

So that was that, sorry for the slight digression. It was just to paint the general picture.

I was in a BQ that had a series of  4 rooms sort of like neighbours. Not the most affluent of BQ's but it was not a hostel and that was what mattered. During my stay there I got to know the guys in each room and their respective behaviours; very funny characters. One particular guy however stood out; Achor was a muscular fitness freak with a bull's build and in the habit of wearing nothing but a particular tiny gym shorts that showed everything he had and the dude was very proud of that. But that was not why he stood out.

Whenever any guy in the BQ had a female visitor, somehow it always seemed to coincide with when Achor was coming back from the gym, all sweaty and 'thirsty' and in those gym shorts only. He would knock on their door and ask for water, in fact he would tell the guy not to bother standing that he could help himself. He'll proceed to enter the room, open the fridge and actually help himself with a glass of water. All this time (with the girl watching), he is in nothing but the shorts flexing and unflexing his biceps with each gesture. Afterwards he would leave with a few jocular remarks.

Not many days after that, the same girl would be seen leaving Achor's room in the morning.

It became so frequent that whenever a guy had a female visitor coming, he would go to Achor's room with a bottle of water and a glass and drop it for him, and if he wasn't around they would actually leave it outside their doorstep for him to see. It was that bad and nobody could confront him.

All this time I thought it was funny until Achor knocked on my door to ask for water. And that was when I decided something had to be done about it.

You see, at the time I was dating Okwuchi. A slamming beauty; fair, curvy and voluptuous. There was no way I was going to let her get "achorfied". But how would I do it? The guy was a bull, one of his arms was twice my lap. Confronting him in a physical fight was merely suicide. But this meant war and someone had to do something about it.

Fortunately for me, I had an idea.

One of Okwuchi's room-mates at Bello Hall (a female hostel) was a big gossip. She once started a rumor that nearly closed the school for a whole session. It had to do with the VC then and a certain politician but that is another story for another day...

That evening I 'acidentally' bumped into her on her way back from buying Mishai, UNN's favorite evening junk food. And we started a conversation;

Me: Hi, Amie? (Short for Nwamaka, not Amanda or Amarynth).

Amie: Ah Richy is that you? I thought it was someone else. I didn't recognise the girl with you, is she your classmate?

Me: That was Emeka's cousin dropping a message for him. This girl's asiri was just too much

Amie: Okay. So what's up naa? We didn't see you this evening, abi you and Okwy met elsewhere?

She was giving me one of those looks. I knew I had to get this over and done with quickly.

Me: I am very tired. I have been at St. Grace's Hospital all afternoon *insert heavy sigh here*

Amie: Who is sick? I hope it is well?

Me: Not really, Achor was admitted.

Amie: That strong muscular boy in your compound? How come?

Me: No nothing much, he will be alright.

Amie: Ahn ahn Ricky, it sounds serious. Tell me something jor. Is it not me again? I won't tell anybody.

I pretended to sigh heavily again and look around before lowering my voice to reply.

Me: He went into one of his fits...

Amie: Fits? As in fitness exercise? I don't understand, biko kowala'm ofuma.

Me: Epileptic fits... He is epileptic (lowering my voice even more)

Amie: Chineke!! That strong boy?!

Me: Shh! Quiet now. He was entertaining his female friend when it happened. In fact he nearly strangled her in the process. She was lucky we were there to break the door and help out or she would have died. We have been in the hospital all day but he is okay now if not discharged already.

Amie: Ha, epilepsy bu ihe ojoo. A very bad thing!

Me: Yes, that is why you should keep it quiet. He gets very angry if you bring it up. It is a touchy topic for him.

Amie: Haba now Richy, trust me this one is under lock and key. Nobody is hearing it.

That was probably the most obvious lie I had ever heard then. I could already see how impatient she was to get back to Bello Hall and tell all the girls.

Me: Alright then, I'll be going now. Send my regards to the others.

Her steps quickened as she left for the hostel. The seed was sown and had taken root.

That year and till he graduated, no girl went near Achor even with a ten foot pole. It was surprsing how afraid women were of the condition. He himself couldn't fathom it and till today I doubt he found out the source of his hard luck with girls on campus.

I know it was a mean thing to do but all my BQ neighbours though they couldn't understand, seemed happy afterwards and besides, 'all is fair in love and war'.

Okwuchi and I dated for another year or so before we called it quits and I moved into another more private BQ at Fulton Avenue where people like Achor and his yeye gym shorts were never a bother.

                                                     

The Beauty of Black Arts?

voo·doo

[voo-doo] noun.

Also, Vodun. a polytheistic religion practiced chiefly by West Indians, deriving principally from African cult worship and containing elements borrowed from the Catholic religion.

Last week a Lagos court ordered the NDLEA to pay N25 Million to local actor Baba Suwe for unlawful arrest and defamation of character. The circumstances surrounding the case as we remember, were very unusual considering the evidence displayed on two different CT scan machines couldn't have been wrong, or could they? Otherwise what were the substances seen in Suwe's stomach and why couldn't he expel them after several weeks?

The answers to those questions may not be very far if you think much about the reason one NDLEA official gave then,

"Our machine detected it at the Airport, .....now that the CT scan conducted at the Lagos University Teaching Hospital (LUTH) has confirmed drugs in his body again what will people say? The fact remains that this man is using high level juju on us"

The statement might have sounded laughable coming from a government official who is supposed to be logical especially when making public statements. By virtue of his office, he actually might have erred in his utterance, but the truth remains that in reality this is Black Africa and juju, voodoo, jazz, black magic or whatever you wish to call it is as real as night and day.

I am not saying this based on a movie from African Magic Channel (no pun intended) or some cheap Nollywood flick, my claim is backed by an actual encounter which I will share with you during the course of this post.

More recently last year, during the voter's registeration exercise, I was at Epe village; a distant native community just after the Ibeju-Lekki LGA area. I went there to get registered because I figured that there wouldn't be any long queues there unlike those in the main towns at Victoria Island and Lekki Phase 1.

During one of the stages of registration, a local woman was supposed to have her picture taken for the record but each time the Corps' member in charge hit the button, the finished photo came out blank on the digital screen. This happened twice and soon enough after third time the organisers began to get puzzled, especially after someone else had their picture taken and it came out perfect.
Then when the woman said it everybody seemed to sigh with relief and understanding.... my suspiration however wasn't with relief, it was one of unease.

Here's what she actually said:

"Ah Koyemi oh! Today when I no wear am this computa no dey work, abi if I come wear am now wetin go come happen?"

We all knew she wasn't referring to some ordinary pendant or engagement ring. Of course it was her juju! I adroitly changed my position so that I didn't make physical contact with her in any way (I hoped no one noticed). The only regret I had was that my pen which I gave her to use was not going to make it back with me to Phase 1 that day...

But that was nothing compared to the chilling experience from way back '96 which I am about to recount now. One I would never forget in a hurry, an experience which brought to actuality things I had only heard of or seen on TV. And ever since, I have come to realize that truth can indeed be stranger than fiction.

Flash back sixteen years ago. Boarding house, the place was Federal Government College Lagos, far away towards Badagry (also known as Ijanikin) and I was in J.S 3. Back then life was much easier than it is now, all I had to worry about was homework, girls and peer pressure. Yeah.

Speaking of peer pressure, I had three friends too; Gbolahon also known as 'Lanky". In those days he was as skinny as a pine leaf. If you see him today, Lanky is actually very huge now (no thanks to NYC junk food). The second guy was Davis, he was the crooked one. Every vice we tried out was introduced by Davis who probably saw it done somewhere and thought it would be fun to try out. And the last (but not the least) was a sickler named Tochukwu who put his frail body through every kind of hard test anyone could think of. I used to be afraid that he had a death wish and might actually collapse on us one day.

On that fateful evening, it was Davis as usual who came up with the idea. It was dinner time but we didn't want to join the queue at the dinning hall and besides the evening's meal was beans speckled with garri (bainz), a not-so-popular food then.

" Let's go to White House", he suggested.

"Yes am down!" That was Tochukwu always ready for any kind of adventure.

White House was a building on the outskirts of the school, just few meters from the surrounding walls. And so-called simply because of its colour. It was a nototious hang out spot for 'bad' students who braved it to scale the walls over to the other side. There were rumors then that natives of nearby villages sometimes laid in wait to kidnap students for their evil cannibalistic rituals. White House was really a thriving joint for lovers of food snacks like bread and fried eggs, fries, Suya, akara, and even squadron in small sachets popularly known as 'squaddy back then'.


Well, we all agreed that bread and Suya was a lot better than burned bainz any day so we set off for White House. It wasn't a problem jumping the fence, after all we were young boys with good knowlegede of teamwork so we leap-frogged one another over the walls. And before long we were on the other side.

The woman who ran the joint was a very large, dark complexioned woman. I am not sure of her origins but she spoke a strange dialect, hardly Nigerian. I also noticed she had a bad eye and that did not sit well with me immediately. It looked cursed, like it had been atrophied by some disease. Nevertheless we had come this far.

Davis quickly placed our orders. The place was not posh (what did I expect?) but it was well maintained though. That dark night, the only source of light there was the coal fire. Thinking back, I wonder now if the business was her only source of income, considering that majority of her market comprised of students with meagre pocket money.

As we ate our food, Iya White House sat by the fire, frying more Akara buns in a large pan while her husband (or some older man) manned the Suya spit.

                                                        


After a while, it suddenly occurred to me that we were the only customers there that night. And the place was supposed to be popular? I was about to bring this observation to Gbolahon's notice when he sat upright and shushed me. I listened up and heard it too. Davis and Tochukwu also did for they had frozen where they sat.

Footsteps...and they were approaching fast!


In the darkness of the night, because the moon could hardly be decribed as full, we observed the thickets in front of us moving vigorously and I was already getting ready to run when the shrubs cleared to reveal the despising face of Emmanuel 'Terror' Akpan!

'Terror' as he was secretly dubbed by students was the Labour prefect and the most unpopular person in F.G.C. Lagos that year. When he walked, people scampered out of the way. He cast a long shadow of horror wherever he went and showed no tolerance for bounds breaking. Already four boys had been expelled because of him and it wasn't even mid-term yet. We were in trouble and I knew there was no escaping this one.

 'Shit! Shit!! We are dead!', Tochukwu cried out repeatedly.
.
We were shaking in our seats, fear had us in its grip. That was the effect Emmanuel Akpan had. We resigned to our fate and waited for the worst to happen... but it never did.

"Quiet, be quiet!"  Someone hushed.

At first I thought it came from Davis, but he too was as clueless as I was. Then I realized it was from Iya White House. She remained in her seat by the fire but from where I sat I could see she swirled a can in her hand, her good eye was closed and her lips were moving fast, muttering words I couldn't make out. Then suddenly, without warning she tossed something powdery in our direction and warned us to remain still.

A few seconds later Terror got to where we were and paused. He looked around and made eye contact with me. He started walking towards me and I remember thinking here it comes, but instead he walked past and stopped by the fire.

"Good Evening Ma. Have any students come this way?"

"Student? No student here" And she continued turning akara in the pan, not looking up once.

Terror looked around once again. If only he knew that Tochukwu was barely three feet from him, shaking like jelly on skates...

I held my breath, I couldn't understand how our Labour prefect was unable to see us, yet I could tell that something mysterious and out-worldly was happening there that night. We were so close and yet so far from him.

After what seemed like an eternity, Terror looked at Iya once again and when she didn't return his stare he sighed and started back in the direction of the bushes. We did not move until his footsteps were no longer audible. I stretched and exhaled sharply. Now I was afraid and I know my friends were too because nobody was keen on finishing their food anymore.

A great sense of foreboding weighed down heavily on us as we went back to the school that night. Not one of us spoke till we got into our domitory. I couldn't shake the feeling from me that I was under some unholy shadow, even after I had my bath that night. And for the first time in many months I prayed my rosary before I slept.

Till this day even if I have no explanation for our 'invisiblity', one thing was sure; that woman had cast some sort of voodoo or juju over us and it was real. Logic or not, it had worked.

And so back to the issue at hand, if that NDLEA official can back his claim with some kind of proof, the Iya White House kind, then maybe the court will rescind its decision on the matter. But until that happens, Baba Suwe can actually smile to his bank.