The Importance of Speaking Earnestly

It may sound something like Oscar Wilde’s 1895 hit play, but this one turned out more disastrous than comical. Worse, priests and adultery were involved. The venue was my church, a roman-type state-of-the-art piece of architecture complete with stuccoes, tall arches and stained glass windows with sculptures of little angels erected across its several corners; very heavenly and spiritual looking. However, on that fateful day heavenly and spiritual-looking couldn’t describe the atmosphere within.

Saints Philip and Bartholomew’s Catholic Church (S.S. Philip & Bartholomew) located along Lekki-Epe Expressway is home of prayer and spiritual worship to the wealthy aristocratic and Upper Middle-Class kinds living in the high-brow area of Lekki; a former Lagos State Governor and a one-time Minister of Aviation still worship there today. Hence it is not uncommon for these people to coin certain paraphrases in order to speak indirectly about something they didn’t want to say outrightly.  Some examples are ‘join the bandwagon’, that is to ‘give in to political/office pressure’, common among politicians or ‘fall at the steps of the church’ which means ‘to fall to the temptation of adultery’ and so on.

As an unspoken rule, these terms are never really explained but somehow, during confession times when the local priest hears them he understands and gives the confessor penance accordingly. So what If a new cleric comes to the parish, how does he figure it out? No way, it just had never happened. Well, that was until two weeks ago….

Two weeks ago, the regular parish priest Fr. Adekunle was posted to another parish at Kaduna. This might seem unfortunate but Kaduna wasn’t that bad. I mean not counting the violent groups; the city did have its own fair share of wealthy ex-dignitaries. But that is not the point of this story anyway...

So enter Fr. Peter O’ Reilly as the new parish priest. Irish by birth and Irish by personality and we all know how blunt the Irish can be (especially after a few mugs of stout or whiskey…)

In the first two days alone, Fr. O’ Reilly, during confession had received two cases of ‘joining the band wagon’ and ten cases of ‘falling at the steps of the church’. Confused, he didn’t understand the first case and couldn’t do anything about it. However he ordered labourers to rework the outline of the front of the church steps and make sure they conformed to standard.

The next day and the day after that, three more people; a University Vice-Chancellor and two banks MD’s (females) ‘fell at the steps of the church’ again. This was puzzling. He re-called the surprised labourers and rebuked them for their shoddy work. They had to do the steps’ construction again thoroughly, under the Irish cleric’s stern supervision. So you can imagine how outraged the priest became, when  days later, a currently serving diplomat, two House of Reps members and one popular doctor ‘fell at the steps of the church’ yet again!

Having had enough of the reports and what he believed were complaints during confession, the next day being Sunday the priest stood up during the announcements and decided to ask the congregation for their advice. It went something like this:

"I beg your pardon my dear brothers and sisters, could any of you here use your influence to provide the church with professional help in rebuilding the church steps? Over the past week I have had to do it twice because of the series of complaints I have received, unfortunately the workers I called are very inadequate.

Only yesterday our very honourable senators Okon, Igiebo and Dr. Olushola Alade complained to me that they fell at the steps of the church. Mind you these are separate from the previous incidents when Mrs Funke Philips and VC. Lawal complained to me of the same thing. My biggest apologies for their inconvenience and if any of you has useful links to credible engineers, they would be more than welcome. In the meantime, I dare say to everybody to mind those steps. Thank you".

At first the church became silent. Very silent.

Then a whole lot of people began to shift uncomfortably in their seats, especially those in the front row. There was a slight raucous.

 At the end of mass, nobody did the usual after-mass greetings. They just quietly entered their various SUV’s and drove away.

That was last Sunday. Today I noticed the usually coveted front row seats directly in front of the altar were empty as some important individuals were absent. I sat down where the former Minister for Aviation used to seat with her escorts and listened to the Irish man’s sermon. Ironically, the topic was about truth, honesty and the importance of speaking earnestly. If only people would come out plainly and speak directly, a lot of things would be much easier today.

At the back of my mind, I found myself wondering if those steps would ever trip me someday…

                                                    

ON A LIGHTER NOTE

There was once a small quiet countryside in West Yorkshire where people stayed good. Men paid their taxes, women obeyed their husbands and children did their chores willingly. All said, everybody was good so the local parish remained calm and hadn’t any little activity at all.

Until a young Farmer’s help came by…

In the first week a milk maid came to the parish for confession:

Rev, Fr.: Whatsa matter miss?

Milkmaid: I have a confession Father.

Rev Fr.: Okay, put a coin in that basket and say your confession.

Milkmaid: It’s the Farmer’s help; he made me do bad things, very bad things…

 A few minutes later the Milk maid left having said her penance.

The following week, a barmaid came along with the same confession about the Farmer’s help. She too put her coin in the basket and did her penance. Then other weeks followed with a nannies, a nurse and even the school teacher all making the same complaints about the Farmer’s help. By now the priest’s basket was chinking full of coins. Then one sunny Sunday afternoon after service, the Farmer’s help stopped by:

Rev Fr.: I suppose you are here to make the utmost confession about your very bad ways?

Farmer’s help: Not exactly Father, the boy replies cockily. Just give me my own share or I’ll take my business to another parish!

                                                     

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.