Thirty

Thirty  

This is just a model I photographed at an event in PHC, Nigeria. 

On the morning of thirty, I woke up to my girlfriend by my side on a flat mattress in my apartment in Port Harcourt. There was no power, just a rechargeable lamp stood over us with its light, like it was something divine, seeing us bare. She had traveled six hours from Nsukka to Port Harcourt with personally baked birthday cake on her laps for me. It was what she did for a living; loving me and taking some decisions that I thought were too much for me. There were times that I was sick and she would spend days with me, helping with cleaning, cooking and loving. When I felt that I had no one out there when nothing worked out, the thoughts of her selflessness made me giggle and I’d flush the bad thoughts down by throat with a beer.

I was thirty and almost clueless but for her in my life and my addiction to beer, and maybe the occasional literary works I created. One of the things I thought about for the new journey was a postgraduate degree and a stable life so that Oluchi and my family would have something tangible to smile about. I make sacrifices for them but I think they make more for me. Being a first child had made me to think in the collective, to understand that I am not alone and whatever I carried out didn’t hurt those who shared the same parents with me. And of course, anyone who truly cared.

I had thought I would wake up differently – with some heaviness, of being thirty but what weighed me were more in my head, what I had done with my life and what I would do and how I would go about doing that so they’d come out good. I had published a book of my fears and appreciation on a mobile platform a day earlier and since it had a price tag of N500, I had just two downloads. Some friends said they had issues with payment on the site but I felt it was one of the things that happened to a thirty year old, expecting less and living, nonetheless.

For thirty, I was going to start being deliberate with whatever I wanted. I haven’t been less deliberate but this was coming with the realization that I was thirty and everything around me counted – like if I looked up at the petty trader by the street corner who sold noodles, what she pressed on her pocket calculator was not my bill but how much time I had left or hadn’t. If I did it well, I was going to be a successful man in his early thirties. If I did it wrong, I was going to make a bad example to the many great people who are quick to make anyone a role model and mentor.

There had been unrest in the south. The Nigerian Army had responded brutally to civil unrests by the Indigenous People of Biafra, a group that agitated for a sovereign state of Biafra in Igboland. She had to use the Owerri route and endured silly quarrel from a woman who sat next to her from Owerri to Port Harcourt. Oluchi and I met at the university. I was two years ahead of her in the department. She was the first and only relationship I got at the department – full of our little chaos but treasured. And it had been up and down but had survived. It had not started deliberately. She was a friend who stayed and whose life unfolded in very interesting ways as we stayed together. I discovered that there were a lot of roles to play and she had so much to teach me about living, women and love.

After I woke up and took a pen to plan the day, I realized that if I did not give out the major jobs of running around to folks that did not know how much the day meant to me and how I avoided failure, I would have a fine day. I made calls, reaffirmed collections and reached out to the venue for the birthday sit-out. When calls came through, they came heavily and had different messages. Songs and prayers came, teases and reminders, of the age and my gradual loss of boyhood. People who I had no ideas were there, sent messages on social media and as a tradition, I gave them attention and responded to as many as I could.

The birthday sit-out held and friends drank and teased and chatted and took pictures and while I cheered and almost ended up singing at the karaoke bar, I realized that no matter how serious one was and how greatly one achieved fame and riches, if one could place a call for an event and no one showed up, one has not succeeded as a leader of some sort. And I also learned that when the cheers are down, there are people who would be there, to tuck, to hug and kiss and tell you that all would go well. For what are lucks than partners who keep you aware that living is a great privilege.

Written in 2017 

  

LETTER TO MY OGONI SISTER ON BEING CROWNED MISS NIGERIA 2015

Dear Sister,

It is with absolute goodwill and sheer concern for my own kith and kin that I have decided to write to you today. I mean well, even if my language may not be clear-cut and sexy as you are. Ah. I see your image in my head. In short, since yesterday, I have been dreaming about you; how you walk and the victory smile which rented your face when you were announced winner. *inserts smile and dies.

I hope you find time to read this letter and write back to me. *inserts a wink

You know, life has changed since last night when you won that prestigious crown as Miss Nigeria, 2015. Hmm. Some bad belle people have been comparing MBGN to Miss Nigeria. But don’t mind them. That’s all they are good at, analyzing. Ah. Life is sweet oh. I am sure you will be making shakara anyhow now. You’ll be like: mbok, I rep Cross River oh but I am Ogoni to the bone. Ah. To the bone, chai, that line is sweet, whalai.

You will drive around in that your new SUV and then travel to everywhere with that your plenty millions. Ah. In my next world ehn, I will come as a beautiful woman with fine legs, great height and envious nose. I think I will try and be intelligent too.

I know it doesn’t mean much, but just in case it is required, I will do my best to acquire a cute accent. Sister, please come closer let me share something about accent with you. See ehn, just go into any bank in Nigeria and use those thick dark glasses and cover your eyes and speak anything that would make you sound like a bird and there, everyone would respect you. They would say: “Hey. See that one oh. She is one of those people who have gone to oyinbo land and have returned with light skin and yeye accent. But don’t mind them. What would kill them is already in their faces. Accent is sweet oh.

I watched as you just knack book and dribble people like a proud Ogoni girl. Ah. You are fine, Leesi. Yes oh. That is what I will call you. You see that Pamela something? Me, I don’t buy it at all. You are a sweet Ogoni woman and your native name is what I’d hold on to.

Before I forget, please this is the reason I decided to write you this letter. It’s about boys; some yeye boys wey dey the Nigerian music industry only to give beauty queens belle. I am writing you to be careful of wolfs with microphone and cheap six packs that I can buy anywhere in Ariaria market.

You see, these boys just sit in front of their televisions during pageantry. They are not even concerned enough to buy tickets and watch you people appear in pants and high hilled shoes oh. No. They want to stay there and watch the winner then they would tell their yeye publicist to look for the winner’s phone number and call them that they want to wish them happy winning.

There are two famous people you have to avoid by all means if you want us, your kinsmen to remain behind you. One is yellow with dada and mumu six packs. Hmm. My sister, I know that you have been in Nigeria. In short, one bird whispered to me that you are in service, serving Nigeria, battling mosquitoes and bad toilet and bathroom wey dey camp but this guy bad well well.  Him bad pass everything bad. The day that our former MBGN was in Yenagoa shaking like fowl that had cold, trying to answer simple questions about wetin she go do when she win, this man was looking at yansh in South Africa in the name of shooting a music video. When the fine yellow girl come win, him no waste time. He dropped his magical rod inside the small innocent hole and chai, sister, a pikin was deposited. That is so wrong.

You must stay away from him. Any show he organises in this world must be avoided. If you did not know that he was in the show and you eventual found him there, abeg, tell the organisers that shit is hungering you, that you have to leave. You can go to Bodo too and recruit 15 local boys to guard you. I don’t want to hear stories.

There is another man who has announced to the world that he is now a repentant married man. Ah. Hot lie. Please, stay away from him too. Don’t buy his album. The image on that album has made someone pregnant before. I know the girl. She is still looking for a way to take care of the baby. This man has many faces although he has agreed that there are only two. Ah. He is bad. He is slim, and tall. You know what slim men carry between their legs shey? Avoid him. He can bring your holy land to disrepute in two minutes. He can enlarge the narrowest pathway by a single visit. When you see him on TV, please sprinkle the blood of Jesus and bind and cast any appearance that may come in the dream.

You have to be at alert. Put a small Gideon bible under your pillow before you sleep and if time permits, scream “chisos, chisos, chisos” seven times. Find a bottle of olive oil and drink it too.

It has also come to my notice that some ladies love other ladies. Ah. Don’t do what will make Bari have sleepless night. If any woman opens her breasts for you, cower and help them cover it. They are end time children. Don’t play that with them.

Sister Leesi, it is our pleasure that Chisos has chosen you to wipe our tears off our eyes. You remember the many oil spillages in your village, it has been Bari who has shielded you from drinking poisonous water so you would live and make him proud. Biko, make him proud.

Embrace all things that would add value to human life. In all you do, stay humble and motivated. Yours would be a beautifully eventful journey and do well to send me a Facebook request too.

Thank you.  

Bura-Bari Nwilo

Your Ogoni Brother in the Lord