Opinion article by Duke of Shomolu, Joseph Edgar
In our Shomolu house, we had two big trees. One was a mango tree, and the other was guava. The mango was on the side that branched into the Yoruba house while the guava fell on the street.
Okuyiga Street was a tiny street in Shomolu and our house was nestled between two houses. One was predominantly filled with Yoruba people, and we called it the Yourba house, and the other was filled with Igbo people, and we called it Igbo house.
My mother had a friend there who was a tailor. She called her oremi, but we called her Mama Yemi.
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It was a very dirty compound with a big well where they fetched water. It also came with a pit latrine that was amusing to me as I used to imagine how the fat Ogoja man with his big bum would manage to get his accuracy when dumping.
There was always activity in the Yoruba house, unlike the Igbo house, which was boring. They were mostly traders who left in the morning and came back at night.
So the mango tree was my refuge as a fresh teenager finding my bearings. I had just come back from school where I had failed two times and was kicked out.
While my parents were still trying to figure out what to do with this errant boy, I would go and sit under the mango tree and observe activities in the Yoruba house.
So one day, I saw the Mallam. They usually just walked about either selling charms or exchanging Eleganza coolers or doing shoe maker.
This one had a dagger. He was tall and skinny. Scary looking with reddish teeth. He came to me under the mango tree and brought out a pouch.
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In broken English, he said I should go get an egg, break it and rub the yoke all over it, and put it under the sun to dry up.
Once it’s dried, I should put it in my pocket, and all I had to do was tap a girl on the bum, and she would follow me, and I could have s3x with her.
This was a solution. As a teenager, the hormones were raging..it was that age. wet dreams were the order of the day and all sorts of imaginations were all over my head.
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No confidence to approach a lady and even if I did, I didn’t know what to say or do and even I knew what to say, the throbbing erections didn’t have the patience to start the long tortuous journey that you have to travel from the first meeting to when you finally got her in bed.
In some cases, these very wicked girls could string you along for years, and you still will not get it.
This was my dilemma and this was a god sent Mallam offering me a short cut and saying with this thing in my pocket I could go for any woman of my choice and bam, I would be in heaven.
But there was a small problem. He wants N5. The only time I saw N5 in my life was when my mother and I took it to school and Mrs Kukoyi, our wicked headmistress, beat the living daylight out of me.
I told him I didn’t have N5. He asked if my mother had the Eleganza cooler. Those days, I didn’t know any woman who didn’t.
He said I should go and bring two. I said no problem. My mother had gone to work. She was in the Army, and my father worked in a bank, so I was home alone.
I went up and dragged two of the biggest coolers out. Needed to close this transaction on time and tested it on one of the Yoruba girls before I moved towards the very beautiful Igbo damsel who used to smile at me every morning on her way to school.
The deal was done, and I got my charm. The Mallam scurried away, and I got an egg and followed instructions and waited.
It was ready. The first girl came my way. Can’t even remember what she looked like. All I remember was the slap I got.
It was massive and gave me bells. I felt maybe because she was Yoruba. Maybe the charm was for Igbo ladies.
My people, five slaps after, I was in front of my mother trying to explain to her what happened to her coolers.
I got the beating of a slave which made me feel really sad. My anger was the feeling of being duped by the bastard Mallam, who by now would have been on his way to Chad or which God forsaken the desert he was coming from.
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I went back to my mango tree and watched the Yoruba girls bend down to fetch water from the well with all of the ass up in the air.
If only my charm can work. If only this stupid Mallam wasn’t such a fake. God will punish him for me. I would pray.
Then, one day, I saw him. I saw him, ooooo. He was with his usual dirty clothes. Red teeth and very dirty feet.
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I ran towards him and grabbed his smelly clothes. The stench from his mouth almost killed me, but I didn’t mind.
The fake man. He must give me back my coolers, I screamed. He threatened to kill me with his dagger, but I didn’t mind.
I held his shirt tight, and he was screaming. The neighbors came out and were asking what happened.
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It was then it dawned on me that I couldn’t say exactly what he had done to me.
The whole neighborhood had come out and were really surprised that this ‘ quiet ‘omo calabar’ can have the courage to lock down a full Mallam with a dagger.
They asked what happened, and I said nothing, and they asked Mallam, who also knew that if he spoke, both of us would immediately turn to suya that night.
We looked into each other’s eyes and saw the mutual need to survive. We were both guilty..
Me, guilty for seeking a charm for s3x and stealing my mother’s coolers and he for duping a young innocent boy with fake charm and stealing his mothers coolers.
As the crowd grew, we both kept quiet looking at each other. Joe wetin happen they asked? I said nothing and Mallam why Joe dey fight you, he said nothing.
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When the crowd was tired, they left us, and I looked squarely into his eyes and said you na big thief, and he said to me, you na ashawo
Thief I repeated as I walked away from him….
Mtchewww
*Duke of Shomolu*
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