Skip to main content

IF WISDOM HAD A SMELL (A POEM)

If wisdom had a smell It would smell of old books Passed down from generation to generation Revealing the truths about the enigma called time. The truths which cannot be purchased Even by the highest bidder. That smell that unveils the arduous work of writers Known and unknown. That smell that reveals family trees of readers Seen and unseen. That smell that conquers ignorance Once knowledge is sought. If wisdom had a smell It would smell like an old, well-read copy of Uncle Tom's Cabin Revealing the evil behind the thoughts and actions of slavery. That smell that encompasses sacrifice. That smell that brings words and characters to life. That smell that raises positive movements that will In time, save humankind. If wisdom had a smell It would smell of old wrappers Worn by mothers and even fathers, Instinctively used to wipe the tears Of their children away, Used with love to cover them from the rain or sun. Oh, the smell of that long piece of fabric With drawings of horses, stars,...

TYPES OF CORONA VIRUS



Her voice jarred in my ears like an un-snooze-able alarm as she narrated to her colleagues how her sex partner could not satisfy her the previous night. 

I stood at the bus stop that day for over an hour waiting to get a bus. It had not been easy for car-less residents of Lagos since the Okada and Keke ban. You either struggled or wobbled to get yourself home. I was usually part of the wobblers
That day had a vibe on its own that could send the devil himself to hell unwillingly. The sun refused to set way after past 6, the air was at attention, and car owners were very unfriendly... would you blame them?

When this bus rolled up in front of me, I felt like Angelina Jolie in the Tourist, all I did was stroll in effortlessly. Yes, there are still some of us who think life is that easy. A group of 3 ladies and 3 men followed suit and we all started with this journey that would lead to another, in that Korope (mini bus). There would be wild thoughts and great realizations about who we have become as a people...

“Babes, una know say na waste of time just be that guy! Na only paka paka pesin just dey hear and before I fit say wehn! This guy don close shop. E sleep for there like dead horse na im even vex me pass. E no even fit last for 2 minutes! Chai the thing pain me reach my spirit. E don dey make mouth since e manage buy me one bottle of beer say im go finish me dat night. Me sef I be mumu. I fall for the tin jeans and hair wen full im face. You go see them with bia bia like say them get money, dem no get shi shi. Instead of cash na comb dey sabi dey their pocket. Omo, I don tire for bad market. E just be say I learn with fufu no be with pizza. Make una wizen up o, no go dull like me with all these yeye broke boys. Na men we need for our life abeg!”

This lingered for another 5 minutes with her colleagues chipping in here and there about their own experiences. The men on the bus were silent. The driver turned down his radio. As shocked and ashamed as we all were, we were all ears.
“But seriously babes. This my life na im my small sister want to dey copy sha. I mean she is just 14 and she don get boyfriends. The one wey dey pain me pass be say she don join MARLIANS. Na dem dey feel say dem fit behave any how. D way dem dey dress sef dey vex me… You dey hear something?” 
And then one of her colleagues asked: “ you no fit beat her make her brain set well? Which kind nonsense be that? Abi na because she don tall pass you? But you no soft like this with una second born na wetin you con dey leave this one for?
And then she answered: “ no be so... na because I no dey sleep for house again na im make and I no wan worry my papa with all this nonsense. You know say girls gat to hustle na. But no worry, I go treat her f**k up soon. The only good thing be say she still dey do well for school. I hear say she go soon be head girl. Na her only saving grace be that. My sister must finish school and go uni sef...”

We had not noticed the traffic all the while inside the korope. We were listening, judging in that little moving courtroom, with culprits who were past feeling guilty. They did not even care if they were sentenced to death in our thoughts. Maybe that was why we judged silently… Who cared anymore? Nothing wow is under the sun not so? 
She received a phone call and got a confirmation for a hangout by 7 pm. She informed the others to go prepare for the banquet. They had been given another opportunity to make it in their trade. They dared not mess things up. After the call, each one suddenly dropped at different stops. First, it was the commander in chief, and then the second in command. The last one appeared to be a tomboy. She had on a face cap, a baggy shirt and jeans. From the uncovered parts, you could see her golden tinted hair. She would have passed for their bodyguard. 
Her phone rings a few minutes before her stop. She picks and says: “I dey tell you say show dey this night you dey say make I come house con chop beans. Abeg who no like beta thing! No dull o, I get runz to cover. You know say I dey whether na man or woman. For my side we no dey discriminate. Make we sha happy las las na im be the goal. We go dey see tomorrow...

At this point, the driver pressed on his breaks as if there was a deer in front of him. Before he gained consciousness, the tomboy blasted him: “ driver how your own be na? You hear say show dey for me this night and na now you wan plan to kill pesin. Just drop me for that junction there before you carry out your mission. This life na we own and we must chop am!!! She drops…

The coast was finally clear. The men came alive. One asked if the ladies had mothers. Another added that he doubted and that he didn’t blame them. If only he had his car they would not have smeared his ride back home. He wished the Coronavirus would visit them at their hangout that night. The driver replied that they were the Coronavirus we should be worried about for they would be here very long infecting others until the whole society would have lost their worth. He shook his head,  announced the last stop and turned up the radio. 

Before I dropped, the driver was on the phone. It sounded like he was speaking with his daughter. I heard him asking in Yoruba the meaning of Marlians…


A Shared Experience
Don't Forget to Be Honest!

Subscribe for more...and share as well.


Comments

  1. Interesting story with great moral lesson.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

IF HAIR COULD TALK

  “You know, I get nervous by the sight of unkempt hair” “And why’s that?” “Well, it makes me imagine the worst of the man or woman in question.” “But you can’t always have clean cut or well-made hair. It’s hard work and who has time for such beauty strife. Or why do you think Beyonce sang that beauty hurts?” “I’m not talking about beauty. Rather I mean responsibility. Bad hair must surely birth a bad day. Look, I hate seeing my wife without her hair done or at least covered. I blame it on Medusa. Should have never seen that movie, T he Clash of the Titans .” “Hahaha, that’s just cracking! Now you blame your sick theory on a movie? Buddy, your wife must be tolerating a whole lot of shit from you. Cut her some slack and leave her hair alone. If you continue shaving yours all the time, you’d be bald before you’re even 40, man.” I’ve been thinking. A thousand tongues there would be if our hair could talk. Imagine, a million heads would have a zillion tongues and more! The ...

MAKEOVER

  When she realized her hair was gone, the barber had increased the volume of his radio and India Arie’s ‘I am not my hair’ filled the room. ‘If I can manage the situation like a professional, my construction contract with her father will hold tomorrow,’ I thought. I breathe in and out, a logic that never works for me, but I do it anyway. I rehearse my words, changing each sound to a softer version of the previous one - aligning my looks to the words so that my eyes become half closed and there is a faint smile on my face. I wait for the explosion. All the while, the barber is busy touching what is left on her head with his clipper. He says it is the final addition and calls it the moon look. He fumbles with the chair, turning Stella from left to right like a child’s play. The large mirror in front of us escalates the mishap and the fumes on my girlfriend’s face seem to be burning the white walls. It was meant to be a makeover since her 25 th birthday was the next day. Now it...

MORALITY IN TRANSIT

It was a cool, quiet evening—one of those rare days when the city seemed to exhale. I boarded the bus home from work, grateful for the unusual calm. The vehicle was only half-full, a welcome contrast to the usual chaos of rush hour. The driver was sealed off in his little cubicle up front, and we passengers were scattered like leaves on a still pond. Among them was a man who immediately caught my eye—late 60s, wearing a crisp white cap that read ' Chosen One' in bold black letters. He was flipping through a newspaper with such frantic energy it looked like he was searching for something long lost—or perhaps arguing with the headlines themselves. Opposite him sat another older man, though you wouldn't know it from his clothes. He was dressed like a teenager—like someone clinging to relevance with both hands. Then, out of nowhere, the man in the cap spoke, loud and clear, as if addressing a courtroom rather than a quiet bus. 'Does time determine what's right or wrong...