Part 1:
The weekend finally came and I couldn’t wait to show off my new boots and try out new skills I’d observed watching the Champions League during the week. It’s been a while since I set my foot on Emmanuel High to watch or play the beautiful game (football) as I have been a recipient of a horrendous tackle some guy called “Stone” well renowned for taking pride in maiming anyone better than himself had bestowed on me. A very clever strategy to cover up for his inadequate skills I suppose.
I was excited not because I was looking forward to getting maimed again, but because I just had this undeniable passion for both watching and playing the game. If you don’t believe me, why would I leave the comfort of my room early Saturday morning and play footie (as it’s called in the UK) where hoodlums trade and smoke all sorts of drugs such as “igbo”, “Gbana”, you take your pick. Why would I risk ruptured spleens, broken metatarsal or bruises on my velvet skin? And why would I hustle and tussle with folks who would give skunks or a drove of swine a run for their money? If you don’t believe me by now then that’s your problem. But I just hope you didn’t believe in the tooth fairy during your toddler years either.
The state of elation was short-lived though. I hadn’t even passed through the gates of Emmanuel high and I could envision the pandemonium. I think I arrived just about the time to witness the heavy weight bout between two prominent hooligans. A colony of grimy looking men were chanting and inciting all provocative words they could muster such as “ko ni da fun ya maja” (i.e. any diplomat thinking of breaking the fight had better think again else his mother will be highly unsuccessful no matter how hard she strives to succeed in life) as they were getting frustrated the brawl was taking longer than they had expected. By now the thugs had passed the stage of merely staring at each other, trading insults or pushing and shoving. It was time to bring the factual drama. One thug was very muscular, had the height and reach advantage; the other, stout and a little taller than lil’kim but he had a distinctive weapon; his mouth.
The fight was finally in full swing! All techniques deployed from Greco-Roman locks to kick boxing. The brawl lasted 3 minutes before something tragic happened. The stout soldier had slumped and remained unconscious! In a split second the muscular thug went from hero to zero. The same hoodlums cheering him on during the fight turned against him in a quick instance. “Now that you have killed him, we reckon you take his corpse to his parents,” they exclaimed. Some went a step further and initiated a happy slapping session. How art the mighty fallen I thought. You think the story ends there? Don’t hold your breath!
Part 2
Guess whose back? You remember the fall guy? I mean the stout thug? Yes that’s the one. While the unfortunate victor from the ill advised fight received a mauling from his “before-before” fans for committing murder (at least we thought he did), the stout thug regained consciousness, got up to his feet, clinched his fists together and bellowed “wey Ifeoma dey?” In bewilderment, everyone turned around and saw Lazarus eager to resume the fight. We were in shock! The whole field went as quite as Atan Cemetery at midnight. Ifeoma swiftly squatting on both knees and slapping his palms together as in our Lord’s Prayer position broke the silence; pleading shamelessly and even conceding victory to a guy he had obviously beaten “black and blue”.
The dwarf was confused by this kind gesture well aware of the consequences of defeat in “da the hood”. You either had to move out or face the incessant embarrassment and stigma attached to being defeated in a brawl or stay in the neighbourhood and take the solo walk of shame with your face down for an indefinitely long, long time. Neither was any thug’s option to be honest, but Ifeoma would rather be anything but a murderer for now at least. The stout thug was even more perplexed when he heard hundreds of people including myself laughing with tears rolling down our cheeks. I wonder what must have been going on in the midget’s head. He must have thought everyone came to Emmanuel high, high of something. Till this day I wonder if he ever believed he slumped for a few minutes during the clash. O, how I miss O.J city!
Ositelu Eniola
@doublegeneral
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