“Come read this cheery news, Kay. They said President Muhammadu Buhari had approved payment of retirement benefits to Biafran soldiers, 47 years after the ‘no victor, no vanquished’ cessation of warfare.”
Stale news. I read of it over a month ago. And that was the prelude to the orchestrated visit of Mr. President to Ebonyi and Anambra states in the East.”
“Wise President, see how he rose above paranoia by softening the ground before visiting the territory of the modern-day Biafran agitators. Didn’t you hear of the initial threats by the IPOB that he shouldn’t step on Igboland, and that no election would hold in Anambra State?”
“My man, forget about the threats. It is normal to put the government under pressure to get your entitlements. See the result of the secession threats. More goodies have been announced for the South East region, and the exultant Igbo traditional rulers even gave Buhari a traditional title. Is that someone they claimed they hated?”
“I beg, let’s also soften our stomachs here and leave the politicians alone. Ask your bewitching Joke, the owner of this beer parlour to serve us beer, either criminally cold or of room temperature.”
“Perhaps you should have said, ‘bedroom temperature.’ This is because, once I leave this place, I have a ‘project to execute’ under that temperature. Well, as for you, look eastwards in this joint, you will see a lady sitting up there. She is called Mulikat, a successful pepper seller at Mile 12 market. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind to give you her own version of ‘bedroom temperature’.”
“Thank you for the Greek gift. I don’t want. You opted for heavily endowed Joke, a self-reliant B.Sc degree holder who owns a fantastic pub, and now decide to relegate me to the very background of dating a potentially smelly, illiterate market woman, to whom you would say, ‘How are you?’ and she will reply, ‘Am feel fine.’”
“That’s the mistake you are making, Charles. Don’t underrate these market women. Many of them are now educated, well dressed and scintillating. Though their chores may attract dirt, once they are out of the market environment, they are one of the best sets of Happening Babes you can get?”
Don’t underrate these market women. Many of them are now educated, well dressed and scintillating. Though their chores may attract dirt, once they are out of the market environment, they are one of the best sets of Happening Babes
“Okay? Tell me more, my dear professor of backwater womanising…oh, lest I forget, I hope she is not here because she had been displaced at the Mile 12 Market? Remember there was a time Governor Akinwumi Ambode ordered the market closed because of a bloody clash arising from ethnic dissonance.”
“I love the way you always reframe sensitive matters with grammatical tact. ‘Ethnic dissonance’. When you actually meant, ‘A bloody clash between Hausa and Yoruba traders.’”
“Yes, we’ve got to be careful. You know everything in Nigeria is fragile. Our unity, our economy, our politics and our well-being; all are fragile.”
“Excluding my Joke here, she is far from being fragile…but don’t you think displacing hordes of market women, mechanics and other artisans in Lagos communities, owing to road and canal chanelisation, without due resettlement for them is really unfair?”
“Well, that should be expected. If you did not get an approved lock-up shop from government, trading in Lagos can be very risky. When Ketu market was shut the other time, some of the traders were relocated to Carra on the Expressway, but Mulikat was not among the lucky ones. But I believe with her charm, love and warmth, you can assist in re-settling her.”
“Kay, I now understand what they mean by ‘the danger of peer influence.’ Now, you want to conscript me into dating your Mulikat, and I guess my resistance is becoming weak.”
“Yes, it must be, especially when you are dealing with an expert like me. Let her draw nearer and let Joke replace our ‘leaking’ bottles and also serve Mulikat, our special guest from the defunct Mile 12 pepper market.”
“Clown. Let me also reciprocate your nice gesture by ordering for three plates of steaming hot, goat-meat pepper soup, to make our beer bubble properly, in its journey through the oesophagus.”
“I commend your foresight. How did you know that Mulikat is brewery personified, her gender notwithstanding? Her friend told me she could drink as many as six bottles of beer at a sitting.”
“Really, I saw it on her face and her torso encampment. I have been drinking beer for upwards of 25 years; so I have virtually become an indisputable psycho-liquor analyst…but that aside, Kay, see the burden you have placed on me: to now date a chronic drunk simply because you want me to explore the world of a Mile 12 pepper seller.”
“Never mind. You will reap the dividends once you use your influence to get her a stall at the pepper wing of Tejuosho Market in
Lagos.”
“So how do I stand to benefit from the assistance?”
“Simple. She will ‘use you well’ and pass you on to the tomato seller, egg seller, ponmo seller, and all the other female traders. What a philandering heist!”
“Yeye man; you can invite your Mulikat to our table anyway. See…she’s happy. I’m sure she had been eavesdropping on our conversation while pretending to be dozing off.”
“That’s a clever pepper seller for you.”
