MICKEY JAY: MEMOIRS OF A LAGOS PLAYBOY (II)

June 9th, 2012.
04. 43am.

The promise of a brand new challenge is what makes me go on. I often wonder how people are content to live life without a challenge. My theory about life is you never really know who you are or what you are capable of till you push yourself; regardless of the endeavor, I might add. I love women. They are the rainbow in my black and white world. As long as I have lots of them in my life, my world is colorful.

Its been almost five days since I met Christy in that eatery establishment and since that moment, she’s formed an “occupy movement” in my head. I returned the favor and have bombarded her mobile with calls since tuesday. At first, she hadn’t been so free and nice to me but I wouldn’t stop. I called her shortly after I left the eatery; we talked briefly for ten minutes. I called her after the close of business for that day; we talked for nearly three hours. Between tuesday and today which is saturday, I’d sent her over thirty romantic text messages and about seven lengthy and romantic poems. During this period too, the calls increased exponentially. By thursday, she’d started calling me. We exchanged information about ourselves. She told me about her work, where she worked (I’d promptly sent a box of chocolates the moment I got that detail), her family, her life in most personal terms. I traded a couple of stories too; some truths, half-truths and some lies here and there (Don’t look at me like that). She loved to laugh and jokes came easy to me so she had her fill. We agreed to hang out friday night and she said she couldn’t wait.

Now, the trick is to fill her head with thoughts of me. Most guys don’t believe in it but it sure works. Women dream of and crave for attention. Most dudes don’t have that time, understandably so. But physical presence is not everything. Those little things: like that frequent one minute call to ask her opinion on something; that sweet two-worded text message which is the first thing she sees when she wakes up; that lengthy email you send in the thick of work to distract her temporarily; that joke; that unexpected gift…etc, those are the things that matter. Women have an over-active imagination and the fact that we’d just met once and I’d chased her with so much vigor made me a mystery, a sort of demi-god, a standard, a symbol of perfection before her eyes. But we all know that such perfection does not exist. We would rather be in love with the utopian illusion, no matter how temporal it is. Its the reason we adjust quickly because deep down, we know its all a lie.

Just when she was getting so used to me, so used to those calls, those poems, those text message; like a drought affected fountain, they ceased. Yesterday, I took the day off from work and her as well. I had planned to take the day off from work on friday and I did citing health concerns. I ignored her calls, text messages and emails all day long. By evening, she was frantic. Seventy two missed calls, eight text messages and five emails! Not bad, huh?

After a time, the calls, texts and emails stopped coming. It was time to seek her out. I left my house around six thirty pm and drove straight to her office hoping she hadn’t left yet. She hadn’t. The traffic was crazy and she usually loved to wait till it simmered down. I parked and waited looking rather dandy in my brown suede jacket, blue shirt, blue jeans and brown shoes. I caught not a few stares from many ladies but I’m sexy and I know it.(LMFAO!)

I had to wait for about forty minutes before she came out of the big revolving doors of the bank. It was nearly eight o’clock and apart from the from the fact that the weather had changed again, it was getting darker. However, the mental photo of the beautiful princess I met a few days ago slowly began to recede. She looked wired. Probably the stress of the day… and hopefully, me. She held her jacket in her hands, her shirt was terribly rumpled and her hair was a mess. However, there was something I’d missed out on that first day: she hadn’t stood up so there was no way I could have known about that coke bottle shape. Damn!

She got to her car, a blue Toyota RAV4 opened it and kept her bag in the passenger seat. I had my phone out and I dialed her number. She answered immediately.

“I don’t want to talk to you right now!” She vibrated. “You’ve ruined my day. I’ve been calling all morning, all afternoon! I sent you sms’s, I sent you mails yet you wouldn’t reply none of them…!”

I tried to cut in but she cut me off and continued with her rants. I really didn’t have anything to say anyway so I kept silent till she finished.
“Where are you?!”

“Right behind you…”

“What are you…” She turned and there I was with my best and most charming smile. 

“I hate you so much right now! Urggghh!” There was shock, a sigh of relief and a smile; all in a split second. 

“Am sorry love. I wanted to surprise you.” I said humbly. She gave me a look like “you got me but I still wish I could strangle you”. I laughed.

“You gotta admit, I got you cold!”

“I’m still mad at you. Don’t try to make it look like a joke. It isn’t funny.” She said earnestly but I knew she loved it. I extended my arms, my eyes inviting her and she came into them gratefully. We stood together in the car park, locked in each others arms for what seemed like eternity. I could perceive faint wafts of her perfume. My hand caressed her hair gently and she snuggled deeper into my chest till she became conscious of what seemed like a boner and she looked up at me, inquiring and a sheepish grin was my reply. She pushed me away gently.

“I missed you honey. I just realized that hope is such a beautiful thing. I couldn’t have survived this long without you were it not for hope.” I said. I moved closer and held her waist and looked into her beautiful eyes. She had this adorable look in her eyes like I’d just said what she needed to hear. The smile her beautiful lips created weakened me totally.

“I missed you too…” She said shyly and quietly.

“Christy…?” Another voice jolted us back to earth. I turned to see who the intruder was. Whoa! Another hottie!!

“Finally, I get to meet your mystery lover…” 

The intruder assessed me with her eyes and my eyes returned the favor. A little heavy but with that kind of voluptuousness that appeals to us guys. She had on a buttoned grey suit and a blue blouse inside it that made it look like her great breasts were struggling to jump out. Her skirt was very, very …mini. She was pretty with rosy cheeks. Her face was a bit heavily made up but it didn’t hide the fact that she was pretty and very sexy. The kind that could make a guy’s blood rush instantly on short notice. 

Her sudden appearance didn’t seem to please Christy one bit who put her arms around my neck as if to say “Back off!”. Yeah, women can be very territorial but there’s plenty of me and I can never be labeled stingy.

“Err…Mickey, this is a colleague. Her name’s Kemi.” Christy did the introduction and was quite stiff about it.

“Its a pleasure to meet you Kemi.” I said, flashing once again my winner smile. I extended my hand and Kemi took it, still appraising me.

“Same here, Mickey.” She held on to my hand a little longer than usual as she looked me in the eye. Christy had to break us up before a subtle message or two could be passed.

“Now I know why she’s been hiding you all this time. She’s got a live mouse this time.” She winked at me and I laughed heartily at the analogy. No smiles from Christy.

“Ok o. Let me not interrupt you guys. Nice to have met you dear.” She said to me. She leaned to Christy and whispered something to her, laughed, gave me a wink and she was gone.

Christy didn’t look too happy with the interruption. The mood sort of changed so I asked innocently, “You don’t seem to like her much.”

“Don’t think I didn’t see your eyes roving all over her body.” She replied, feigning anger.
Oh dear, I thought. She’d caught me but I responded in time. “Oh come on love. I was about to tell you something about something…” I said nodding mischievously at the lessened bulge in my pants. She smiled. I leaned closer without warning and kissed her softly on her lips. When I drew back, she looked perplexed.

“Why did you…” She never finished the sentence as my mouth found hers again and this time, she responded drawing me close. 

After what a while, she withdrew remembering we were still at her office premises, though it was all dark now.

“Where are you taking me tonight?” She asked, blushing and fumbling for her car keys.

“I had a great dinner planned at the Oriental but I’d honestly love to skip all that and take you home right away.” I said earnestly.

She laughed hard. “Are you always this direct?”

“I am direct but not always.” I replied smiling.

“I don’t imagine you have any food at your place. I’m feeling rather peckish and my back aches.” She rubbed her neck.

“My love,” I declared with a British accent, “it would be my pleasure to feed you and give you a massage. My hands have the magical quality of a masseur to them. Feel them…” I stretched them to her.

She laughed and pushed me away again. I leaned closer, caressing her hair. “So what’s it gonna be love? I’d really love to have a quiet night with you… alone. Haven’t we waited long enough?”

She looked at me, blushed and looked away.

“I promise we’ll only do what you want us to do…” I smiled.

“You’ll give me a massage?”

“You don’t have to ask love.” I smiled.

“Where did you park your car?” She asked. I pointed to the black Infinity FX 45 across the road.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be moving against the traffic and I’ve got some t-shirts that would fit you perfectly.” I gave my mischievous grin again. 

“You read my mind! You’re so naughty!” She hit me on my chest again, laughing. “So, lead the way. I’ll follow from behind.”

And the rest, as they say is history.

Watching her sleep like an angel on my bed with my t-shirt on while I write my memoirs with memories of last night fresh in my head, I can’t help but think that there just may be some unfinished business between me and what was her name again…? Ah yes, Kemi. The voluptuous one…

Its way too soon to think of that. I may just fall in love with Christy given time. She is a dreamer and a hopeless romantic. Pretty much like me. Perhaps, that’s what drew me to her. I may seem all hard and tough on the outside but I’m actually all soft and gooey on the inside. The hope of true love is what drives me, keeps me…but so does the promise of a new challenge. 

She stirs. I’d better head to the kitchen. Breakfast in bed coming up.

Malcolm O. Ifi.

Follow Malcolm on twitter @saymalcolm 

Copyright © 2012 Malcolm O. Ifi. 

LET'S JUST BLAME IT ON EVIL SPIRITS

Why people just hate to take responsibility for their misdeeds, gross ineptitude or the bad choices they make is beyond me. Perhaps, its a lot easier to play the blame-game; place the blame on someone or something. Doing this is basically the same thing as living in denial; to prevaricate and avoid getting to the point. The essence of any serious attempt at change is to accept responsibility. Once you identify you are the problem, the problem is half-solved. The second half is amending that characteristic flaw that negates positive movement.

Hajiya Zainab Kuchi, Minister of State for Power

 When I see people do this, I just laugh and tell them they are not ready to move forward. So you can imagine my surprise when I stumbled on a news report yesterday where the Minister of State for Power, Hajiya Zainab Kuchi said an evil spirit is behind Nigeria’s darkness preventing the country from taking her place of pride in the comity of Nations. She was reported to have said this when members of the African National Congress (ANC) (South Africa's ruling political party) led a team of investors to her office in Abuja. 

Her words, “We must resolve to jointly exorcise the evil spirit behind this darkness and allow this nation take its place of pride in the comity of Nations.”

Evil spirits...yeah, right! This is without doubt, the lowest form of excuse you will ever hear! It is only in Nigeria that a minister who was supposedly appointed based on her knowledge and expertise in the power sector will say this about the ineptitude of her office to tackle the challenge of inadequate power supply that has crippled the development of this nation since its birth. I won't even talk about the billions of dollars doled out year in, year out to fix this seemingly unsolvable aspect of our basic infrastructure. Were contracts awarded to evil spirits? If not, how are evil spirits to blame? Perhaps, its time we had a ministry for the exorcism of evil spirits. Those "men of God" that throng the halls of power and get paid for prayers obviously have not been effective enough.

Another statement credited to her ministry is, “Nigeria needs help, any nation that loves Nigeria must collaborate with it now to resolve her energy crisis…We are getting irritatingly slow.”

This appeal for help is embarrassing and shameless to say the least! Nigeria does not need outside help to solve her problems. No! She needs to realize that she is her own problem; that she is the solution to her own problems. For as long as she keeps having mentally challenged people in sensitive positions who are overwhelmed by the demands of service, she will keep begging for help from the outside world because she is either too lazy, or unwilling to do what needs to be done.

Seriously though, where do we find these people?! Just when you think the bar for stupidity can't be raised higher any further...

Malcolm O. Ifi.

Photo Credits: The Internet

USE YOUR GENERATOR NEXT TIME

After a long hard day yesterday, nothing could have prepared me for the drama of last night. It wasn't something so terrible as you might fear. It was actually amusing.

Picture this: You are at home on one of those rare evenings when power is on so there is a total absence of the racket that comes with the sound of generators; especially when you live in a large compound of about four flats of which you are one of the occupants and believe me, every occupant owns one of those big noisy generators. Just imagine the ruckus when they are all in use.

Let me deviate a little; I grew up in a university campus when things were a lot better than it is now. From the early 90's when I moved there up to the early 2000's, the campus was so well run. We had constant power supply, security, water and other trappings that come with what is expected of an academic environment. It was quiet and sane because we could count the number of people who had power generating sets. At a time, the school purchased a power plant that could power the whole school so no one really needed a personal generator.

However, as things deteriorated as they are often want to do since we lack a culture of maintenance, there was an overnight change. We could suddenly count those who did NOT own a generating set. The bottom line is, I was so used to that peace and quiet, that tranquility that comes with an academic environment so adjusting to the "outside world" was a bit problematic but I did it.

Where was I...? Oh yes! So I was having a rare moment of tranquil last night and was doing my night reading before sleep comes when power went off. The silence that accompanied was deafening. This was at about a few minutes past eleven pm. I decided that my neighbours had all gone to sleep because after about five minutes, I didn't hear the rumble of a generator in the compound. The weather was cool so I sighed in contentment. It was going to be a silent night. How wrong I was.

See Matter O!

I first heard sounds...funny sounds. I jumped up and checked around my house. Not here, I thought relieved. I settled down to attempt to sleep and this time, there was no mistaking it. Sounds of love making...at first, then sounds of rough, hard core sex! It was like listening to just the audio of an adult movie. The violent bed rocking against the wall, the rhythmic clap of body against body, the unhinged howl of pleasure and pain, the sexually explicit encouragement from the girl's lips...It was loud...too loud for the silent night!

One of my neighbours pinged me on my blackberry.

Neighbour: "U dey sleep?!"

Me: "How I wan take sleep with this kain noise?! I'm not sure they know how quiet it is outside."

Neighbour: "They know. They just don't care! See my kid is awake now."

I decided to go outside and as I stepped out, the volume of sex amplified. Choi! See audio mojo!! My neighbour was so angry because his four year old daughter was awake and you know kids of nowadays, very impressionable. He wanted to bang on Sex Lord's door but I stopped him. What is the use? Na you dey pay him rent? Put earphones over your daughter's ears. It will be over soon. Soon was about forty five minutes later when they both screamed like banshees, piercing further the silent night!

In civilized climes, my neighbour with the four year old daughter would have called the cops and they would have intervened in this...domestic nuisance by probably issuing out a warning of some sort or something. But in my country Nigeria, don't even think about calling the cops. The matter fit just get "K" leg from there.

Anyway, one thing is certain. The girl is going to be a regular visitor because my other "good ol' neighbour" put up a good show! I'll just have to advise him to at least, use that monster generator of his whenever she's around. It will help everybody.

Malcolm O. Ifi.  

Photo Credit: The Internet

COME TO EDEN

We love her but she hurts us
Not by her will
But by the will of those
She surrendered to
Our hearts bleed for her because
Her protectors rape her
And plunder her
And when that time comes
They come with gifts and flowers
Kisses and sweet words
And almost immediately
Her amnesia sets in
Or is it hope of change?
She is soft
She is kind
She is rich
She is beautiful
Above all, she is naïve
She has never known better
So her expectations are low

Come to us, we say
We will treat you better
Our heart yearns to have you
To hold you
To love you
We want to show you
The world anew
And see you realize
Your true potential
And put that smile
That melted hearts
Back on your face
So that we may feel joy
And content
At knowing you are ours
And we are yours
Come to us, O sleeping beauty
Let us change course
To calmer waters; to paradise
And leave those old farts behind.

Malcolm O. Ifi.

Follow on twitter @saymalcolm

RE-CHANNELING THE ANGER

“Anybody can become angry — that is easy, but to be angry with the right person and to the right degree and at the right time and for the right purpose, and in the right way — that is not within everybody's power and is not easy.”
- Aristotle

The politically aware Nigerian youth is the probably the most angry person in the world. This is more so because the heart is sore at injustice, and aggrieved to the marrow at the current political climate that has led the fortunes of this nation move in all directions but forward. In a nation that has been blessed in abundance in terms of natural and human resources, it is a wonder that she has continued to languish in mediocrity and infamy and wallow in unbelievable filth.

Our socio-political order has been so abused and crafted to perpetuate the situation where intellectually and morally bereft old cows are continually recycled to concretize a system that totally excludes the active participation of young, vibrant and independent minds from governance. In the face of a rapidly changing world, this anomaly has led to a steady decline in the importance of Nigeria as a hub to foster development in Africa. 

Since the inception of the fourth republic as ushered in by the PDP, Nigeria has witnessed an unprecedented wave of corruption and brigandage. This has been brought to the fore by the current administration under President Goodluck Jonathan that has seen the sum of N5 trillion stolen under its watch in less than three years in the face of dire economic consequences. It has been pointed out that looted funds between 1999 and 2012 surpass all loots between 1960 and 1999 in quantum, value and frequency. Now, we wonder how the return of democracy became our undoing.

With the impunity with which public officials act without any form of accountability; indulge in ostentatious lifestyles while at the same time, singing tunes of how the cost of its ineptitude and unwillingness to battle the well-fed monster called corruption should be borne by the masses, and a total abdication of its basic functions as government, it is no wonder why there is so much anger in the land. Unemployment is at its worst in the history of this nation with our decayed institutions of learning churning out thousands of graduates each year to flood an already saturated army of unemployed youths.

The dangers inherent in such a grim situation can never be over emphasized. The period of youthfulness is a time of activity. Whether such activity will be negative or positive is squarely up to the social climate and other germane factors. The continual negligence of this source of labour for nation building has gradually become a scourge to the system; the strength of this nation has become its achilles heel with the real potential of creating chaos. Anger is gradually giving way to all forms of inhumane considerations and leading us back to our basest state. Is it really rocket science to understand the increase in crime and steady erosion of what moral sanity is left?

One fact about life is if you want something done, you have to do it yourself. Gone are the days when we sit morose and wait in hopes that successive governments would herald better tidings. The time for active spectatorship is over. Nigeria is overripe for a revolution. It is time for all youths, employed and unemployed; educated and illiterate; christians and muslims to come together in unity and channel our collective anger towards the irresponsible powers and institutions that be. We are different but with a common ancestry. It is time to put all differences aside; be it tribal, religious, ideological or whatever. Our oppressors know us well enough and take advantage of our differences to continually devise means to sow seeds of discord to keep the battle amongst ourselves rather than directing our collective energies against them.

No good ever came without sacrifice. It is time to shed all personal aspirations for collective interests. It is time to revive the dead spirit of patriotism. It is time to create a new era of leadership by youths to replace these obsolete relics who seem determined to run the nation aground before 2015. Our anger must amplify our voices now more than ever in challenging the rot in our system. Our anger must be felt on the social media and in the streets. Our anger must be felt in the heat of the sun. We must take back our nation; our lives depend on it. I know I deserve better. How about you?

Malcolm O. Ifi.

Follow on twitter @saymalcolm

Photo Credit: Internet

FRSC SOCIAL MEDIA BLUNDER

The deleted tweet

Once again, we've come face to face with the shameless inefficiency of federal parastatals in Nigeria. About an hour ago, the twitter handle of the Federal Road Safety Commission (@FRSCNigeria) posted a tweet that a fully loaded Bus Rapid Transit (popularly known as BRT) ran off the Third Mainland bridge in Lagos, Nigeria and plunged into the lagoon. It said rescue efforts were ongoing. Immediately, without verifying, some online news agencies posted it and as it is with rumours, it spread.

After well meaning Nigerians who heard the news made efforts to confirm the tragedy by paying a visit to the Third Mainland Bridge, they were relieved but surprised to find it was a rumour. After several attempts to get confirmation from FRSC via their twitter handle, they deleted the tweet and claimed it was a "retweet". Such a brazen lie! When Nigerians who were misinformed by the false report demanded an apology, they, resorted to blocking such followers.

Response Tweet

I felt particularly insulted because I became an unwitting "rumour monger" in my bid to spread the news in order to ensure the victims got help in good time; as did so many other Nigerians. For the record, the Federal Road Safety Commission owes Nigerians an unreserved apology for such a blunder. If it is to extort Nigerians with the useless new car number plates that serve no sensible purpose, they have no qualms. In more civilized climes, this is sufficient ground for a law suit.

For the online news media companies that broadcasted the news without any form of verification and thereby, almost caused a nation wide panic, we now see how you do business. So long as it is bad news, whether verified or not, it sells right? God is watching all of you!

I hope somebody gets cautioned for this social media fiasco.

Malcolm O. Ifi.

Follow on twitter @saymalcolm

FINDING "YOU".

“The great majority of us are required to live a life of constant duplicity. Your health is bound to be affected if, day after day, you say the opposite of what you feel, if you grovel before what you dislike, and rejoice at what brings you nothing but misfortune.” -Boris Pasternak

Who are you? Are you who you want to be, who you are meant to be? Or are you just a walking shadow of yourself while exhibiting traits of another?

The search for true meaning and understanding of our purpose in life is a mental voyage that few subject themselves to. More are even unaware of the existence of such thoughts. They just go with the flow. This is a very dangerous trend that the world is following now, more especially among youths. 

This has led to an appreciable loss of originality. Most have become content and some even dependent on being spoon fed with opinions and fantasies of glamor which they accept without question as fact and the truth. No one wants to get out there to discover for himself. 

The truth of the matter is that technological advancements has made us lazy and complacent. The mind is an interesting thing. If it is fed properly with ideas that enjoin independence and search for the truth, it makes the individual possessing it thirst and seek out knowledge; knowledge born out of observation and experience and this becomes the reality for such a one. Greater minds take it farther and propagate as the truth stifling research into that topic for a considerable amount of time. Conversely, the mind is quite content to sit back and do nothing other than enjoy pleasures in the midst of plenty when it is fed only with notions of attaining pleasure.

The mind is deeply connected with our primal instinct. For some, a strong sense of survival or the urge to lead, the hunger for power guides them. This connection is inbred in every human but is more prominent in some. The difference between the strength of such inbred instinct is conviction. Conviction is the fiercest form of belief that can cause a man to discover the unbelievable and do the impossible. History is littered with tales of ordinary men who because of their convictions became extra-ordinary.

The goal of every man should be to discover first his conviction, his passion before handing himself over to education and religion which would then act as moral compasses. When a man imbibes dogma or values, there is the danger of becoming mentally restricted as a result of the heavy impositions associated with them. There is no danger in this because every individual has installed, a conscience. We know instinctively, what is right and what is wrong. This keeps the search to truth pure. This is the way of success. This is the way of discovering you. 

Happiness can not be found in anything man-made. Contentment can never be achieved by wealth. They can only be truly got from looking inward and listening to that voice that guides us. The measure for content, the standard for happiness is not by what we have, what we do but by who we are. And who we are is as created; god-like with the power to dream and bring dreams to life. God resides in us all and residues of His marvelous power exist within us to create as we were created. All we need do is tap into that hidden reserve.

What is your passion? What is your conviction? Have you found you yet?

“Your time is limited so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma; which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.” – Steve Jobs.

‘Nuff said! 

Malcolm O. Ifi.

Copyright © 2012 Malcolm O. Ifi.

Photo Credits: Internet

Mickey Jay: Memoirs Of A Lagos Playboy (I)

At last! Friday is here!! Dear readers of my blog, i present to you Mickey Jay: Memoirs of a Lagos Playboy. Please enjoy and your comments will be much appreciated! ;)

5th June, 2012.
2. 13pm

Today, during my lunch break I ran into this pretty lady. She said her name was Christy. She was about 5’7′, slim and well proportioned in perfectly cut dark suit and matching pants. A career woman from her outfit; most likely a banker. Now, I’ll let you know this upfront; I’m not looking to get settled just yet. I just want to have fun. I’m young, cool and handsome. I won’t say I’m rich but I do just fine. This was a much needed change from my steady routine of UNILAG…sorry, Moshood Abiola University babes (No thanks to Mr. President).

Before you call me spineless, hear me out. I don’t usually chase career women. You should know why. This is Lagos! It is teeming with single career women and 7 times out of 10, any single career woman you date is hoping you propose after six months of intense romance and hot sex. Not me. Call me selfish but I treasure my freedom too damn much. I don’t want to be wrapped around a woman’s fingers just yet. Actually, the last career woman I dated was a little over a year ago. Untangling myself from her web of possessiveness proved trickier than I thought with so many unsavory experiences; especially her exceptional detective skills that I’d rather not talk about. I’ll leave it at that.

Yes, Christy…she said her name was Christy. She wore her hair long and natural. She wore light make-up which perfectly accentuated her pretty face. She was fair in complexion in stark contrast to my dark. But then, fair complexioned ladies always found me attractive. She had ordered and was eating alone, deeply engrossed in her blackberry. I studied her as I ordered my lunch. I surmised she would be in her late 20′s or early 30′s. She didn’t wear much jewelry. No ring on her finger. She spent more time on her phone rather than on her nearly untouched meal; a clear indication she was in no hurry. However, the usual signals I usually seek before I moved in on a prey were absent (trade mark secrets so I ain’t telling!). Here was an absolutely confident woman who reeked of success. If there was any chink in her armor, she hid it well and to find it, I’d have to get close.

I picked up my lunch, paid for it and went straight towards her table. She seemed to take notice and she looked up at me. For a split second, I saw something in there as our eyes met. Yeah…I’m not bragging but I usually have that effect on women. She looked away as I got to her table. 

“Hi, hope you don’t mind if I join you?” I said. She looked up and shrugged. The silent treatment eh, I thought. I sat down directly across her and pretended to be engrossed in my meal. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her steal a look. She seemed be a bit uncomfortable with my nonchalant presence but didn’t make any attempt to leave. Nearly half way through my meal, I said, “I see you have hardly touched your meal for almost fifteen minutes now.”

My statement surprised her and she looked up from her mobile phone. I continued, “Hope everything’s ok?”

“You’ve been monitoring me, haven’t you?” She said, her voice low and sweet. A light smile had formed across her pretty lips.

“Well, I admit I have. You are certainly worth monitoring.” I said and flashed my most charming smile.

“I’m Michael…”, I said extending my hand which she took. Her hand was soft, very soft. “…but you can call me Mick.”

“I’m Christy.” She said, smiling. Beautiful lips.

“I have a confession Christy. One I hope you’ll bear with me for sharing” I said apologetically. “I woke up this morning with a very special feeling…one that I couldn’t explain, until now.”

“What do you mean?” She asked, a bit taken aback.

“There was something special about today that I didn’t understand but finally I did when I saw you.”

I saw many things in her eyes. Shock, incredulity, surprise but repulse wasn’t one of them. She dropped her phone close to her barely touched meal which consisted of just a plate of Coleslaw and surveyed me critically. I put on my game face, meal pushed aside.

“I’m impressed.” She said. “Those are excellent pick up lines. Do girls usually fall for them?” She asked, mockingly.

“They are not pick up lines,” I said calmly, maintaining my intense stare. 

“Merely an expression of my feelings. There was a promise of beauty in my life today and I’ve just come face to face with it.”

There was a small frown, but it was gone in a second. I could imagine the turmoil going through her mind. I had sowed a seed and it would germinate. My stare continued and she grew uncomfortable. She reached for her unopened bottle of water, almost knocking it down. With amazing reflex, I caught it, broke the seal and handed it back to her. Her fingers brushed mine as she retrieved it back. She unscrewed the cap, took two quick gulps and replaced the cap. 

“What do you want from me?” She asked.

“Just your number” I said meekly as I brought out my phone and handed it to her. She took it without hesitation and typed in her number. I dialed the number as soon as she handed my phone back.

“Don’t you trust that I gave you the right number?” She asked, laughing.

“There’s that but I want you to have my number as well.” I said smiling. Her phone vibrated on the table and I cut the call. I rose up.

“Christy, you just made my day.” I extended my hand again and when I received hers, this time I kissed it. She went bright red.

Without another word, I turned and walked towards the exit. I could feel her eyes boring holes in my back and I was suddenly cautious about missing a step. It was a relief to walk out the eatery establishment without any form of mishap. She would be mine by weekend. 

(To Be Continued...)

Malcolm O. Ifi.

Follow on twitter @saymalcolm

Copyright © 2012 Malcolm O. Ifi.

CHELSEA AND ALL ITS DRAMA

Roberto Di Matteo

The axe came down on Roberto Di Matteo as Chelsea coach in the early hours of yesterday morning after a woeful 3-0 loss to Juventus in the UCL on Tuesday. In many ways, I had been expecting the sack knowing the impertinence of Chelsea owner, Roman Abramovich and especially with regard to Chelsea's recent poor form both in the League and in Europe. However, I think this was an unjust way to treat a coach whose name will forever be etched in the history of Chelsea FC as the first manager to lead the club to UCL glory barely six months ago.

I can't blame the owner though. A lot of money was pumped into the team this season to acquire the choice signings of Hazard and Oscar and with those two in the same team, a lot of magic really ought to happen. What is baffling though is the fact that a certain erstwhile-potent-now-turned-barren #50 million striker Fernando Torres has continued to sit pretty through all this. I mean, his goal per coach record since he joined Chelsea is awful to say the least. He is a painful reminder of the days of Andriy Schevchenko in Chelsea. Both were great players in their previous clubs until they came to Chelsea (I shan't say more than this lest I become fodder for irate Chelsea fans).

Fernando Torres

Rafa Benitez

Well, the news of Di Matteo's replacement finally came through and surprisingly...quite surprisingly, it turned out to be former Liverpool coach Rafa Benitez. Seriously, I'll love to have some of what Abramovich is smoking. Benitez?! I'm not even going to chronicle the failures of that guy as a coach since he left Liverpool but I guess he who pays the piper dictates the tune and Benitez seems quite ready to redeem his good name. His appointment to me is a gamble and the final chance for Fernando Torres to break the yoke of barreness or be cast out unceremoniously as another bad investment. If that's the case, Torres is truly favoured by the gods. Who knows? Rafa may just be the miracle Torres has been praying for. I definitely would love to see his barren streak come to an end because regardless of his massive misfortune at Chelsea, he's still a great player.

Congratulations to Rafa Benitez anyway. I hope you beat the shit out of Manchester City! (Yeah, you guessed right. I'm a Manchester United fan. Hehehehehe....)

Malcolm O. Ifi.

Follow on twitter @saymalcolm

Photo Credits:  http://www.dailymail.co.uk

BLACK FRIDAY

It was a friday evening; a long awaited one for Ibukun, Damilola and Chikwelu. They had worked their butts off for two straight weeks, traveling from state to state. They were IT personnels for one of the largest new generation banks in Nigeria. They were an envied lot in their offices as they were the only staffs of the bank that kept irregular work hours and were not mandated to keep to a particular dress code. In fact, watching them now, you would have trouble believing they were staffs of a bank. Ibukun was wearing a blue jeans trouser with a blue T-shirt with an angry smiley and the words inscribed, “Boys Are Not Smiling.” It was ironical because right now, his laughter reverberated the empty banking hall as they strolled towards the exit. Damilola had on a plain white T-Shirt, soiled with pepper sauce, the cause of Ibukun’s bellow, and combat shorts with the pockets bulging with tools. He was munching away at a lap of peppered turkey they had ordered earlier. Chikwelu was a couple of steps behind, talking intimately to his girlfriend on the phone. He was dressed in a well starched and sparkling white shirt and light blue jeans and a pair of blue sneakers. He was the most dressed of the trio.

Their itinerary began on Tuesday last week with a trip from Lagos to Enugu. They were there for three days working on a crashed server in two of the bank’s branches when another call came in. They headed to Benin where they spent two days. From Benin, they headed to Kano where they spent a day before boarding the morning flight to Port Harcourt. They had been in Port Harcourt for almost seven days now and were due to return to Lagos the next day. The back-breaking work they had done for two weeks without break had taken its toll. There weren’t too tired but they just needed a good time.

“Have you called Tony?” Ibukun asked, suddenly reminding Chikwelu who had joined them after he got off the phone.

“I haven’t o. Make I call am now sef.” Chikwelu said, whipping out his iPhone and dialing. 

“I hope Tony won’t dull us? I’m stressed out man. I need to cool off. I just need one fine yarinya to keep me company tonight.” Ibukun said, with excitement.

“Which kain useless man you be?” Damilola asked in between chomps. “Nor be you just do introduction last month?”

“Ehen?! Nor be only introduction? I never marry yet jor?” Ibukun replied, dismissively.

“Even when you finally get married, I know you won’t stop chasing women.” Damilola jeered.

“You don be seer now abi? This one when you don see my future finish.” Ibukun retorted, throwing a soft but unexpected punch at Damilola’s shoulder. His half eaten turkey lap fell from his grip and bounced on the beautiful marble floor of the banking hall.

“You see wetin this fool don do?” Damilola complained to Chikwelu, who remained behind, talking on the phone. Ibukun burst into laughter as he dodged a kick from Damilola.

“Abeg Dami pick you meat jare. Anybody dey look you?” Ibukun continued, laughing. Damilola shrugged and picked up the fallen piece of meat. He blew on it with all the force he could muster to dislodge any dirt that might have stuck to it from the marble floor. Ibukun continued to laugh.

“I nor blame you.” Damilola said as he resumed dealing with the big chunk of peppered meat. Chikwelu joined them again as they approached the revolving doors.

“Ok, Tonero has three hot girls. They are all bankers and they are looking to have a good time.” Chikwelu said excitedly.

“My nigga! I knew you won’t fail!!” Ibukun said, raising a palm for a high five which was smacked.

“Three girls? I told you guys I’m not getting involved in this one.” Damilola said.

“C’mon man! Don’t be a pussy. We are in PH man. Its Sin City!” Chikwelu said, chiding Damilola.

“One bad experience is not enough for you to…” Ibukun began to say, but a fast kick by Damilola on the knee made him buckle as Chikwelu roared in laughter.

“You want to say something?” Damilola said in mock menace to Ibukun.

“Bros, abeg! Na joke I dey o.” Ibukun said in mock fear laughing.

They stepped outside the bank premises and the warm air outside was a welcome change from the low temperature room where they had been cooped all day. It was a little after 10: 30pm and they waited as their driver drove up to them. Chikwelu went to speak to Jonah, the head security man briefly before he joined them in the car. They always left him the passenger seat because he was the taller of the three. 

“So, where to now?” Damilola asked.

“The hotel. We need to freshen up and meet Tony at that club we went to last time.” Chikwelu replied. The driver started the car and drove out.

“Abeg, make we find where we go buy condom first. I’m out of stock.” Ibukun said. The driver, the man they called Eliri, courtesy Ibukun because of his diminutive stature laughed.

“See Eliri dey laugh o. I know say una PH girls no good so I must protect myself.” Ibukun retorted.

“I’ve got some in my bag in the hotel. Since I’m not joining you guys tonight, you can use my supply.” Damilola said.

“So you’re really not joining us tonight? Na wa for you o!” Chikwelu exclaimed from the front seat.

“You won’t understand. The kind of relaxation I need is just beer!” Damilola said.

“Dami, you too like drink sef! Ah ah!” Ibukun chipped in.

“And you too like woman.” Damilola retorted. 

As they drove into their hotel, Chikwelu’s phone rang again. He spoke briefly and hung up.

“Its Tony. He’s at the hotel bar already.” He said.

“That’s my cue. My drinking starts now.” Damilola said as he stepped out of the Toyota Yaris.

“Ok. You keep him company while we freshen up.” Ibukun said to Damilola. At Eliri, he said, “You dey with us na, abi?”

“I dey with una bros.” Eliri replied in his characteristic squeaky voice that matched his stature. The last time they were in Port Harcourt, they had kept him supplied with enough booze. Eliri was a champion. He seemed to have an unlimited reservoir for alcohol without ever getting drunk, despite his diminutive stature. “Small but mighty” Ibukun had called him. 

A few minutes later, Chikwelu and Ibukun emerged from their hotel room, having changed their work clothes and strolled to the bar, where Damilola, Tony and three ladies were sitting. Tony had already taken the liberty to order a bottle of Jack Daniels and Power Horse, on Chikwelu’s tab which he drank with the ladies. Damilola remained loyal to Arthur Guiness and was on the second black bottle. The ladies were cute but heavily made up and were almost identically dressed in the skimpiest dresses you’ll ever see. They were plump and they all seemed to have big jugs. Chikwelu paired up with the fair one while Ibukun rubbed his palms together in satisfaction. It was going to be a long night. In fact, they had no idea how long a night it would be.

They all rose and bade Damilola farewell, asking him one last time to join them but he refused. He just wanted to drink till he was high enough to go to sleep.

“Don’t forget our flight is for 8: 30am. I don’t want to miss it because of you guys.” He said. Ibukun made a funny face at him and they left.
………………………………………………

It was 7: 15am before Damilola stirred. He’d drunk himself aground last night and couldn’t remember how he got to the bed. He felt groggy with a bad hangover. However, all that cleared when he glanced at his watch.

“Shit! Shit!!” He exclaimed as he jumped out of the bed and rushed into the bathroom. Fifteen minutes later, he was out of the bathroom and was fully dressed when he decided to call the boys. Chikwelu’s phone was switched off; Ibukun didn’t answer his.

“I hope these boys are not still sleeping o?” He muttered to himself. He arranged his bag and then went to search them out. They had taken adjoining rooms. He knocked on Room No. 23 and 24.

“Chikwe! Ibukun!!” He called. “We are already late o. Its almost 8 o’clock. Our flight is in thirty minutes.”

No answer.

He knocked harder, yelling louder but apparently, they weren’t in the room. He strolled down to the bar while dialing Ibukun’s number. The phone rang without any response. He changed his mind and went to the reception.

“Did my friends come in last night?” He asked the uniformed lady across the counter.

“Your friends? I’m sorry sir but my shift just started a couple of minutes ago.” 

Seeing how troubled he looked, she asked, “Is there a problem sir?”

“Not really…” He said, unsure of himself. “If I could only get them on the phone…” He continued, more to himself than to her, his phone pressed to his ear.

“The doorman’s shift is done but he’s still around sir. Perhaps he could help you…?” She asked.

“Perhaps, he could…” He was about to hit redial when a call from an unregistered number came in.

“Hello?”

“Oga…” The voice on the phone said breathlessly. “Na me.”

“Eliri?” Damilola asked. 

“Oga wahala dey o.” There was a voice in the background that said, “focus on your driving” distinctly. The phone exchanged hands.

“Dami, we are on our way to the hotel now. Get your bag ready, we are leaving this town now!” The urgency in Chikwe’s voice was shocking.

“What is going on…” But he was cut short.

“Get the spare keys and check us out immediately. We are getting close to the hotel. And withdraw plenty cash from that atm terminal close to the hotel!” He hung up.

Dami sensed something terrible was up and instantly he rose to the occasion. In a few minutes, all that was required of him was done while he waited impatiently at the reception with trepidation.

Shortly after, the glass doors slid open and a dirty, bruised Chikwelu with tattered, blood stained clothes stepped in with urgency. Damilola rose at once and Chikwelu went to meet him.

“Why are your clothes tattered? Why are you bruised? Were you guys in a fight? Where is Ibukun? What happened?” All these questions gushed out in one breath but Chikwelu remained silent and picked up the two bags on the floor containing laptops and other tools and headed for the exit. Damilola followed suit, half expecting an explanation. Every one at the reception knew something was amiss and the gossips started. It was only when they stepped outside that Chikwelu spoke.

“We were mobbed outside the club. Ibukun is barely alive!” He said with a shaky voice.
Damilola was shocked beyond words and stopped in his tracks. 

“Come on! We have just a few minutes to make it to the airport. Its not safe to remain in this town for one more second than is necessary!” He shouted angrily. 

Damilola, totally confused, hurried up as they strode to the now battered Yaris. Chikwelu entered the back seat and motioned for Damilola to enter the front seat. Even Eliri was not spared. His clothes were torn and he had a nasty gash on his fore head. There were shards of broken glass from his door window all over the car. He came out and hurriedly put the bags in the trunk while the engine was running. 

It was when Damilola entered the passenger seat that he saw the bloodied and limp form of Ibukun in the back seat. Tears welled up in his eyes and his throat dried up. Ibukun had a bandage around his head, his chest was bare and bloody, with multiple stab wounds, which were bandaged. Some of the exposed ones were deep with a tinge of purple, others were just lacerations. His eyes were swollen, his nose was bleeding.

“We have to take him to a hospital.” Damilola said hoarsely when he found his voice. 

“No.” Ibukun said, weakly. “Let’s just go home.”

“We just dey come from clinic.” Eliri said.

“No airline will allow us fly like this.” Damilola insisted.

“We’ll clean him up and change when we get to the airport.” Chikwelu said rather calmly. “Before we board, call the office to send an ambulance to the airport.”

Damilola nodded as they rode in silence to the airport.

……………………………………………… 

Ibukun died two days later in a Lagos hospital while in the arms of the woman he loved but never had the chance to marry. The details of what happened that friday night remains in doubt as they are sketchy. It was gathered from the party goers in the club that Ibukun was trying to rob someone outside the club when the mob descended on him. 

Chikwelu was in the rest room when it all began and came out to find his friend being mobbed and joined the fray to save his friend. 

It was Eliri who saved them from the irate mob. He drove into the thick of the lynching with horns blaring, knocking down some members of the mob when he saw his benefactors being beat up outside. The mob cowardly stepped back and Chikwelu, thinking fast, forced a half dead Ibukun and himself into the car which sped off before the mob had a chance to recover.

Tony and the three plump ladies were no where to be found.
Of course, Ibukun was no thief but till now, nobody knows what really happened.

NB: This story is dedicated to the four victims who were brutally murdered by members of the Aluu Community in Port Harcourt on trumped up and unverified allegations of theft.

May God rest their souls.

Amen.

Follow Malcolm on twitter @saymalcolm

First published October 9, 2012; 11:20am at http://saymalcolm.wordpress.com/2012/10/09/black-friday/

Hey fellas, 

Still trying to get a hand of blogger and so far, its been a challenging but rewarding experience. I'm learning new stuffs about blogger everyday so I must give a special shout out to Foma (http://www.warrigirl.com) for being there for me and making this transition progress from wordpress to blogger a smooth one. You rock!

In my first introductory post, I said I was going to import just some of my works from wordpress which so far has included articles, poetry and short stories. In the next couple of days, I'll be upping the ante by introducing to my new audience my hit series; Mickey Jay: The Memoirs of a Lagos Playboy. I'll be posting an episode every friday until I bring you all up to speed to the current episode. I assure my new readers a fun time as you go through the excapades of Mickey Jay or as a refresher for my older readers.

If you enjoy the Mickey Jay series, please be kind enough to post a comment and share so your friends and associates can enjoy it too.

So the drum roll begins till friday for the first episode. I'm excited. Are you?

Cheers!

Malcolm O. Ifi.

THE AUDACITY OF HOPE

“And Obama wins again!”

This was the final report that brought about wild jubilation in the United States of America and in many parts of the world, notably Nigeria. The social media was filled with comments about the just concluded United States Presidential election in which the democrat candidate and incumbent president, Barack Obama defeated hands down his republican opponent, Mitt Romney. The concession and victory speeches of Romney and Obama respectively were as usual, brilliant pieces of oratory; speeches that evoke hope for a brighter tomorrow for Americans.

However, while majority of Nigerians celebrated the victory of Obama at the polls, a group of misfits and skeptics took to the podium of social media to castigate the millions of Nigerians who celebrated the victory of democracy as it should be and for some, it became a bitter war of words. As I monitored this puerile war of words, I had to wonder at the evident myopia of those who decided that the victory of Obama “does not affect the price of garri in the market”.

Nigeria’s political arena has never provided this much excitement in terms of vibrant ideological evangelism, highly intellectual verbal discourse and the smooth functionality of foundationally sound institutions. The election that brought in the Goodluck Ebele Jonathan-led administration was totally bereft of these qualities. I remember with disgust, how millions of Nigerians thronged to the polls to elect a president who had no inspiring antecedents or impeccable moral orientation and displayed a prominent absence of intellect regardless of the prefix attached to his name. I remember with sadness, how Nigerians campaigned and voted for a man solely on ethnic sentiments.

Today, we are all witnesses as to how such myopic deeds can inflict severe hardship on us. I still find it utterly shocking when people still profess loyalty to the GEJ-led administration, when all we have seen are the mindless looting of the commonwealth of Nigeria by public officials, the out-of-control spiral of corruption coupled with mere lip-service to tackle it and a total lack of commitment to any form of development. It is sad that a lot of Nigerians live in an alternate reality to have been so befuddled by the ineptitude of governance in Nigeria today.

Despite this, majority of Nigerians are desirous of change in the way the system is run. This is why we followed the US Presidential elections with keen interest. The aim was not to abandon our nationality with all its contradictions and aspire to be Americans; no. The aim was simply to watch and learn how electoral campaigns should be carried out, how electoral bodies organize credible elections and how candidates ought to conduct themselves during and in the aftermath of elections. We only hope our public officers watched and have learned a thing or two from Mitt Romney’s concession speech and understood the importance of imbibing the spirit of sportmanship rather than the “do-or-die” attitude.

This is why I find it appalling and rather hypocritical that some of the same people who come on social media to rant about Nigeria’s misfortune in governance berate Nigerians who have rejoiced with Americans on Obama’s victory. These are the same people who are avid supporters of clubs in the English Premier League. I now ask, your support of Manchester United, Chelsea and the likes, how does it affect the price of garri in the market?

It is perfectly natural to defer to and enjoy a system that works. If our electoral system and our institutions were functioning reasonably, perhaps we wouldn’t have need to wonder about America, Obama and Romney. If our Premier League was properly managed, perhaps we wouldn’t cheer Manchester United, Chelsea and the likes more than we cheer Enyimba FC of Aba, Kano Pillars and the likes. Our democracy is young, just a little over a decade old but in today’s fast paced world, it is a shame that we have not made any positive strides in governance. The world will not wait for us to open our eyes and develop.

It is the prayer of every well-meaning Nigerian that one day, Nigeria will rise above the challenges she faces today. But we can never move forward or effect change without a model. Obama is a model for leadership and statesmanship; American democracy is a model for the shambolic system we currently operate and call democracy; the English Premiership is a model of how we sorely hope that one day, our Nigerian Premiership will be run.

That my friends, is the audacity of hope.

Malcolm O. Ifi.

Follow on twitter @saymalcolm

First published on November 7, 2012; 10:39 at http://saymalcolm.wordpress.com/2012/11/07/the-audacity-of-hope/

THE NIGHTMARISH RECEPTION

I attended the wedding reception of a friend two weeks ago. It was a very colorful and festive affair. I must admit I was highly impressed at everything I saw. It was something like a societal ball for the high and mighty and the rich and famous. There was an even sprinkling of a few celebrities, ranging from the business moguls, fashion icons, public officials to professional career men and women. It was complete with a red carpet to herald the guest entry.

To the unknown passerby, this occasion could easily have been mistaken for a celebrity fashion show. Stunning and outrageous outfits were on full display here to add to the pomp and pageantry of the affair. The invited guests used the opportunity to display eccentric tastes in fashion and style and they did so ostentatiously. On entering the venue of the reception (the only part of weddings I normally attend, save in rare cases), I was again taken aback by the great architecture of the twelve storied hotel. It was simply breath-taking. It had two great and masterfully crafted beams holding the entrance to the building. An a escalator rode people up to the great gold doors covered with murals of angels. The walls were clothed in unique marble. Gold and diamond shone from the expensive chandelier that hung upward. There was a great water fountain at the middle of the spacious car park with an amazing sculpture of an angel, presumably the Archangel Michael from whose mouth water gushed rhythmically. Guests flocked around the fountain to take snapshots of themselves in front. It was a marvelous hotel. I tried to make a mental calculation of how much this would cost for one honest and hard working man to build and I decided not to bother as my brief mental estimation led me to “error” as usually displayed in calculators when values exceeding its limits were put in for a solution.

The car park was a sight to behold. It was like a car show. All assortments of choice cars ranging from American, to German, to Italian, to Japanese were neatly assembled. It was a smorgasbord of automobiles from every corner of the earth and my brain kept blinking “error” each time I tried to make mental calculus of the cost of all cars combined. The families of the bride and groom were obviously well-to-do and well known in high society and with them came their rich friends.

There was a brief commotion behind me and several gasps of approval as the newly wedded couple arrived the scene. When I turned to have a look I was astounded. A white stretch SUV Limo stood in the drive way. I nodded in admiration as the bride stepped out of the carriage looking like a modern day Cinderella, all smiles. Her wedding gown was exquisitely fashioned and flowed greatly. Her bridal train consisting of six beautiful ladies accompanied her as they came down from the long vehicle. Then came the grooms men, looking smart in their well-cut grey tuxedos. My colleague, the groom came out last. His all white outfit elicited approval from everyone; from the white and obviously expensive brogue shoes, up to his expensive white suit. Unlike his bride however, his facial expression was bland with no smiles. For a second I wondered why. Its your wedding man, be happy but then I checked myself. The groom is usually never the happy one as his mental state during weddings is all about figures and costs. However, I was soon to discover that was not the case.

Around me, out came the gadgets! The i-Phones, the i-Pads, the Galaxies and what have you to take shots of the couple alighting from their royal carriage. My digital camera hung on my neck and I took a couple of snap shots to keep these moments alive. It was going to be an interesting wedding.

After the dance of the couple to their specially reserved seat (a dance which I observed the groom “moved” rather stiffly to the tune of Today Today by Eldee), we sat down in a royally-furnished hall. Bright lights blinked everywhere. The interior decor was top-notch. The smartly uniformed waiters gave us our first sip of Champagne for the day with the promise of more to come. Hmmm…my colleague really went out on a limb on this one. The atmosphere was charged naturally with excitement as there was plenty to eat and drink. The hundred or so guests settled down expectantly while the reception formalities went on. Orders were taken, food and drinks were served. The MC went on and on with his insufferably boring jokes and tales and I was amazed when people laughed long and hard. I must have lost my sense of humor, I thought. The hall buzzed with the small talk that accompanied these kind of meals. I sat with two paired guests who wouldn’t stop yapping about the food. 

I concentrated my attention on the groom who appeared to start drinking a bit early for my taste. The expression of joy on his brides face had wilted considerably as she issued silent pleas to him. I had a very strong sense of foreboding. Something was definitely not right. A waiter stood efficiently at his side and ensured his glass was never empty.

The reception proceeded successfully as the usual formalities went on and the numerous guests had their fill of food and wine. Then came the time came for a toast to the bride and the groom. From then on, things spiraled out of control! The best man stood up and took a glass of Champagne and the microphone to give his most likely properly rehearsed speech when the groom stood, albeit shakily.

“That’s enough Fred. I think I can handle my toast just fine.” He said, his words slurring. He stood unsteadily and grabbed the microphone. This was strange. His speech time hadn’t come yet! 

Fred was surprised. So was everybody and the hall went silent for about ten seconds as everybody wondered what was going on. The silence was loud and felt like forever. The clatter of plates with forks, knives and spoons stopped as did the popping of bottles, clink of glasses and even the occasional interference on the PA system. If a pin had dropped at that instant, it would have been deafening. The MC, in an attempt to quell this unplanned intrusion to an already perfect schedule walked towards the high table where the bewildered bride was seated alone but was stopped halfway.

“Mr MC! Have a seat. I’m taking over from here. Fred, have a seat please.” The groom said calmly now, very much in control. He strolled back to his position, next to his bride.

His bride held his hands anxiously in a bid to coax him to calmness when he shrugged her off roughly. Fred slowly sat down wondering what was up. I’d met Fred a couple of times in a couple of our heavy friday night outing sessions in the past. A loud mouth and an irritant when the booze was in. Didn’t fancy him much.

“I want to thank you all for coming to my wedding, the groom continued. It has been a day I have looked forward to for as long as I can remember; after I met this stunningly beautiful woman and asked her to marry me.”

Mixed feelings. My gaze shifted to the bride. Beautiful and perplexed. The murmurs continued in the hall.

“We dated for three years. THREE WHOLE YEARS…before I mustered the courage to ask her to marry me. And she said yes.” He said, looking at her.

“In those three years, I remained chaste, faithful, respectful and committed to no one but her. All I wanted in return was what I gave. I wanted her to reciprocate my love…” His voice broke.

The tension in the hall was palpable. The bride was shocked beyond words. She stood up and held his hands. We could hear snatches from the microphone.

“….honey….is the problem? ….is the matter? …you drunk?”

“Sit down, woman!" He yelled. "You are the problem! And I’m not drunk. I’m just heartbroken.”

The brides father rose in anger and so did many other family members on the side of bride. This was an insult.

“How dare you?! He shouted, red with rage. How dare you insult my daughter! I always suspected you were a worthless man!!” He raged on. So did the wife. Others followed suit. It was pandemonium. I watched on in shocked silence.

On the grooms side, there was shock and silence. The close cousin to the groom who was also one the grooms men quickly walked towards the groom with Fred meekly following. There was a heated argument between groom and cousin and as Fred joined the fray, the groom, who held a half-empty glass of wine, poured the contents on Fred’s face before anybody could react! The hall ignited in screams and shrieks of shock and excitement. A lot of guests got on their feet. Once again, the i-Phones, the i-Pads, the Galaxies came out to video this unexpected scene.

“That guy, he said, pointing to Fred, is my best friend…my best man! The kind that will smile in your face and stab you when you turn your back.”

At this, the bride gave a loud wail and fainted.

“Aah. He mocked, she’s finally gotten the picture.”

Family members rushed to her aid and tried to resuscitate her. By this time, speculations filled the air. The hall was abuzz with movement as guests surged forward towards the stage of the action. It was nearly a stampede as nobody wanted to miss out on this unexpected drama. The father of the bride, in a bid to avert what was fast turning into a horrible situation, in a loud voice requested everyone to leave the hall; that there were some family issues to sort out and of course, he was ignored. 

“Don’t leave. All the food and drink I paid for are for your enjoyment. I have a nice story to tell about what transpired last night.” He loosened his tie and took off his jacket. He was sweating profusely now despite the low temperature in the hall due to the large split unit air conditioners that were on at full blast.
The bride came to and after a brief conversation with the family that surrounded her, she rushed to her husband’s feet, tugging and begging. He seemed to consider for a few seconds before he strode away. She held on to his trousers as he struggled to move.

“Leave me alone woman. Or would you rather tell the story?” He asked.

“Honey please! She screamed, with tears in her eyes. Don’t do this to us! I love you. It was a mistake. It’ll never happen again!”

In the ensuing commotion, I noticed Fred gradually retrace his steps to the nearest exit to flee the scene. I swung into action and intercepted him firmly.

“Going somewhere?” I asked menacingly, enjoying myself immensely.

He backed away in terror. I was six feet tall and muscular. He knew he stood no chance against me.

“Please, don’t allow that Judas leave. He must feel the indignation of my guests for what he did.” I replied with a quick nod. The full attention of about a hundred or so eyes faced him. I felt the energy of condemnation in their stare as I stood right behind him. He was as guilty as sin and suddenly I pitied him. Seeing no way out, Fred went down on both knees, his head down and said, “Perry, just kill me now and be done with it. I don’t deserve mercy.”

The murmur of the crowd arose and fiery insults were hurled at Fred. For a moment, I feared for his safety.

Perry replied with contempt, “I’m no murderer. I just want to expose you for the false friend you are.”

To the crowd of guests who looked on anxiously, he said, pointing to Fred, “This friend whom I chose as my best man; a childhood friend, the brother I never had has been sleeping with this woman behind my back!”  He pointed to his wife on the floor by his feet, wailing in her beautiful white wedding dress, her make-up ruined. It was a horrible sight. My heart ached as I saw the life of this beautiful woman go up in flames on what was supposed to be her happiest day. All for a moment of stolen passion, a moment of indiscretion.

Exclamations and loud murmurs took over. Suddenly, I felt complicit in this show of shame and I regretted it deeply. The bride’s father put his hands on his head in shame as his wife shook with tears by his side. Others shook their heads in disbelief. The evils that spewed from the mouth of some of these beautifully dressed guests was unimaginable. I left my guard post behind Fred for fear that the invectives would affect me and my unborn kids.

Perry continued his narrative of the events that transpired the previous night. How he found them humping the life out of each other in his sitting room floor when he stole out of his bachelor eve party in search of Fred who was to have arrived back at the party with the drinks he was sent to fetch. I felt sick to my stomach at the sordid details that spewed from Perry who was now fully under the influence of alcohol. The electronic coverage of this nightmare continued with the numerous gadgets. In a few minutes, It would be all over YOUTUBE, facebook and twitter. I tried to imagine a caption for what I’d just witnessed but my wit failed me. A few people had begun to leave already. I took a cue from them and agreed it was time for me to leave too. I grabbed an unopened bottle of Hennesey and strolled to my car outside the magnificent building. I’ll have to drink myself silly and hope to forget this experience…this joyful occasion turned nightmare. But I had to ask myself, was it really worth all the trouble? Why didn’t Perry call off the wedding? Why embarrass his wife and her family and even himself in this way? 

Some people just can’t handle heart break, can they?

Malcolm O. Ifi.

Follow Malcolm on twitter @saymalcolm

First published on June 8, 2012; 10:13 am at http://t.co/hvRTVPXn