Abracadabra

I remember vividly when my cousin bought his first car; it was in the summer of 2009. Images of that gold coloured Honda Accord a.k.a End of Discussion still appear in my sleep sometimes. Although previously owned by three different people in Michigan, it was like new to Ken, who wouldn't let the semi-asphalt semi-loam Lagos roads rest in peace.

 Ken had bought his EOD at the time every guy below the age of 25 dreamt of cruising around town in this shark-eyed metallic monster. The idea of dictating the direction and pace of this steed brought about a sudden rush of adrenaline in the average sane cum social youth. Consequently, many were consigned to lives of wishful indulgence while others ate with the devil using long spoons.

Unlike many others, Ken landed his EOD with full options without resorting to clandestine activities. Shortly after lady luck smiled on him, he found himself driving his dream car from the port. You should have seen the faces of his haters, the bile spewing on their insides everytime he commandeered his automobile.

 Sadly, he got carried away by the ease of mobility, the miraculous appearance of ever cheering 'friends', the unsolicited attention he enjoyed from 'strange women' and the hero-worshipping gazes he endured from the eyes of total strangers. Lost in his new swag, he revelled in the euphoria of the moment, leaving all other necessities often neglected.

 The longevity and maintenance of his machine never crossed his mind. He just loved to 'cruise', 'set p' and 'ball tight'. For a few months he managed to fuel the tank, pay for the occasional tire inflation and he was good to go.

 Nature began to scold him starting with an overheated engine, then a broken gasket, then a severed timing belt, then a clogged oil filter, then a transmission logic error, then a detached bumper, then a dented rear half, then two stolen side mirrors. As if that was not enough, he shattered the windshield courtesy of a reckless danfo driver who hopped lanes haphazardly. 

During an attempt to hastily overtake a long vehicle, Ken got his boot transformed from what seemed like a calabar woman's behind to a script of a failed math test. By the time Ken deemed it fit to overhaul the car, it was already totalled. The mechanic advised him to scrap the car rather than spending a ridiculously high amount on its repairs.

 A few weeks later, Ken was back on the road but as a commuter this time. His motorist days were over, due to his poor maintenance culture, myopia and his blatant disregard for caution. How sad it was for we, his attachés!

 Use whatever you have carefully with an eye to the future or have your Burger turned into Bread and Akara like my cousin, Ken.

 The choice is yours.

Penny Wise, Pound Foolish

With a thirsty throat, tired legs and a sweaty body, I crashed onto the nearest sofa, carelessly dropping the heavy bags I had brought along. In less than a minute, I was in deep sleep.

 It had been a long day of shopping for me; I combed the ever busy Balogun market frantically in search of bargains and eventually left her, a victor; spending way below budget despite the dreadful prices tendered by the greedy traders and the similitude of fire beamed on the earth by mother nature.

 My heroics at the market place encouraged the intuition of electronic shopping. With another N10,000 to play with, I deemed necessary to purchase the much needed Beats®by Dre earphones which cost exactly N8,000 according to the catalogue.

 On getting to Ikeja, I was greeted by a market flooded with new products and pensive traders competing for every single person that walked on the streets of computer village. Many packets of electronic gadgets adorned the shelves and also littered the streets. Nevertheless, I pressed on walking briskly towards the shop that advertised the original Beats®by Dre earphones in the catalogue.

 Adjacent the shop was a panel van conspicuously showing off all sorts of Beats®by Dre products and was graced by inquisitive customers who peeped with a intent. In a split second I made a detour and moved towards the van. Goodness gracious! Beats®by Dre earphones sold for N1500, Gaga HeartBeats® sold for N2000, Studio Beats®by Dre headphones sold for N4000 and Monster Beats®by Dre headphones sold for N7000.

 I couldn't believe my eyes and ears, I quickly grabbed the last box of Studio Beats® before another buyer laid hands on my dream headset. I tested the device and it boomed Olamide's Durosoke with more bass than I imagined. I was delighted to pay for my newest gadget and shortly after, I walked away listening to loud music. With about N6000 left, I was afforded the luxury of purchasing an optical mouse, a twin joypad and an 8Gb memory card to satisfy my auxiliary needs.

 Truth be told, it was all a dream to me, making all those purchases and still having about N1800 in change. As I made my way home, I thought about how the gods had indeed smiled on me. The heavy bags unofficial shopping bags (a.k.a. 'lylon') that I carried put a pressure on my muscles that reminded me of the  purchases I made.

 No wonder I collapsed like a pack of cards when I got back home; who wouldn't after touring 2 notoriously busy markets while laden with burdens?

 After being refreshed, I returned to my latest acquisitions as any sane person would, to test them and to also bask in my new found reality. I, a proud owner of a Beats®by Dre headphones, an optical mouse, a twin joypad and an 8Gb memory card and a new wardrobe of clothes. My face carried the smug look worn by every 007 when given instructions by Q.

 Suddenly I heard a crackle after I plugged my headphones to my laptop and was then greeted by a loud silence. I fiddled with the headphones port and audio jack to no avail then decided to test it with my phone, also to no avail. Beads of sweat were beginning to slide down my visage: I hoped it wasn't what I was thinking. 

Sadly, the newly purchased headphones had gone to the dogs. It was more useless than the 't' in depot, I so was furious!!! I knew my N4000 was gone, I'd been carried away by the light price tag and bought a well imitated fake. The original Beats®by Dre earphones I planned to buy would have never messed me up.

 Even if it had suffered similar fate, I would have been able to return it due to the warranty on it. Sadly, the same could not be said about the Chinese imitation I bought. It was gone for good. N4000 vanished before my eyes after less than 3hours of use, exactly half of what it would have cost me to buy an original which would have lasted for years.

 I felt foolhardy but found solace in my optical mouse, joypad, memory card and N1800 change. After all, I satisfied other needs which would have remained mere wants if I had bought the initially desired earphones.

 Truth is, I relegated quality in the wake of a similar looking cheap substitute and I paid for such an uneducated choice. Luckily I did not pay dearly. Quality over cheap substitutes anytime, any place...I concluded.

Bureau de Change

After much grovelling and appeasing, my aunt finally gave me a piece of 'obodo oyinbo' even though I had to earn it by driving her all around Lagos for sometime. $100 wasn't exactly much but my basic needs were spoken for in an instant. Permutations and combinations started going on in my head from the second that Benjamin faced green bill touched my anxious palms.

I could have waited till Monday before converting the money at the close of work but I eagerly headed to Yaba despite the scorching sun. For the first time in a long time I boarded a 'keke Napep' for a proximate distance; to be honest I was feeling really emancipated from the pangs of lack.

With inflation galloping, too much money was chasing too few goods, the cost of living was sky-rocketing and the standard of living subsequently spiralled. One didn't need a dibia to 'see' that the economy was in a bad shape. I wasn't immune to the 'national situation', even my parents felt the heat; no wonder $100 meant a lot to me at that point.

In less than a minute I was at Yaba, carefully scouting the area for any slender figure clad in jalamia holding a calculator. My eyes were still roving when I heard a voice from behind, "oga pounds, dollars, euros, yen?". It was like I heard the voice of God, I could smell the mint notes in his pocket already.

 I was already in the future, I could see myself eating barbeque and noodles, watching a 3D movie in the cinema with my girl, paying for my BIS and even paying for things the money couldn't cover. Its a little disturbing that I couldn't think of saving some or paying my tithe. Nigeria was gradually changing my financial orientation, these days i eat with all my fingers; but what could I possibly do?

The voice asked me, "You wan buy abi you wan sell?", I replied "I wan sell, Dollars how much?". The mallam asked how much I wanted to sell even though I already asked for his rate; I should have been more alert. After divulging the information, he punched his calculator and offered me a meager N155 per dollar. I was in shock, the app on my phone as at this morning showed that the dollar recently rose against the naira $1=N161.

"Wonders shall never end", I said to myself as I exclaimed. After much haggling we settled for N161 per dollar and by the calculations, I should have N16,100 cash by the end of the transaction. After counting, he gave some money to the tune of N15,500; I told him it was short N600 and he told me he didn't have change. I was beginning to get impatient so I threatened to get another mallam. He spoke his native dialect to his colleague and gave me the N200 he collected from him saying that was all the change he could find, appealing that I gave them the rest to break their fast.

Innocently i believed his tall tale and resorted to tipping him. We exchanged currencies and i left. On getting home I discovered that my $100 fetched me N15,700 instead of N16,100 implying that I changed at N157 per dollar. The mallam played a fast one on me, he cleverly made me change at a much lower rate than agreed; I felt cheated.

The deed was already done, even if I returned to Yaba I couldn't recall what he looked like, so why bother? Instead I thought to share tips with you on how to conduct yourselves when you choose the more prudent option of the black market.

1. Never divulge the exact amount you want to change. Simply say its a lot or its little. Always let the mallam make you a first offer.

2. Never tolerate third parties in the name of friends or 'brothers'. Speak to one person at a time.

3. When a rate has been agreed on, ensure you count the money and be satisfied before you hand over the forex. Otherwise return the money disregarding their pleas in the name of God.

4. Always calculate the money yourself too. Its easy, multiply the agreed rate by the value of forex you intend to change, you would have the value in Naira. To be sure you're not being cheated, divide the value of naira given to you by the value of forex you want to change, you would have the exchange rate the mallam is using for you indirectly.

5. Double count the money to be sure its still intact then put it in your bag or pocket before you hand them the forex.

6. Turn your back and walk away making the least contact possible with the mallam or his 'brothers'. 

7. Count the money privately again to be sure of the amount changed.

 I believe these tips would help you. Thanks for reading.

Ta-boo

"But you told me your uncle bought you the Z10 as a gift on your 21st birthday", Amanda cross-examined her friend Tele. "No o, I said it was my uncle's colleagues uncle that dashed me the Z10. He said he didn't like the phone anymore, so he asked if I wanted and I said no then he forced me to take it", denying the allegation blatantly.

Amanda insisted she was told a different story 2weeks ago when the Z10 arrived. In a bid to vindicate herself, she invited me into the discussion to bear her witness. I had another story to tell which was totally unrelated to the previous accounts shared by Amanda and Tele. I could swear on my life that Tele told me she bought the Z10 with her savings as a treat for her 21st birthday.

Amanda and I had one story too many that fateful day; three unrelated accounts on just one issue? Tele was fond of telling tales in variations: her 'yes' was often a 'no' to people and a 'maybe' in her own mind. She told so many divergent stories that she sometimes mixed up the made-up versions with the real one; leaving herself in a dilemma as to how the true story actually went.

 Though beautiful; Tele was a pathological liar, She often lied through her teeth. The confidence with which she told her elaborate lies constantly baffled me beyond reason. Born with a silver spoon in her mouth, well-composed and enlightened, it was a shock that she could lie with such panache.

 One way or the other, we always caught her in the act, though her lies were always well researched and could sometimes contain certain elements of truth. We weren't unhappy with her because she lied to us consistently, but because she sought to impress us with her crooked stories. Fact was; we loved her the way she was notwithstanding.

 I know we all have at least one friend who is a known liar in some regard or maybe we are that friend who lies pathologically dusk to dawn; we need to know that lies are:

 •Unnecessary
 •Addictive
 •Morally wrong
 •Irritating

 What then happens to white lies? Tune next week.

The End

4:30am
 Jimi sprung from his bed and made a dash for the toilet to take his early morning leak. After a long drain, he grabbed his toothbrush and began cleaning his mouth. Amidst yawns and stretches, he made for the bathroom having his bath hurriedly; the water was cold.

 Meanwhile, George was still sleeping.

 5:00am
 Jimi was fully dressed, with the aid of a torchlight, he made his way to the motor park. He sleepily dragged his box as he walked like a zombie to the junction.

 George rolled over to the other side of the bed.

 6:00am
The Okeyson branded Hiace bus was leaving Maza-Maza enroute Abuja. Each man was calling onto his God asking for journey mercies as the driver anxiously stepped on the pedal.

 George got up to wee, on his way back to bed; he drank a glass of water and muttered something.

 9:00am
Jimi's bus sped past a long vehicle at Shagamu; the driver had hit 160km/h raising dust as he travelled on.

 George was awoken by the ringing of his phone. His girlfriend called him to ensure he was awake and prepared for the journey ahead.

 11:00am
"Welcome to Ondo...The Sunshine State"; Jimi was glad they were at Ore. He had been holding himself since they passed Shagamu and he felt the intense need to pass excreta. The driver finally parked close to a dodo-ikire seller and Jimi jumped out almost immediately, sprinting to a nearby bush on a mission other than hunting bush meat. 

George was already at airport about to board his flight to Abuja. He was feeling a little funny in his bowels, perhaps it must have been his breakfast.



 12:30pm
The Hiace bus was in motion and of course, accelerating steadily. All Jimi could see was untapped forest reserves and primitive settlements scattered along the way. Truth is, he didn't know where he was.

 George was already in abuja, negotiating his fare with the taxi driver. Less than a minute later, he was enroute Maitama; just a drop closer to meeting Alhaji Danbaba (his prospective employer).

 3:00pm
 Jimi could now see well paved and marked streets, smart looking people walking briskly and strange looking hybrid kombi buses attached to truck-heads. Abuja, alas! he said to himself. As if in his head, his seat partner said excitedly "bros we are in Gwagwalada o, in about an hour we go don touchdown Abuja as e dey hot". Jimi was stupefied, he simply nodded and braced himself for the extra hour.

 After an intense session with the Alhaji, George left the mansion with an appointment letter and a wad of naira notes covering his trip to Abuja.

 3:50pm
The bus halted finally at the park and its contents either alighted or were carried out. Jimi was tired, his legs ached and he was extremely hungry. He dashed into a nearby shack and ordered for a large bowl of Tuwo Shinkafa, okra and rago.

 George could hear the announcer make the final call for his flight. He dashed to the airline stand and checked in. He was aboard a Lagos-bound Aero flight. 

4:40pm
Jimi managed to get a cab going to Garki as he greedily sucked on his bottle of Fura Donunu eyeballing every single landmark through his window.

 Bienvenue à Lasgiddy to George, he couldn't wait to get home. He wanted to change and pick his girlfriend from her office which was near his house. How eager he was!

 5:30
Overfed, drained and sleepy, Jimi crashed onto the bed in his dingy motel room and began snoring almost immediately. It must have been the jet lag, get it?

 George's girlfriend was overtly emotional, she screamed, cried, shrieked, awwwed or cooed at the slightest things. That her bobo now had a good well paying job, she let out a loud shout producing many decibels of noise. She was overjoyed!

 8:45
Jimi just woke up and was unpacking his box. He needed to shower and prepare for his big interview the next day. He said his prayers in his heart; he couldn't go back empty handed, not after all he had been through.

 George on the other hand had dropped his girlfriend at home after enjoying her company and a wonderfully cooked meal. He sat infront of his TV staring at the UEFA champions league match line-up between Dynamo Kiev and Manchester United. How else could the day have gone?

 Eventually both Jimi and George enjoyed fruitful journeys to Abuja. Even though they set out on the same day and got the same results; they exerted themselves differently, expended time differently, used different means of transportation and experienced different levels of fatigue.

 Hence, don't be beguiled by other people seriously perspiring at what they do while it seems you're not having anything to do, it won't be long now...all your goals would be achieved sublimely in record time. JUST REMAIN FOCUSED!!!