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.