VISITING AN IJGB - by Thisisnse

I hear a friend of mine just returned to Nigeria after spending many years in the United States. Kelechi Mba, now Lechi Kay, because according to stories making the rounds, travelling abroad ( that's the real abroad, if you know what I mean, and no offence to neighbouring African countries) changes the traveller completely. Maybe the change in my guy started with his name. Now before you accuse me of famzing Kelechi, I would have you know that before his zip code switch, we were buddies in every sense of the word. We attended the same school and on very rare occasions bumped into each other. Oh! The good old days ( reminiscing in black and white).It is for old times that I choose to visit Kelechi Mba now Lechi Kay. I intend to make a statement with this visit. If anything, Lechi should be able to confirm from the tangible evidence of my appearance that life in Nigeria hasn't been stories of hell as I am sure many callers are wont to tell. For this mission to succeed, I pick my absolute Sunday best; the kind of clothes you wear when you remember the "dress as you want to be addressed" kini kan, if you catch my drift. If you didn't catch any drift because, last I checked, I didn't throw any then I'm happy to inform you that you haven't lost your way yet and hopefully, you won't before the end of this whateveritis. In summary, stay wi me. The day for the visit finally arrives, not like I've been counting down. But now that the day and I have finally met, I guess I'd have to put aside the many stuff I've been busy with. I take a shower but something that's hard to miss is that this very shower carries the weight of some higher purpose. If the hands that washed almost aggressively weren't mine, I'd have scolded the bather ( ladies and gentlemen, I kid you not this is the very first time in never that I get to use that word 'bather', and it makes me somewhat fulfilled but hey, we move!) because why am I scrubbing my neither regions, armpit and other parts as if Lechi's first actions would be to inspect how clean I was before talking with me? The thought weigh heavily on my mind even as I apply my Familia Body Cream. Five minutes later, I am standing in front of my wall mirror, looking like every girl's dream guy. My hairline isn't running away from my forehead and from the looks of things, there's no sign it would be receding anytime. I mutter a silent prayer for my barber; he can't die now if if his mansion in heaven is ready, his shop on earth is still valuable. My ensemble: a beige long-sleeved shirt that I have ironed to perfection, smooth even with the crease it acquired from my expert clothes folding skills, a black Palazzo pants that was giving everything that needs to be given. On my left wrist, my smartwatch sits happy not to be covered by my shirt's sleeve. I put on a black ring because a small contribution from an accessory has been proven, not scientifically though, to do wonder in the grand scheme of looking good. Did I mention earlier that with this visit, I would be making a statement. ...TO BE CONTINUED.STICK AROUND FOR PART TWO

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