VISITING AN IJGB. PT2 - by Thisisnse

What's that feeling when you look soooo good, smell like happiness and feel like you're your own admirer? Yeah, keep thinking about it as I step out of my house for the visit. I mean, this trip would sure put a dent, an avoidable one at that, in my pocket. But c'mon, this is just one of the things I do for friendship. I set out on my not short commute to Lechi's and waved down a keke. The rider halts his auto-rickshaw just a few inches beside me and almost immediately loses the battle of haggling fares because, forget my rich looks, I am very much in touch with street OT. Considering the way I look, I suspect this rider is low-key thinking I'd pay for an additional seat. Should I tell him to get other passengers because, come to think of it, I am living in the regret of this one thousand naira I even agreed to. I mean, what happened to eight hundred naira, or, at most, eight hundred and fifty naira? I choose silence, maybe, hopefully I'd enjoy mini first class keke benefits with my one thousand naira. After what seems like an eternity, I arrive at Lechi's house. I knock like the enlightened guy that I am. I don't go, "kpon kpon kpon" like the unrefined callers who I am sure have come in their numbers. I hear his response from the other side of the closed door. One full minute passes by before the knob turns and the door opens. Standing before me is Kelechi Mba and I must admit, it is impossible to ignore his acquired Americanness from my deep-seated Nigerianness. His complexion, a sharp contrast from what I remember it to be. I mean, this dude prided himself to be one of the fair-skinned students in our secondary school from back in the day. Believe me guys, that version of Kelechi didn't survive the life there because Lechi Kay as he is now called is running on an updated OS. Before I lose my steeze to wonder, I extend a hand looking for a handshake. He stretches out his hand after a brief moment of hesitation. Something tells me he did that out of courtesy and not because he actually remembers me. I feel hurt. But it's too late to go back home; I'm here now and all the efforts I put into this visit must not go to waste. Not to think of the one thousand naira and what other purpose it would have served if I hadn't decided to be unfortunate with my unannounced visit. This colossal eff up is already feeling like one of my life's biggest regrets but hey, even though my host is trying to be lemon at the moment, I am going to try make lemonade out of the visit. Dey wi me! By some quirk of luck, he allows me into his house only after I had mentioned that we attended the same secondary school. I spend the next few minutes digging up memories that support my claims and just like that, one of the events of the past hits a familiar chord; remembrance makes him drop his guard and for the first time, since I knocked on his door, he flashes a genuine smile. This lemonade sure carries the promise of a pleasant taste. We talk about our secondary school experiences that segued from the most dreaded Mathematics teacher, Mr. Ojo Oni to life after school, who is married with children and all what not. The visit, so far, has proven to be a good idea. But deep down, you and I know no one visits an I JUST GOT BACK without an iota of expectation. I mean, a few dollar bills will doubtless upgrade the status of this visit from good to great in the shortest possible time. Or don't you think. Not that I came with the hope that manner would fall but who am I to say no if, scratch that, when it drops. An hour and the half later, after every available topic has been covered and the signal to leave fluently communicated by the non-verbal body language. I tell myself to seize the moment; it is now or never. Time to strip off of the peng exterior and admit that I came here to get a share of the goodies, hopefully monetary, an abroad returnee almost always comes back home with. It is at this point I acknowledge that I am a "bambiala" without plate yet I feel zero shame. It is the way of the wise to soften a serious matter with a tone of humour and just like that, I drop it, "Lechi my guy, anything for me, at least make me sef, y'know, ...( I let the words trail off). Message has been passed. He smiles, I smile. It looks like there is hope. If at all, a few thousand naira notes would leave here with me. Ladies and gentlemen, I now understand both the concept and value of "vex money" because with the story Lechi Kay supplied in place of giving me a few thousand naira notes, I almost donated my last transport fare to him. Well, long and short of it all, I have been tutting with my tongue since I left his house. I mean, over pepper body dey worry me like this. Chai! That one kay na im pain me pass.

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