KARMA IS FEMALE

 The last time I was in Lagos was for a one day conference and I was privileged to be there as Rapporteur. 

I reserved my return ticket for that same day since the conference was more like a breakfast session and I had tons of work waiting for me back at the office.

I don't know how you Lagosians manage your happy-go-lucky approach but almost everyone who stays in Abuja positively DREADS Lagos traffic, and I am no exception. So I was understandably on tenterhooks until the end of the event hoping I wouldn't miss my flight despite the fact that I had booked it for about two hours after the event.

 I had arrived a day before, paying about N1,700 or so from the airport to the venue which was somewhere in Onikan because I like to scope out a venue before the event.

After the event, I hurriedly called for a cab via one of those apps (not gonna say which) and as soon as he arrived, I clambered in.

"I hope I won't miss my flight," I groaned once we had exchanged pleasantries. "Please hurry."

The cabman nodded. 

Whenever I'm in a city I don't know well, I turn on my Google maps so I can track if the cabman is going off route and raise an alarm if need be. 

As we drove, the traffic was mild. All of a sudden the guy muttered something under his breath and turned onto another road which was choked with traffic. My map showed he had gone off route. I questioned him immediately and he calmly explained that this was a faster route. I re-routed my map and saw that this new road still led to the airport so I relaxed. 

Brethren, the traffic on this new street was off the charts. I was so frustrated I wasn't sure whether to climb out and trek with my luggage on my head. 

Luckily my flight time was still about an hour away by the time the airport finally crept into view. I heaved a weary sigh of relief, glad to have made it in time. My relief vanished like smoke when he showed me my bill. A whooping N5,500!!!

His smirk told me what he had done. He'd deliberately buried us in traffic to delay the trip and increase his payment. I said nothing. I calmly handed over N6,000 and asked him for my change.

As I alighted, an elderly gentleman strode over and asked if he could drop him off somewhere. Cab Guy eagerly assented as he thrust my change at me.

As soon as the elderly man planted himself in the cab's backseat, a burly young man sped forward like a cat on steroids and clamped the back tire. Several young men hurriedly appeared to help their colleague.

A panicked look crept into the eyes of Cab Guy as he realised he was caught. His elderly passenger alighted and strode off into the sunset with marked unconcern, leaving him to his fate.

Funny enough though he'd cheated me, I tried to plead for him but the guys were having none of it. He was authorised to drop off a passenger but not to pick one up. He would be fined about N25,000 or so, they announced before whisking him away. 

As I walked away, it occured to me that he had deviously inflated my fees through technical fraud and karma caught up with him right away. He would end up paying almost 5 times that sum in penalty and for what? If we had arrived when we should have, he wouldn't have met the old man, wouldn't have been tempted and wouldn't have gotten into trouble. But he tried to cheat me because he saw I was a stranger in his Lagos. 

And Karma came down on my side. Don't knock Karma. She's real. And she's a woman.  😉

I didn't gloat. I genuinely felt bad for him. But it also taught me something I think we should all know: sometimes in trying to hurt others, we hurt ourselves. And that right there is the morale of the story. 

Learn the lesson and share the story. 

Sherina Okoye (Copyright 2020)

THE FOUR YEAR OLD SMOOTH CRIMINAL

I had gone to my hairstylist's for a quick do. Her kids were scrambling around,  constantly getting underfoot and occasionally getting into little fights as children are wont to do.

Finally, her daughter, a little girl of about six, acting all 'little mother' to her little brother and his friend suddenly let fly with a slap aimed right at his back.

He screamed and ran to report to his mother. She gave him a gimlet-eyed glare; you know the one mothers use when you're pushing your luck. 

He shifted backwards out of reach his little mouth thrust out in a pout.

I laughed and pulled him towards me as I used a tissue to dab at the tiny drop of tear beneath one eye. "Stop crying, Great. Your sister was only playing with you. She's still your friend right?"

He gave me a long considering look and nodded slowly.
He looked so sad and so cute, it tugged at my heartstrings. I pinched his cheek gently and sent him off to go play with his sister and his little friend again.

Next thing I heard was his baby voice announcing what had to be the lie of the century,  "Ayo, Aunty said I should beat you back."

Since I was obviously the 'Aunty'in question, I almost fell off my chair in surprise. "I said what now?"

A child-like slap landed on his older sister's face and she bore it stoically after all, "Aunty" had ordered her punishment.

I was still wrapping my head around it when Great ran up to me, his face as innocent as a cherub. I stared at him, unable to reconcile the bald-faced lying and the Machiavellian scheming with this tiny human with big eyes, chubby cheeks and even chubbier legs.

"Great, why did you do that? Why did you lie to your sister like that? Weren't you scared lying about what I told you?" I scolded.

He didn't respond. He offered another beatific grin, danced out of reach, and ran back  to his sister.

I listened for an apology only to hear his piping voice announce again, "Ayo Aunty said I should beat you again."
😲😲😲

Another slap landed on poor Ayo.

"Do something," I implored their mother.

She shrugged with marked unconcern,  "Ayo never first get sense." (Meaning "Ayo is being dumb so she deserved what she got").

Ayo received two more slaps in quick succession from the little fraudster and I decided I had had enough. I asked their mother to stop working on my hair for a minute. I grabbed Great and carried him from his sister before he beat her to a pulp in my innocent name.

I tried to explain  to him why lying was bad but he didn't seem to understand.  He kept giving me that beatific stare that hid the scary prowess of his little mind.

Finally, I loudly advised Ayo to retaliate if he came in my name again and after that he lost interest in his little game.

When we became lawyers, one of the first principles I learned was to expect lies from clients, colleagues, witnesses, the cops, anyone. If you are prepared for the lie, it's easier to spot it. But no one told me to expect such bold lies from four year olds...🙆‍♀️ It may seem like a small incident to some, but it really made me wonder.

Morale of the story? You tell me.

Sherina Okoye (2020)

NO REFUND POLICY

She was ensconced comfortably in the worn leather of the front passenger seat beside the driver, her hair done up in one of those intricate braid styles that flatter the beauty of the African woman.

It was plain that she was new in town: her head kept swinging this way and that, eyes wide as saucers as she drank in the passing scenery with childlike fascination. It was doubtful how much she could see in the driving rain but she maintained her fascinated mien, regardless.

As we neared the Immigration HQ, she reminded the driver of her stop at Sauka. He said nothing, and kept speeding along the highway rather than taking the detour for the service lane.

She issued another reminder as the vehicle sped past the bus-stop and the driver screeched to a halt on the shoulder of the road.

His passenger promptly lost her fascination with the scenery and glared at him, "You passed my bus-stop."

"Ehen e no far naa. Jus come down trek go back," he retorted unapologetically in broken English. (Meaning "It's not far. Alight and walk back.")

Her glare intensified, "How am I supposed to trek back with this rain? There's an overhead bridge at my bus-stop so since it's not far,kindly reverse so I can take shelter there."

It was his turn to glare. "How I wan take reverse for express? You want make I kill everybody wey dey this car?"

A back and forth argument ensued between the pair and to punctuate his superior stance in the situation, the driver drove off again. His message was clear: he had nothing to lose if she refused to alight from his vehicle.

He drove a few more yards and stopped under the airport bridge as he barked, "Oya." (Nigerian slang similar to 'hurry up').

She looked at him, "I'm new to Abuja and this is my first time of taking public transport. You didn't drop me off at my bus-stop instead you drove further so I don't know where I am. Give me money to go back to my bus-stop with another car."

Smoke almost erupted from the driver's ears as he bellowed with rage. His angry yells were met with calm, obstinate responses from her. She refused to budge.
"Driver I paid N400, same as people going to Gwagwalada. Give me N50 to cross the road and take a taxi back to Sauka. How do you expect me to trek back? It's raining and I don't know this town well."

"If you don't get down from my car, I'll drive you to Gwagwalada and refund all your money to you," the driver barked, stepping up his English.

She remained undaunted.

I was growing bored and restless with the yells and delays. I'd had a long day at work and all I wanted was to get home and faint on the cushion like a member of Association of Lazy 'Yoots'. (A Nigerian-slang variation of the spelling of Youths; 'Lazy Youths' has become a slang, often used humorously and sarcastically).

Obviously I wasn't getting out of there anytime soon unless these two got their act together. The same thought must have also occured to a woman in back because as soon as I intervened, she did too.

"Driver, her request is not unreasonable," I began, wading into the argument.

"No, who is she? How she go dey give me command for my own car?" He demanded.

"Driver she was polite, to be honest. You were actually the one shouting," the other woman pointed out.

"Thank you," the passenger we were  defending shouted, pleased at the unexpected support. I mean, this is after all Abuja where everyone makes a business of minding their business in hairy situations.

"See, get down from my car or I carry you to Gwagwalada," he threatened,foot poised above the accelerator.

"Why not give her N50 now and let her return to her bus-stop?," I told him. Then I played my trump card, "She told you she doesn't know Abuja and she boarded your vehicle at the park. If she goes missing, you'll be in trouble. What's the point of taking her to Gwagwalada and giving her N400 when N50 can settle it now?" I finished. (N400 is approximately a dollar. So N50 is roughly a quarter.)

My statement gave him pause and I could see the wheels turning in his head as he considered a new angle to the whole deal.

"Exactly," the woman behind agreed. "Nigerians can be stubborn. Driver stop trying to prove a point. Just give her the money let her go back. It was you that missed her bus-stop. You're not losing."

With a muttered oath, he flung N50 at the woman and as soon as she alighted, he sped off spewing gravel. I saw the woman's lips curve in a smug grin as she watched him drive off. Oh well, two Daniels came to court for her. What's not to grin about?

Morale of the story? Sometimes, let things go.
Sherina Okoye (2020)

THE MASKED BANDIT

Post-corona, I and about 200 people went to a certain Bank to make some transactions in the drizzling rain. I know this, because I was number 193😭 by 9am in the morning.

Suffice it to say, I almost had a minor heart attack when I saw my number. But I was a woman on a mission; that transaction needed to be done.

My stomach growled repeatedly as I stood beneath the dripping rain and my phone kept ringing incessantly with calls from people I needed to meet with.

I braved the elements and returned to my office for two quick meetings and a healthy snack.

Once I was done, a quick glance at my clock showed the time had moved on to 11:39am.

I returned to the bank only to discover they were still at number 131.

Ninety minutes later, when I could have sworn I could feel the beginnings of a k-leg coming on from so much standing, I finally got into the banking hall, mask firmly in place.

The bank guy was the preppy, happy sort. He deftly carried out my instructions but just before he clicked the final key on his system, he threw me a glance and his fingers were arrested over the keyboard.

"Sorry please could you take off your mask for a tiny minute?"

"Why?"  I asked, even though I thought I knew why. I had seen people turned away at the entrance of the very same bank for not wearing a mask. Why did he want me to take mine off? I wasn't going to assume I knew the reason.

"I need to verify your identity."

I swallowed a shout of laughter as I meekly obliged.

Corona is a game changer. A year ago if you had so much as LOOKED at a bank whilst wearing a mask, you would have been cuffed and arrested so fast it would make your ancestors dizzy.

But now, you NEED  a mask to enter the bank. Then of course you need to take it off and smile for the cameras so in case the masked bandit isn't you, they can verify your identity or probably have a face to show the cops on cctv.

Corona is a high-maintenance, drama queen. Smh.

Sherina Okoye (2020)

PEOPLE OF THE EARTH SERIES: THE UNUSUAL PLANTAIN SELLER

He couldn't have been a day over 17 And yet wrinkle lines were already appearing on his forehead forced into existence by the weight of the basket of plantain chips on his head. His threadbare shorts and well-washed shirt did little to protect him from the harsh cold and yet he didn't betray the condition of his body by a single shiver.
We were all on our way to work and all impatient as we waited for the driver to drive out of the park when the young boy strode up to the car chanting, "Plantain, plantain."
No one answered. Everyone was staring off into the distance lost in thoughts as we all planned the day ahead.
The young boy was undeterred by the stony silence, he kept chanting and trying to cajole us to patronize him. Finally he boldly turned to the equally young man in the front passenger seat. "Brother, help my ministry. Help your younger brother."
All eyes turned to the plantain seller at his unusual approach. The young man he was addressing shifted uncomfortably. Younger brother? I could almost hear his thoughts: he reasoned he would appear very mean now if he "locked up".
Plantain boy wasn't done. "Timaya dey sell plantain before, now naa my turn," he bleated still turning this way and that to show off the golden hue of his plantain chips.
Everyone burst into collective laughter at that and just like that the ice was broken. I called for two pieces, someone else wanted four and in a matter of seconds the young man had sold close to twelve packs of plantains.
As he pocketed his money he eyed us hopefully, "Anybody still want?"
We were all still chuckling at his narrative as we drove off, but his message was clear: he might be a humble plantain seller today but that didn't mean he couldn't be a rock star or celebrity tomorrow.
Morale of the story? Whatever your hands find to do, do it. Take pride in honest work even if it's grueling. Nothing lasts forever

Learn the lesson and share the story.

Sherina Okoye
(c) 2018

ADVISE FROM AN ANONYMOUS GRANNY (I)

I made a new friend. I don't know her name... I think no one does. We all call her "Mama" because we're African and that's the way things are done. I mean as a kid, I almost believed my own mother's name was 'Mum'; I learned otherwise in school.
Back to my story: this woman is old, with skin that's been turned to leather by the sun. But her eyes are alive, intelligent, and vibrant, sparkling with barely suppressed mischief. She throws me a look from beneath white lashes as she points with one gnarled finger and  demands, "My child, naa this corn you want?"
I shake my head and point towards another roasted corn as I respond, "No Ma. I want this one."
She nods, "70 Naira."
A young man appears and points at a corn of a similar size. "70", she wobbles in her weak voice.
I look at her askance, "Is this my corn not 50 Naira?"
She makes a grunt, the sound dissenting. The young man stares at the corn, muses a little then hurriedly picks up his purchase and strides away.
Mama turns to me her eyes alive with mischief as she switches to perfect English. "How much did you say you want to buy it my dear?"
I look at her surprised, "Fifty. But you refused."
She smiles, displaying tobacco coloured teeth. "Learn this my child: never price anything when a man is there. Wait until he leaves then price."
I don't know about you but I've learned that sometimes the greatest wisdom is learned at the feet of the aged. I filed away the information  for the future.
I pull closer, "Why?"
She laughs outright, "Because men never price anything! And the seller will not reduce the price while the man is there."
It made sense. I nod and stretch out a hand to collect my purchase as we trade naughty girly giggles.
Her gaze falls on my empty ring finger and  she stares up at me as she switches back to pidgin and issues a final advise, "If you never marry, make sure say the man naa the type wey no go use clear eye find your trouble.  But if you don already marry kuma, the advise don late be that."
I assure her the advise is not late and offer my thanks. I know there will be more, I think as I walk away, because I'll be going to see her again...
Note: this is a random picture and not the woman in my post.

Learn the lesson and share the story...
Sherina Okoye (Copyright 2018)

THUGGING IT TO 2019

I was so exhausted I could barely see straight as I trudged down the last of the stairs and made my way to the front of my office. My hair was a mess, my face oily, my mood sour as I contemplated the rather long journey homewards .
Lazily I flagged a cab. It slid smartly to a halt in front of me.  I gave the driver my directions but he seemed to think he was in Port Harcourt. He called an outrageous sum of money and too exhausted to argue, I quietly moved aside and turned my face away in an obvious search for another cab. He got the message and zoomed off.
As I waited to flag another cab, I saw them: a group of shabbily dressed young men with wild eyes and body odor that travelled the several feet between us to assault my nostrils. Some were smoking joints openly and it was obvious few of them had seen bathwater in days. Their shabby dressing and uncountable number gave me pause and reminded me of a quote stenciled on one of my old tee shirts: never underestimate the stupidity of boys in a group. Sounds harsh at first glance but I've come to learn that when you see groups such as these, they can only egg each other on to mischief and trouble. They stood out like sore thumbs in the metropolitan area and they had to be close to a hundred of them.
I hid my alarm beneath a facade of boredom and kept looking around for a cab.
They began to file past with  alternate chants of Sai Baba and Fee Dee Fee (pdp). It was hard to know what party they really belonged to but it was apparent that these were a bunch of thugs turned loose on the town pre-election.
A cab finally drew up and this driver was more reasonable than the last. I allowed a few more of the young men to file past and then I walked up to the cab and reached for the door. I yanked it open just as one more joint-smoking youngster drew even with the door. I winced at the crunching sound as metal slammed into flesh and bone.
He yelped and clutched his thigh even as I also screamed and hastily began to apologise, genuine sorrow coursing through me at his apparent pain.
One of his buddies said, "You don wound my brother." The words were like a signal because three of them promptly left their line and  went to lie down on the bonnet of the car.
The "wounded" guy promptly  fell sideways onto the roadside in a dead faint. I threw him a petrified look even as my mind reasoned that there was no way a grown man could be knocked out by a small blow to the thigh. The haze of concern lifted when I noticed the cigarette still dangling from his lips.
"Get up joor. You're fine, " I ordered laughing. He promptly bounced to his feet threw me a laughing look of his own and sketched me a mock bow before striding off with his amigos.
I don't mind telling you I breathed a sigh of relief, happy to watch the chanting, laughing lot disappear around the bend.
Morale of the story? No matter how different we are, we always find something to laugh about together.

Sherina (2018)

BANK AFFAIRS AND CHILDISH INNOCENCE

She was cute as ten buttons in her lovely little flowered frock. Her hair had been styled into a cute little bun atop her little head and her feet were encased in flowered socks and a shiny black shoe. She ran into the compound of the bank flapping her hands with excitement and somehow still managing to maintain her running steps in that charmingly uncoordinated way kids have.
Her father, a staunch Muslim, as apparent from the dark sign on his forehead and his dressing,  strode in after her at a much more sedate pace. He called after her and she raced back to his side, snatched a pen from his hand and raced back towards the firmly shut doors of the bank.
She was such a blur of movement it was almost dizzying watching her.
All adults lined before the two ATM machines in the bank's compound turned to watch her in fascination. She was a breath of fresh air; so full of life and vitality and that unnameable quality that makes kids so precious.
The little girl stood expectantly before the bank doors while her father calmly joined the back of the ATM queue, keeping an eagle eye on her.
When the doors didn't open, her little face puckered in a childish pout, her equivalent of a frown, as she banged imperiously on the doors. They still stayed shut and she turned to the appellate court: her father.
I could see her surprise when she saw him standing a good few feet away at the back of the line rather than joining her to command the doors to open.
"Daddy!" She yelled, the command apparent. He was supposed to appear beside her at once and order whoever was in charge to open the doors at once!
He shook his head, surprisingly calm since the rest of us were already fighting giggles. "Today is Sunday. The Bank doesn't work on Sundays," he explained.
She considered it for a minute. I could see the thoughts whirling in her head. Then she demanded, "Why not?"
Her father shook his head, "They just don't."
"But WHY?" the little girl repeated.
Her father sighed, still maintaining his position on the ATM queue as he ordered, "Rahila come back here."
A mutinous expression crossed her face and she morphed into a 'child of anger'. She flung her father's pen onto the inter-locked grounds of the bank's compound.
"I want to enter," she yelled as if that fact wasn't already obvious.
Apparently she was giving us all one last chance to redeem ourselves. When she was met with silent, staring adult faces, she opened her mouth wide in a scream of pure childish rage and let fly.
...And that's how the tantrum started. 😄😄😄

A DAY IN COURT: YOU SNOOZE, YOU LOSE

The five justices of the Supreme  Court were in a good mood; that much was apparent from their calm handling of the defective application before them.
The Respondent's Counsel, Mr ABC, had filed a preliminary objection on issues of jurisdiction. Rather than chewing Counsel out, the court courteously asked how he wanted to proceed.
With much confidence and ASSURANCE😉😉😉 ABC proceeded to begin to move the defective application. (Here's a tip completely on the house: lawyers will attempt to get away with anything if you let them).
The Appellants' counsel Mr XYZ, jumped to his feet and objected stridently. He informed the court that the application could not be heard. No big surprise. According to the Rules of Court, the preliminary objection should have been subsumed in the Respondent's Brief.
Yours truly kept whipping her head this way and that watching as the lawyers argued back and forth. I have since learned in this profession that a child who asks questions never loses his way. And that's why I never go to court on any given day without opening my eyes and ears wide to pick something here and there.
Law practice is an art and like all arts, you attain a certain elegance when you study the masters.
Anyway, the Court was quick to agree with Mr XYZ, the Appellants' counsel that Mr ABC, had filed a defective application possibly in order to waste the time of the court.
Defeated, Mr ABC withdrew the offensive application  and requested an adjournment to effect the correction.
Seeing the court's sympathy for his argument, the other lawyer, Mr XYZ began to milk it. He was elderly and stooped with age, cutting a fragile figure.
He tilted his head to the side as he rose to his feet and  began to wring his hands as he listed his many sufferings at the hands of the Respondent's counsel. By the time he was done, a passerby might have been moved to tears on his behalf.
"So, Mr XYZ what is your application?" The Presiding justice demanded, after we had all been subjected to an endless litany of his woes.
Counsel puffed up his cheeks and let out a put-upon sigh as though considering the matter. And then with great reluctance stamped onto his angular features, he said, "My lords we shall be consenting to an adjournment to enable Mr ABC put his house in order. But we shall be requesting a minimal cost of N100,000 Sirs."
The bench dissolved in laughter as their lordships engaged in a rare show of hilarity. "You want 100 thousand? In this economy? Mr XYZ!"
And they laughed some more.
Mr XYZ silently resumed his seat in dignified silence.
"Did you hear him Mr ABC? He asked for 100 thousand," one of them shouted down to the other lawyer against whom the cost was demanded.
Mr ABC  got to his feet, hesitated in the face of five laughing judges and equally sat down himself joining in their laughter.
I threw him a worried glance. Wasn't he going to oppose the application at all?
He wasn't looking at me; he and other lawyers were laughing along with their lordships... it was the polite thing to do.
I faced forward, sober as a judge; and no the irony was not lost on me.
Three minutes later, after managing to scribble a few words whilst fighting down their laughter, the Justices quieted.
The Presiding Justice raised his head, "Cost of 100 thousand granted as prayed. Case adjourned to 23rd October 2018."
I felt shock reverberate through Mr ABC who  happened to be seated right beside me. He threw me a glazed look as he tried to figure out how to inform his client of the costs he had just earned him. He had apparently thought it would not be granted or at least not the full sum; perhaps 50?  He leaned over and whispered as much to me in dismay, "They granted the full amount"
I let my unsympathetic gaze do the talking for me,  "You snooze you lose."
He had not opposed the application so of course it was granted. Equity aids the diligent... in law, and in life.

PEOPLE OF THE EARTH SERIES: SHERINA AND THE PERFUMED DRIVER.

The sweltering heat of the Abuja sun was merciless and before I had taken more than five steps under it, I'd lost my good humor. My umbrella was doing its level best to shield me but it was no match for the determined, piercing rays of the sun.
As I walked, I cast a longing glance at an ice cream parlour with its lights blinking merrily on one side of the street. I grit my teeth and kept putting one foot in front of the other.
I got to the side of the road and several taxis began to hoot as they  frantically tried to one-up one another in the race for a passenger; namely, moi.
I ignored all of them and they sped off huffily. Finally I flagged down an oncoming Abuja taxi for the simple reason that I felt it would be cheaper. (Yeah, Buhari has made us all misers. Sue me😎). It careened to a halt, the driver practically fighting with the steering. He was sweating profusely; and no wonder since he had chosen to keep a full beard.
"Wuse 2, how much?" I asked.
"Aunty that one naa N700" he announced.
I gave him a gimlet-eyed stare and strode away in offended silence. Usually before I approach any taxi, I always come armed with my maximum offer price in mind and today, my mind and I had decided on N300. I had spent just that amount from my office to where I was; I certainly didn't see why the return trip should cost a penny more. I just needed one taxi man to see reason huh?
Anyway, three taxis later, one private taxi slid to a smart halt a few feet away. He was parked awkwardly in a manner that blocked several others behind him. I hurried towards the taxi but before I could get a word in, several cars honked loudly behind us with the impatience that was normal for Abuja drivers.
The man hurriedly motioned for me to enter and when I did he sped on. I looked over at him, noting the expensive perfume and clean cut.  I didn't need to be psychic to know he would be outrageously expensive. I told him my destination and asked the price.
I won't quote figures but suffice it to say that
 when he opened his mouth all I could do was gape in angry disbelief. If looks could kill he would be picking himself off the floor.
"Stop! Right now!" I ground out. Sheer daylight robbery! I considered it my civic duty to nip it in the bud! Why, at that price I wouldn't be paying him to take me to my office, I would be BRIBING him! Maybe you haven't heard, but we're all against 'kwarruption' these days.😎😎😎
He stopped at once and I alighted, grumbling about having to trek back to where he had picked me up. As though to rub it in, he slowly drove onto the shoulder of the road and began to navigate a u-turn that would take him right past the spot where he had picked me up; and no, he didn't offer me a ride back to that spot.
I trekked back with a matyred expression stamped onto my features. Luckily, I flagged a rickety looking cab that drove up just then and the driver immediately demanded N400.
Sold.
Boldly I asked if he would be willing to go for N300 and he immediately agreed. As I entered the back seat, I threw the perfumed driver of the other taxi a triumphant glance as he drew even with us. He gave me a glare of his own. It bounced right off as I faced forward, savoring his pique.
Morale of the story? There's always a bargain price.

A DAY IN COURT: THE SUICIDAL DEFENDANT (Part 2)

Pandemonium reigned supreme. Everyone was talking at once and the usual reserved ambience of the courtroom had changed into one of tense anxiety.

Almost all lawyers in the room began to speak and interestingly, they were all pleading for leniency for the recalcitrant Defendant. (I was practically the only one observing silently because hey, someone has to do the honours of providing gist for you guys right? 😘)

Anyway, the incredulous and panicked reaction of the lawyers and even other litigants finally began to penetrate the Defendant's possibly drunken haze. She began to realise that she had just committed an unforgiveable faux pas; one that could earn her a one-way ticket to the seamier side of life. Visions of handcuffs, slamming jail doors and hardened criminals as roommates apparently began to flash through her brain. When she caught the gloating expression on the face of the Plaintiff, her brain reset immediately and her entire demeanour changed as she realised she really was in trouble, because why else would the Plaintiff look as though he had just been served a bowl of chicken right there in court?

She began to stutter even as the policeman roughly pulled her towards the door. "My lord... my lord... I'm sorry. I'm not rude ooo, I'm just trying to explain."

Laughable.

The honourable court was done listening, "Take her away!"

The policeman immediately resumed his frantic tugging at the woman's elbow evidently trying to restrain himself from lifting her bodily since she had two kids with her.

"Please sir I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that," the woman pleaded, facing the judge.

Her two-year old had begun to look confused by all the yelling adults and his head kept whipping this way and that as he tried to follow what was going on. He looked on the verge of tears.

The elderly lawyer who had risen to his feet hissed at her out of the side of his mouth to keep quiet. He urgently approached the Bench. "May I as a friend of the court, plead for leniency from this most honorable court. The Defendant was out of line and while ignorance of the law is not a defense, Sir, I plead for leniency. For the sake of her children, please sir. She deserves incarceration because this is a clear case of contempt but my lord, have mercy. If she is locked up with these innocent children... the Bar apologizes on her behalf sir."

Other lawyers were all nodding frantically, wordlessly lending support to his appeal.

The Judge paused, looked around to weigh the general demeanour of the courtroom. Then he cast a disparaging look at the woman, disgust stamped onto his dignified features. "The only reason I'll let you go is because of your children. But I'll be seating first thing tomorrow at 9 o'clock sharp and your husband had better be in court. Meanwhile, you must stand over there in that corner for three hours, that's your punishment."

A collective sigh of relief swept through the courtroom. The Judge was apparently in a particularly fine mood because he tilted his head to the side as though considering and then he said, "One hour. Stand for one hour and keep your mouth shut! This case is adjourned to the 31st day of January 2018."

The unwise Defendant lifted a hand, "Sir I want to say something."

Everyone gasped, including me. Had she learned nothing? This woman shouldn't be allowed to speak in public I reasoned. She was one of those people who had a foot permanently wedged in her mouth. She was very close to my chair so I shook my head signalling her to end the drama now. She tried to speak again but the registrar suddenly leaped to his feet on a stroke of genuis and in an excessively loud tone, boomed the name of the next case, drowning out her nail-on-chalkboard voice.

As the new set of litigants headed for the front of the courtroom, we all faced forward, glad a disaster had been averted. Three minutes into the next case, a slight motion to the right of the room drew my gaze and I gaped in furious disbelief as the suicidal defendant surreptitiously curved a hand backwards and pinched the bottom of the sleeping baby on her back as hard as she could. The baby woke up immediately and began to scream its lungs out.

She let it cry, facing forward woodenly and evidently hoping to disrupt proceedings further.

The Judge ignored her for as long as he could while she fought back a malevolent grin. Then he lifted his head and snapped at his Bailiff, "Take her outside. Let her stand outside for one hour and DO NOT allow her to sit."

The Policeman rushed forward, moving so fast he was practically a blur. He was evidently glad to finally be useful as he grabbed her by the elbow and hustled her outside. The moment the door closed behind the duo, almost everyone heaved a sigh of relief.

The woman had acted as though she had a death wish but who knew what her village people had done to her before she came to court, right? The Judge had been the very soul of kindness and patience; a less tolerant judge would have tossed her in jail and thrown away the key.

Just as all the drama was rounding up, the registry finally discovered my own case file from the archives they had consigned it to and I gratefully turned my mind towards the business for the day.

Morale of the story? You tell me.

A DAY IN COURT: THE SUICIDAL DEFENDANT (Part 1)

Today's performance was riveting!!! Yours truly was seated in court contemplating my fate since the court staff, whether through negligence or contrivance had misplaced my file.

The registrar announced a particular case and from hearing the name of the case alone, I knew there was no lawyer involved in that matter: the defendants had been listed as Mr and Mrs xyz. (Any lawyer will tell you for free that Mr and Mrs is not a person known to law and the suit is defective ab initio).

The Plaintiff immediately walked forward upon the suit being announced; he was his own counsel, hence the ill-advised 'Mr & Mrs'. One of the Defendants, the "Mrs" in the equation, had to be called in from outside the court. She straggled in, dragging a grubby looking child of about two years old by the hand. She also had a toddler strapped onto her back with the aid of an even grubbier wrapper. As she walked, she dragged her feet with every step, drawing every gaze as she went. Her dark skin told tales of mismanagement and poor hygiene and her shaggy hair was a testament to poverty of the dirty variety.

As she headed for the front of the courtroom, she paused to seat her two-year old on an empty seat before striding to stand before the court.

Her entire manner was quarrelsome and reeked of a preparedness to engage in conflict. The Court asked her a few questions and she responded sulkily each time. Finally the Court demanded to know why her husband was not in court since he was a co-defendant and that was when the real drama started.

"He cannot come," she tossed at the Judge.

He waited a beat for an explanation. When none was forthcoming, he inquired calmly, "Why can't he come to court? Is he bedridden?"

"My husband is a very busy man. He doesn't have time to come here."

In the silence that followed, you could have heard an ant sneeze. The bailiff who had been half-asleep in his seat behind the judge sat up straighter; the registrar who had been doodling idly on a writing pad in front of him ceased the motion; several lawyers stopped whispering to each other and turned collectively to gape at this wonder woman.

The Judge's eyebrows snapped together in a deep frown as he glared down at her from the bench. "What did you say?"

The woman continued with dangerous nonchalance, "My husband doesn't have time to come here. He's a very busy man."

The Judge let his silence express his displeasure with that response and her manner. Then he stated calmly, "I'll adjourn this case and if your husband is not here by the next date, I'll issue a bench warrant to compel his presence. Madam, that means if he's not here on the next date, he would be arrested and brought here by force. This is a court of law. You cannot disobey the court."

The woman hit the roof, "You're a very wicked man! Just wicked! I knew from the moment I came here that the plaintiff paid you. So you want to lock me and my husband abi? Who do you think you are?"

"Madam respect yourself! You're in court," the Judge warned testily.

"And so?" She snapped, practically foaming at the mouth.

Brethren, at this point I think my jaw must have dropped to the very floor. Never, in all my years of practice as a lawyer have I witnessed such a clear case of contempt of court. The Judge was beside himself. Desperate hushed whispers erupted all over the court as well-meaning lawyers urgently tried to get her to head off the angry judge with an apology.

One elderly gentleman of the Bar even leapt to his feet in a desperate bid to do damage control but as he opened his mouth, the Defendant cut him off, "Why must you see my husband? By the way did we say we will not pay the landlord? You can't do anything to me! Who do you think you are?"

"Respect yourself or I would hold you in contempt and get you locked up," the Court ordered.

"Madam, keep quiet," someone began.

"Leave me let me tell this man something! You people cannot do anything to me. If you like, lock me. I'm not afraid of you!"

Her voice was so loud at this point, it shook the very rafters. Different court staff from different offices and even litigants in other courts dashed in to see what the howling was all about. Everyone wanted in on the drama. I looked around; every single mouth was open as we gawked at her as though she had just exited a space ship. Even the Judge looked flummoxed. Then his rage erupted to rival hers.

"Madam you're in contempt of court!!! Take her away and lock her up!" The Judge thundered from his bench.

The police man picked his jaw off the floor and immediately snapped to attention, his belly shooting out as he gamely tried to look smart. He grabbed the woman by the elbow and began to haul her towards the door with her two-year old clinging to her skirts.

To be continued...

SHERINA AND THE STAIRS THAT MOVED.

Whoever built the plaza that houses my law firm is either very tight-fisted or very outdated or both. My office is located at the very top of the building; 4 floors up, and without a single elevator in the entire building.

But I'll lament about that some other day coz in truth, the height "is great weightloss therapy for me" (seriously if you believe that statement, I have nothing to say to you) and I've also gotten used to huffing and puffing up those stairs whilst maintaining the famous British stiff upper lip. Plus it does discourage unserious clients as I've been told. I mean if someone takes 4 flights of stairs up in the unfriendly Abuja heat, you had better believe they mean business. 😎😎😎

Anyway, today something happened. It was 1:38pm and I was already backed up on time to complete some assignments outside the office. I raced down the stairs, taking them two at a time in my haste, my thoughts whirling as I tried to figure out the best way to utilise the little time I had left.

Friday came early for me today which explains why I was dressed in a native top, jeggings and a pair of girly sandals; very casual for a workday but it ended up saving my ankle and probably a few other joints.

As I reached the second floor on my way down, still taking the stairs two at a time, I'll never be able to explain what happened next. I'm half convinced the stairs moved when I wasn't looking: One minute I was racing down the stairs, next I had lost my footing and was sliding down at an alarming rate. I tried to break my fall but realised I would only hurt myself more and so I just went with it. To my amazement I landed on my butt on the last stair; absolutely unhurt.

The noise though must have sounded like a bag of rice hitting concrete at 60km per hour or something because the guy seated in an office facing the stairs jerked around at the sound.  His gaze flew to mine in confused alarm and I could see him already half-rising from his seat evidently bent on rushing to rescue the pretty damsel whose butt was currently keeping the staircase clean. 😂😂😂

My reaction amazed me; I was convulsed in laughter. I raised a hand and offered him a cheerful wave, unable to get a word out as I slapped my thighs in helpless laughter at myself. Automatically, he offered me a wave too, his handsome features wreathed in confusion. I could see him now trying to decide if he needed to get the Firstaid box or strap me in a straitjacket. He couldn't look away; and no wonder. Who laughs at themselves right?

As a kid, if I ever fell down, I became so embarrassed and mortified that I proceeded to transfer the agression to everyone in the vicinity who had witnessed my "misfortune". Looking now at office guy, I realised I had grown up when I wasn't looking; I didn't feel embarrassed in the least, I just wished I had caught it all on camera.

I was still whooping with laughter as I choked out an order across the space separating us, "Pretend you didn't see me!"

He understood at once and obligingly averted his gaze, leaving me to nurse my wounded sensibilities in dignified privacy --- such a gentleman. Sigh. Although I did see his shoulders shaking with suppressed mirth at the impromptu performance he had just been treated to.

Well I don't mind telling you my sensibilities were just fine, thank you. I simply couldn't get over the fact that for the first time in my adult life, I had actually slipped and fallen down and there had been a witness. Honestly I've always secretly wondered what my reaction would be if I were ever to fall down in public.  Now I knew--- it was the most hilarious experience I'd had in weeks.

Morale of the story?

Tsk, tsk. What have I been trying to tell you? There's no Morale to this story.  Stop taking yourself too seriously and learn to laugh at yourself sometimes; then even if people do laugh, they would be laughing with you and not at you.

PS: If you've had a similar experience, I would sure like to hear it. No be only me waka come. 😘

(c) 2017  Sherina Okoye

PEOPLE OF THE EARTH SERIES: THE LITTLE COMEDIAN

She was bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked with skin the color of dark chocolate.  She had mischief stamped onto every tiny feature and she was bubbling over with enthusiasm and more than a little of that mischief peculiar to children her age.

The driver, as is common with greedy Abuja drivers, had ruthlessly squeezed four grown adults into the back seat of his tiny car and our little comedian was perched onto the legs of the young man seated beside me.

She was three years old if she was a day, with a voice as clear as bells as she made repeated demands of her weary minder.

As the taxi passed underneath the famous Apo bridge,  she suddenly shot to her feet, her eyes scanning the environment while her chubby cheeks danced as she murmured to herself in childish gibberish.  She was so cute.

"Seat down," the young man carrying her ordered, trying to get her to seat back down.

She ignored him.

"Police will catch you ooo," he lied baldly.

Apparently for the Nigerian child, the fear of police is the beginning of wisdom.
She hastily sat back down and proceeded to hide her face in her hands; evidently if her face was covered so was the rest of her little self and the police wouldn't see her. I hid a grin, willing myself not to laugh and ruin the young man's good work.

Few minutes later, just as we were nearing Apo roundabout,  our little bundle of mischief surged to her feet again,  eyes as bright as stars as she looked around.

"Why are you standing up again?" Her minder demanded.

She turned to face him, her expression very adult and wise as she declared in a voice as clear as church bells, "I WANT TO SEE POLICE."

THE entire occupants of the taxi roared with laughter.

Evidently she had decided she had had enough of being threatened with police and was now her own one-woman liberation squad; facing down her fears in the back of a crammed taxi.

Morale of the story? Most children do not truly know what fear is and in my book, that's the best way to live. Preserve their spirit and their innocence for as long as you can. 😘😘😘

A TALE OF SEVERAL DOLPHINS AND A MINNOW

So this evening yours truly had a poolside to-do and while we were seated, I couldn't stop my gaze from straying repeatedly to the pool. It was filled with dozens of little kids splashing around,  shrieking and laughing as they tackled one another in their little watery paradise. A couple of adults were also in the pool and I don't mind telling you, they seemed lip-smackingly happy to me.

I jerked my gaze away, trying very hard to force my attention back to the 'weightier' matters being discussed at my table. Unfortunately, my attention kept wandering right back to the pool because, hey, I love swimming okay?

Anyway, mild interest soon turned to an almost jealous desire to join the happy folk in the pool and I ruthlessly squelched the green-eyed monster when he made an appearance.

Few minutes later, a man showed up dragging his son  by the hand. The boy had reluctance stamped all over his petrified, little features and unfortunately Daddy dearest didn't seem to know how to talk his son out of his reluctance. He apparently wanted his son to join the frolicking kids in the pool; and why not? Every parent wants to watch that carefree, happy abandon on their children's faces right?

I didn't need a fortune teller to tell me we were about to be treated to a scene. The child was clad in a pair of over-sized 'shorts' that came almost all the way down to his ankles; he had on a thick tee-shirt and his googles.

Other kids kept diving into the pool in relentless search of fun whilst screaming at the top of their lungs in sheer excitement. They kept diving in and surging to the surface in wide showy arcs that I couldn't even dare for a fee. They were as attractive as dolphins, I mused in admiration of their water art.

Reluctant boy's dad grabbed him by one hand, lifted him, and placed him in the pool. He stood at one corner of the kiddie pool, fright making his eyes wide as saucers as he gawked at the other kids.

His little size as well as his obvious fright made me think of the little minnow in the midst of dolphins.

His dad smiled with joy that his son was finally swimming (even though I'm yet to see anyone swimming,  successfully by standing upright in one corner of a pool). As Daddy made to step away, one overexcited kid gave a mighty roar and tossed his float in the air. That did it; the dam burst!

Reluctant boy opened his mouth wide and began to wail his hands stretched out as he signalled to his father to pull him out of the pool. He sobbed so hard I was almost afraid he would make himself ill.  His dad pulled him out immediately and wrapped him in a comforting hug while other kids in the pool began to apologise politely for scaring him.

I hid a grin as I watched Reluctant Boy demand an ice cream in a shaky voice. Minutes later, he was also as happy as the kids in the pool but the difference was he had an ice cream in his hands and he was on dry ground. The happiness on his face and the chagrin on his dad's told its own story; he had not wanted to swim but his dad had insisted, thus earning himself a tantrum. Reluctant boy got an ice cream out of the whole ordeal and I guess in his book that wasn't such a bad deal either.

Morale of the story? Kids have a mind of their own. 😘😘😘

Learn the lesson and share the story

©2017 by Sherina Okoye

SHERINA AND THE LAW-ABIDING OFFICER

So Tuesday evening, I got proof, as if proof were needed, that God has a sense of humour.
Few days ago, I wrote Esprit de Corps  (part 1) about the military-checkpoint-rule and its application to "bloody Civilians" it was a veiled urge to security persons to uphold the law they are sworn to protect.
Well on Tuesday I had a church program for 4pm somewhere in Piyakasa, Abuja. I was undeniably late because it was already 5pm when my taxi dropped me off at Dantata bridge. I immediately looked around for one of the trusty motorbikes usually stationed at the bridge to convey people to Galadimawa roundabout. To my consternation, for the first time in living memory, not a single bike was in sight!
I was beside myself.
I couldn't handle the long trek to Galadimawa roundabout from that bridge because of the sweltering heat and honestly I was a bit under the weather. And even minus both of those factors, I was exceedingly late.
If you live in Nigeria then you probably balk at flagging down private cars because no one knows who's who right? Same here.
Well while I was standing around, waiting for the never-arriving bike, it occurred to me that with every passing second, the program I was rushing for was fast coming to an end.  
I swallowed my wariness in a hurry and proceeded to study passing cars, willing my mind to accept any one of them. Finally I saw a silver-colored, somewhat decrepit car approaching. I was going to let it pass, but at last, I summoned courage and flapped my hand as eagerly as a chicken's wing at the sight of breakfast.
The car hurtled past me, obviously intending to ignore my signal. I quickly dropped my hand, smarting from the affront. To my surprise, the driver pulled over just a little ahead. I hurriedly dashed to join him, my pique forgotten as I clambered into the front seat and  smiled my gratitude.
My buttocks had barely touched the seat before he snapped at me to fasten my seatbelt.
My mouth puckered in silent protest as I did as I was told. I HAD been going to do just that, I mused mutinously. There hadn't been any need to bite off my head.
Anyway as soon as he began to drive again,  my ire vanished as though it had never been.
Unfortunately, rush-hour traffic was already building as we neared the roundabout. Traffic was heavy and of course the impatient drivers that ply Abuja roads kept shoving and thrusting as each tried to overtake the other. Curses rent the air. I choked back a horrified giggle as one Igbo brother crudely invited fire to roast the driver of the car behind him who was tailgating him. "Chineke gbaa kwa gi oku!" He yelled. 😂
As I watched the drama all around,  it belatedly occurred to me that my driver was the only person who wasn't trying to cut the line. He joined the very end of the longest of three queues, his face calm as a lake.
I shot him an alarmed glance from underneath my lashes. I was normally all for being law-abiding but today I needed a 007 driver in my boat... er,  car if I was to meet my program. My driver was no 007; he was the very soul of patience and I reasoned mournfully that at this rate, I would be lucky if I arrived the church in time for closing prayers!
A sharp guy to the right of us suddenly swerved roughly and overtook five cars forcing his own vehicle through a narrow opening. All five cars plunged in after him at once thus opening up a wide stretch of road ahead of us. My heart lifted and I shot an expectant look at my driver. If he took that route, I could be out of this traffic in five minutes and on my way to church, I thought happily.
The man  kept waiting patiently at the back of the line. He didn't even move a muscle. 😩😩😩
Other drivers from behind immediately dived into the wide open road ahead of us and my heart sank in consternation.  What was he? New to the country?
I turned to urge him to mosey on just as he leaned out of his window and barked at the drivers on his side of the road, "If you don't take your time, I'll book you."
I did a double-take. Book kwaa?
And that's when I saw it! People of Zion,  yours truly was riding shotgun with a Road Safety officer, Special Marshall. I stifled a groan
He was the law itself! He kept so much space between him and the back of the car in front that several other hopeful drivers kept trying to edge in; he wasn't in a hurry to cut corners and escape traffic and he certainly wasn't going to drive above 20km or so per hour.
By the time he finally escaped traffic, I was fighting back tears of frustration. I was so late I doubted I would even meet anyone in the church apart from the security men.
I weakly motioned to where I wanted to alight.
He informed me that that was not a safe spot. He needed to "clear properly."
Suffice it to say, by the time he finally found a good spot to park, my eyes were red. I exited the vehicle with the little grace I could muster, thanked him through my tear-choked throat and finally began the five minutes trek from where he had stopped me back to where he SHOULD HAVE stopped me so I could finally pick yet another bike to church.
I was too weak to fume; I just wanted to seat in a corner and pout.  In the end, I realised God was listening when I lamented that officers made the laws and expected Civilians to obey while they broke them.
I'd met a law-abiding officer for the first time in a long while that Tuesday, just when I didn't need one; and I wasn't amused.
Morale of the story? Be careful what you wish for coz apparently the Fates are always listening.

Learn the lesson and share the story

©2017 by Sherina Okoye

ESPRIT DE CORPS... PART 2

Our driver was recovering faster than anticipated. The cool, Abuja air gushing in through the open windows assured him that he had indeed escaped frog-jumps, delays and probably a night or two feeding some mosquitoes in a guard-room somewhere.

He sped down the freeway, his thoughts obviously in a whirl as he snuck repeated looks over his shoulder at phone lady AKA Civil Defence Officer. I could practically hear him wondering if he could get away with giving her a piece of his mind for scaring him like that.

 In the end, he was too chicken-hearted to dare: she was a woman in uniform after all and she had indicated that her bus-stop was Sauka. For those who don't know, Sauka is a bus-stop located around airport road in Abuja and it is directly opposite a Civil Defense office which means it's always teeming with officers. He didn't want to try rubbish in case he got to the bus-stop and she called the calvary.

The other passengers seemed to be in a similar quagmire.  They wanted to also give phone lady a piece of their collective minds for the HBP and heart palpitations she had caused them but they managed to restrain themselves; again, because of her uniform.

I'm fairly certain I was the only person grinning in the entire vehicle; I caught a few evil eyes cast my way in proof of that fact. Civil Defense was probably having a good chuckle too but she wisely kept it on the inside. As we crossed airport enroute Sauka, it was as quiet as a church in the taxi.  Given the continued grin on my face,  I'm sure everyone thought I was in cahoots with Civil Defense. I wasn't,  I didn't know her from Adam.  Anyway, try as I might, I couldn't stop smiling Coz I'm one of those people who enjoy watching high drama with a happy ending.

One time the driver cast an evil eye at Civil Defense via his rearview mirror but she pretended not to see. She wasn't looking around anymore but staring straight ahead. She seemed comfortable meeting only my gaze; her only fan.

The driver maintained his cool, and the effort visibly cost him. Apparently as he replayed the events, he became more pissed by the way he had been reduced to begging her to end her call. Why didn't she save his ego by informing him of the Esprit thingy? He probably felt she had tampered with his masculinity and machismo in some way. 😎

By the time we reached Sauka, his jaw was clenched with impotent fury and he was quivering again; this time with ill-suppressed ire.

Civil Defense alighted from the car and blithely whipped out a thousand Naira note which she proceeded to wave under the driver's nose.

The man was beside himself.

"Oppicer, but how you go give me N1,000? Your money naa N50!"

The woman looked down her nose as she informed him in the haughtiest tone I had ever heard; "That's what I have. Unless you want to leave the money for me."

I lost my smile at that one as her ajebo certificate was crudely ripped in two before my eyes.

"How you go say make i leave money for you? No be work I dey so?" He shot back. His wariness and fear of her uniform had evaporated at the thought of losing his hard-earned N50. Yes ma'am, the hustle is real. Don't mess with a taxi driver's take-home.

I cheerfully offered the driver two N500 notes to change her money, smiling like the good girl I'm not. He collected it with a grateful glance.  Two other passengers immediately gave him smaller denominations as well. In less than five seconds, he had N950 which he handed gleefully to her through his open window.  

Civil Defense glared at me quickly realising she had been betrayed by her only fan. I wasn't fazed. I gave her a blank stare that would have done Barbie doll proud. If you know me, then you know injustice gets my back up. I could see humor in scaring the driver at a checkpoint but I failed to see the humor in cheating him of his money especially since I had seen a N200 note sticking out when she pulled out her ID Card earlier.

Seeing she hadn't managed to cow me, she turned and sauntered away.

As our taxi pulled away from the curb, our driver launched into a tirade about bullies in uniform.
Other passengers had apparently recovered their powers of speech.
"Naa waa ooo. The woman been get plan," the man in front began.
"So she want make driver dash am N50?" Someone else asked rhetorically.
"Her plan no go work," the other passenger declared.

I silently listened wondering all the while why uniforms seemed to protect their wearers more than the public.

The morale of the story? When it comes to his money, the "bloody Civilian" will often quickly forget his fear regardless of what apparel you have on. The common man will fight for his money more than for his human rights.

Learn the lesson and share the story

©2017 by Sherina Okoye

ESPRIT DE CORPS... PART 1

She was fair-complexioned with a face ravaged by pimples and tribal carvings; the unfortunate heritage of most African children who had no one to defend their cause at birth. She was remarkably pretty nonetheless. She was dressed in a black tee shirt, simple gold watch faded to a dull silver by constant exposure to the harsh sunlight, she also wore a pair of navy-blue cargo pants (trousers) and she had short hair plaited in braids and done up in a modest bun.

As the taxi careened merrily down the highway, she kept a calm watchful mien, her eyes swinging this way and that in spite of being quashed in the back seat with three other passengers, myself included.  Given that I was seated right beside her, I kept an eye on her, observing her out of the side of my own eyes. I mean I figured it was my civic duty to keep an eye on her while she kept an eye on everything else.
As we drew even with a military checkpoint, she absently whipped out her phone to receive an incoming call. The driver jolted with fright, almost losing control of his steering as he realised one passenger was about to earn him a few frog-jumps and several hours cooling his heels at the military checkpoint while other commercial drivers sped past to pick up passengers from the busy streets of Abuja.

"Madam no fhone call! Naa army check foint!" He whispered urgently, fright and an Hausa accent causing him to mispronounce his words.
The lady jerked,  hurriedly took the phone away from her ear, then apparently recalling her 'status', she returned the phone to her ear and continued her call, leaning back lazily as she deliberately prolonged the call. By now, the other passengers had joined the driver in frantically urging her to end the call as we were a mere three cars away from the lone soldier inspecting passing vehicles. I could sense the palpable tension and fear; who could blame them? Apparently in Nigeria the fear of the military is the beginning of preservation of your basic human rights.  Just ask communities which saw pythons come out to dance in the village square. 🙄

Anyway, phone lady continued her call until we drew even with the soldier. By now our driver had shrunk in on himself and was now so tiny in his seat that I could barely see his head above the headrest.

Everyone probably thought I was either a stranger to Nigeria or recklessly unconcerned because I was the only other passenger at peace in Zion. I didn't tell them but I knew what the phone lady knew; I knew what she had recalled before she got courage to continue her call.

The gallant soldier waved us on and as we drew away, he shouted, "Stop!". Obviously he had belatedly sighted the phone pressed to her ear.

Our driver was a shivering wreck by now shooting impotent glances of fury and accusation over his shoulder at phone lady. The soldier strode up to the car but before he could get a word out, phone lady tossed the magic words at him, "Esprit de Corps."
He wasn't impressed. "Who are you?" He barked, veins standing out on his forehead while sweat glimmered on his craggy face.
She lifted her buttocks to enable her reach for her ID Card.  The motion drew the soldier's attention to what I had already noticed: Her navy-blue pants screamed 'Civil Defense'.
He didn't bother to see the ID anymore; he just ordered us to "Carry on".
I could almost hear the palpable sighs of relief in the minds of the other passengers as visions of frog-jumps and guardrooms vanished.

I smirked.

As we left I reflected that the military probably created the draconian 'law' banning phone calls at checkpoints because to the best of my knowledge there is no written legislation to that effect. And apparently,  the law only applies to "bloody Civilians". 😂😂😂


Morale of the story? Sometimes all you need to create the law is a uniform and all you need to break it for free is yet another uniform.

Learn the lesson and share the story

©2017 by Sherina Okoye

CONFESSIONS OF A BOOKAHOLIC: FLASHBACK

(Recollections from Law School Days) Something I've never confessed to a soul:

“You’re a bookworm,” my roommate accused as though she’d just had a major inspiration and invented the word.

“No I’m not,” I protested, tossing my sixth novel of the week back into my wardrobe and away from her eagle eyes. It wasn’t even Wednesday yet and already I had gone through five novels. The sixth was the guilty evidence I had just done away with.

I sat restlessly for a few minutes and then I leaped to my feet, grabbed my backpack and headed for  the door.

“Where to now?” she called. “The library?”

I had actually been about going to the library but seeing as I had just vehemently protested that I had a life outside books, I couldn’t very well say I was, now could I?

“I’m just going out,” I mumbled and fled.

My mouth was turned downwards at the corners until I entered the library and felt all those law reports calling to me from their shelves. That’s the weird thing about me; I would read anything so long as it consisted of the twenty-six English letters. 

The Bar exams were coming up and I was so pumped and psyched to make a great result. I flopped into a chair and promptly got lost in a Company Law text, headphones covering my ears, music blaring into my eardrums as I read.

I was so immersed in my studies that I lost track of time and didn’t notice when people gradually began to file out of the library. I read until the very last person had locked up for the night and strode out the door. It wasn’t until the light was switched off that I looked up with a jolt and noticed that I was all alone in an empty, dusty library.

I urgently stumbled and crashed my way to the front door in the dark, hands stretched blindly in front of me, heart thumping desperately in my chest as I yelled to get the attention of the woman locking the door. She looked up with a yelp of fright.

“Who are you?” she demanded from behind the safety of the iron bars separating us.

“I’m a student,” I responded, pointing at the ID Card around my neck. I would have added ‘duh’ but right then I was a touch too upset to be sarcastic.

“What are you doing there?”

What was it with this woman; wasn’t it obvious what a student was doing in a library? At any other time, my foot would have been tapping impatiently but I was half-afraid she would also wonder why I had shoes on; she was that exasperating.

“I came in to study,” I got out. “I didn’t realize it was closing time,” I shot back.

She was eyeing me suspiciously, her gaze searching the empty library behind me as though she suspected me of some truly dubious and dangerous activity like ... reading? My hands were laden with books and no bag in sight so where would I hide whatever it was she was so scared of?

“Why didn’t you leave when others were leaving?” she demanded, brows furrowed in more of that lovely suspicion.

I shrugged and explained that I had lost track of time and I hadn’t looked up and noticed people leaving. She lovingly caressed the key in her hand, stroking it as lovingly as you would say a pet dog, or something else less innocuous. I could see the wheels turning as she considered if she could get away with leaving me locked up until morning.

Then with a weary sigh, she opened the door, all stern frowns and head-shaking.

“Don’t do that next time,” she called as I turned to leave.

 Like I made a habit of going around getting locked up in lonely libraries? I cursed under my breath when I saw the time was already 10:30pm. It didn't help that I had forgotten my backpack in the library locker.

As I headed towards my hostel, I reflected that for some people, stating the obvious was an art form; a painfully annoying one, I concluded in exasperation.

My roommate’s eyes popped open the moment I came in as though she had been watching for me, “You came back late.”

I didn’t respond, just rolled my eyes as I flung myself wearily atop my sheets, shoes and all.

Lord deliver me from people with a love for stating the obvious.

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©2017 by Sherina Okoye