I never realised that I was like a miniature fish in the pond until that fateful day serendipity exposed me to the ocean for the first time.
Reminiscent of a debutant fry, I spread my little gills and swam nosily, navigating the nooks and crannies of the deep blue sea.
Wow! Freedom at last from four and half decades of psychosomatic confinement. It was more of an astral projection used in esotericism than mere transfiguration.
Before you can say knife, I had moved into the realms of fantasy. Behold! It was a beautiful moment and a wonderful place to be that I swiftly began to build my castle in the air.
Suddenly, I heard a husky voice asked me, Baba, how do you feel? For me, it felt like I was in a live radio program.
In that state of deliriousness, the voice sounded like that of Igoyan Baba of Vision Africa. Gbam! That’s it! I am live on The People’s Parliament Morning Show, I reckoned.
It was so real that I figured that Governor Okezie Ikpeazu, some lawmakers and those small babes I used to intimidate with big incorrect grammar and do small shakara for were tuned in.
Then, all hell let loose. Splendidly, I adjusted myself close to the illusory microphone (the wrap of my India Hemp) Wetin concern me if the English correct or not? No be radio station I dey? Then, I opened my mouth with pride and released the bazooka, boom!
“Mr Speaker! Mr Speaker! Thank you. You see, without hallucination, your question is approximately in the monarchy of transcendence Parnassian.
“In my submission, I will toe the part of the legendary medieval Hon. Patrick Obahiagbon who refused to change his new-fangled sumpsimus for the mumpsimus. Thank you! Thank you!”
Although I obfuscated the grammar, I was sure that my Mumu boys in the office must be admiring my vocabulary prowess.
True to my assumption, when I got to my imaginary office, they were all clapping for me. One of them, shouted, Onyeisi, grammar gi wu dachii!
At that moment, I felt so mercurial. I reclined and was so proud of myself; that I started thinking about my Ex-girlfriends and former fucking partners.
“They must be missing me by now,” I hallucinated not even thinking that they could be moaning and screaming under the arms of other men endowed with superior AK-47.
“Anyways, very soon, I mean as soon as you can imagine, they will come begging me on their knees,” I said with a bit of entitlement mentality.
As I was still exploring my fantasy world, I found myself among top government officials and former governors dancing, wining and dining.
They were all stirring at me embarrassingly. But in my state of numbness, I felt my perceived eloquence enthralled them.
I started feeling like the chosen one when they simultaneously began to credit my account while I was dancing to Korode Bello’s single hit, ‘Godwin’ to their excitement. I was dancing and screaming on top of my voice, “DJ, give am belle! Give am belle!”
All of a sudden, I felt a strong hand pushed and shoved me back to life. As I opened my eyes, I saw my fellow ganja farmers rubbernecking at me.
Before I could say a word, one of them said, “Baba, your phone don dey ring tee teeh! Instead make you pick am, you dey rock the ringing tone.”
I quickly grabbed my phone from him and proceeded to check my account balance. Ol boy shingbai no drop.
Chai! I screamed painfully. So, all these “I don get alert God win”, na fake alert? Hmm! In that state of disappointment, I demoralisingly said, “Ol boys we go make am for this life ooh!”
Simultaneously, all my fellow ganja farmers responded, “No be lieee!” “Why not!”
Then I understood why some of us do wheelbarrows and frying pans empowerment and even call ourselves adopted sons of top politicians.
Onwe kwanu ihe ama uma eme. It took me a wrap of ganja to realise that network no dey for Ibeku land. That’s why Ibeku people are always on top of trees. Chai! Don Norman! Don Norman! Don Norman! How many times did I call you?