Diary of a drunken sailor
by Baba l’Egba
“Egba, Egba… Have you heard? Dino is at it again o”. I could hear Nafiu’s voice from the bathroom.
“Is that why you barged into my living room without recourse to even the slightest amount of courtesy?” I asked the bloody old thing.
“You need to see Dino’s two videos. In the first one, he was doing ntoor to his enemies and in the second one, he danced and danced to songs of praise”. I couldn’t help asking Nafiu how that affects the price of my choice rum.
“Look, I know all these things and I even saw the guy wearing a ceremonial gown inside the Senate chamber. In a sane clime, Nafiu, heads should roll over that single incident. I am even surprised that Mr. Common Sense has not said anything about the issue.”
Nafiu shook his head, grabbed the bottle on the stool and said “I was thinking like that too but… ” I grabbed the cup before cutting him short, “but what? Which university allows graduates to take home academic gowns? Shebi robes like that are used only for three purposes, one, matriculation, two, graduation and the third is if you have a case with the school’s disciplinary committee and they want to decide your fate, maybe you will graduate before your mates”
Expectedly, Nafiu’s question was “so how did our friend get the gown?”. My response was “as a defence personnel, Nafiu, you are damn too predictable. Well, me I don’t know o. All I remember is that Mr. VC was there to defend our friend’s certificate. And the gown Dino Bravo wore is not even the type worn by students. It is the one used by Professors and senior staff of universities. Look here Mr. Man, don’t put me into trouble o.”
The stubbornly inquisitive Nafiu asked again, “are you saying the VC brought the gown to him in Abuja all the way fro Queen Amina’s hometown?”
I looked at the silly old man and told him, “I am not saying anything. Just give me my drink and please leave my house. Aaro l’oja (markets thrive in the morning).”
NB: unless otherwise stated, the names and characters in this write up are simply the imagination of the writer. They bear no resemblance to any person, living or dead. Any such resemblance is simply coincidental