Junkyard Ramblings

So I’m awake and was in a mood for most of the day. Wrote this to lift my mood and hope it makes someone else laugh a lil too. Enjoy

TL

Obi waved animatedly as he spoke. He was in a heated discussion with two of his friends. They were just returning from the viewing center where they had just watched Chelsea beat Arsenal two goals to one. The game had been one all until a few minutes into extra time when Chelsea was awarded a penalty. Obi was an Arsenal fan while Jamiu, his short friend was a blue, a Chelsea fan. The third, Rukevwe was a football lover who used to be a Liverpool fan but two seasons ago, said he was no longer supporting any club and just wanted to enjoy the game. “Na una be mafia, you this Chelsea. Una no fit win one game clean like this, you must do ojoro with referee,” Obi was shouting. Rukevwe went reeling with laughter as he said “Obi, suffry o, see the vein for your neck as he commot, he go burst o”. Obi turned to him “shutup there, football divorcee. You don leave your club, as no club go accept you as fan, you no get club again, dey form football lover”. “Dem accept you? Dem even know say you dey breath for Arsenal? Abi dem go share money come your side? Free me jor” Rukevwe responded as he laughed harder, joined by Jamiu, which further annoyed Obi. Obi turned away from Rukevwe and faced Jamiu “at least if I go follow person argue, I go follow true fan argue. Jamiu, talk true, una suppose win that ball? You sef know say na ojoro, na why you no talk.” Jamiu responded “see this man o. so shay if na una dem give penarity, una for no play am abi? Win na win abeg, and Arsenal just no sabi win. We go soon come borrow una trophy cabinet, as una no dey use am.” Him and Rukevwe laughed again, holding their tummies while Obi watched fuming.

The shrill sound of the ringing of a mobile phone interrupted their laughter. Rukevwe dove into his pocket and brought out a shiny silver phone. When it emerged from his pocket, the sound was so loud it was distorted. Before he could pick the call, it ended. “Flasher!” he hissed, retrieving the call record to ascertain who it was. The other two laughed a little as Obi peered into the phone with him. “Na Justina. No be you give am number, why you dey complain onto flashing. No worry, Airtel don do too good for una, just dey talk dey go.” Now it was Rukevwe’s turn to glare at Obi who was having fun teasing him. “When you buy new phone sef?” he queried. “You sure say the phone new?” asked Jamiu, stretching his hand to take the phone from Rukevwe “make I see”. Rukevwe slapped his hand away “gerrout, I no give you. Anything wey you like talk. This phone na state of the art o. FM dey, torchlight dey. The music loud sotey u fit use am do party. You even fit carry am surf the internet.” He held it up like some high tech wonder. “See wetin dem write on top am”, squealed Jamiu, trying hard to contain his laughter. Obi succeeded in snatching the phone from Rukevwe. Ewo, chimo. Na Nonkia dem write. Which one be Nonkia again o. All these una Chinko phones. Oghenerukevwe has killed somebody”. Jamiu literarily burst into laughter, holding his sides as he bent over. “Nonkia”, he kept repeating at intervals as he laughed.

Rukevwe groped in his mind for something to come back at them. He found the answer in in Obi’s t-shirt. He was wearing the Arsenal jersey he always wore on days they were having a match. He spoke in a patronizing tone, laughter all over his voice, putting his arms around Obi “I like this your jersey o. wetin dem write on top again” Jamiu looked at it and burst out laughing “Flying Eminrates.” He fell sitting on some scrap, unable to stand from laughing so much. Obi retorted “at least my own jersey new. You wey you dey wear original wey dem don patch finish nko?” He put his hand through a hole in Rukevwe’s shirt saying in a sing song voice “post office”.

The phone rang again, this time it was in Obi’s hand and he picked it before it cut off. The flasher, Justina didn’t know that he had picked and what she was saying came through loud and clear for all three to hear. “This my maga no wan call back, I no know wetin dey do am,” she was saying to someone. The person responded “dey disturb am with flash, he go call. Wetin he wan chop for your body no go gree am rest, so he must call back.” Obi put the speaker on so they could hear better. “Make he come carry us go chop nkwobi jare. Hunger dey catch me.” Then the line went silent briefly. They thought she had run out of credit or ended the call when they heard and exclamation from her friend “Justina o, he don hear everything, he pick your flash and you no know” “Ha!” Justina said, then into the mouth piece she stuttered timidly “Hello, He… He… Hello”. The three of them crowded around the phone and shouted “Hello!” “Your father!” exclaimed Rukevwe, “na me be maga”. She responded,  “No be as you think am, na just yarn…” “Sharrap there”, Jamiu shouted. “We go treat your fuck up”, Obi joined in. “Rukevwe, you no even talk, see as your friends dey curse me.” “Oghene mo,” Rukevwe responded, “this girl still get mouth o. that juju wey dem give you no work en, odeshi dey here.” She paused for a bit, and then said “Oya, no vex my sugar sugar. Make I still come? We go chop peppersoup and then I go give you something else chop.” All the guys collectively responded “Your father!” Then her credit finished and the call disconnected.

ff @tundeleye

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28 thoughts on “Junkyard Ramblings

  1. Eminrates, Tunde chai that slaughtered me with laughter. On a serious note who won’t take a penarity shot plix all you nonkia users endeavour to be leaving your phones on silent bcos even the vibration wen dey for that fone na ring tone. Justina sha.

  2. Omo i don laff… My chins are aching. I dint want to open my tlplace until tricia’s nightmare is true….. Cos my sense of imagination could finish the story

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