Chapter 2- - - - - -Puff Puff Pass

''Have you got any Rizla Bola?'' Khaled asked me.

''You are funny''I said, as I punched him playfully on the arm. '' You know
I don't keep anything that has to do with cannabis brp. I have my clean
reputation to protect''

''Yeah, don't worry Bola'' his British accent was especially pronounced when
he said my name this time, so B-a-l-l-e-r came out as B-o-w-l-e-r,''I will remind
you of your rep when you want to burn my spliff again''

With that, he left my doorway in a huff for his own flat, the sounds of my cheeky
chuckle trailing him.

Khaled had been trouble alright, but he was that kind of irresistible trouble. The bad boy
girls and guys in school wanted to hang out with. He had broken every neighbourly
convention there was, but he was able to charm everyone around him, so pretty much
everyone let him be.

We became 'pals' after one of his episodes of deviance. It had quickly become obvious Khaled
had one very powerful stereo evidence by the thumping rythyms that emanated from his flat. If
it had been agreeable R and B or even the obligatory big hip hop tune, all might have been well. No,
it was that most unmusical of musical genres, Garage or its even more ridiculous incarnation Grime, the
mind numbing contribution of the British youth to the world of music.

The other neighbours were initially aghast at this intrusion to the neighbourhood order. Slowly but surely
though, they dropped their complaints. Shanikwa's mum, the Jamaican baby mama that lived two doors away,
would send patois laced profanities coursing through the block, when the khaled's boom box released its thunder.
That was until she met him. Khaled was quite easy on the eye, and Shanikwa's mum must have surely thought he
was a good choice for babyfather part dieux. I am sure he had the same effect on the Nigerian girl Dami. The shameless
girl would blush everytime she came across him and he greeted,''Hello Sexy''. This was a lady of the same Nigerian origins
as I was, and barely said more than the obligatory 'hi' for the five years we had been neighbours.

That I would be so easily roped in by his charms though was most surprising of all, well at least to me. After one very stressful
day at work, and eager to get some beauty sleep, I was awoken three hours deep into my slumber by that thump thump boom
boom of Khaled's stereo. Now in London, you simply do not walk up to anyone, even when you ate the wronged, especially when
the offender was one of those ''black youth''. Stories of stabbings and shootings, the former seemingly the preferred choice, had
sensitised the wider population to the danger this demographic posed.

But I was past caringI banged so hard on the door, the hinges protested.

He opened the door, and he stood there all nonchalant, his form silhouetted in the dark of his hallway, a fat juicy spliff hanging
insouciantly between his lips.

''Bruv'' I shouted,''Will you let the music down yeah?'' Now this wasn't my manner of talking. It was customary in British youth ghetto
speak, carribean influenced, to interject sentences with 'yeah', 'wicked' or 'blood'. As I was going to the enemy's lair, I was going to
prove I was no bush African.

I was all prepared for a confrontation. I got a gold capped grin instead. Not the menacing gangster grin, but a genuine apologetic
expression.

''Sorry Neighbour'' he apologised,''See yeah, I never realise how loud I play the music man''

He fell back completely into the dark, and his flat was suddenly illuminated by light from his living room. The din soon subsided to
a tolerable level.

''Sorry bruv'' he aplogised again,''like i said yeah, i didn't mean no disrespect. I understand man likes to have his privacy''

''Okay'' I whispered. I felt a mixture of disappointment and unease. I was self-flagellating, chastising myself for
having thought the worst of my new neighbour.

I turned to go back to my flat. . . .

''Bruv, can I ask you a question?'' he said


''Okay''

''Is it foo foo, that makes African dicks so big?''

I almost fell over laughing. In my haste to have it out with my neighbour, I had not realised I was wearing white briefs
in the cold autumnal outdoors.

''You burn?''. Seeing the clueless expression on my face, he clarified,''You smoke weed?''

I hadn't touched even a cigarette since my quasi-rebellious late teens, early twenties. But I knew it would
be a struggle to get back to sleep, and perhaps it was just something in the air.

''Yes bro, puff puff pass'' I replied to which he grinned again.

''Let me go put on something bro. . . . .Its a bit cold''.

He grinned again.''This is special grass neighbour. . . It will warm you right up''

Now when did you become a writer?

Keep 'em coming tho. . .its pretty good. . .funny too.

bwuahahahahahahahaha!!!!!!!!
doyin!
i am ur fan
lol u had me reeling in laughter
and its not so british ghetto to interject "yeah" in sentences nau

Aha!

hehe. . .

Doyin's complete interview


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