₦airaland Forum

@Orinkla what's the link to your blog? Is your book not been sold in Nigeria?

[The shabby bar of a hotel. A 16inch colour TV with a live football game showing is surrounded by a semi circle of about ten working class males aged between 18 and 35. The guys are seated on plastic chairs, settees and benches. The smell of cigarette and alcohol hangs in the air. 8pm or thereabouts. Before the last world cup]

Obi: Le Championat is the best league in Europe.

Ayo: Ol’ boy! Na lie. Wetin you dey talk about?

(a chorus of Na lie rents the air)

Obi: the French league is the best. Your problem is you guys don’t watch it.

Musa: (raising his voice) See you. Na you dey watch Championat?

Uwem: This guy dosen’t know football. How can he say Championat is the best?

Abel: Not even Serir A, La Liga, or Premiership. For me sha priemership na the best.

Ayo: See your mouth. Bolton fan.

Abel: (standing) Make I be Bolton fan. Which one concern you. J.J na my man. (Sits) Arusi Ogwashi uku.

Musa: The best league is Italian league. Ac Milan, Juventus…Men all those teams na bad guys… (Whips his right hand in the air).

Obi: The competition in Championat is keen and mind you Lyon is very strong.

Uwem: Where do you watch your own football? No be for this hotel you begin watch ball.
(Ayo stands up to stretch himself and retrieve his mobile from his pocket)

Obi: This guy get out of the way. Your blocking me (pushes him)

Ayo: (shouts) DON’T TOUCH ME O.

Obi: Comot for road, jare!

Musa: (exhaling cigarette smoke) So ‘Le Championat’ sabi speak pidgin. I think say na oyibo.

Uwem: You mean French guy
(General laughter)

Ayo: Like say na Cameroon the guy from come. Maybe na Championat them dey watch.
Obi: (standing up furiously) Don’t insult me. Don’t try it. (Waves his fist at Ayo)
(Commotion ensues as the others try to diffuse a potential fight; meanwhile a young actor comes down from a flight of stairs leading to the upper floors of the hotel with a frown on his face)

RMD wanabee: (angrily) what is going on here? Can’t one have peace in this hotel? SHUT UP! We’re trying to rehearse.

Abel: Eh, WHO IS TALKING? (Draws out the word for emphasis and hisses)

Musa; (sneers) No be the same money you pay that I paid.

RMD wanabee: (Authoritatively) I insist that you boys shut up or I call the manager.

Obi: Is it the one watching the match with us?

Ayo: This actor sef. This ball everybody dey watch e no dey interest you?

RMD wanabee: Which Ball? Nigeria is not even playing…you guys are here killing yourself over white people.
(All shout him down)

Uwem: I don’t balme you. Acting love scenes with women…you don lose focus.
(Whistles, jeers, laughter)

Obi: (mockingly) Do you know that Le Championat is the best in Europe?

RMD wanabee: (Angrily walking away) What is Le Championat?

Ayo: If I see this guy for home video, I no go watch am o…OTONDO.

NEPA STRIKES

Chorus: Ewooooooo…

LIGHTS OUT

In a well furnished sitting room. Mum and Dad sit on the couch and Son sits on an armchair opposite them

Mum: You cannot marry her!!
Son:   Come on mother, why?
Dad:  Son, Son (sitting up) Listen to your parents. Let her be.
Son:  Father, I am surprised at you. Really I am. You…you seemed to like.
Dad: Yes I did…I do (gesticulating) But you said it yourself, she disappoints you a little.
Son:  come on guys. I said I was a little bit disappointed at her intellectual abilities…her academic abilities. She took the           university matriculation exams twice and she graduated with a second class lower degree.
Mum: ehem, yes (sneering)
Son: apart from that she’s fine. She’s smart, brilliant, informed. You know, school isn’t everything (shrugs). She’s amazing   mother.
Mum: Indeed
Dad: My son, son listen. I don’t want to sound (pauses) How do I put it. Classy, elitist…whatever. But you know the pedigree you come from. We are all seasoned intellectuals. I’m a professor, your mother has a PhD and two masters degrees. Your sister. She’s at Harvard and you. (Pauses) look at yourself lad. Two masters degree and your not yet thirty.
Son: (sighs) Pedigree, Pedigree, Pedigree, (pouts)
Mum; yes, can I help you? Uh huh, what’s wrong with that? Tell me son (lowers her voice menacingly) what’s wrong with that?
Son: Nothing mother, Nothing (lowers his voice) and yet everything… (Smiles cynically and grits his teeth; then exhales) you know, I think I love her. Really, I do. She makes me happy. She’s smart mother (faces her) maybe not a genius….but she’s smart and sophisticated.
Mum: sophisticated. (Eyebrows raised)
Son: yea, modern
Mum: Amazing, sophisticated! Nice adjectives huh.
Dad: (shockingly) DARLING
Son:  You know father, Mother. I am the one who should be grateful she’s marrying me.
Dad:  (cynically) Really?
Mum: Yea, amazing
Son: she’s beautiful, smart, educated (looks at his mother with a smile) amazing. She can get married to anybody she wants and she chose me.
Mum: are you crazy
Dad: son you embarrass me and belittle our family
Son: If anybody has any flaws it is me.
Mum: you son, Hear yourself.
Son: Oh yes, it is me. (Standing) Remember folks I have genetic flaws. I have sickle cell disease. (Backs them)

Mum and Dad look at each other in pain with mouths agape.