Sometimes, it will shock you how satisfying the simplest things can be. I'll tell you something. Once, when I was in secondary school, in form four, I used to sit out on the field in the evenings to watch the sun set. Me and two friends of mine. One was called Jiles (short for Ighile) and the other one we nicknamed Bolo. And when it was night, we would watch the stars and tell stories, and wonder why it was so important to know the nineteenth element on the Periodic Table. What?
That was the time in my life I used to turn back to look at the mechanics working at the entrance to Ojuore GRA. Every time we drove by, I would turn to look at this particular mechanic with his ragged oil stained clothes, and I would envy him. Because he looked so – honest to God – happy. Now (that I'm grown up), of course, I agree with my mum. She said, 'You'll thank me later. But, no, you cannot drop out of school to become a mechanic.' Because life is not that simple, and nothing is exactly as it looks.
You know, I think it was a search for meaning. Because rap didn't make much sense to me either, and it didn't matter much that liking it was synonymous with being cool. You see, I wasn't cool. No, no, it's okay. You don't have to protest. I really wasn't cool. I didn't know labels or brands, makes of cars, or the release dates for the latest versions of Street Fighter.
So, on my first day at Uni, when every department seemed to require a passport picture, I walked out the school gates to a roadside photographer. The camera sat on a long tripod, and was covered with a black cloth, underneath which he disappeared to snap me. I tell you, in this life, I have never been uglier than in those sets of pictures. But I didn't care. I still used one of them on my i.d. And, one day, when that i.d fell out of my pocket accidentally, the guys standing around for a lecture had a good snigger. Honestly? I thought it was a bit rude, seeing as I hardly knew them and they hardly knew me. But there was this one guy who didn't laugh, just picked it up and gave it back to me. His name was Ja'afaru.
We're still best friends, and sat many evenings, legs dangling down the rough brick wall that fenced off the hostels, just talking. He was the one that asked me, 'Why don't you like rap?' And I said, 'I don't understand what they're saying.' So, he said, 'Either let me fly, or give me death. Let my soul rest, or take my breath. If I don't fly, I'll die anyway. I better move on 'cos I'll be gone any day.' Then he added, 'That's DMX.' I still sing it to myself, you see.
And so, the other day, when it was raining like someone had opened a trapdoor in heaven, I said to my people, 'Hold on, let me bring the car closer'. I did, backing the 406 right up to the corridor where they were all standing, with bags of shopping, before popping the boot open. But the really fun part was when we started going in one by one, squealing through the rain and into the car. First the two year old, then the four year old, then me, then her. You know how it is, don't you? When it's dark and rainy outside, but you have everyone you love in the car with you, plus each one's favorite chocolate? So, we just sat there, engine running, watching the water streaking down the windows.
Honestly? To me, that's what a fairytale is. Because, in this life, there are too many things we do just so other people think we're happy or successful or intelligent or good-looking or whatever, like take science courses instead of arts, or a glass of beer when you know you should be drinking water. But being myself has brought me good things. You know what? I'm glad I didn't become a mechanic. That wasn't really the point.
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