Posted on June 20, 2012
Pic. Credit: www.ipadwallpapershd.net
He brought out a pair of brown striped trousers from his closet, the same pair that he had folded neatly after coming back from the meeting at the village clinic. He remembered that bright Wednesday as he dressed up, he wondered if he had stunned them as he always did with his big grammar and eloquent use of the English language.
As he was just about playing back the scenes from that day, he heard his wife yelling at some kids in the hall way, “Mary! Mary! I haf tell you many many a times that my gourd are not for eferybory to drink from!” Adamu shook his head in complete shame at the way his wife just massacred the English language. He had told her several times to speak their dialect or better still stick to the broken English that was more pardonable compared to her poor attempt at speaking the proper queens English. Stretching out his right hand to reach for the other sleeve of his crisp white shirt, he whispered a prayer that his efforts not be in vain as he could feel the crispness of the shirt against his skin; he had cleaned the coal iron and personally ironed and starched his shirt the night before. He had to do so to keep from going crazy, after which he held a night vigil, praying to his God to open doors for him on the day of the interview which was today.
As he sat down in the interview room waiting for the Administrator of the Railway Station to come in, he wondered if his prayers for God to shine a light on his person had been answered, he also wondered if Gods light was shining over him as he sat or maybe it would start shining when the Administrator came in. His stomach rumbled, he concluded it was his nerves causing the rumbling, but then it rumbled again, this time around, he could tell it wasn’t his nerves as the sound was more like a mouse squeaking from his intestines, in a bid to escape. This sound was very familiar to Adamu, the mouse that was trying to escape was gas! he had gas trapped in his stomach, thanks to the beans his wife had cooked the night before.
With his imagination that angels were standing right beside him, holding the torch of light over him for favor with the Railway Administrator, he couldn’t dispel the gas, he held his farts in and prayed that the interview would start before he started feeling sick. His wife, Sarah, had the knack of acting nice but not without adding some shady acts to it. She knew there was a particular specie of beans that he didn’t eat, due to the gas that would accumulate in his stomach upon consumption. He had asked her if she was very certain that she had cooked the right specie as she served him and she had assured him that she cooked the right type of beans. He ought to have known better, he scolded himself, especially when he remembered that he had helped himself twice. As the mouse squeaked again and another dangerous fart tried unsuccessfully to escape, the Administrator walked in……………………………………. – Thots Abi
Stay tuned!!!!!!!! 🙂