Trouble De Sleep Inyanaga Go Wake am One uneventful evening in Issele uku, back in my secondary school days, I was just strolling with my landlord’s son. We made it to that street called Ogbalutolo Obi. We were heading there via a bush path. As we approached the street we heard a motorcycle coming from that lane that led to the express, heading towards the Catholic Church area. The motorcycle made as if it was continuing straight as we were coming out from the bush path to enter the street proper. Suddenly, and without warning, the driver turned his wheels towards the bush path. And the place was narrow and slanted. He took us in such a surprise by his abrupt turn that we literally were jumping in different directions to avoid being run over. Some people fell as they tried to dodge the driver’s bullet, so to speak. One Igbo man was there. He was heading in the opposite direction on that bush path. He was entering the bush path from Ogbalutolo obi as we were coming out from the bush path unto the street. We all met at that narrow entrance/exit from the bush path. As this motorcycle driver made that unexpected abrupt turn, this Igbo man jumped as we were all in disarray. The motor cycle barely missed his front legs as it zipped through. All this man could mutter was, “ehee! You want to jam me?” That was all. The motorcycle driver stopped his motorcycle. He had a female passenger. What did you just say, he asked the Igbo man? “I say, ‘you won jam me?’” The driver parked his motorcycle, turned off the engine and began coming down. Let’s keep going nau, said his female pavilion. No, leave me let me beat this man up, he replied. “What did he do to you nau? Leave him let’s continue.” No, hapum kam nti okei e ife. It was obvious that this motorcycle man only wanted to impress this girl he was carrying. He wanted to show her how strong he is. He came down from his motorcycle and approached us as we stood there with the Igbo man. He kept coming; and as he came closer his demeanor was changing with every step he took. Then he stood in front of this Igbo man, placed his hand on his chest, and gave him a push-back. Now we knew that it was no joke. He meant to fight (i.e, beat up this Igbo man, as he puts it.) On his first push the Igbo man stepped back, put his hands in his pocket and brought out all the money, mostly coins, he had there. He laid it down at the edge of the bush. Apparently he did not want them falling off as he fights. As soon as he laid his money down he came back to this Issele-uku young man who was pumped up by the adrenaline of having a woman riding on his bike and holding onto him. And now he wanted to impress her further by beating up somebody. When the Igbo man got close the driver charged him. Fight! Immediately they locked horns the Igbo man grabbed him in the middle and locked him in a bear hug. His two hands went around the motorcycle rider/driver and locked onto each other behind him. His head was buried in the chest of his opponent from Issele-uku. And then his muscles contracted and locked the man up. That’s bear hug. The man from Issele-uku began struggling to free himself from the vice grip of this Igbo man. Struggle, twist, bend, do all you can. For where? The man had him clenched tight. Extra struggle yet and it was all over. He was now on the ground, lowered by the Igbo man. On the ground he began to twist and turn again to free himself from the bear hug. This time, as he twisted and turned, his back, that is, his shoulder blades, began to draw the map of Africa on the ground. In addition to the vice grip, the Igbo man now was on top of him, his legs astride him, one on this side and that on the other side. He began to struggle yet to break the Igbo man’s lock. All were to no avail. The more he struggled the tighter he was conscripted. Soon the street was being swept clean by the Issele-uku man’s back. He was now doing environmental for the whole community. All this while we just sat and watched the drama unfold. We were not big enough to separate two grown men. As this was happening the girl he wanted to impress looked on as her driver suffered in agony; the agony of the Igbo man’s grip. They were there on the ground, as the driver struggled and cleaned the street some more. But nothing happened. The vice grip was badly applied and nothing could break that lock. After a while, grown men were attracted to the scene by the noise. It was when they came that the fight could be separated. Immediately they pulled them apart, do you know what this Issele-uku man said to the Igbo man? “Obu ife ina acho bu onye ga anwului na aka tigbu bei?” [No be the person wey go pick you up for (with the) hand, begin kill you, you want?] “Please come let’s go, make you no kill am.” That was what the girl said to him. Then he walked lonely to his motorcycle, kicked it, mounted, the girl mounted, and they drove off. The funniest and most pitiful of everything was that, as they rode home on his motorbike, the spot that faced the girl was his back. The back that did all that environmental, and drew the map of Africa, on the ground. But this was the same girl he wanted to impress with his strength, which led him to fight a man who did him no wrong. Ever since that day, I have never stopped to wonder what this man told that girl when they got home. So what do you guess he must have told her? Anytime you see where Trouble de sleep, please make you no let your Inyanga go wake am, I beg.
Posted on: Fri, 21 Mar 2014 15:29:39 +0000
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