By Alan Kay

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“Two guys were arrested in my neighbourhood last night. They were accused of drugging a lady and gang-raping her, to the extent that the lady’s screams roused the neighbourhood from sleep. So some good midnight Samaritans quickly alerted the vigilantes who rescued the hapless lady, apprehended the culprits and handed them over to the police.”

“Good way of reporting an event, Kay. But there are two things I will like to correct. One; a gang, by definition, is an association of three or more individuals. So, how come two men gang-raped her? No, they only double-raped her, if what transpired was a rape case after all.  Secondly, when she was screaming, did she call on the neighbours to come rescue her? Were they too sure she was not screaming for joy?”

“Charles, when are you going to be transformed in your inner-mind? See how you are defending rapists as if you were their attorney. Anyway, recall that the babe was drugged, so she could not have been in her right senses.”

“I agree with you there. She was not in her right senses because she was intoxicated or drugged. That means the screaming was not reserved for any intrusion from the neighbourhood. But above all, why not invite the girl concerned here to explain what actually transpired.”

“Thief; so that you can continue from where the rapists stopped, before that rude interruption from the vigilantes…oh! We have been gossiping since, without asking for what can give us legitimacy here.  See how the heavily endowed Iya Jelili is looking at us, wondering what we could be talking about.” 

“I hope she would have the beer criminally cold. From what I know, this present government is trudging on, despite loud grumbling from those feeling the heat of President Bola Tinubu’seconomic reforms.”

“The government is saying without pain there is no grain. But the people are saying the pains are leading to shock and in Dome cases, trauma; but we here, in our beer parlour, have various shock therapies in low-profile hot drinks if the cost of beer is unbearable.”

“Kay, recall that before, we were hanging out at big pubs where beer sells for N1,500 per bottle. See us here now at Iya Jelili’s beer parlour, where this brand of beer that resembles urine is available for paltry N800. That simply translates to low purchasing power.”

“Charles, please reduce the volume of your voice. Look at the gaunt-looking guy at the other seat staring intently at us; maybe is a secret agent and may be tapping our conversation. Because, I wouldn’t like to suffer double jeopardy in this country. It is not good to be broke and be detained over nothing. Your family will never be proud of you.”

“No, no, no. Didn’t you do Social Psychology in your university days? Can’t you see the guy’s oesophagus is gasping for some gulp, that he’s in need of beer? But observing him intently, I think the guy is also hungry.”

“Then if he is hungry, he should first eat before drinking, and any attempt to buy food for him while I am shelling beer amounts to self-dispossession. Well, I’ll tell Iya Jelili to thrust one bottle on his table to confirm your Nostradamus analysis of his mission here.”

“Try it and you will see that I have more beer-parlour foresight than you do…hic…lest I forget, what is the latest on the State of Emergency brouhaha in Rivers State, ’cos it is giving me worries as per the safety of my only brother.”

“Any problem with him? And for God’s sake, your brother is not based in Rivers.”

“Not much; remember he is an investigative journalist; he wants to go to the creeks to ascertain the number of oil pipelines that had been blown off by bellicose militants. As such, he wants me to introduce him to a security ware merchant. He wants to buy a bullet-proof vest so as to safeguard himself against gunshots.”

“If the man is not wise enough, are you not also? Please let them replace these ‘fallen heroes’ (empty bottles), and let Iya Jelili give us more bottles…Yes, as I was saying, doesn’t he know that a bullet-proof vest can only protect the torso? What if they aim at his head or his ‘third leg’ (private part), otherwise known as ‘the industry below the soft underbelly’, or even, at his legs?”

“So Alan Kay, the new overall bullet-proof manufacturer. How does my brother keep alive?”

“Simple. Tell him to come. I will take him to my village. There is a babalawo (herbalist) who is fecund in the manufacturing of ‘ayeta’; that is, a native bullet-proof charm. That one is overall, just as you said. But tell him to be ready to part with five million Naira…”

“Wait, wait. What would an unkempt native herbalist do with five million Naira? You are a thief. Just tell me you need money to upgrade your dwindling beer-drinking fortune.”

“Yeye man. Won’t I survive? After I must have given babalawo a paltry N50, 000 for his services, I will go buy a new sleek car, complete my building project which the local witches have stalled all these years, and then take you, Charles, out on a drinking spree.”

“Now, I can confirm you are drunk.”