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#Beer Parlour Talk

From Americana to Nigeriana

With Alan Kay

“We should have concentrated our attention on the newly brewed beer that is being promoted. Drinking a mixture of the stuff can precipitate abdominal rumbling, so much that you would think some evil Spirits are playing soccer inside your tummy.”

“Charles, walahi, you are right. That’s why I went to the rest room, to discharge, but I am back to re-load…yes. While off-loading at the rest room, my eyes caught a graffiti of an image that resembled Abraham Lincoln, the popular 19th Century American President who was assassinated in a theatre hall, in 1865.”

“Brilliant, for your sense of history. But what has the graffiti got to do with your budding feelings for historical reflections. Lincoln is long gone. Let’s talk about contemporary matters.”

“Yes, what struck me was a note under the caricature which stated, ‘Man who attended own funeral.’”

“Oh, the writer is damn right. Haven’t you read that Lincoln had a terrible dream about 10 days before he was killed? He dreamt that there were some subdued sobs in the White House but he could not see the mourners. So, he went searching for the mourners until he found them in the East Room. A corpse was laid in a catafalque and wrapped in funeral vestments. Shocked, he asked a bodyguard, ‘who died in the White House?’ and he replied him, “Mr President; he was killed by an assassin.”

“Hmmm, morbid; too morbid. Remember, some years ago, a man was shot by security men at the US Capitol, the seat of the American congress, as he was trying to pull his gun for shooting spree. Same way, presidential returnee, now President DonaldTrump, missed death by the whiskers as an assassin’s bullet ripped through his ear, only last year.”

“While the world, led by America, battles to curtail religious terrorism which had in 2001 reached its crescendo through the 9/11 plane hijack suicide attacks, another challenge before all now is that posed by simply crazy people. Some of them had wrecked havoc in many homes by gunning people down indiscriminately.”

“Charles, of all the four American Presidents killed in office, who all were Lincoln, McKinley, Garfield and John F. Kennedy, the one whose case was most pathetic is Garfield’s, a complete gentleman.”

“So only gentlemen deserve to live, in this world of the jackals?”

“Not quite; it’s just that the man was at the train station to receive his sick wife when a crank, Charles Guiteau, who was unable to secure a political appointment as against his wish, suddenly gunned him down. He didn’t die immediately and would have even survived, but medics at the period, that’s 1881, were not advanced. They operated him with unsterilised tools and he died of infection. All within 11 days.”

“So why should such an evil person share the name ‘Charles’ with me? Kay, let’s leave the Americans alone, let’s talk about Nigeria. Look at us; we came to this joint in commercial vehicles, leaving our vehicles at home because of the cut-throat, N950 price of a litre of fuel. Even at that, we are under serious heat as transport fares have hit the roofs.”

“For instance, our own fuel, which is beer, has also increased in price, as if one should relocate to the grandfather’s farm in the village and start taking palm wine.”

 “Then we should lead a protest of drunkards to Aso Rock, seeking President Tinubu’s intervention on the high cost of beer!”

“Well, if you are shot dead while protesting over a nobler thing, at least your children and posterity will be proud of you. But nobody will reserve anything higher than disdainful scorn for you, if you are killed during anti-beer-price-increase riot.”

“So, so, for Nigeria. Kay, that reminds me. Where is the babe who promised to meet us here at Rolake Cool Spot. Or has she changed her mind?”

“Change ke? No o. She was just unfortunate to have had okada-which is originally called motorcycle-accident. The okada rider meandered rather riotously through the Oja-Oba, Akure heavy traffic, and a hothead among the car drivers veered suddenly out of his lane and hit them.”

“Bad; to think that you have reserved three bottles of beer, criminally cold, mortuary standard, for her. And that you have ordered Rolake to slaughter two cat fish which the beer would flood down her throat…hic…I mean down her long throat…Anyway, for tonight, you can quickly arrange to Will the largesse to another lady.”

“No, I will rather back down from my earlier order for the beer and pepper soup. Now, she has sent me a text message that I should come and pay for her medical treatment. And after paying for the treatment, to again go ahead to buy the proposed beer and pepper soup for another parasite, is nothing but double jeopardy.”

“Chai; this Nigerian economy!”

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