Don’t Forget, Make it Extra Spicy

kozi-kair

Lord please have mercy on me!
Lord please let me not be a victim of such circumstance!
I also promise never to act like I know when I don’t know.

These were the words I kept repeating on the way home. I was in trouble. An avoidable one for that matter. All because I did not want to be seen as a novice. I was sweating heavily. I think I was the only one sweating in the bus because some were complaining about the wind getting in.

My problem began when I was invited for lunch by my Indian colleagues at an Indian restaurant they loved to visit. Payday was just few days ago. Pockets were smiling and I said to myself -“My brother, you need to be exposed. Mingle and catch a bit of fun”. That been said, I accepted the invitation. It was 1p.m. I had already googled out about 12 Indian dishes. I never really went through the details of each meal. I just saved their names.

We got the the Indian restaurant using a nice 2015 Toyota Camry owned by one of the Indians who was always fond of talking about his car. An average of say four times daily. Some times, I get the feeling that he is the only one that owns a Camry. At the Indian restaurant(a really nice place to be),  we were seated and a waiter brought us some menu booklets. I stylishly put my phone between the menu booklet and cross referenced the meals available. My two colleagues had already placed orders and each order ended with the phrase-“extra spicy please”. I won’t be the last and the least here. “I would have the Kozi Kari please. Don’t forget, Make it extra spicy” I said. My choice was influenced by its picture which showed several pieces of chicken in it. I love chicken a lot.   The meal was in place and it was time to dig in. the first bite of my chicken seemed like a sting to my lips. Is this what extra spicy means? Tarek and kumal were eating like it was ordinary noodles spice that was adding to their meals. I manned up and dealt with the threat at the detriment of my digestive system.

All seemed well until work ended and I boarded a bus from Yaba to Iyana-Ipaja. I noticed some irregularities in my stomach and I knew I had just caused myself a problem. My first question to myself was “Who send you message?” The storm brewing in my stomach seemed mild and I had the feeling I would make it to my house to use the toilet. I hurried the conductor to get the bus filled so that we can move. The bus got filled and we were on the move. Issues compounded when we got into traffic and I was being pressurized to pass some gas. I couldn’t. I could kill the passengers should I release this lethal gas I was containing. I held it back and pressure built. Sweat broke out and traffic grew. I got nervous and started accusing the government for not putting things in place that would make traffic move freely. 30 minutes gone, I could feel my body giving in to pressure. Most times I had the upper hand but whenever the gas gained possession, it was hell. That was when the prayers began. I then realized that one of the greatest inventions ever made is the water closet toilet. I never felt so until this mess came up. I also prayed for the inventor. I couldn’t take it anymore. Driver! Next bustop Owa oooo! I couldn’t speak up. I just wanted to get off the bus and search for a relief. The Lady close to me said “please speak up, he can’t hear you”. I gathered some strength and shouted “Driver! Next bustop Owa oooo!” In his attempt to pull over, he carelessly entered a great pothole. This threw me off-balance and let the gas out with a thunderclap.  The lady beside me screamed-“HOLY SPIRIT” and looked at me utmost disgust. As bad as the thunder-clap sounded, it didn’t come alone. Something meant for the toilet came along and has stained my underwear massively. I am finished.

Please, how do I get off this bus now?

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