Ibo Boy Wey Like Yoruba – Episode 5

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I walked to the room that evening feeling the pains on my right ankle more as it made me limp a beat. That night i and Ayo went to drink at mammy as we discussed the match, dis this time around i didn’t drink Alomo but my brand 1759(guinness), we also ate rice and beans from our customer “Baba Imo” an ibo man. We came back to the room on time to meet Shakur saying “una tink say una sabi play abi, make una play with our platoon we go beat una wella”, “we go beat una platoon as we don take beat dem Lampard platoon so” i said looking in the direction of Lampard, who is turn said. “na bcos i no play that match nahim make na, if not i for show una wetin make them call me Lampard” we laughed, when Lampard whispered to me “Flow make we go shi*t na”. “e b like say u know say sh*it dey worry me sef” i whispered back, at that moment i could feel p`oo wanting to come out of my a*nus.

We didn’t bother to use the toilet as all the toilet were full to the brim with p`oo, so we opted for the bush. With newspapers on our hands we hurried to the bush path in-between the camp director’s quaters and the church. We lay our newpapers on the floor as were down to “business”. Bra…pbra….papo….popa was the sound i heard Lampard’s an*us make. “Flow i dey porge oh” he said, “how u no go porge wey ur own no pass moi moi and bread for mammy every morning” i said to myself. “do quick oh, na u i dey wait oh, i don shi*t finish” i said as i stood by the road side waiting. Suddenly, i saw somebody coming, at first i tot it was a corper that wanted to join us, lo and behold as she drew closer, it was the camp director. “what are u doing here?” she asked. “ehm ehn i am here for…. Church service” i said dat without thinking. “church service and u are standing here, dressed like dis!!” she said as she immediately sited lampard. “so u came here to defecate uhn after u have been warned against it uhnn” she said as i almost ran. “no ma” Lampard said now fidgety. “no ma what, u will pack dat p`oo with ur hand and throw it away”. At that moment Lampard postrated like a typical Yoruba boy he was. “ejor ma, ejor ma, e ma binu ma” he spoke what souded like gibberish to me. “u must pack it with ur bare hands, after which i will send u home, back to ur parents” she said. On hearing this i tot of which was better; packing the p`oo with bare hands or been evicted from camp. Cold shivers gradually ran down my spin as i watched Lampard trying to pack the p`oo with his hands. The tot of her telling me to also pack mine made me flee

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