…what can I say? I have a gift.
Besides, it would be totally unfair of me to not mention the 3-second drama that was Wednesday night. The week had started off quite well. The controversial public holiday on Monday had ended up coming through. I stayed home, and caught up on some well needed z’s. Even though for a better part of the morning, I was mildly concerned that I would be the only one NOT at work. That passed after I decided that if they were going to pay me for just 24 days work, who was I to over-do it?
Tuesday, I wore my new heels, and almost shed tears by 2pm. I had made the unfortunate blunder of going out in them, and became very conscious of just how HIGH they were. My ankles ached, and walking with my head up high was a task I didn’t deserve. Price of beauty, huh? But you know how it goes, I still wore it the next day. I went to Celtel, and all I succeeded in doing was getting hit on by the same guy that hit on me last time. He offered me cake, but if he couldn’t offer me free internet, then there was no point in continuing the conversation.
And the heat. Good Lord, the HEAT. I’ve never felt the pointless stupidity of suit-wearing in a tropical country till last week.
VI traffic is astounding. Especially that Tuesday. No one left before 8, and the thing still didn’t clear. I had to walk to Tantalizers to wait for Dipo. And for those of you that don’t know. That’s a bit of a walk.
A guy on an okada shouted quite angrily at me, for just being on the road. Should have been a sign.
Wednesday. All was well, I followed Dipo as usual, but when we got to Anthony, he said he wasn’t going to drop me at the gate of my street like he usually did. Not that what happened next was his fault. I popped back down the road to buy something, and as I walked back down to the spot I was dropped, an okada zoomed past me, and my bag flew out of my hand. I was shocked, at first., thinking I’d just been hit, but then I noticed my handbag had not dropped. The okada had sped off into the night. I couldn’t believe it… had I just been ROBBED???
I didn’t think about my phone, or my cash (which I didn’t have much of, anyway). Just my wallet, and the cards in it, and how I was utterly SCREWED. All my atms and my ids. I stood there for a while, feeling like I was going to cry, like I SHOULD cry. But it passed, and I relaxed a bit. Some guy offered to help me call my no, and I did. It was still ringing. I found out my Sony Ericcson was still on me, and that was good, and I thought my IPOD was with me. I would find out the next morning that it wasn’t. And I think that’s when I got miserable. I was a lot less upset than I thought I should be. I certainly was less upset than my dad, who got angry at me for some reason.
The whole thing was weird. I finally got through to my number, and told the guy to please drop my ids.
He would end up dropping just a couple on Friday morning at Ogudu. That didn’t include my atms or my Zenith and NYSC ids. Jerk. Ah well. Only one has serious cash, and I blocked it. I went off to get affidavits, a police report and my mtn no back.
I guess, it wasn’t so bad. I felt amused actually, cos that thief thought he’d seen someone from a bank. Jackpot. He’d be disappointed. He got a cheap Nokia phone, N500 of cash, a cracked, dysfunctional IPOD (that only I could figure out) and a bunch of cards he can’t use. Oh yeah, and a very high quality lip gloss. Sigh.
…what can I say? I have a gift.