Friday morning did NOT start out too good. At all. Woke up at 3, feeling a little nauseated, so I turned on my side and went back to sleep. Woke up again at 5.30, feeling even worse. I jumped off my bed and ran to my dad’s bathroom, since he wasn’t around. I stood there for a moment, hell bent on holding it all in. I hadn’t thrown up in 8 YEARS, wasn’t about to start now. All the same I waited for the feeling to pass. No one could have been more shocked than me when my body suddenly heaved. I believe what happened next is commonly described in books as “dry retching”. Because my last meal was over 12 hours ago (thank God for small mercies), all I was doing was attempting to throw up my internal organs.
Tears in my eyes and my heart beating, I washed my face and went to sit down, suddenly exhausted. All I could think about was the lunch we’d been given the day before at the office, and how I would NEVER take it again. My sister was looking at me strangely, probably thinking I was exaggerating my situation. Not 15 minutes later I ran back to the bathroom, and engaged in an even longer series of retching. This time I was spent. I almost crawled to the room, feeling “better” but almost completely useless. Just remembering the innocuous, tasty meal of rice and chicken sent waves of irritation down my gut. My sister ended up going to work, and I dragged myself into the parlour and put on the tv. I lay there for the next 4 hours, sleeping most of the time, and sipping on warm water.
I couldn’t believe it. 8 years of holding it all in. What the hell happened? What had BEEN in that rice????? It took a lot of hard work, and occasional stops to rest, but by 11.30, I really needed to go home to Agbara. Yes, it’s true, I wanted my mummy. So I drank a bottle of Limca (that thing has healing POWERS I swear), and used the sugar to endure the 2-hr journey to my house.
A year of “firsts”, again, I noticed. First time since I was 5 or 6 that I took an injection. Yeah, in the butt. That was after my eye surgery, when my left eye had the swollen, smooth, slightly pinkish look of a freshly plucked mango. First time since I was 12, that I threw up… I know you’re probably thinking it’s not that big a deal. But it is. For me.
My dad was attacking me about it. I presume he was just looking for something to complain about.
But that aside, the day before, while I was still irritated with A Tad Annoying Guy… let’s just call him, er… Life Guy. While I was still irritated with Life Guy for giving me a verbal and VISUAL once over first thing Thursday morning, he began to champion the cause of NOT voting. And NO, I’m not over-reacting. I’ve endured enough stares in my lifetime to know a flattering one from a not-so flattering one. I also noticed he was wearing a little silver chain (because it wasn’t an official work day he wasn’t wearing a tie). I’m not a fan of guys that wear those little chains, it strikes me as either gay or very Igbo, or very old man trying to feel young, but I won’t hate you for it.
Anyway, he then said something in Igbo, which I chose not to answer (because I didn’t understand), and he got on my case for not speaking the language. I didn’t care.
Later on, he started dancing in my front, a very sad dance, and this is like, the 4th time he’s done that, so I told him he couldn’t dance. He said he could, and I said, thinking you can, and being able to, are 2 different things. He asked if I felt I could do better.
(*Arrogant chuckle*) Now I’m not one to toot my own horn, but I think I can hold my own if you know what I’m sayin’.
He felt challenged, and said I should pick a club, anyone, and if I danced better, he’d give me his next month’s salary. And, THAT my friends, is NOT a bad bet. I know enough about the salaries in that company to take him up on it. But I don’t engage in verbal agreementsJ.
I thought he would let it go, but he wouldn’t. The way he described himself on the dance floor reminded me of a friend of mine who’s currently serving in Edo. We called him the Energizer Bunny. You could ALWAYS rely on him to be the last one standing (dancing). From 10 to 5am, he’d be at it.
But Life Guy? I didn’t see it. We then got into another argument. He asked about one my friends, and I said she was Yoruba. The look on his face was not ignorable. I made him explain it. Apparently, he doesn’t hold Yoruba people in HIGH regard. At least, typical Yorubas. In a nutshell, he feels they’re too party-centric, LOVE name-dropping, and are very tribalistic….