Before I delve into this episode, I would love to delve Pa and Ma Nizzle for sending me to the best schools in Nigeria. Why? Because if I had not achieved the level of literacy I now possess, I would be mired in the technological jargons here in the UK. Even with my supposed level of literacy, you have no idea how many buses and trains I have missed because of the level of information you have to absorb. Information such as arrival times, departure, maps would keep your brain running at a million miles per second. If you want to come to the UK and your literacy level looks as bad Ronaldinho’s face, I suggest you brush up.
Back to my sojourn, I got to the Bournemouth station and after struggling with the ticket machine and enduring the impatient stares of the polite citizens who if they were Nigerians would have wonderfully blessed me with curses and insults, I finally found out that my fare would cost me £46.50. My legs started shaking and the syndrome I affectionately call the ‘Calculator Syndrome’ took over. The Calculator syndrome is that in which you unconsciously and subconsciously convert pounds into naira either with your head if you are at maths and if you are bad at it as I am, with you calculator. The syndrome has affected me so much and still does. Any price of any good or service quoted to me and immediately I am multiplying by N250. Major symptoms of this syndrome is increased heart beat, frequency of breaking into a cold sweat, leg shaking and twitchy movements, stammering and a severe bout of depression after paying. In short, my brain is a foreign currency exchange industry.
After paying at last, I walked dejectedly into the train hoping the Amala promised me would be worth the ticket fare. Because the train was so comfortable, it wasn’t long before I drifted into a nap and then I started dreaming weird things ranging from the absolutely ridiculous to the sublime. First, I dreamt I was on an okada heading towards Oshodi, after I alighted, I started chasing mosquitoes telling them I love them and they duly reciprocated singing hymns in my ears. I dreamt I was at an Ibadan Amala joint watching a obese woman prepare it with her sweat dripping into the Amala (we all know sweat actually makes the Amala sweeter), I saw the unlucky but sumptuous goats to be slaughtered into Egufe and licked my lips in anticipation.
My dream suddenly turned for the better with Miss Nizzle beside me, cuddling me, whispering love nonentities into my ears ...My dream was suddenly halted by sudden movement by my side. I woke up to see a heavily bearded Arab man with a turban by my side, he was reading something in Arabic and seemed to be chanting, beside him was a bag. I have never sweated since I arrived Uk before because of the weather but with this instance the sweat started to drip profusely. I started regretting and lamenting what the promise of Amala had gotten me into. To be blown to bits! To make things worse, the guy smiled at me and I started wondering what I would tell God at the pearly gates. Imagine telling him my time was cut short because of the black flour called Amala. For the duration of the trip, I prayed in languages from English, Yoruba and even French I couldn’t speak. When the train stopped at London Waterloo, I ran faster than Usain Bolt towards the exit.
London posed another challenge. First I would love to thank the Murray Bruce’s before I reveal the challenge. The challenge was that of escalators. There are too many escalators in London. If not because I had done Industrial Training in boarding escalators at the Silverbird Galleria and Ozone Cinemas, I would have been found severely wanting. Even with all my ‘training’, maximum concentration is required else I embarrass myself and the entire Nizzle household. This made me remember when I saved a girl from escalator death at Silverbird Galleria. The poor girl had never boarded one in her life but was still trying to feel sophisticated. Midway, she tumbled backwards and it took quick thinking on my part to drag her back save her from death or from the embarrassment that could equally lead to death. Please if you can’t board escalators, don’t try to be sophisticated, the best policy is to confess or take the stairs.
On the streets of London, the ladies especially the black ones were ogling me with their eyes like eye candy. Later on, I learnt the girls here have radar detectors to sense new fish in the pond which was supposed to be in this context. I could see them sharpening their knives, preparing to cast their nets. Pity! I was already taken. Not that I blame them though, a fine young man like me would always cause that reaction. If I was them, I might have done the same to me too.
Still on ladies, I have noticed that the backsides of white girls have grown considerably bigger. Previously, from what I used to see in movies, I thought it was a lot flatter but in actual view, from what I have seen, they are catching up seriously with the girls I used to eye through subterranean means via my rear view and side mirrors. I don’t know the cause but I would safely attribute it to climate change or depletion of the ozone layer. Or is it that Dr 90210 is working overtime? Beats me. Miss Nizzle, please disregard the above paragraph, let’s imagine I didn’t write that.
Around 4pm, it was already dark as is the case over here during winter. It is a very disconcerting feeling especially since that it not the case in Nigeria till 7:30pm. Imagine your whole environment dark around 4pm! It makes me lazy quickly because once I look outside and see that it is dark, I instantly assume the day is over and close my brain up for the day. Furthermore, I don’t understand the fact that Nigerian is an hour ahead. Does it mean I live in the past here? Does it mean Nigerians are one hour in the future? If so, it would be nice receiving information about what would happen in the next hour. Please if you’ve got exclusives, you could help me live a better life.
Finally after getting lost as I always seem to do over here, I got to my destination. My dreams had finally come true. I was at last going to reunite with Amala and before I forget, long lost relatives. My stomach did a joyful somersault and started singing songs of Solomon. This was going to be a fun-filled time and I intended to enjoy every morsel, the image of the Arab man on the train made me more determined...
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