Friday, 26 February 2016

JUVIE, THE KEKE DRIVER…

I don’t think this task is possible, but I will give it a short. Forgetting Mmeso for just one write up is like walking from Stadium to Eko hotel on a blistering sunny day. If where they is a will is synonymous with having a way, then I can hedge my bet on leaving Mmeso out of this gig at least for the moment.
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Today was never meant to end this way. But when you get stocked in the perennial CMS/IDUMOTA traffic, you don’t ask God why you but pray the misery ends faster than a stammerer could say JACK ROBINSON.
I grabbed my bag, bolted out of the school gates before someone gets me engaged at such an unholy hour. Just need a cool shower and a mind refreshing sleep; after the traffic’s ordeal. Got to the brewery junction just in time to watch one of the Nigerian Railway Corporation train breeze by lighted up like a Christmas tree.
After three trials, I succeeded in flagging down a tricycle AKA kekenapep heading toAguda. I came late to the party so I had to share the tiny space in front with the driver.
I wouldn’t call myself a stickler for details. But when the going is good, my mind could observe what a simpleton wouldn’t stand a chance of seen under his very nose.
Just couldn’t take my eyes off his hands. He’s a lady’s man. The way he caressingly handled his machine left me with the conclusion that his babe, wife, bae or whatever it is called now would have a good time with this guy pulling the buttons.
“This your kekena correct” He threw a casual glance my way. His well pronounced goatee caught my eyes. He smiled.
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“E be like say you de put this one for bed come lie down for ground” He couldn’t help but laugh out a bit. I was getting to him. You can always tell from the sound of a machine how well it’s looked after. A cursory glance over the brightly lit ‘cockpit’ and the rest of the Keke as far as my eyes could tell left me with the impression that this man knows his machine well.
“Na small small we de manage am”. He replied swiftly changing gears as we entered Eric Moore road.
“Na oil be the main thing for this machine. Since I buy am” he went on without taking his eyes off the road “na only one type of oil I de use. Different oil de spoil the machine”.
I was right on the money. “I for say. Your machine de sound as if say you de carry am from back de waka with your leg”.
He laughed as if I was the incarnation of Basket Mouth. “You funny o”. We were oblivious to the other passengers at the rear of the keke.“Any day way I no go ride am, I no de give am anybody. I go just pack am for house”.
“Too much hand de spoil soup” my doubts flew through the ever open window of the Keke. This guy here, could be a millionaire one day driving Keke.
I was actually learning a lot from this guy. We got to Eric More junction by Bode Thomas. The traffic light was red. He skillfully maneuvered his tricycle to the front, scanned both sides of the street and dashed into Bode Thomas Street – the police weren’t in view.
He continued speaking as if what he did was as ordinary as entering an adjoining street.
“You know say this machine, if you use am well e fit last for one year and some months. This one” he gesticulated at the machine we were in, “done reach eight months.”
“Ha!” I quipped. “Eight months cha...”
He cut me off before I could land. “But you no suppose ride am reach that time o”. I knew better than to interrupt him.
“If you manage am reach one year, you go sell am buy another one”. It crossed my mind next time I have a couple of hundreds of thousands to lay off, I will buy a Keke and definitely as sure as the cock crow place it in the hands of this guy.
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It was getting dark when we hit brown road. The traffic was already piling up; it was the normal evening rush hour – nothing a smart keke driver can’t handle on a very good day.
I jumped down at the brown road intersection and pulled out my wallet. “Abeg check that money na one million naira note be that o” I mustered a bit of seriousness to drive home my point. He laughed “e no possible bros” he opened up the inbuilt pigeon hole and fished out a hundred naira note. I tucked the money into my wallet. Carried my bag and headed home.
“Thanks o” he greeted me and zoomed off.
Mmeso deserves a father like this dude over here. It still reminds me of the saying that where you work may have little or nothing to do with yourfinancial emancipation if who you are doesnt come to the party.
Shut up juvie! Mmeso wasnt meant to pop up on this write up”. So sorry my dear readers, cant delete this. I just have to stop here before I commit more blunder.


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