How I tried 'Shaku shaku', and ended up breaking my knee

I have never been a dancer. Right from birth, I knew that I wasn’t destined to move my body to a song the way I wanted to. God didn’t give me that gene. Perhaps he knew that my shakara won’t have part 2, or that I will break the hearts of a million women who would find me too irresistible for comfort. Perhaps he heard the prayers of my future side-chick’s father, and decided that the only way to save her from me was to take away my dancing skill.

God why?

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From childhood, I already knew my fate, although I and my family members tried to fight it. You see that feeling of dancing as a kid, where adults spray you plenty money? It is myth to me. Not one naira has been given out freely because I moved my body parts. I remember during a dancing competition in my primary school. I don’t know which of my teachers had the devilish inspiration to drag me to the stage, where some of the children whose jobs t is to dance and collect money, were on. But as per true Nigerian, I knew that carrying last was never a part of God’s plan in my life.

I did the most that day. I shook my head, my leg, rolled on the floor, kicked up dirt, even found a way to rip out my soul and shake it publicly. I won that money, but due to all that movement, I needed to visit the chiropractor (aka bone doctor), who twisted and pressed my soul back in, and life came back to normal.

I can remember attempting break dancing in Secondary School, but when I saw what people could do with their bodies, I faced my front and passed my exams. No news here.

All through the years, I had missed out or failed badly at all the dance trends. When Alanta came, I couldn’t even scratch my body to the beat. While everyone got on well, all I did was look like a true madman. I remember trying it in church, and my name was passed to the pastor as a deliverance case. After that Sunday, I didn’t pick their calls nor returned to that place. Their Dad.

Na dance I no sabi dance, I am not Ponchus Pilate. No be me kill Jesus.

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With Azonto, I didn’t bother. Sekem nko? Not me. But Skelewu was good. All I needed to do was stick out a limp hand, move my waist and shuffle backwards. I could manage that. Bad guy no pimple.

And then, there was Shaku Shaku. That dance that originated from the streets of Agege, in Lagos, is taking over social media. From Olamide, down to Wizkid and Davido, everyone wants to be a part of it. From the start I had my reservations. The name ‘Shaku Shaku’ is scary enough. It sounds like the operating technique of Ikorodu Baddo gang member.

How do I want to tell my mother that this thing is what I am dancing now?

“Hello Mum,”

“How are you my son?”

“I am fine. Mummy I’m doing the ‘Shaku shaku’ today.”

“God forbid. You are destined for great manifestations of his glory. Not that demonic dance from the marine spiritual dimension of ‘Shaku’.”

“Goodbye Mum, love you. E go be.”

So I didn’t tell her. I’m a grown man, who’s holding down a job at Pulse, Nigeria’s biggest digital publishers. I can do my own things. I am a Lagos big boy.

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To prepare myself for this dance, I went on dry fasting for two days, and ran 6 miles twice a day to get into the right shape. This is a dance for the spirits, and I was going to crush it like a boss. If this was the last thing I did before I died, I will know that I achieved in life. My tombstone would read: “Joey Akan, Man, myth, writer, talkative, Shaku shaku legend.”

After hyping myself up with images of social media glory, I wore my new Nike dancing shoes, watched 15 tutorial videos and drank three bottles of Kerewa and 1 bottle of Bajinotu for the road. This dance came from the mainland, and we must attack it from the source.

And so I started. I began with the razz hand movements. After 5 minutes of wild gesticulation, I finally got a hang of the inner Agbero in me. Life was good.

But then it got to the footwork. I moved a leg, hopped on the other one, and heard a small voice in my head say: “Don’t do it.”

But I refused to listen to the voice of the devil. Na who give up na him lose.

So I went for broke. I jumped up, screamed “Obatala!” and bent my leg like I had seen it in the video. I heard something click and gave way in my knee. It was at that moment I knew that I had fucked up.

“Mogbe!”

As I am writing this story, I am staring at that leg wrapped up clean and nice in a POP cast. I can tell you exclusively that my days of Shaku shaku ended before it started. The bone doctor is back, and this one is meaner, and her hands feel like giant hammers. Last night, when she came to press it, I called a mortuary and told them to prepare for a fresh corpse. She said something in my knee wasn’t prepared for mainland trauma. Shaku shaku. So hard they named it twice.

I had done myself this time. E go be.