I am an Ajebutter. Not by birth, or by formings, or by swag – I am simply an unapologetic Ajebutter by default. I didn’t choose to be born one. God, without seeking my opinion (because He’s God, I guess), gave me the genes of an Ajebutter and a funny Bri-Merican accent . By luck or some twisted work of fate, fortune, Karma (I might have killed ten defenseless puppies in my past life) or destiny, I have found myself in Lagos, crazy Lasgidi, and this is my story…
BRTs are the most romantic places on earth. Even though they suck, and have people lined up against you with sweaty armpits that could make a soak away pit smell like summer flowers, they still are the best ground for love in Lagos.
Yes those big wobbly, pocket-friendly commercial vehicles in Lagos State, beat all them romantic clubs, classic cinemas, Chinese restaurants, night clubs, and the odd Iyaba Sera, when rated by love.
I Joey Akan, after spending a year, running through Lagos, and achieving the amazing feat of not dying, I could categorically state that I have found more love in BRTs than restaurants, (and I don’t work in a BRT. Neither am I a serial BRT stalker, with a knife in my shoe, and a bulge in my trousers).
Today, I met Temilola, and she is the sweetest soul to ever ride in a BRT. And that’s because there were no BRTs in Calcutta. Sorry Mother Theresa.
Temilola was my seat mate on today’s ride, and she had tiny bird eyes that could make you dream, hair woven and curled up into a sexy bun, and a small pretty face that made me feel all mushy, and brought out the father in me. Daddy Joey Ajebutter.
I didn’t want to be her father, I wanted her to call me ‘Daddy’, so I inhaled deeply, counted to 20, switched into ‘womanizer’ mood, and looked her way, my throaty baritone primed to sweetness.
“Hello”. A lazy hello. No slight cautious smile, no effort in her reply. Just a cold, lazy hello.
She didn’t appear interested, did my accent not impress her? Was I doing something wrong? What next? Give her a compliment? No? Too cliché?
I went another way. I had to take a gamble. I did.
“Are you smart”? Wrong question. I waited for the slap, and the rude stare. It didn’t come early.
“No. I’m the dumbest soul ever”. She had a certain glint in her eye. She had humor, she had fight, she had fire. My fire, burning brightly in her eyes. I think she’s in love.
And so it went. I pulled some extra moves, she pulled some extra giggles, and by God, when she did smile, it felt so celestial that it hurt like heaven. Her name is Temi. Temilola. Angel Temilola. And God gave her to me in a BRT.
Temi didn’t give me her number. She’s the kind of angel to play games with. She gave me an address, and a seductive stare that said, “Find me, Daddy. We could fly away together…forever”. Or we could elope to the South of France, build a ranch, till the earth, watch sunsets together, and drink of fresh springs….”
Tomorrow, I will go find my Temi. And I’ll forever be indebted to BRTs.
Peace & Good Hustle. I return next Tuesday, so wish me luck!