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 BriMericana 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…
At the moment, I have very little money. My bank account smells clean, and reads like a blank sheet. Hoorah!
Usually, when I’m in such a fix, I just concentrate on the little things that give me joy, like girlfriends, listening to razz people discuss an important topic (cracks me up every time), dancing in my mirror, writing my name on the internet, or drinking Ice Tea.
But this January feels different without money. My girlfriend needs money, so I’m avoiding her like Ebola. Hanging with razz people who also have no money means they might ask me for some, and if I refuse and explain honestly that I am broke, they will call me a liar, get angry, riot, and stab me in the stomach. I don’t wanna appear online as some poor story that reads:
“Popular writer Killed in Ajah”
I don’t dance in the mirror anymore because I have become fat and my body looks really unsexy. I think I look my father now. My old obese father who loves to get money off me. Dancing really makes me unhappy now.
My name still looks good on the internet. There’s something about seeing the golden words roll out in fine print – Joey Akan. It’s so amazing that I once fell off my sit in awe and emotion. But when you lack money, the words do not look so shiny anymore. If anything, they look disturbing.
Let’s not talk about drinking Ice Tea…it has become too expensive. Almost a luxury now.
So what does a Lagos Ajebutter do without money in this city? Nothing. He goes to work, gets back, eats his cold food, sleeps and prays for the end of the month.
Last week I found myself in The Palms Shopping Mall, Lekki, and every store called out to me with huge signs that explain a slash in prices. I walked into the Puma store and all the crazy footwears that I dream about to own. They were on slash prices, and I couldn’t get them. Really sad.
I once walked by a place with plenty of pretty women, and they called out to me. Women who I would scream and run after in my dough days. But now, I walked away quickly, touching my empty pocket with a sigh and a deep-felt regret. No money, no honey. So my father said.
January has deliberately refused to leave quickly, dragging her feet like some washed up old woman. I want her to go quickly, so the salary can come quickly too. In fact, I hate January. I hate her so much.
January, abeg pack and go. Salary, oya enter my account now!
See you next week people. Peace and good hustle.