Church. Girls. Me. Toilet.
Different strokes for different folks they say.
But some people share the same strokes. That’s
me and my hoodlums. Where some go to church
to worship the Fadalurd himself, some go to eat
meat pie and Malta Guinness as first timers
while some of us go to scout potential signings.
So it happened that this particular Sunday
morning, I wore my newly purchased suit (not
that kind of yeye bro Nehemiah suit o), over my
freshly starched TM navy blue shirt. My
destination was to be the Christ Embassy church
close to Enerhen junction. But then, Lucifer had
other plans. That was the day I respected Jesus
more. It is not easy to resist temptation o.
Especially if that temptation sits beside you
inside a tricycle.
I was already memorising my lines specially
packaged for Betsy (Elizabeth ashually), my
latest prodigy that I met the previous Sunday.
On a scale of 1 to 10 for beauty, Betsy is a
straight 9. Her curves are like David Beckham’s
free kicks, eyes like that of Ozil and the perfect
set of teeth are like closely packed toothpicks.
Betsy too set abeegi. But this particular
temptation cut scale!
My lines went on half time break when Ms
Temptation waved our ‘keke’ to an abrupt halt.
Even the keke guy lose control. ‘Jakpa road’,
she said. And I changed direction too like a
snooker ball that just missed pocket six.
I summoned courage to strike a line of
conversation using T-Bag style and it worked!
We ended up as first timers in one tush
‘cherch’ (not church) like that. First time
worshippers were to sit close to the pulpit,
apparently so we get to see the expensive suit,
belt and shoes of the pastor.
Service progressed slowly because I couldn’t wait
to establish further contact with Whitney (yes,
that’s her name). After 75 long minutes, we
said the grace and proceeded to the welfare
room where we were treated to a sumptuous meal
of Jollof rice, chicken and correct salad. My
first salad since Titanic sank. And so my ordeal
came in HD.
With each passing second, my tummy rumbled
like ISIS launcher. I couldn’t bear to ask for
the toilet with Whitney by my side. Toilet na rash
word and the derby match in my stomach
deleted ‘rest room’ from my hard disc.
When I couldn’t hold it any longer, I turned to
the usher that served us earlier and politely
whispered “Bros, I wan shit”.
I must have spent close to 45 minutes in the
toilet because when I came back into the welfare
room, I met new set of first time worshippers
from the second service eating their own
Out of courtesy, I asked the same usher for
Whitney’s whereabout. And he replied “She don
go house when she sef shit feeneesh”.
With no phone number to contact Whitney on, I
went to that Christ Embassy church the next
Sunday, strongly hoping that Betsy would still be
waiting for me like those five wise virgins in the
bible. But, but, she had eloped with one Yemi
boy like that from Ijebu. Alas, Betsy was one of
the five foolish virgins. She didn’t wait for the
I lost Whitney and Betsy lost me.
Written by Tomi_