The craze was too much for any music lover not to be
attracted. Everyone was talking about the 10th experience;
apparently from hearsay the previous editions have been explosive.
BUT HOW COULD I KNOW, I HAVE NEVER BEEN TO ANY ONE OF THEM…
I promised myself that this year would be different; I
volunteered as an usher online in a bid to commit myself and tried as much as I
could to convince anyone I know appreciates good music to come along with me.
When the D day finally came I was bobbed up mind wise in
apprehension and practically soared through the monotonous routine that
characterized my job as an educator. When the time in its mercy ticked 4’o
clock, I zapped off without a second consideration. I had to keep up with
another appointment before experience.
By 6’ o clock my phone rang.
I dragged my slightly too big phone from its special slot in
the back pack I often carry to work and slid on the answer button.
“Hello!!” I croaked as I tried to navigate the busy streets
of Beggar with a phone on my ears
“How far Chika?” the voice sounded familiar but I was too
busy trying not to be knocked down by the impatient throng of Lagosians to be
that perceptive
“I’m good” I replied hesitantly
I guess it was obvious to the caller that I had no idea who
he was because the next thing I heard was
“How far, it’s me Kenny”
Kenny is a friend of mine whom I met while we were both
schooling at the University of Benin. Somehow I have always felt he has been
the more willing party in terms of investing in communication.
It was weird to me because I felt he had no reason trying to
be my friend. He was a 2:1 student while I was a struggling 2:2 student, he had
more friends than I did and was loved while I was looked on by others with a
mixture of curiosity and humor more like the way you look at an interesting
nerd who seems to be flunking first grade.
“Hey Kenny, Long time what’s up with you” I exclaimed
“I’m good man. Are you not going to experience?” he asked
We haven’t spoken for a long time and he is going straight to
the point but I am not surprised. Music has been the basis of our weird
relationship and one of the only things we ever get to talk about.
“Of course, if I don’t who will. What about you, are you?” I
replied
“Sure, when I am done.”
There was something about the way he said the last phrase
that prompted me to ask
“Where are you?”
“I am at work.” He replied and I could hear the smile in his
voice
For a while he has been jobless after service while I basked
in the transient Hilary of having at least a teaching job to keep me afloat. I
remembered clearly a month ago, he called me to ask if there was any way I
could link him up to any teaching job and it sounded weird to me that a
graduate would even think of pleading for a teaching job when I was moiety
ashamed of being called a teacher.
Naturally I was curious about where he was working
“Where are you working I asked after a hearty
congratulation?”
“Zenith bank” he replied
I was stunned for a brief moment, I felt moiety envious and
moiety excited for him, a part of me wanted us to meet while the other felt
self conscious and ashamed of my status.
When the call ended finally, I felt depressed. I needed just
one thing to get me on my feet again.
I knelt down and prayed, laying my expectations to God
THIRTY MINUTES LATER I BOARDED A BUS GOING TO OBALENDE
I KNEW IT WOULD TAKE AN EXPERIENCE TO GET ME OFF MY GLOOMY
MOOD AND…
I KNEW JUST THE RIGHT PLACE TO GO
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