A Friendly War - Chapter 6
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'How can that man bet on a friendly game eh?' I said aloud between fits of laughter. 'Possessed with the Las Vegas spirit' said brother Jimoh. Na wa!
Things soon settled and the game continued.
My thoughts returned to my bladder and from there to the two corpses in the lavatory. Would they have been cleared off? 'Life is cheap O!' I thought aloud.
One of my fellow supporters passed his groundnuts in my direction. Just before I could grab a handful that silly Otango let loose a flying spittle which landed on the nuts. Perhaps the others were by now too hungry to care. They all eat while I politely declined. And yes I didn't tell them of what I saw emanating from Otango's mouth. Them no get eye?
"How can you say life is cheap?" came a hoarse voice behind me, which I at once recognised and decided to ignore. The question was repeated once more but this time with a strong push to the back of my head. If not for his bulging biceps I would have gifted his ugly face with a dirty slap. How dare the motor park taut of a riff raff touch my head? I turned round sharply and smiled.
"Area father, for the Baba ke. Na you will dey look o. So is life not cheap?" I asked. "Not at all. The fakest player on that pitch is worth millions," said Area father."A million Kobo?" I teased. He slapped me hard behind the head and asked "you dey craze?" "Only joking Area father" I managed to say as a serious headache began to dance Atillogwu in my brain.
An off duty historian took the heat off me to my great relief. "I don't see why we should be bought and sold by capitalist football clubs. They may not brand the skin but they make human beings wear numbers just like slaves" He spoke so loudly that every one stopped singing just to watch his Adam's apple bop up and down.
Area father slapped him behind the neck with so much force he flew onto the heads of those sitting in front of him."Sharup you poor man. If you no like the buying and selling of human beings you for stay your house" Area father said. The people in front of us in turn threw the lightweight on and on. He continued to float on a sea of heads till he ended on the pitch in need of medical care.
While the historian was in flight I saw one hand slip into his pocket to steal. The game continued and so did our singing. Soon I formed a small local disorganising committee (L.D.C) with those around me with only one aim. Stage a pitch invasion when we get the winner. (Ah ah, they didn't call me N.F.A (no future ambition) at school for nothing o. I am a born organiser.)
It ended a draw however.
As we trooped out of the stadium the selector played Osayemore Joseph's "Oba no dey go transfer". As we travelled back to Lagos I thought deeply about that song. Indeed the king doesn't go on transfer but the football players do. They change kingdom at the drop of a hat making a lot of money in the process. In fact I reckoned that the players are the new royalties, for which Oba can ever boast of filling the Liberty staduim. The players are the new Obas'.
Area father slapped my head again."Why do you look so morose? Is a draw not good enough for you?" I smiled through the pain and joined the singing as we drove to Lagos for although we didn't win, it was only a friendly.
The End
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Published with the permission of the author.
© May 2000 Babawilly
London, England
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