AWOOF DEY PURGE (tales of Philemon Omoluabi)

It is the frigging weekend. TGIF. Fresh and Funky-Friday and the promise of a fabulous weekend. Well, this is for the living

Our hearts are with those that lost their lives in the tanker explosion, those who are battling to survive and the families who have now lost the irreplaceable and now have a vacuum of absences(s) which an ocean of tears

Life, life, life, life, life, life!

Life is a gift, something to treasure and as long as we have it, we must celebrate it and what better time to celebrate it than the work-free, stress-free, party/fun-filled weekend? Owanbe and all.

What are your plans for the weekend?

Whatever your plans for the weekend is, I pray you to do it moderately. Someone said before nko?

You know I don’t do gossip on a normal day. This isn’t a gossip as it is, it is a warning sort of. If a man who normally minds his business insists you do or don’t do something, e get why.

You see, the story I am about to tell you, is supposed to be a secret. This is the reason I couldn’t say it when it happened last weekend. My friend Philemon Omoluabi made me promise not to tell anyone or even write it, and even if I couldn’t resist the urge to write, I should keep it anonymous and I am keeping the latter part of my promise by making it anonymous as the gist is too sweet not to tell.

Friday, 18th September, 2020 started like any normal day. Someone with one of those Igbo-made Bluetooth Mp3 speakers had just downloaded Davido’s FEM and was playing the song on repeat while we all ate mouth (lip synced) the still-new lyrics of the song and chorused the FEM like we were part of a boy-band.

Some local champs in the adjoining shop started the age-long debate about who was richer between OBO and Star-boy and until their argument, I didn’t know Wizkid was richer than Dangote. But what do I know, I am just that nerdy writer boy.

It was a fiesta of some sort. Everyone in their own heads, humming, nodding, singing, some gisting away, when like the trumpet call, a phone rang through the speaker, with AG Baby’s Pami, renting the air. Turns out, it was my anonymous friend’s music list we were listening to all along

Him– Hello, Tade my GOAT, hava na
Caller– Guy, I dey o. where you dey, you no show up again?
Him– My guy, I wan show but I just dey reason things. Shey that place sure?
Caller– e sure pass 2-sure brother. Everything full everywhere. O-poor, ko po kee

For the sake of anonymity, let’s say we call my friend Phil and for reasons best known to him, he didn’t remove the phone from the speaker connection while the call was on. Some of us, no, I personally think it was a show-off stunt. Phil was one of those “my daddy was the contractor that built Aso-rock and his designs was used to build the white house oval office” (if you know what I mean), even though we knew his dad pushed around a spent, beat-up Mazda.

Like the marvel character, Phil had blazed home and was all swaggered up on re-appearance. And in a flash, he had hoped on a bike and was waving us a goodbye bereft of eyes. His Ray Ban had hidden them.

And as I waved him goodbye, I was oblivious of the fact that the next time I’d see him, it will be in a place he himself will not like. You see, some musicians are like prophets. They sing what they see or is it the other way round; see what they sing? When Brymo said “awoof dey purge o” we thought it was for laughs and Marlians like my friend Phil, didn’t think the song was a message for him, he doesn’t even listen to such whack songs as he liked to call them.

My brothers and sisters, too much of anything and everything is not just bad, it is dangerous.

Pictures do not lie, until the days of Photoshop, but you cannot Photoshop the experience.

This was the thought that ran through my mind as I swiped through the gallery on Phil’s cracked phone screen. It wasn’t just the phone screen that cracked, his ego was bruised and dude got thirteen stitches for his foray.

As he laid there life a wilted vegetable, he recanted his self-inflicted ordeal. At least the part he remembered.

I partied hard Taiwo, the party was a banger. Shayo plenty, all the brands, foreign and local dey. All the big boys and big girls came out to play. It was crazy. You know your guy now, I relate wella. Even as I no get shi-shi for hand, I ball hard. Real hard my guy. I walked with Johnny (Johnny walker), I played the aces, I did the Elliot, the Hennessey, I did them all in one night. Omo na crazy night.

Okay, I take back the part where I said this guy had bruised his ego. I have never seen someone more shameless for making a fool of himself. Or maybe he didn’t know. See, the pictures on his phone was like a pic story. I was not there but I saw it all. Maybe he hadn’t checked. Maybe he was too stupefied by the flagon of wine he had downed to recall the shameful, disgraceful act that got him the stitches, a five star lodging in the sickening, smelly ward of the A&E of the hospital. Maybe I should tell him so he can at least stop blabbering and yammering and maybe he can learn a lesson or 2 from this.

“Guy you F-up big time o” “I know, Tee no vex say I no carry you along, you sef for groove”.

He wouldn’t let me talk, so I just handed him his phone instead. I had gotten it from the nurse at the reception. Somehow, my number was the last number he called. He

had called to tell me he arrived at the party.

Yee!, ah ah ah!, these guys no fear God o. Na me be this? “No, na Photoshop” I taunted him. “Guy abeg no tell anyone o. Abeg no let anyone for area find out. If them ask, just tell them I had a bike accident or I fell inside gutter when e dey rain. Abeg. No even write am. If you write am, I go kill you, abi make you make am anonymous, abi friction or na fiction una dey call am?. Abeg”

You see why I had to make this anonymous. Phil made me promise not to tell anyone. I can’t even begin to tell you the things I saw in the pictures. Pictures are powerful. Turns out my friend Phil had partied like there was no tomorrow. He did it all. Drinks, drugs, smoke and everything available. He did too much and at a point, he lost touch of reality. The stitches weren’t from a fall or anything.

It is glorious to think and imagine what a gang of fists can do to a man. Little wonder he had the cuts in surreal places. There were pictures of him getting a beating of his life.

One could only imagine who took the shots and who brought him to the hospital and left his phone at the reception. Well, that’s all I can say. I cannot betray a friend’s trust. I won’t be the one to tell you that there was a video too, just like there were picture of sagging nuts and swinging shafts, there was a video of him accosting girls at the club.

The view made me realize what wooing Eve must have been like for Adam. I guess this was what ensured that he got the reward for his excesses.

That was why TGIF turned to the day I shall never forget for Phil, stitches and scars to remember and who knows who else has the videos and pictures of the spirit Adam of my dear Phil and would be thinking of making a viral post or stickers with it. Only God knows.

The next time you see a sticker of a naked dude or a meme. Please, please and please don’t repost. It might be my friend Phil.

And as you step out this weekend. Do not overdo. Do not be Phil. Have a great weekend.

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