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Article written by blog visitor .Its hilarious!That’s how I was in my room back in University one hot afternoon, lying on my back on the floor and wondering for the umpteenth time why I allowed my parents ‘maga’ me into going to school when I really wanted to be a footballer and earn my fame and fortune in the round leather game. Instead of lying morosely in this tiny-arse room thinking about my life, I woulda been chilling with phonee-speaking aunties in some exotic European city and living the life… I hissed in self-pity and rolled over to a pile of my dirty laundry and started searching the pockets of the clothes looking for any stray change I could use to buy lunch, no matter how meager.Nigga searched the clothes two times without luck. Modafoka clothes, no surprise stash when you really need it. I should burn the lot of you for disloyalty and lack of financial management skills. I eyed my two roommates who were sprawled across the room. Niggas were even broker than me so there was no hope there. Our footstuff had finished at the time, and we had only some sonofabeech ijebu garri without sugar to drink it. To make matters even worse, modafoka NEPA had taken ‘their’ light so someone couldn’t even play video game or watch a movie to console himself.Suddenly, my older cousin burst into the room and informed me that his mom was outside the hostel and wanted to say hi to me. Your mama ke? No be Yankee she dey, I asked myself. Yankee… Dollars… Better life for broke-arse students! Omo, see as your brother jump up wear im best cloth double quick. I couldn’t let this opportunity slip by me. My animal roomies sef got up to come and greet aunty. I come vess say if she see dem, she fit cut my ration dash dem money as per say dem be my guys. I almost yelled at them to go back, that she was my aunty not theirs. I sha boned the matter and briskly went out to meet her.She was standing beside the rental car that brought her, looking around the immediate surroundings and smiling broadly. I almost lay flat on the ground to greet her well, make she for dig hand inside purse dash me better money. As she open mouth talk, na so so phonee phonee dey commot. Ol’ boy, I too happy. Phonee = hard currency, nothing you want to say there. Anything she was saying, I was nodding my big head vigorously in agreement. ‘Nigeria is in Europe’, yes aunty! ‘There are 35 hours in a day’, yes aunty! Nigga, the hustle was real!By this time, a small crowd of hostel mates had gathered outside to see my cousin’s American mom. Modafokas were obviously expecting their own Dollars too. Nothing concern me sha, I was ‘family’ so my own share was guaranteed. That’s how aunty said she wanted to take pictures of us and the dense bush that surrounded the hostel so she could show her friends in the US how her son and his people lived and were schooling. Picture? No problem, aunty! Should we strike poses? Kneel down and raise my hands? Pretend I’m a monkey? Climb a tree and hang upside down? Anything you want, aunty just let me know and it is done damn quick. My hostel mates sef entered picture and were posing enthusiastically as she snapped away merrily. I’m sure I could hear a few stomachs growling in hunger as we posed for the picture, but I could be wrong…She finished snapping and used phonee to thank us, that she was going. Going? That’s good! Going meant it was time to dash money. That’s how aunty waved at us and entered inside the motor and was going true true. We looked at each other in amazement, like what the feck is going on here? I felt like Atiku did when Obasanjo screwed him out of the Presidential ticket in 2007. All that hard work was for naught? Modafoka!Suddenly I heard my name in a phonee accent and I subconsciously ran to the car that had moved off a bit and stopped. As I got to the owner’s corner window, she stretched out her arm and squeezed a few Naira notes in my eagerly anticipating palm with the advice that I study hard and be a good boy. As the car drove off, I looked into my palm and noticed that my blessed aunty had given me THREE MODAFOKING HUNDRED NAIRA! Three what the fack hundred Naira! Ol’ boy faint almost catch me. My roommates and some other niggas ran to me to demand their own share of the money and when they saw what was in my hand, dem sef shock. As we all stood there seized by temporary mental paralysis, someone noticed my cousin had alighted from his mom’s car and was making his way back to us. Some niggas rushed him and insisted that he settle us on behalf of his mom, and he agreed to, eventually buying like one crate of soft drinks and some bread or something retarded like that. I barely remember what I did with that fecking three hundred Naira.I haven’t greeted the woman since then…


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