Good morning y’all… I didn’t even notice yesterday that we were into the 2nd half of the challenge… It’s remaining just 13 days… See me saying ‘just’ like say I be Justice *please insert small laugh for me abeg*… 13 post no be beans…
Anyways, how we dey? I had written a part 2 the story I posted sometime ago, but out of fear of Terdoh, I decided not to post it again. I’m just gonna stick to my regular posts… Have some amazing pieces from some guest-writers with me, but I’m not posting them now… *in a virgin girl’s voice* I want to do it at the right time…
The population of Nigeria is approximately 150 million living things (Not everyone who claims to be human is actually a human being. For example @Rinolee is actually an agama lizard and @Segun_ is a castrated hippo.), if we are to believe our extremely corrupt leaders. Everyone of these 150 million beings has a common characteristic: Hustling.
Every single Nigerian, male and female, young and old, ajepako and ajebutter, straight and gay, is a hustler. Every Nigerian has that hustling spirit in them, that ‘never-say-die’ attitude. The desire to get what they want by every means. I watched a documentary once on one farmer in Yankee, who said he was comfortable with his small-scale farming in his yard and selling the small produce in the market for equally small amounts of money and living barely comfortable with his wife and child. A Nigerian will never say this. A Nigerian is never satisfied, which is one of the qualities that both make and mar us.
A Nigerian is always in constant pursuit of one or more of the 3 parts of success, (which are Money, Power and Respect) or their cousin Fame. Hustling now doesn’t necessarily mean carrying a bag of cement and trying to sell it in traffic. Any attempt to get one of the four things named above, whether physical or mental, classifies as hustling.
There was a day I was going to E-Centre with a friend, Olaolu. He drove, and I sat in front with him. I was with his Beats by Dre headphones on my neck, and I was browsing with his Blackberry Torch (Boys never get money buy BB that time 😦 ). A policeman on the road saw us coming and stopped us. When we parked and he looked in and saw the headphones on my neck and the phone in my hand, the first thing that entered his mind was that “these boys were ballin'” and was determined to ball out of us too.
He asked for Olaolu’s license, and we showed him. He asked for the car’s particulars, and we showed him too. He stood there looking at us, and after about 3 minutes of vigorous thinking, he asked us if we had a spare tire. Olaolu got down from the car and showed him in the trunk. While we were waiting for him to give us permission to leave, he just stood there looking at us. After about another 10 minutes, a smile cracked on his black, sun-beaten face as he asked “Where’s your fire-extinguisher?”
It took all the energy in me not to burst out laughing at that point. This man was determined to hustle some money out of us, and after rigorous brain-work, he finally did. The resilient spirit of the
Nigerian hustler. He told us to follow him to his station where we would pay N3,000 for a Fire extinguisher. After about another 10 minutes of bargaining, N200 finally left my wallet and ended up in his palm, and we drove off, leaving in our wake a satisfied hustler.
It’s not only those who work that hustle like this for money. Virtually everybody on my BBM contact list (which is composed mainly of students) is a hustler. The pursuit of money has turned all my friends into market men and women. Whenever anyone on my BBM changes their PMs, the chance of the new PM containing the word “Sale” is 97%. From phone sales to shoe sales to shirt sales, na how to make money everybody dey find… A girl even put it up once that she was selling bras and panties… Those panties looked good… *deep sigh*
Another thing I’ve noticed about the Nigerian hustler is the fact that death is never an option. He will always believe that as far as he’s alive, things can always get better. For a Nigerian to actually commit suicide and thus kill himself/herself, something must be terribly, terribly wrong. The thing the Nigerian fears the most is death. There was a post on @Obi_Jay’s blog (I don’t know how to put hyperlinks with this WordPress for BB) about a mother in some foriegn country, who wrapped herself around her 3-month old child to protect the baby when a house collapsed on them. The chances of the Nigerian hustler mother doing this are extremely slim, about 0.493%. She would weight the situations, and see if she could save both of them. If she sees that her only chance of saving the child is self-sacrifice, she’ll run out and leave the child. After about 3 weeks of wailing and tearing her hair out, she’ll quietly call her husband and say “Ogbeni, I need a new baby…” Yes, the watchwords of every Nigerian: No Time. No time to even check the muthafucking time.
Or the case of our dear brother, Mr. Abdul Muttalab. He was given a suicide-bombing mission to carry out by some people who I do not wish to know. Big mistake. They should have known his Nigerian side would kick in. As he was about to start with the equipments, his naija side started speaking to him in a thick Igbo accent. “Bros Eh! Na so you wan end yasef?” Na so bros begin think am o sey “Na true o… Shey na like this I go die?”. The words of the contractors who hired him began to ring in his head, telling him “Don’t listen to him. There are 72 Mercy Johnson-looking virgins waiting for you in heaven”. Na so the naija side vex shout “Taa! No mind am! Yansh plenty for Allen Avenue! If that wan no do you, you fit enter Unilag sef!” In the midst of all this, he was confused and he got caught.
But still, I thank God for the fact that I’m a Nigerian, and for the hustling and never-say-die attitude that he has given me. *in porn-star Wizkid’s voice* I love my country, that’s my country. Even this blog wey I dey write sef, na hustle on how to find money, na why I dey do am. (@Terdoh, you have your answer.) And it’s already beginning to pay off small small sha… Someone approached to write the script for a Comdey series… Stiil considering it sha… Don’t think I have the brain power for such…
I apologize for posting extremely late today, my phone crashed and I had to start typing again. Please forgive me. *puppy face*
Thanks for reading, and hope to see y’all tomorrow.
NOTE: To the bastard that splashed water on me on my way to buy bread. I know your IQ is way too low for you to be reading this, but I want you to know that your car is gonna be stolen, because you don’t deserve to have one. Fucking cunt.