Mother-in-Law Vs Wife: Winner Takes All

(By Jude Idada)

The mother of an old friend of mine lives alone in Okokomaiko.
An Urhobo woman in her late 70's.

Embittered.

And frowns so much that a deep furrow lies permanently between her brows.

Including my friend, she has five sons.

And a wealthy husband who is so debonair and exposed, unlike her, who holds a degree in Classics from the University of Ibadan, but prefers to speak in Pidgin English most of the time and hobnob with the most rural of people.

In the days of yore, when we all lived in Ikeja, we called her Margaret Thatcher.

Strict was her byword.

No nonsense her dictum.

So draconian she was, that she boasted of her control over her husband and her sons far and wide.

Of a Madam, an "Innocent" Husband, and a Maid

(By Jude Idada) - On my power walk this afternoon I stumbled on a scene. 

In front of a lovely looking house close to Spar in Lekki. 

A woman, her house maid, a gate man and a small crowd of onlookers.

The beautiful house maid who was dressed in tight black jeans, a red spaghetti tops and a pair of roman sandals had a travelling bag by her and was holdiing tight to the gate.

She was in tears.

The handsome woman was dressed in a trouser suit and leather shoes.

She was irate.

The shirtless, slender and short gate man was trying to get the house maid to leave the gate.

The woman was hovering around both of them.

"Ashawo! Husband snatcher! Leave my house!"

She said as she clapped her hands together.

"I need my money ma."

"God will punish you! You f...k my husband and you want me to pay you?! Trailer will kill you today today I promise you. My God is not asleep."

The guard and the maid struggled.

The crowd watched.

Of Nigerians and "Anything for the Boys?"

Jude Idada (R)

(By Jude Idada)

Three times I warned them.
Yet they persisted.

Not these ones, but the ones like them.

Dressed in uniforms.

They are supposed to guard the estate in which I live.

But they conducted themselves like motorpark touts.

There was the first time.

I was walking to the elevator and the uniformed guard who usually sits by the elevator said to me...

"Sir, please find me something. Owu dey blow."

I warned him to desist from begging and bringing dishonour to the uniform he wore.

He apologised.

Next day I walk to the elevator.

He greets me with a welcoming smile.

I get into the elevator and as the door is about closing, he blocks it with his hand.

It opens.

This is Lagos: Tales From Daily Bus Ride IV

(By Jude Idada)

The driver kept his hand on the horn of the bus.
The honk was loud, continous and vexatious.

And as though obeying the order of a conductor in an orchestra, the other drivers in the cars and buses around the bus, did the exact thing.

The din was deafening.

The abuses started flying in pidgin and Yoruba as each driver cursed out the other driver.

I watched in silence from the first row of the bus in which I sat.

Wondering how vehicularly quiet the streets of Toronto were in comparison to those of Lagos. So quiet, you could go through a year without hearing the honk of a car.

We were heading to Victoria Garden City in Lekki and the traffic jam at the Jakande Junction - fifth roundabout - was holding us hostage.

I noticed his stare.

This is Lagos: Tales From Daily Bus Ride III

(By Jude Idada)

I stood at the bus-stop for nearly an hour.
Lekki.

Buses and taxis stopped and drove on.

After the conductors had called out.

"Obalende!"

"CMS!"

A few actually called out -

"Oshodi!"

I was heading for Freedom Park on Broad Street.

I had hoped to hear them call out.

"Race course!"

My plan was to get there and walk over to Freedom Park.

But none had called that out.

It was hot.

I was sweating.

Finally another bus slowed down in front of me.

Be Wary of Pack Leaders

(By Jude Idada) - ... I once had a friend, who my father never liked....

He had met him once when he came with my other friends, for a Christmas party my father had thrown.

At the time I couldn't understand his dislike, because we all loved this friend and would do anything for him.

He was our world.

I never knew my father had been watching us that day as we sat in a group, with this friend standing, having our own party while the older and even oldest ones partied in the bigger party that surrounded us.

My friend had promptly left when something someone had said rubbed him wrongly.

The others followed.

I attempted to also follow, but my father called me back at the gate.

"Where are you going to?"