Must Read: Brother Wale - Season 1 - Episode 11

6 years ago

Must Read: Brother Wale - Season 1 - Episode 11

Anifowoshe a community close to Badagry is not the conventional close-to-city community you know. The community has it all; all professions, all kinds of characters. There was some that said their calling was to smoke weed morning-afternoon-night; Brother Wale was part of such people.

He joined them since he couldn’t beat them.
Mehn! I missed the old Brother Wale. The old brother Wale was dogged and had a lot of gusto; he would wake up as early as 6am and set for a quest; that quest was to look for a job. He had wanted to work in Television house as a newscaster so his destination point everyday was television and radio houses to submit his CV.

And at the end of the day friendly lights will guide him home after he had stopped over at the bar to drink a bottle or two of the legendary 1759.

Then he comes home complaining how graduate-unfriendly Nigeria was; wishing he was the president of the nation.

Well the Brother Wale then could be the president of the world I can affirm, as for the Brother Wale after he met Igboh Kwenu the dealer of weed, he could be the president of only one nation – Igboh nation.

The frustration of not getting a job as a third class graduate made Brother Wale changed from being in the nation of born again christians to being in the nation of weed smokers.

Brother Wale was the choir master in church not because Baami was the pastor but because he loved his maker so much. He was the one that would spank me in the presence of my friends for coming late to church. He was the one that told me to stop hanging out with Debo because he was a gambler and that gamblers are thieves.

The same Brother Wale was later a gambler extraordinaire and a maestro in smoking.

The street knew his reputation and pedigree.

As I walked down our street towards kpomoh junction where our house was located whistling with pot on my head and bucket containing bean cakes that was left unsold, I heard, “hey you stop there!”

I stopped abruptly and turned to see two police officers doing their job at kpomoh junction.

“Me?”
“Yes you! Come over here!”
“God! I don die today!” Bearing in mind that the parcel Brother Emeka gave to me was in my back pocket.

“Wetin you carry?”

I thought I heard “Garri” in place of “carry”, so I answered saying; “Garri! I no carry Garri oh, na Akara! Na me be SB, Mama Wale pekin! Na we dey sale Akara for junction”

“Common come here!” I saw Officer Tunde our regular customer.

“Seyi Bobo! So naso you go take land for prison for Igboh wey no be your own?”
Someone whispered to my ears.

“Sergent! Search him!” Officer Tunde thundered, “na una dey go rob people for their house for night!”

“Bros you no know me? I no be thief oh!” I cried out.

“Shut up! Sergeant! Search him!”

I looked at the deserted street for the last time before I go to jail and tears rolled down my eyes.

“ahaaaan! Why you dey cry na!” The sergeant had finished searching my front pocket, he headed for the back pocket where the weed was.

“What greater love than this, for a man to die for his friends!” That scripture was beginning to make sense at that moment. I was going to jail and I might die there for my brother.

“Oooh Brother Wale!” I cried.

“wetin be this thing!” The sergeant brought out the weed.

“nothing sir!” I answered.

“sir! I think this is Indian head!” The sergeant said.

“Me! Indian head! I am not a ritualist!” I cried out.

“My friend will you shut up!” The sergeant was having a field day tapping my head, “sir this boy carry Indian head! Igboh!”

“Sergeant Edward! How many times will I tell you that it is called Indian hemp and not Indian head?”

“Sorry sir!”

“So you carried this Indian hemp with you! Will you lie down!” Officer Tunde cracked his gun like I was a highway robber.

Lying down I felt river flowed from the stick in between my legs. I think I was having a genetic disorder; my d’ick rises to full attention whenever I was under pressure or depressed.