It’s not like I was among the top 15 players on the pitch. I was every other guy on the back line that would kick the ball with either foot just to make sure it leaves our half of the pitch. Right after this long energy draining 90mins match with our greatest rival, my fellow comrades and I eagerly made our way to the side lines to “grab a sip” as Coach Emma would say, right before extra time. Okondo on the other hand, wasnt in so much of a hurry unsurprisingly -you can count on him to act contrary to coach Emmas orders- he was a doosh bag and our MVP aswell, a “necessary evil”. With our legs stained knee-level with red earth, we left the pitch dotted with thousands of footprint as we galantly made our way to our pseudo locker room. Then I felt this sudden awkward urge to wee, how would I want to wee, when I’m supposed to be thirsty, i thought. Well, its natures call, God works in “mysterious” ways they say. On that note I changed my bearing and headed straight for the nearest tree. The ube (pear) tree felt unusually soothing as I endlessly eased myself along its trunk when it happened.
I gradually regained consciousness as the wet sensation within my thighs heightened. I hopped off the bed instinctively with shock in my eyes as I realized I’ve made a map that looked very much like the map of Africa in one of Ekene’s text book……oh no!……I have done it!…..I have we-weed on the bed.
Ekene!….Ekenne!!!…..Ekenne wake up oh, I don pis!!!
Ekenne wouldn’t wake up even if a match band paraded our room like the Israelites did the walls of Jericho that I knew but was still hoping for a miracle. The only way to get him up would be to kick start-the hard way. With grief and despondence weighting down on me, I recalled Ekene’s sanity with a resonating slap and watched hum convulse to life.
Watin happen? You dey mad?
He muttered in a brisk whisper.
I don piss for bed oh
As was an expert at wee first aid, I knew I could count on him on this one. Besides, I had covered well enough for him so I guess he owed me this one good deed at the very least. Without uttering a word, he got off the bed and went for the pressing iron. Plugging it into the socket right by our bed he immediately started rubbing it against the infected area, in time water vapors-or should I say wee vapor- filled the room as it left a more vivid map on the mattress. It’s a good thing we didn’t use the bed sheet, I thought to myself, that would have meant extra items iron. As soon as he was done he gestured at the other end of the bed, and I knew from old routeen that it was time to flip the bed over. That we were at the verge of sucessfully completing when our already shakky bed frame collapsed, striking the ground hard enough to awaken papa.
It was as though time stood still as the increasing sound of papas approaching footstep was all we were consious of. Papa had unpredictable reactions to varying situations as the “spirt lead”. Ones at our christian meetings, despite the fact that we were sitted on the sercond row, he made ekenne stand right in front of his sit, practically before the congregation for sleeping during the meeting, on another unfortunate occasion when i came 14th out of the 15 pupils in class, he made it a self assigned point of duty update all our family and friends on my current acedemic excellence. Ekenne had his “straight face” on and I was forced to hide the fright written allover mine under a smug look, as we fixed our gaze on the wooden door awaiting impending doom.