Japada: Not to Naija, are you mad? (1)
By Taju Tijani
Larry Omotosho sat perplexed. He could not care less. His siblings were all in arms against his decision to relocate to Naija in his dream of discovering the joy of japada. The time was ticking for Larry, and he knew it. He had made money in the UK. But his mortal enemy was the ticking time. Time to spend the money and where to spend it. He threw the Bible on his lap aside and grabbed his phone. He put a call across to a friend.
“Omo Larry, how you dey?” Remi said. “Wo mowapa jare ore. Na these people now. Dem wan live my life for me. Abori nkan. Na my bro and sis dem just dey hala say I dey go back to Naija o. Larry downloaded his earthly frustrations to his bosom friend. He excused himself to the kitchen and grabbed a cup of his favourite tea. He was seething with rage. On his way back to the living room, he tripped on his laptop cord and smashed the cup of tea on the floor. He rushed to the bathroom and mopped the spilled tea.
Larry Omotosho arrived the UK in year 2010. He worked with a Nigerian telecommunication company as Area Manager where he managed over 20 staffers. He lived in Sango Ota with his wife and three kids. He had two cars parked in his compound. A Lexus and a gold Toyota Corolla. He built his 4 bedroomed bungalow in 2004. He was a fixture in the heated debates of community politics. He had a first degree in engineering from the University of Lagos and strings of top up courses within the telecom industry. His life was set in Nigeria.
“Omo, I just came back from Naija. That country na shithole. Nija no get laws. Everybody is lawless, I swear. The only people wey dey enjoy Naija na politicians and civil servants enriched over the years through corruption. I went there to go and see whether I fit return. The things I saw discouraged me,” Remi explained. Larry hated what he was saying. He hated any bad report about Naija. “Stop it Remi. Just stop that doomsday narrative. Nigeria is home to over 200 million people. So how are they coping? Are they not human?” Larry asked, shouting at Remi on the phone.
READ ALSO: Japada: The Pain. The Agony. The Tears (3)
Japada: The Pain. The Agony. The Tears (2)
Japada: The Pain. The Agony. The Tears (1)
“Larry, you know that I am a realist. I no go see ditch and put you inside. Look, let me tell you, you go suffer for Naija. So, you want to compare our standard of living in the UK to that of Naija? Japada to Naija, are you mad? So, you prefer frustration, pain, punishment and paralysis? I complained everyday throughout my short stay. I stayed around Palm Grove in one of the hotels. The hotel had to rely on generators for light. In fact, when I travelled to Akure my hometown for a week, there was no light at all,” Remi continued with his harrowing experiences in Nigeria.
“Remi, remember that I left Naija just fourteen years ago. I still have my house and few contacts that would help me in my relocation. I am used to the madness around us. I have made some money. I have investment plans in my head. I am planning to come first while my wife and children will still stay behind in the UK. Yes, my wife has been fighting my japada plan…but you know women. They love comfort than pain. Even my children have grown used to the comfort around them. They are not happy I am leaving for Naija,” Larry said further.
“Drop the phone, I’ll see you soon. So wanle? I will come over,” Remi brought the discussion to an end. Larry got up and began a frantic search for airline ticket on Skyscanner. He had to do this before his wife arrived from her nursing job. Lola, her last daughter, was in her room listening to her collection of Afrobeats music. She particularly liked Kiss Daniel, Flavour, Asake, Burna Boy, Star Boy, Badoo and Davido. Lola ran to his dad and spied his laptop. “Dad, what! Are you still looking for ticket to japada to Naija?” “Shut up. Will you go back to your room!”
The bell rang. Remi buzzed in with his usual bubbly spirit. Lola sat his dad’s friend in the living room and dashed upstairs to fetch him. Unknown to Lola, Larry had seen Remi through the bedroom window overlooking the street. He saw him as he parked his Mercedes Benz. He came down clutching a book with the title, “Design Your Destiny”. Without saying hello to his friend, Larry opened a page and shoved it before Remi. Remi ignored him. He was not there to fantasise with any author’s idea but to talk Larry out of his japada plan for Naija.
Larry’s phone rang. It was Ife his wife. “Do you want anything from the supermarket, I’m on my way home? Check the fridge quick before I hang up,” Ife ordered her husband. “Just buy the Jamaican rum.” “O tiye mi. Ore wa round,” Ife said laughing. Ife knew instinctively that Remi was around. He was the only family visitor they entertained with Jamaican rum. He could not do without it. In fact, Remi’s wife once joked that it was Jamaican rum that was keeping him rooted in the UK.
Ife Omotosho was a beautiful woman. Though age had taken its toll on her natural beautiful features. She had an aquiline nose. Ebony-olive skin. Natural long hair. She looked like a Somalian woman. She had been a nurse in one of the care homes in Tooting for 10 years. She was meant to retire three years ago but she kept on working. She wanted to harness all the financial opportunities in the UK before retirement. She was a deacon in her local Pentecostal church. Her coming to the UK with Larry fourteen years ago was an answer to her lifelong dream of caring for the weak, old, and the infirm.
“Uncle Remi a ku ojo meta o,” Ife greeted their guest in Yoruba. Remi went over and hugged her. “E wo mama, e ma binu simi. I travelled to Naija and I just came back,” Remi offered an apology for being away from the family for a while. “Ha, o kuku yemi. The Naija wahala. That yeye country. Pshhhh,” Ife kissed her teeth in disgust in remembering Nigeria.
“I’ve been wondering if your friend is mad in his obsession to return to that shithole. Japada, not to Naija. Please God. Of all countries…not Naija,” Ife said, as she unbundled her shopping. She placed the Jamaican rum on the centre table facing Remi. Remi gave Ife a high five on seeing the rum.
Larry sat in the corner of the burgundy leather chair glued to the book he was reading. The book, “Design Your Destiny” had been his go to book for the past one week. “Gbewe sile oro wa jo. Oga designer, I beg drop the book make we talk. Thank God your wife is here,” Remi ordered.
…..To be continued.
