Short Story: My Little Sister’s Bra- Ogunjimi Richard Olawale

I know you will call me names, but I do not bloody care.  I will keep trying, I must blow too. My name is Adeleke Adedeji David; my friends call me Davido for obvious reason. I want to believe I am destined to be rich just like my namesake. It is a sin for my parents to borrow Davido’s name and not his money for me.  I clocked 19 on 21st November 2017.  Now you are convinced that it is not just coincidence.  I was supposed to be a member of the real Adeleke’s dynasty.

My family is the typical Father, Mother and their three children, two boys and a girl.  Our firstborn is serving as a youth corps in  Maiduguri, my little sister is in 100 level in a private university.   My hatred for poverty is vehement.  I abhor resentment towards my parents for their inability to provide things  I feel are necessary for my comfort.  Every time I am in the company of my friends, whose parents lavish money on,  I always wish I  possess the magic to switch parents.

Last  week,  was  supposed  to  be  the  end  of  my  quest  for  wealth.  It  all  started  two  years  ago, when  I  met  Tunde(a  colleague  from  school,  who  lead  my  American  life  dreams),  he  is  a  proud owner of  a  2017 Aston  Martin sport car, built  two bungalows around  the school area  where  he lives  in  one  and  gave  out  the  other  for  rent.  Tunde’s  room  is  dope!  I  cannot  be  giving  details here  (it  is  not  even  relevant  to  my  story  really).  Tunde  is  a  correct  yahoo  boy;  he  makes  his dough  regularly  and  flaunt  his  money  without  reservations.  He  introduced  me  to  the  rudiments, I  was eager, so  I  learnt quite  fast.  However,  the money  seems not to be  in the  eager mode,  as  I keep  investing  more  into  buying  data,  needed  gadgets  etc,  and  none  of  my  maye  (clients)  are ready  to  do  the  wiring.

Two  months  fast  forward,  I  was  a  broke  ass  nigga.  Could  not  even afford  to  do  the  regular  sub.  I  knew  a  piece  of  the  puzzle  is  still  missing,  so  I  took  the  bold  step of knocking the  door  of  a  babalawo (ifa  priest) to  find the  missing piece. I  was  told  to  bring  the  undies  of  women  (pants  or  bra  precisely).  Deep  inside,  I  knew  the missing  link  is  found.  I  knew  getting  the  bra  or  pant  is  never  going  to  be  a  problem  as  I  got  my first  pant,  the  next  day.  Took  it  with  smile  on  my  face,  and  assurance  of  wealth  in  my  heart. Few  minutes  with  the  priest  broke  my  heart,  as  Tinuke’s  pant  was  declared  “USED  by  another person”!

I  was  surprised  and  betrayed.

I  resolved,  probably  I  was  not  that  fast.  Just  the  evening of  the  next  day,  Sola came  visiting  (she  has  always  denied  me  sex,  insisting she  is  a  virgin  and not  ready  to  be  sexually  active  until  marriage),  as  usual,  I  tried  having  sex  with  her  and  she refused  as  expected  but  I  got  my  prize  and  the  next  morning,  off  to  the  baba’s  place  with confidence.  “My  son,  this  one  too  has  been  used.”  I  was  speechless,  argued  with  baba  that  the owner  is  a  virgin.  Baba  dismissed  my  claim  with  a  wave  of  his  left  hand,  and  showed  me  the proof  of  his  claim.  Every  pants  or  bras  that  has  been  used  brings  out  maggots  when  brought out  of  the  calabash  where  it  has  been  kept  with  some  leaves  for  5  minutes.  I  brought  nothing less  than  seventeen  pants  or  bras,  all  declared  USED!  I  was  devastated,  angry,  frustrated  and even  more  broke.  My undies stealing adventure has taken three weeks.

Out of desperation, I  decided to take my destiny into my hands,  I resolved to go home and get either my mum ’s undies or my little sister’s own.  I chose the latter. I arrived at Baba ’s place armed with my sister’s bra  (how  I got it is  irrelevant). I gave it to Baba for the incantation and rituals.  I was already seeing myself driving my own  Aston Martin or Chevrolet,  sitting in my own built 40million naira valued bungalow, and definitely with correct babes doing turns.  I was jolted back to reality by  Baba’s gentle shoulder push.  “My  son,  this one  has  been  used  too.  Look  for  undies  in  other  places  far  from  this  town.”  I  do  not  want  to believe  I  was  aphasic  at  hearing  those  words,  but  I  was  when  I  looked  at  my  sister’s  bra  bringing out maggots!

Et  tu,  Demilade?

Even  my  own  sister  has  been  used.  How  am  I  so  sure  my  mum  has  not  been  used?  How  will  I get  any  lady’s  pant  or  bra  that  is  yet  to  be  used  by  fellow  yahoo  boys?  However,  why  are  we still  seeing  poor  young  people  around  if  almost  all  the  women  have  been  used?  Is  it  that  one person  used  all  of  them?  I  am  not  interested  in  the  answers  to  these  questions.  My  little  sister has  been  used.  I  am  still  hell  broke.  Tunde  is  still  driving  his  Aston  Martin.  My  quest  is  still on,  and  indeed  very  on.  Tell  all  your  sisters  that  I  am  coming  for  them.  If  it  will  take  me  eternity to  finally  get  a  pant  or  bra  to  use,  I  will  keep  stealing  them.  I  must  blow,  like  Davido,  it  is  a  sin for  me to bear his name and not bear his wealth.

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