I freaking hate bullies!
Muri was my stepmother's cousin kinikan kinikan. His mother was also related to my mother's family.
You know all those tedious relationships that you don't really care to know about.
One day sha, he came from the village to holiday with us in Lagos.
His stocky and muscular well barreled chest portrayed a life spent hoeing on the farm
We became friends since we were of the same age and we called each other by our first names until he suddenly grew cold and insisted I should call him ''Broda Muri".
According to him he is the Arólé (heir)of his house.
Orò ràdàràdà!
I stopped talking to him until he woke me up from my deep slumber one evening and pummeled me with a huge wooden turning spoon while calling me different names.
Soon a sizeable crowd attracted by my shouting appeared and I was asked to forgive and forget.
Some blamed me for being disrespectful of our culture.
He was still huffing and boasting that he would teach the mannerless Lagos girl some culture while his fans were placating him.
Issokay I said to myself. I crept downstairs amidst the fake sympathizers and went to Musa the security guard.I told him to sell ground chilli pepper a whole #100 worth and went back .
Like the dramatic babalawos in Nollywood movies blowing juju at his enemies,I covered my nose,squinted my eyes and blew a waft of the pepper on him. While he was still shouting, I opened his boxers and applied a another generous amount of "peppermicin" to his "watyacallit".
He howled and yelped like a rabid dog. Even the little crowd of sympathizers dispersed to regroup at a safe distance.
I carried my little kaya bag and ran far,far away from the maddening crowd while singing softly under my breath...
Power pass power oh
All power belongs to pepper
Power pass power(2ce)
