You wake up in the morning, usually from the heat of the night, probably the Fan stopped spinning because NEPA for some reason always keeps grudges with almost every device in your home (usually spares the Windows, Broom and Mop) but is always extremely harsh on the poor light bulbs. Even the Association of Angels in Heaven recently just concluded a conference to deliberate on the very disturbing reason why Nigerians love the dark so much that sometimes they just turn off the lights while reading, they claim that it gets so dark that sometimes they distribute the wrong blessings to the wrong households, on some very bad days they may mistakenly drop the blessings of a whole street and shower it on an unregistered residence.

Even the windows sometimes succumb to the tyranny of the almighty NEPA (when the grudges become too long, even the windows will have to open up to allow the truthful breeze come in and comfort the parasite that happens to be laying confused on the bamboo bed on the Tongue.

You are always stuck in the middle (I open the window I freeze, I close the window I burn). No thermostat to at least regulate your frustration, no wonder a lot of Nigerians are so passionate about being frustrated and maintaining their frustration.

Finally, you decide to get up from your frustration and see if you can wash away the hot water boiling at the middle of your head, you stare at the tap, the tap stares back, you grab the ears of the tap and scold it, in the hope that it will spill some gossip on your hands but as usual it develops an attitude and decides to give you the silent treatment.

At this point there is no amount of torture that will make your shower to confess its sins, so your next alternative is to open that drum that you’ve abandoned for about a week to scoop some water to cool your brain and probably clean up your sweaty mess.

As the Boss you are, you immediately order the drum to raise up it’s armpit and as it lifts you sniff, as you sniff you become aggrieved because now your are caught in between two worlds, you either have your bath by spinning naked in the air under the shower or by risking bacterial matrimony after a bowl of the drum water couples with your already sticky skin.

Actually you really don’t have any choice but to pick the latter, so like a wrecking ball, you kick the bucket, closer to the drum and the drum vomits scoop by scoop all the dirty gossip it has been holding in since the last day you updated it directly into the womb of the vertically challenged bucket.

You step into the African Jacuzzi and all of a sudden, you begin to tremble, a very cold breeze begins to force itself through the small window in your bathroom hitting you directly in your chest, almost as if God in Heaven is intentionally sniping you with nature.

So now, the bucket of water has switched positions from being the saviour of your burning skin to become the coolant of your already trembling skin.

But still, you have no choice but to quickly take up a very very temporary I.T on Broadway and become a Ballerina, you take a scoop and then raise you feet high up and pour the water so fast that it sends some very active dance hormones through your spine and immediately the show is over, a loud applause springs up from the belly of the Jacuzzi.

Finally the reality that cold water might kill you sets in and you run out of the bathroom and set the kettle’s house on fire with the last gas. For some reason the kettle keeps mute and avoids screaming, it sucks all the immense pain from the burner like a Man.

You keep watching, it keeps telling its kids to shhhhhh! and the fire keeps flaming. The Kettle remarkably keeps telling the kids to shhhhhhhh, and as you come in minute after minute to spy on their household, the astonishing obedience from Mr.Kettles little kids begin to annoy you and stir up your impatience.

But you know what, in every family there must be a Judas, in every Jack, there must be a Jill. Just before the last time you left, Mr. Kettle warned his four kids, Ketu, Kamanga, Kolongo and Kamatura to try and suck in the pain for a little longer to buy them some extra time to plan their escape. Kamanga, Kamatura and Ketu stood their ground, but Kolongo who’s nostrils were already taking turns puffing steamed cigarettes could not hold the pain any-longo and with all the fluid running through his veins he shouted, screamed and wailed so loud that you rushed in from the living room to quickly put out the fire.

Now the battle has been lost because Kolongo has messed up the operation, Mr. Kettle is annoyed and the whole family begins to curse out so many words which will eventually cause Mr. Kettle to begin to throw up, pouring out his raging anger on your floor in form of water that is running on a high fever.

All of a sudden you have become so hypocritical, why the mercy all of a sudden, why burn their household for that long, only to show mercy when Kolongo began to cry out.
Why act like you care when you genuinely don’t. All you care about is your trembling stinky sticky skin. In the end we all know that you are going to mix us with our cold smelly enemies in the bucket and flush us down the abdomen of the Jacuzzi.

At least you should be able to Man-Up for your wicked act and pour us directly on your skin, face me and my Family, Ketu will deal with your forehead and sanity, Kamanga will roast those nipples of yours and Kamatura has always been a lover of the pecker, she will ensure a good job is done down there.

Kolongo will only enjoy the slide down to the drain, stylishly scratching you all through the journey.

But I Mr. Kettle, I promise you, I will be back stronger and I will set your household on fire, I will burn all your underwear and send you to the streets naked, crying out for the neighbours to hear your voice and for the fire-service to answer your call.

Written by Stephen Uba

I am the Pot of Beans behind Waterybeans.Com.

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