Idle Time Flies...

Times.
The sun had already gone home for the day to continue the delivery of the double dozen dawn-in dose. The light was glowing out. I had taken a walk to the rocky hill at the other end of the estate. Motive; to change state.
   Time Flies. Few Flew.
The reducing altitude of the downhill stroll had with it gathering clouds, darkening day, increasing altitude, a different state, and increasing entropy. The air speed. The speed was sufficient enough to intoxicate playing children,_ , if their working middle class parents had not returned from the dozen dawned-in daze dose of duty/double divide(//)/devotion [duty//devotion] to keep them'the kids indoors. I paused at the locus where the road’s sharp corner meets the bottom of the hill. Right or straight. Home bound or more space travel. How do I proceed. Too Many ?uestions. Breeze carries dust. Dust irritate eyes. Eyes are needed to see (the notion is also generally perceived). I had not planned to walk in rain. I had not planned to walk blind. Still I couldn’t decide to change the gear of my conscious state travel vessel from the lingering forward sec per sec time travel mode to space time travel mode. I was frozen, busy in idle thoughts. I was frozen in action. The rhythmic signals from my phone dropping a dosage of … via earphones increased the dimensions of the entropy and the cool guy chill osmosing from my aura. 
   Time Flies. Few.
A white pickup truck. A white pickup truck was approaching the corner from the right of “Right or Straight”. A white pickup truck was approaching the corner from the home bound of “Home bound or more space time travel”. Few home-going folks sitting in the flimsily [metal] railed barred open air rear of the white pickup truck. As the pickup truck drew closer, it slowed down. Some dude. Some dude on the other side of the road ran towards the passing truck, presumed a safe velocity, hopped, and grabbed one of the skeletal structured metallic shape support of the open air rear of the white pickup truck. He was in. As the pickup drew closer to the corner, it slowed down. I ran towards the passing truck, presumed a safe velocity, hopped, and grabbed one of the loose rusty intent deformed seperated iron barricades. I was in. Apparently, I had decided to travel in space time travel mode without changing the space of my conscious state travel vessel, but by lingering in another space traveling in a space time travel mode. I verbally shared “hellos” and “how far?s” then I tried to drown into the new dimension of the ever increasing entropy and increasing space time from my eventual destination. The small talk they were loudly exchanging against the attack of the wind as a result of the increasing speed of the white pickup truck and the vibrations of its unsteady bumpy ride was in the background of the sounds of my playlist, which in turn was in the background of my trip. My eyes were hidden behind lids of a turned away face because wind carries faster and larger dust particles than breeze do do do. Dust irritate eyes. Eyes are needed to see (… ). Drizzling rain can be inculcated into entropy. I knew my eyes were red from all that, all that dust that blow with the wind. 
   Time Flies. Few.
The route was a straight three kilometer stretch. That was the length of the estate. I, going further away from comfort, did not care much for details. That's too complex for that state. The gate ahead was under renovation and modification. Well!, I had already hopped in. Rapid water drops carries more dust particles than the breeze do do. Dust irritates eyes. Eyes... The white pickup truck took a left turn into a street, a left turn. A right turn. Another turn. A turn. Drew square figures in between houses. Entered a pothole. Changed the direction of the wind. Shit can always get trippier. Space being at random right angles. Time jerking. Conscious space time travel vessel moleculed and in jagged edged circular cubic space. No colours in these dimensions. Entrophy is pure energy heres. No curves heres. Another turn. Like I care for details.
   Time Flies. Few Flew.
We arrived at the other other end of the estate. The rain was still procrastinating but I had received half a cup already. I, : dude? you are so far gone. Jump off and get ghost. So I jump off at the u-turn. Asking I, : dude? why did you get in that truck.
Dude!...
Times.

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http://t.co/Vp1tbnyCzP

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UT (University Tripz): A Strange Friendship...

The ringing Phone dragged Jabbard through several levels of consciousness to the waking state. He had the feeling the time was some minutes after two in the morning. He looked at the screen of the phone and saw numbers. He had to wake up even more to recognize that the numbers belonged to Helen's line. Helen never called any time past seven in the evening without prior announcement. The time was thirty minutes after two on a saturday morning. Jabbard answered with a grumpy 'hello'. Helen's voice sounded off. She seemed cold and distressed. In a shaky voice she asked 'are you at home?'. At the sound of the affirmative, she then asked Jabbard if he was alone. Jabbard was totally awake and trying to put the pieces of all the information in the right places. She said she would be outside his house in a minute. Jabbard got up. Without tiding the room or putting a shirt over the shorts he had on, he went to receive his guest. Jabbard stood outside and saw a figure approaching. He knew it was Helen. When she came closer, he saw she was sobbing, shivering and scared... Jabbard strictly adhering to his prioritised college lifestyle of academics before money, and money before everything else, never engaged in a chase that exceeded a semester. There were pretty ladies who held out that long and made the principle affect his desire for them. But Helen was somewhat special. She was not the prettiest, the tallest or the most appealing. She would naturally not stand a chance against some before her. It is a wonder how she made Jabbard lust for her well over a semester. Helen rejected Jabbard's love but appreciated his friendship. She would lay in bed with him telling stories, eating chocolate bars, drinking Coke and playing with clothes on. This was some intriguing torment for Jabbard. Jabbard played about while trying to persuade Helen to succumb, but eventually let her dictate what the relationship was. A strange friendship... Jabbard stood back and urged Helen in. He locked the gate behind her and noticed her hair was in disarray and her walk was a burden for her as she passed by him going towards his room. She had no makeup on and seemed concerned only with getting somewhere familiar. He closed the door after entering the room. He saw she had already laid on the bed cuddling herself under the blanket and visibly shaking in the warm dimly lit room. She asked if he locked the door, to which he said "yes" and wondered why it was important to her that the door was locked. Jabbard sat on the table with his back to the window and slanted his legs on a chair away from the bed and looked along the length of her figure ending his inspection on her tear glistering cheeks. He was totally caught off guard. His assumptions and imagination could not correctly answer the questions he wanted to ask. He knew she had a cousin nearby and a couple of girlfriends around. If she was in trouble, she had more viable options of people to call before she should call him. He thought of letting her sleep the shock off, but he knew if he didn't ask now, he may never get the accurate story. So he asked "what happened?" She sat up facing him with her back leaning on the wall. She still held the blanket like it would provide her some form of protection from the evils of this world. With subsiding sobs, she started to narrate the events that happened in the evening. "I was reading in the cafeteria with my roommate and one of my course mates. My roommate is Eve, her boyfriend called her and said they should go out. She said she was with her friends and he said that we should come along too. She asked Frank and me if we wanted to hangout. We agreed as it was a friday and we had read enough. We went to the hostel, dropped our books and dressed up. Frank waited for us. When Eve's boyfriend came, she got in the front seat while me and Frank sat behind. We drove out of the school into town. We bought some chicken on our way to the joint. Went we got there, I saw one of my old school mates, his name is Tom. He was there drinking with his friend. I knew both of them. So we sat down and invited them over. Six of us were there for a while. Tom and his friend wanted to leave, so we all decided to leave as we were going towards the same place. When we got to Tom's place, he put on some music and we started dancing. We were still drinking wine. Frank was already sleeping in one corner. After a while Eve told me she wanted to go with her boyfriend to his place and asked 'how far?'. I told her that they can go as I didn't want to make them go and drop me off first and I have been at Tom's place several times before. It was already very late. We were still dancing, drinking and making noise when they left. Frank was still sleeping. We were just drinking, dancing and gisting for sometime. One time while we were dancing, I was in the middle of Tom and his friend. The friend started holding and touching me. I just continued dancing. Then, he started squeezing my breasts. I told him to stop and he did, but Tom was already touching me from behind. We were not dancing anymore, they were just holding me close. I left them there and went to sit beside Frank. I tried to wake him, but he didn't wake. Tom came and sat down. He held me and was trying to kiss me. I was trying to dodge and fell on my back. Tom's friend was already touching my breasts. I didn't know what to do. I told them to stop, but Tom kissed me roughly and they didn't stop. I was struggling to get away but they held me down. Someone was holding my hand and my other hand was under Tom. I stopped struggling and started begging. I was already crying. Tom said I should relax and his friend was trying to get my blouse off. We had stopped struggling, so I asked Tom's friend to pass me the drink. I drank it while Tom was still touching me. I told them to let me ease myself and they let me get up. I left the room and went out and that's when I called you". Jabbard listened to the story without interupting. He watched Helen as she spoke and wondered how much she didn't say. He imagined she was omitting when she wore a scowl and looked into a distant void like she was trying to remember a day in her childhood. And the times she paused to wipe her face, he imagined she was adding her pieces to the ordeal. At certain instances, Jabbard felt like bursting out an hysterical laughter. Jabbard could laugh at the weirdest things. But he didn't. Sometimes the tale seemed to be below his level of paranoia and disbelief that he would have blurted out a "get the fuck out of here!" or a "shut the fuck up!", but he had to respect the orator since he asked for the tale. Jabbard realised that she had been silent for some seconds and it was approaching awkward. So he got up and went over, squatting by the bed to console her. Jabbard, poor with emotions didn't know what to do when she receded sharply at the touch of her shoulder. He told her slowly that everything was ok like he was counting his words. He didn't try to touch her or hug her, he just told her to sleep and that she would feel better when she wakes. She knew he meant she should go to sleep at that moment as he was still staring at her and waiting for her to obey. She reclined resting her head on a pillow and folded slightly at the waist with the blanket held to her chin. She looked up at him as if to ask if that was enough. He saw she was backing enough space on the bed for two people, he refused to smile. He just keep looking at her like an angel who had answered her prayers and was telling her "you can close your eyes now, you are safe now". When her eyes were finally closed, Jabbard went, sat on the chair, put his leg on the table and stared into the night sky through the window. He was digesting everything. He wondered what the boys would be doing, would they be searching for Helen? What if they knew him, would they come and try to get her back? Would a face appear at the window? Jabbard idly played with thoughts for some minutes and when he was sure Helen was asleep, he went out with a fire box and an intention to throw some in the air. He sat on the edge of the compound well, took an excess feel of the early morning freshness through his skin, ears, eyes, nose and mind, and lit his escape. After some puffs, Jabbard understood the reason why he was the first person Helen called and why she had so far refused to accept him totally. She trusted and respected him and didn't want to lose him by letting her hold on him go. What she felt for him must have been more than he had to offer her. With a final exhalation he let her go, and looked up attentively as dawn diluted the smoke of freedom...

Sniff Sniff...

"Would this be the last Igbo girl I'd try to woo?" was one of the thoughts I was subconsciously shuffling in my mind as I strolled back home. I had just spent some money I really didn't feel happy spending hanging out with an Igbo girl who in turn promised to call me later. I wasn't expecting her to call. You gotta love Igbo girls. I was walking on one side of a dual main road with the traffic coming behind me. At that pace, I was in no hurry to get anywhere. On my left was the road and a settlement was on my right. I revisited the question about Igbo girls and tried to remember the ones in my past that would make me ignore the stereotype that makes them less desirable to folks who don't think money and lust are on the same family tree and assure myself that I can stay open to ladies of all tribes. None!, No. One. No. Suddenly, a couple came out of the darkening day to my right, turned and continued walking in the same direction I was walking. They were so close I could see the reflection of headligths off her fair skin. I guess I pay attention to details. But they were still far enough that I could not make sense of their dialogue. She was wearing a short khaki brown short, a cream pattern shirt that looked like a guys shirt from behind and a net like cap that gathered her hair loosely. The shirt stopped a little below her waist. She had a nylon bag with some content in it hanging by the fingers of her right hand while her left hand swung to give her walking balance. She was walking to the right of her partner who was wearing a longer short and a black tee shirt. He was really coordinating the conversation. They were both strutting close to six feet above the ground and totally ignorant of my existence. I could not tell if they were a couple in intimate relationship, but I knew they were close to eachother and I don't mean their walking distance. She must have had an itch, as she put her left hand into her shorts where her crack of her little cute ass is and made some inquiring moves. She took the hand directly to her face. I knew she sniffed it. She was not satisfied as she sent her hand back on the mission. She said something to her partner who had not noticed hand moves. Then she removed the hand and took it to his face. I thought he would flinch or do something else. He just replied to whatever she had just said. It was at that moment that I realised that I would like to do something that disgusting with a lady in public and not care who is watching...

Deep Change...

Her ten creations attacking the twenty-six sage.
Inciting.
Earth org flanks keenly.
Intelligent maneuvers, subterfuge over Pandemonium.
The vow with hands over the restricted file.
Only a pressure strong.
Flag for scrolls...

P for Phone Calls...

The Phone Call(s):

I was up early and wide eyed this morning. I wondered if I switched off my phone as it was off and I remember the hoax message I received about some cosmic rays coming from Mars. I laughed when I read the sms. It was obvious that the sender doesn't know how science inclined I am.
I switched on the phone and did the 'social network rounds'. I had made up my mind to go to work today, so I tried to sleep a little more. I had made two other appointments in town and I had my weekly CDS (Community Development Service) to attend too. Trying to sleep had never been a more herculean task. I put on a playlist of all the songs (albums & mixtapes that I downloaded [free], even an extra chopped & screwed version) of Frank Ocean, The Weeknd, Le$, Topiq the Smooth Prophet, Cheri Coke & Melo X, The xx, Gnarls Barkley, Kings of Leon and similar sounds (this playlist is the 237 song sound track of dreams of an oblivion market sleeper, even had some PinkiePieSwear in it. I can tell the artists and songs people like just by meeting them [sometimes] and observing their persona. Now, [from the playlist] you can tell I was in 'escape mood'... I should open a therapeutic playlist business online where I ask basic questions about moods, daily activities, age, status, education, income, and stuff.) and started playing Texas Hold'em King LIVE Poker on my phone. After a while I decided to copy some of the songs (off the playlist) from the laptop to my phone so I can listen to them when I (answer questions from my proposed therapeutic music prescription site that will
recommend I do) want to and post a copy of a bbm chat I had yesterday with a lady I met online some days ago (because I have not been writing like I should and the conversation was interesting so I posted it. I hope she doesn't come across it. That done, I decided to go on another 'social network round' while bobbing my head to Stunt N Dozier Mix 2 (being a Dj makes music sound different). Then my phone rang, showing a number I couldn't recognise (I save important numbers within the cranium just incase I want to make them [ladies] smile and sometimes you press less buttons typing out the number than searching for the contact in the contact list. That saves time. As an engineer, I was taught [some five years ago, in my second year] to always minimise time and cost while maximising quality). I studied the number as the phone rang... (Pause for a few)...


Now that I have taken time to express the morning, be informed that this post was inspired by that phone call and insomnia...

Archetypal Phone Calls:
We have all been called by people who intended to call someone else (and pressed -72 instead of -55, because 5 is in the middle of 7 and 2 and alcohol impairs vision), but called us instead and ask some sarcasm demanding questions like "are you there? can you hear me?" and follow that by calling you a funky name twice; "Baba Sikuru! Baba Sikiru!" (I played with this caller. I am always game for a prank call. This one almost clocked two minutes.) We have also received calls that made us go into some pointless ridiculous arguement...; The phone call between Zainab Zubairu and Jabbard on a busy saturday afternoon (busy for Jabbard).

-I saw an unfamiliar number on the screen of my phone and decided to guess who the caller was by listen attentively to their voice. I still had no idea who they were after "hello" and "this is Zainab". I know the only one Zainab I know and this Zainab was a Zainab I didn't know. I politely told her that she had called the wrong number and hung up. She called right back and asked "is this not Ibrahim?"
I noticed she had a foreign accent. I told her who I am and who I wasn't. She reassured me that I was Ibrahim. I smiled to myself because no matter how busy I am, I won't waste free entertainment and prank calls are better when the story comes from the other end and all you do is twist the plot by saying any plausible and credible reply to whatever is said. She was so sure that I was Ibrahim that she argued it with me (how do you begin to argue your name with someone who doesn't know you). I hung up again, but she called again, apologised and agreed that I was who I said I was. She said her sister gave her my number and she had just arrived the airport and urgently wanted to know if there was a vacant room in two specific hotels. I asked her where she was and she said "Abuja" (at that time [two years ago] I had not been in Abuja in about a year), so I said "I'm not in Abuja right now, let me call someone to confirm. Call me back in five minutes". I dropped my phone down and continued my laundry. When she called back, I told her that one of the hotel rooms had vacant rooms and the other was full (go figure. How I knew that all the way from Bauchi. Must be fake).-
 Once a lady pocket-called me and gave me a free ten minute audio reality entertainment. I am bad like that. We have all received calls like these sometime in our phone owning lives. We have made some of these calls too...

The First Call:
Late one afternoon three years ago, I was leaving the university premises when my phone rang. A strange number. I picked the call and a woman was on the other end. She greeted in Hausa and I replied as I speak the language that much. Then she asked if I was the 'Mai magani'. My Hausa is not so good, but Mai magani means maker of medicine. It could also mean herbalist (I think). It could also mean Pharmacist (I think, maybe). I said "no." She wasn't interested in that answer, she continued talking and I continued not understanding. All I could derive was that she bought a medicine that worked and saw a (my) phone number on the case and she wanted to know where to get more. I told her that I didn't know anything about a magani (a medicine. Magani can also mean cure or remedy)...

Sundays, Callday:
After the first call that day, it became a frequent occurence. I receive a (could be more, but it has never exceeded four in one day) phone call in Hausa every sunday (and other week days too) asking for Mai magani. I have been able to deduce that my alleged product is (made and mainly sold in a local government area in Jigawa state) in a container like that of vaseline and my number is printed on the bottom of it. Hajia Hauwa is at the hem (some callers ask after her). It is also apparent that the product works, as most callers always want more except one man who wanted to expand my sales into another state. I don't convert this calls into prank (I don't speak the language well enough to), I tell the callers that it is a wrong number they called whenever I can and I promote the product to those who call to know if it is effective. The real maker(s) must have intentionally put a random number (my number) on the product. Three years is sufficient time to have observed and rectified that sort of error (if it were one). I thought about traveling to trace the location of production, but I decided to keep answering the calls until it become mandatory to terminate them...

...(Unpause for a few) ...I studied the number as the phone rang wondering who would call a person they never spoke to so early in the morning. The woman on the other end greeted in Yoruba, (Nigerians won the gold medal in the Greeting finals at the...) another major Nigerian language (which I understand better than I do Hausa). I replied in English and she asked if I speak Yoruba. I said no and hung up. She called right back and asked in poor Hausa if I speak Yoruba. Wtf!. I knew instantly that she had bought the product at the other end of the country and was addicted to its outcome. I told her she had the wrong number. I should look for the makers of this herbal ointment and invest in the business before it goes global and my phone number get replaced...