You can trust Okon Francis Okon to mess up on the big occasion. As soon as the rogue was informed that he would be making his first international trip to Ghana, he became uncontrollable with excitement. But despite the spiritual and alcoholic fortifications, the mad boy developed a nasty fear of flying on the morning of the trip. The weather-beaten scallywag crept into snooper’s bedroom shaking and palpitating like an old corn mill.
“Oga, Ghana, I no fit go again. I don visit Muri dem airport. I no fit enter dem iron bird. Dem Calabar gods no go gree make man enter dem flying coffin. I see one as he come fly and smoke and thunder dey come from him mouth. Na dat one dem dey call Evil Vulture. Naim I come pick race. Dem Oyinbo people be mad wizards”, Okon moaned in real terror..
“Okon, you have only thirty minutes left”, I snapped at him.
“Yoruba people wan kill me again oo. Na dem Buhari Jogbojogbo and dem OPC. Dis one na OPC, operation pafuka Calabar ooo,” the mad boy wailed uncontrollably.
“Okon, dress up now or forget it”, snooper screamed at the urchin.
At the airport, Okon immediately began another drama with the immigration people.
“ What is your surname?” one official asked as he stared at Okon’s passport.
“I no get saw-name. Abi na sawmill you mean?” Okon answered with impudence.
“Okay, what is your family name?” the same official asked in alarm.
“I no get family. Papa don quench and mama come pick race with dem yeye Igbo man to Mgbirichi”, Okon snapped. The immigration people shrugged and struggled with mirth as they quickly waved him on. Once inside the aircraft, Okon began another round of trouble-making.
“Please fasten your belt”, the bulky, no-nonsense hostess directed Okon as the pilot announced imminent departure.
“I no dey wear belt so therefore nothing to fast”, Okon retorted with a frown,
“Fasten your seat belt for departure, please”, the lady growled, eyeing Okon with malice and malediction.
“Haba, seat no dey get belt now. Abi which kind belt you mean, You mean fasten your Ndemdem….?” At this point, the lady, realising that she was dealing with an incorrigible rogue, moved over to Okon’s seat and forcibly dragged the belt across his midsection before fastening it.
“No be belt you dey look for na trouble ooo. As your hand come dey touch something else, wetin you wan man do now?” Okon snarled. The lady ignored him completely. As the plane taxied furiously and leapt to meet the sky, Okon began frantically scratching at the window in fright and desperation.
“Abasi mbo, Abasi mbo!!!” Okon screamed as the plane banked and dived towards the sea.
“Okon, what’s the matter with you?”, snooper shouted from his seat.
“Oga, I wan pee and I wan faint”, the mad boy growled as he attempted to unbuckle the seat belt to no avail.
“The toilet is at the back, and you can go as soon as the red light is off”, the hostess explained with a grimace.
“Nonsense, make una open window make I pee jo. Which kind toilet dey for back for sky?”
“Okon, let me warn you that the pilot has decided to throw you out of the plane”, I screamed at the mad boy. This threat seemed to have worked wonders as the mad boy lay in a deathly still and with a frozen grimace for the rest of the flight. It was not until the following day that the crazed rogue regained his voice and confidence. On the way to Flagstaff House, Okon had engaged the driver taking us in a deadly verbal duel.
“Mister driver, why you dey drive like dem asinwin like dis?” Okon screamed as the diligent state operative tore his way through the streets of Accra like a demon.
“Wetin be your name sef?” Okon roared.
“My name is Carlos”, the driver replied.
“No wonder. You be callous man, you hear?” Okon shrieked.
As soon as they announced the arrival of J.J Rawlings to wild applause, the mad boy discovered another prey. He stood up excitedly and started singing and clapping, “J.J do something before you die”, he wailed and then addressing Rawlings directly, “Oga Jerry make you come Nigeria now, we get plenty job for una”, the mad boy noted as snooper whipped him into silence with the eyes.
When it was time to leave Accra, the mad boy opted to travel by road rather than enter the “iron bird”. As at press time, we were still expecting Okon.
First published in February 2009.
The Nation
