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By Shakespearean Walter
Last Week Tuesday
I was trekking down Oba Akram road after my Tuesday NIIT class, on my way home, when I saw her approach me.
“Excuse me, my son.”
She had my attention instantly. It helped that she had a nice diction and motherly appearance – stocky and matronly, with a soft, doughy face.
“I need your help.”
But, of course, madam, I thought. My Good Samaritan meter was cranked up so high I could feel the subtle glow of a halo around my head. “Yes, what’s the problem, ma?”
She gestured towards the Aso Savings and Loans Bank that stood a few yards away from us. There was an ATM machine affixed to the wall fencing in the bank from Oba Akram road.
“I just went to the ATM to withdraw some money and instead of paying me, I was told that there’s a glitch with my account.”
Glitch! I was impressed with this elderly woman. How often do you come across beggarly people – and yes, I knew she was about to beg from me – who use the word ‘glitch’?
“So, I tried again. And again. But it kept on telling me to go and rectify the problem with my bank.”
“Is that not your bank’s ATM you were using?”
“No. I bank with GT Bank.”
“And have you gone to the bank to rectify the problem?”
GT Bank was further away, down the road on the other side
.
“It’s after five,” she replied.
Damn! I flicked a quick look at my watch. Fifteen minutes past five. No bank would let you in even 59 seconds past four, let alone a whole hour and fifteen minutes past.
She was still talking: “And I’m supposed to get home to Ikorodu. I have to get first to Oshodi, and the fare to Oshodi is all I have. Can you please help me?”
“Sure, of course.” I dug out my wallet, with the intention of fishing out some change and handing it over to her. But when I looked into my wallet, I felt my heart sink with dismay. You see, all I had in there was a thousand naira note and 200 naira. I’d planned to use the big denomination to buy a CD of 5 new movies my friend had waiting for me that evening. Five new cool movies! – which had Total Recall and Hunger Games amongst them. And the 200 naira was my fare home.
So my halo dimmed a little as I looked up into those maternal eyes and told her I didn’t have enough money on me. She nodded as though she understood perfectly, smiled sadly and moved out of my way. I trudged on a bit, and that’s when I was hit by my conscience – you know, that still small voice God inflicted mankind with – well, it wasn’t so still and small when it attacked me. It was loud. Vexed. Indignant. It told me off for daring to put my negligible whims over the urgent needs of that poor woman. It railed against me for being so unchristian. It showed me a little peek of hell and the pathway leading down to it, and swore I’d be heading there for my unkindness and selfishness.
Phew! Mr. Conscience – he’s not a very nice man, I tell ya.
And the result of his tirade? I stopped a groundnut seller, bought fifty naira worth of boiled groundnuts, had the seller – amidst his grumbles, I might add – split the one-thousand naira note into change, and I hurried back after the woman to give her 300 naira.
“May God bless you, my son,” she enthused.
Now, I could feel the fieriness of that halo positively scorching the backs of my ears.
“May He replenish your pocket.”
Mr. Conscience settled back into smug silence.
“Thank you so very much.”
I could see St. Peter’s pearly gates now. There. God just re-scribbled my name into the Book of Life.
And I went on home, CD-less, but quite glad.
Last Week Thursday
I was trekking down Oba Akram road after my Thursday NIIT class, on my way home, when I saw her approach me again. I opened my mouth to greet her with all the warm familiarity of old acquaintances, when she said blandly,
“Excuse me, my son. I need your help.”
My greeting froze halfway through my throat. My brow furrowed in consternation. A sense of déjà vu skittered up my spine.
She gestured towards the Aso Savings and Loans Bank that stood a few yards away from us.
“I just went to the ATM to withdraw some money and instead of paying me, I was told that there’s a glitch with my account.”
Glitch! There was that word again. And this time, I wasn’t impressed. WTF! This was all rehearsed.
The woman was a professional beggar. She had hustled me the last time, and it seemed Oba Akram road was her spot. I was so mad that I stomped past her as she was in the middle of her movie script, where I was the fool and she was the player.
Imagine! And she didn’t even have the decency to recognize me, recognize that we had acted out this scene before!
Mscheeeewwwww! And to think I gave up owning Total Recall and Hunger Games for her! Hmmph!
By Shakespearean Walter
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