by Ifeanyi Dike Jr

 

Other times, when cuteness just wasn’t enough, I would fake temporary paralysis – and it worked wonders.

All my life until now, detention eluded me. In my missionary secondary school for example, there were punishments for actions that were previously permissible until you committed them, then suddenly, they became forbidden – and you had to pay for it regardless of whether you were a clueless first time offender or not. Terrified of being a scapegoat, I ensured that I was never caught and if I were, I would lie against an unsuspecting neighbour or trade confessions for immunity. Other times, when cuteness just wasn’t enough, I would fake temporary paralysis – and it worked wonders.

This is why I was quite shocked yesterday, when my usual charm betrayed me at Heathrow’s immigration. I was going to reunite with a former lover in London with a mission to leave my mark – this time around.  So, when my roommate – from the abundance of his heart – handed me a can of lidocaine spray (an anesthetic or in this case, for stalling ejaculations), I couldn’t resist.

The immigration officers however did not care for my story – no matter how cute. Because lidocaine is in the same family as cocaine, their concern was to test for any hard substance. Of course, I felt like a retard not previously thinking this through. They offered me a comfortable seat just beside the queue and had me fill out a detention form while the whole terminal stared at me like a rebuked felon. Imagine the shame. I mean, I’m on cable television for god sakes and I hang out with starlets with emerging cleavage. More frightening was the thought of having to explain to my parents that their son had become a drug pusher and for sexual reasons. As if I hadn’t embarrassed them enough, when everyone in my class got an academic prize and I got an attendance prize.

My mum and sister were flying through Newcastle’s airport to London, my dad and grandma through Ireland to London and then me from Nigeria to London. We’d all meet and commence our family vacation.

But it would appear that today, the Dike’s were destined for adversity. At Newcastle immigration, mom and Lotanna were good to go until a pesky guard dog who wouldn’t mind its business charged at their suitcases on their way out of the airport.

The brashness with which they approached them, you’d think she had explosives. The night before, all the Nigerian seafoods, herbs and spices found a place in her suitcase. She had already imaged all the different soup options available to her, so she thought it was nice to take some contraband food to her family in Newcastle. And despite dad’s warnings, she was dogged on the matter. Mom thinks she is invincible you see.

Wrong!

After frisking them, they put them in a holding room for observation, looking to see whether they were anxious or uncomfortable or manifesting any other signs of having ingested drugs. After several hours, they were let go but without their undeclared crayfish and not without putting them on the watch list of contraband carriers.

My father and grandma on the other hand are thankfully, not as rebellious as my mum and I. Their plan was to stop at my aunt’s for a bit and if at immigration grandma was questioned, all she had to say was ‘we are here on a short holiday’. But grandma would not tell a lie -God forbid – rapture happened that moment. She told them everything- about her immigrant daughter they were going to visit and hoped that the truth would set them free.

Wrong!

My father had never been more upset, swearing that this was the first and last time he was traveling with grandma.  This was of course a big mess that demanded several hours to tidy before they were released.

When I finally made it to the London guesthouse a day later, the entire family assembled at the living room, bothered looking and perhaps, upset. I had already readied my lie. Soon as I got in, Lotanna said to me with a scrumptious smirk – ‘grab a seat; you will not believe what your parents have been up to’.