by Pius Adesanmi

Dr Kunle Akanbi had a capitalist set up in our undergraduate days in Ilorin. He was a medical student who had a rugged BQ room with a coloured TV, video recorder, and other trappings that made for a capitalist undergraduate life in the 80s. He even drove a fairly battered Volkswagen beetle. That put him at the lower rungs of undergraduate capitalism.

Of course, that room was always staged for any number of Kunle’s two-dozen inner circle friends who wished to host their girlfriends. You did not host your girlfriend in your hostel accommodation. Kunle’s room off campus was set up for that purpose and we all put it to good use.

There were rules. A capitalist room and a capitalist set up never really translated to capitalist wallets for any of us. We were always broke. Once the lady arrived, we had a tacit understanding that the boyfriend could send any of us on entertainment errands after asking the damsel what he could offer her.

“Hey, baby, how about a bottle of wine?”

She would say yes. They always said yes as they imagined sharing a bottle of wine and other munchies while watching a movie with their boyfriend. Then, you brought out a wad of cash – usually your entire monthly feeding money – and you summoned any of the guys to go to the wine shop across the street and get a bottle of the most expensive wine they had.

This was a critical part of the operation. The messenger was supposed to go and return with a report that the store was out of stock. You couldn’t really afford a bottle of wine. You grumbled very loudly in irritation. What’s the world coming to? Why is Ilorin so bush? A man can’t even find a bottle of wine for his babe anywhere? You raged. This, usually, was the point where the babe would say, “honey, don’t worry. A bottle of Maltina would do.”

The designated messenger would check your eye signals to determine whether you could afford Maltina. If you couldn’t afford Maltina, he would go to the store and return with even more tales of frustration. Ol’boy, they don’t even have Maltina o. Why is this our Agbo Oba so dry?

In the end, you would settle for two bottles of Coke – the original intent. Something went wrong on this particular Valentine’s day. I had had a showdown with Olu Olounlogbon before my date arrived. Akanbi Eyitayo Micheal was busy making his own Valentine arrangements and couldn’t be my designated messenger. Olu volunteered. It was one of those days when I was so broke that we needed to move from wine to Maltina to Coke.

Olu went to the store and came back screaming, “Pius, this is your lucky day. Their consignment of wine just arrived.” Needless to say, he came back with the most expensive bottle he could find!

Olu and Tayo disappeared as soon as the movie and wine setting with my lady got going. Guys always had a way of vanishing into thin air whenever one of the group was hosting a lady.

Baby, this is good wine, she cooed at the first sip.

I didn’t hear her. I didn’t enjoy the movie. All I could think of was how I was going to survive the month on garri and kulikuli because more than half my monthly allowee had gone into the set-up the lady was enjoying!

All I could think of was how I was going to crack Olu’s head later that day. Stupid boy!

What’s your own Valentine’s day yawa back in the days of your youth?

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Op–ed pieces and contributions are the opinions of the writers only and do not represent the opinions of Y!/YNaija

Pius Adesanmi, a professor of English, is Director of the Institute of African Studies, Carleton University, Canada