Fadahunsi Abayomi: The stuff is yours not mine (30 Days, 30 Voices)

There was always this comfort to be found in the toilet. Maybe because it was within a screaming distance of my mum’s room or, more likely, all of my mother’s powerful prayers in the next room, had purged that space of all the demons that could be lurking under the wash basin.

One would wonder at the reason for my sudden, gross fascination for the exudes of the alimentary canal (big grammer, yes, I know). I can’t explain it myself. It could be the monetary potential (I doubt that…seriously) or my ‘running’ stomach (well *shrugs*) or, maybe because my Oga had just shouted at my colleague, for a ‘shengbele’ he had cooked – “Nmeka, it’s your shit. Deal with it!” Doubled over, laughing hard, I was transported through time, to age six.

Then, I hated going to the bathroom alone. This hatred was bordered on paranoia- the ‘ojuju-calabar’ aka ‘bogey man’ aka ‘the man-in-the-shadows’ and ultimately known as ‘The Devil’, lived in the bathroom. For those of us who lived in ‘one of those past administration’s’ housing schemes, you would bear witness to each flat having two conveniences; a small, single toilet, and a larger ‘toilet + bathroom’. There was always this comfort to be found in the toilet. Maybe because it was within a screaming distance of my mum’s room or, more likely, all of my mother’s powerful prayers in the next room, had purged that space of all the demons that could be lurking under the wash basin. Who knows? All I knew was I could live there in the dead of the night.

The bathroom, however, was another matter all-together. Have I said The Devil lived in the bathroom? The Devil lived in the bathroom. It was fixed in a corner of the house, where even on the brightest of days, was gloomy dark. Now imagine the scenario at night…*shudders*. My fears were always full blown at night. There was this period when the toilet was out of order, and we had to use the bathroom. Oh, the horror!  If ever the urge came upon me, I would hold ‘it’ in until I found a fellow seeker of ‘bowel relief’ offered by the ‘house of power’.

On those occasions, if I did not see an escort, no Jupiter would make me go there alone o; well, maybe Iya Yomi’s cane could. I swear she could handle those switches, with an expertise that could embarrass those slave masters of old I had always heard about. In those days, even now, no two people ever had the desire to use the toilet at the same time. So, I learnt to be the master psychologist. I would cause my siblings to think hot ‘piss’ or ‘shit’ wanted to  drop from their bodies, and remind them of the painful punishments that accompanied such shameful behavior. It never really took much of an effort, and before long, they would fabricate a piss, then, it would be a race for the toilet. Whoever finished his duty last would forever be at the mercy of the first to finish. And as children have ever been the worst of power wielders, transactions worth pieces of fish, fried plantain, meat, go-go, and sips of the available favored drink would be done at that point.

Those business dealings were not the high point of the evening however. If in the course of my zealous ‘toilet marketing’ someone truly decided to ‘shit’, we would have to share the seat o. I couldn’t dare wait, no way! We had to share the toilet seat ni o. “You drop one poo-poo, and I drop one too. No cheating”. Now, if after the whole matter, we had flushed and the poo-poo decided to be stubborn and not go down like a good shit would, the owner had to wait. Peering into the toilet bowl, na that time you go dey hear “Rara o! That is not my shit. The shit I shit was watery brown, the one you shit was black”. Ehn!!! It was always a big fight o! We would start shouting, abusing ourselves, pleading “Please don’t leave me here alone. Wait for me.” In all these, I always thank God the cistern never took sides. It would fill up and wait patiently for us to resolve our issues.

A moral at this point would be most pretentious, but hey, every story should have one. So, while we bicker and fight over who’d done what, the solution stares at us, right in d face. Oh, I’m not so sure I’ve outgrown that childish fear completely. I still think about ‘the bathroom’ and get the willies.

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Fadahunsi Abayomi is on a voyage to find the one-true Shangri-la. He is a complete paradox-timid, outspoken, friendly, reserved…, but his love for The Arts is defined, and totally HATES seeing people sad. For the wack thots that always flow through his mind, he NEEDS serious prayer. Follow him on twitter- @iluvlaffs and contact him on [email protected]

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30 Days 30 Voices series is an opportunity for young Nigerians to share their stories and experiences with other young Nigerians, within our borders and beyond, to inspire and motivate them.

 

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

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