Fuel Scarcity


Yesterday, Kolapo came knocking on my door. “Gbam gbam gbam” “Eh Eh Ade!” His knocks were heavy missiles. The vibration of my door woke me up from my beauty sleep. I had been dreaming about a great feast at my wedding reception. It was when the master of ceremony asked me to creatively kiss my wife that Kolapo’s missile knock arrived. Come to think of it, I wasn’t even served food before I woke up. I was perplexed. Who could be knocking at this ungodly hour? With annoyance and a tinge of panic, I shouted, “who is that?” The trepidation in his voice was contagious. “Ade, it’s Kolapo, don’t you recognize my voice?” Here was Kolapo asking a hungry man who had been denied food from his dream if his neural pathways could link a human voice to its face. I jumped up from my mat and ran towards the door.
As I opened the door, Kolapo dived in. I looked through my corridor, I looked left and right. What could Kolapo be running from again? Who has this boy offended? Kolapo and I have been friends from our mother’s womb. Even though we were twins, we were entirely different. Kolapo was more likely to get into trouble. He was a complete extrovert and jester. Kolapo was very dramatic. We had been together for 18 years and 9 months and I have not considered him a serious entity. It might shock you to know that Kolapo had always been at the top of his class. He was a typical example of those who would say “school na scam” and still become the first position.
After closing the door, I turned to Kolapo, my arms at akimbo, “So what is the problem?” He was breathing heavily and squatting with his arms on his legs in a position like a hen forcing an egg out of its duct. “Aaa…de… Ade…” “Yes, what happened to you?” I was getting angry. “Ade there is fuel scarcity.” I looked at him with a rather expressionless stare. He was smiling sheepishly. Thank God, I had started karate classes at the sports complex. I had never brought out my untapped potential. Now I was fully ready. I was steaming from the inside already. My annoyance was cooked and ready to be served hot. I was thinking of giving him Gōjū-ryū or Shotokan. But come to think of it, Kolapo was right, the fuel in the pen of this writer has just been exhausted. How would he get a refill?

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