Fuel Scarcity

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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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