Wahala
Oftentimes he would sit me with him under shade, at his favorite spot behind the house in the e v ening. Palm wine horn sitting comfortably on a chair, some portion in his favorite mug, he'd raised it to the door of his mouth while I watched as some volume gushed down his throat. Meanwhile, last Sunday, now two days ago, my church pastor in his sermon, like John the Baptist in the wilderness, blared out, saying 'anything drinks that can plunge you into misbehaving, it's not good for Christian' . God knows if he heard him, for he can't stop claiming to be a good Christian. Meanwhile, for him, palm wine is like hard gin mixed with Vodka, it possesses like demons. Today, it's not only to watch him draining the hornful of wine, but also to listen to some old songs sneaking out of his Tecno phone, which I can't find their rhythms with my disco and hip-hop ears and head. Yes, suppose it's fireboy, or brymo etcetera. In no time I would have caught the momentu...