Day  My  Fake Shirt Spoiled A Party Fun | By Olawale Sadare                  

What if I told you I was a social event and night party freak? I had a soldier uncle whose obsession for good music was second to none. With his four-legged Panasonic Record player which looked like a modern-day student fridge, my uncle would provide music entertainment to the neighborhood for 24 hours whenever he came home on a break as he was then being moved across all Army Barracks nationwide.

 

 

Ayinla Omowura, Ebenezer Obey, King Sunny Ade, Yusuf Olatunji among other evergreen musicians must have made fortunes from my uncle who had all their song released as albums in his kitty. Trust me, it was in the early 80s when power supply was relatively stable. There was even few appliances in our homes to consume electricity unlike in this modern era. Music was part of us and every musician was a Star.

 

Wakeel Adekunle Akanfe was my most beloved cousin who took me to live with him in Lagos in 1994. He was a hardworking tough guy who ‘ruled empires of socialites’ before he died at his prime in October, 2015. He took me to Apapa Quays where I was a dockworker for two years. Akanfe introduced me to the world of Fuji music and through him, I got familiar with music characters such as Lateef Ilori, Musibau Alani (Omokekere), Shaura, Dare Ayinde (Omo’ga, Mushin), Sir Shina Akanni (Fuji Scorpido), Toyin Adio (Mr. Performer) among others.

 

Inside Apapa Terminal, I was exposed to many bad ways but I chose only a few and these included; addiction to Fuji music (I was a regular face at Faslak Hotel Apapa where K1 used to perform every Thursday), night party, crazy haircuts, wearing of neck chains, purchase of expensive but inappropriate clothing materials, reckless spending on guests. I hated consumption of hard drugs before opening up containers for loading/offloading operations and I would not take any Wharf rat for a friend.

 

Meanwhile, we had enough to rent a decent room apartment but preferred the shanties in the slums of Ijora-Badia. Life was fun from Ijora 7up to Gaskiya College Road to Amukoko Round About. Our ‘Abete’ was notorious for harboring all cadre of thieves, gamblers, drug addicts and sex workers who would offer their services to ‘trusted’ customers at different occasions only to come with records and claim their accumulated charges at the end of each month.

 

There were occasions when argument would ensue as a result of attempts by either of the customers to present correct account of number of times they both met before the pay day.

Whether you tagged them repugnant or found their activities repulsive, the characters in Ijora-Rail line and environs (Safejo Road, Matiminu Street, Sari-Iganmu Road, Brewery and Costain) at that time cared less. In their domain you would see giant rats that preferred to swim in the canal or stagnant waters as well as mosquitoes that were as big as mature cockroaches. Hausa traditional wrestling (Dambe) was a big attraction as you would not know whether it was a sporting activity or an exhibition of charms and magic.

 

I remember informing you that I was a party/freak and distance or paucity of fund was never a problem. I could borrow cash from anyone to attend social funds mainly because of music and dance. Then came a day I was to attend a ‘Freedom’ ceremony in Ibadan. A never-do-well tailor disappointed me as he ran away ostensibly because he did not complete my dress – a white guinea brocade fabric chosen as uniform for the event by the celebrant.

 

I put that disappointment behind me and hit the road for a trip to Ibadan at about 7pm. At Ojota Inter-State Terminus, I saw beautiful shirt made of flower design in the hand of a tall guy who hawked knitted fabric and I bought same for a ridiculous price. I found my new shirt so irresistible that I had to remove the one on me and put it on inside the commercial bus.

With a sun glass put on the forehead, a gold chain dangling on my neck and my new colorful shirt on a straight black Wrangler Jean trousers which matched my pair of Reebok Snickers, I was sure of a ‘cynosure of all eyes’ status at the occasion. The Lagos-Ibadan Express Road was devoid of the ubiquity of Worship Centres-induced traffic snarl at that time and I got to my destination at about 10pm.

 

I arrived to the wargalore, ace of virtually everyone at the venue as most them adorned the white Guinea Brocade uniform and dancing to the energy-sapping lyrics of Obesere Omorapala… “Iwo oojo’gede Obesere Commander… Aijo’gede ti je, o je ma’jelo ko si nnkan… Omorapala gbaasi… O je ma’jelo ko si nnkan!”… And later the local DJ changed the music supply to Kwam 1’s Fuji Collection… “Olokun mu yenye, Orin mi Ayinde Ade… Ojo a da’joo’jo, t’afefe nse’gi oko weruuweru… Igi’nu oko n’leri… …n o ba toro’gun wa’ye o… Eeh eeh! N o ba toro’gun… Emi a joooooooooo!

 

Immediately people sighted me, I emerged the VIP they had been expecting and it became a hugging galore. We danced and hugged simultaneously until some of them began to notice a weird coloration of the white garments they were putting on. Who could have been splashed us with color paints? They wondered. Before we knew it, about ten people had been badly affected with ‘color transmission’.

 

We were all jolted by the development and the DJ had to put off the music supply to enable us unravel the mystery of magical Kampala on the people. Suddenly, one saucy lady came towards me and started shouting; “Wasiu, Iwo ni! Iwo ni joor! Aso buruku re lo ba gbogbo aso wa je!”. As a matter of fact, my new shirt was fake… It could have been that it was tied and dyed in an emulsion paint or something.

 

The observation was true… I was the culprit! The dance floor was immediately vacated and began to seek solution to the broadening stains I had stamped on their individual white attires. It didn’t take long before most of them started heaping despicable hisses at me ceaselessly. I left the party unannounced and without taking any food or drinks. I removed the ‘shirt of shame’ immediately after my escape from possible mob action and threw it away into a nearby drainage.

 

I was later told the party could not continue. I didn’t come to Ibadan until about six months after the ugly incident.