Your Umunna and His Uber-Driver

 

I bet you’re thinking ‘What’s this guy talking about?’ or saying to yourself ‘My Umunna doesn’t know much about cars, talk more of boarding an Uber.’ But I say to you, be calm, fret not. Your Umunna boarding an Uber isn’t far-fetched if you look at it from the point of immersion with the tale. Think of yourself as one of the participants of this story.

.           .           .

You wake up today and realize your life still hasn’t changed. It’s still as boring as the lengthy 9-hour church service you attended yesterday, and you get more frustrated thinking about it. Your colleague, Stella, assured you it’d be lit. Somehow, she’d convinced you to follow her by saying the solution to breaking the ancestral powers from your father’s house holding you back rested on the palms of her ‘Daddy G.O.’

Of everyone in the church hall, you shouted the most ‘hallelujah!’ you were enthusiastic, ecstatic, even Daddy G.O. noticed you and had you brought to the alter to testify about the Lord’s goodness to you this outgoing year. You spoke with faith of what could still happen to you before the new year comes in; after all, it was Christmas – the perfect time to be thankful and hopeful. You narrated, perfectly, the remarkable reverie you always used to escape reality, and everyone marveled, but you were the most affected by the anointing from your fantastic tale; and when Daddy G.O. laid his HANDS OF ANOINTING on you –those mighty HANDS– you became extra-charged with the spirit and dragged the microphone from his hands. You shocked everyone, especially Stella, when you made a donation of Two Hundred Thousand Naira by faith.

The drums rolled boisterously and people danced on your behalf. Daddy G.O. laid MORE HANDS on you, his ushers followed you bumper to bumper collecting all your details, even your mother’s maiden name and where she lived. You suddenly became the star of their small church.

The fanfare and merriment ended with Stella sleeping over at your place, gracing your bed and creating memories of what would be revered as your most memorable night together, yet. Your all-night romp is the reason you have a terrible headache this morning.

Soon, your hazy head begins to clear and reality starts to set in.

You remember you challenged God yesterday, but it’s already 9 a.m., one hour past the hour Daddy G.O. assured you God was going to answer in all His glory.

Your phone beeped, twice in the same space, and you were thrilled. “Maybe God was held inside traffic” “At all, at all, na in bad pass” you mutter I self-consolation. Unfortunately, the first beep was from MTN reminding you to subscribe as you have less than 50MB left, and the second’s a reminder from Sister Margaret, the lead usher. She’d just texted you the account details of the Church – ‘JESUS SITS ON TOP OF YOUR MATTER INTERNATIONAL MINISTRY’ you read aloud the account name and realize, for the first time, just how stupid it sounds. As you struggle to locate your trouser tossed away in the height of last night’s passion, you take note of how large a maze your one room apartment actually. Your phone beeps again. You fish for it like a professional, but hiss louder this time. It’s a follow up text from Johnny. You are late for your scheduled meeting of 8 a.m., and as your longtime friend, who sincerely wants to help you, he sent a follow up text.

You read the text aloud for no reason in particular. DON’T YOU WANT THE TAXI AGAIN? It says. You’re angry you read it in the first place. If you had a gun and Johnny stood before you, you’d sh00t him. Couldn’t he understand what you were passing through at the moment? You could already picture yourself wriggle the life out of him, when you finally called yourself to order and remember Johnny’s only trying to help.

 ‘Maybe I should just take the car. Do the business. It could turn out good.’

You wrestle with your demons. Finally, you decide to reply positively, and quickly leave to meet-up. Twenty minutes later, you’re with him.

“Johnny, my guy!” you hail him. You stretch out your hand for a handshake, but he’s too annoyed to indulge you, as you’ve kept him waiting for more than an hour. So, you stylishly withdraw it, and hope no one saw what just happened.

You frown your face, blaming the condition that made you, the great crayfish, bend.

You ask God to punish poverty on your behalf and also beg him to make you Dangote’s offspring next time, if there’s truly such a thing as reincarnation. These and many more you ask through Christ, our Lord, under the whisper of your voice.

As Johnny speaks, you nod. In your head, you’re already swinging the car-key he’s still holding. Your reverie of being the latest car owner comes true as soon as he hands over the keys. You couldn’t wait to share your testimony at Stella’s church, next Sunday.

It’s 1 p.m. – You’re on the highway to pick your first customer. Happy you, no one can spoil the joy God has just given you. You intend surprising everyone who ever thought you wouldn’t make something off yourself, including Johnny. You’d finally make enough money to put even the devil in a permanent state of shame.

The first person you see as you drive through Lagos, along Maryland, is your mother’s brother, Uncle Innocent. You battle with your inner demons whether to give him a lift or splash Lagos’ muddy water on him. Why the latter, one may ask? The last time your house rent was due, you went to him for help and he sent you away. You finally decide against the latter. You want to be the bigger man, to prove him wrong that you weren’t a “FOOL AT FORTY’.

“Uncle Inno,” you greet as you pull over beside him. You stylishly roll the glass of your almost new 2013 Toyota Camry down. In your head, you quickly check the difference between 2017 and 2017, you see it isn’t much, you smile even harder. At this point, Johnny’s demand of N50,000 monthly suddenly becomes worth it. The shock on Uncle Innocent’s face is satisfying enough to make all the uncertainties you felt earlier today VANISH!

He feigns being happy seeing you, and you could tell. At first, he says “Thank you, nna. I’ll wait for my driver” but, when he sees you aren’t ready to take NO for an answer, he says, “Let’s go, since my driver is taking too long.”

In silence, you drive him through the city of Lagos. You keep bringing up conversations and he never responds to any, yet you keep talking, refusing to shut up. You even told him the car he assumed was yours was just given to you by a friend, and that you intended to turn it into an Uber. You keep on yapping until you arrive his gate.

He asks you, “how much for the fare?” and you tell him not to worry. “Uncle, uncle. Don’t worry. For you, this one is free.” You keep shining your browned set of teeth with reckless abandon.

He looks at you and can only shake his head. “So, you still don’t have SENSE?” is all he can mutter before he leaves you to your confusion. You see him walk to his mansion. You squeeze your face, feeling terribly insulted:

How can a wealthy man you just DASHED about THREE THOUSAND NAIRA in transport fare just accuse you of not having sense?

Still watching him from behind the steering wheels, you hiss loudly in disdain and that’s when you first notice your uncle has a walking stick in one hand and a bag with a pipe connected into his body. You wonder how you didn’t see it until now. You wonder if he’s really sick or just playing pretend because he knew he’d see you on the highway today. You’ve always suspected him of being diabolical. Your phone beeps again. It’s a follow up reminder from Sister Margaret just in case you didn’t get her first text with an additional line, “DADDY G.O. NEEDS TO SEE YOU NOW!’

‘It’s time to go home. Today was a fruitful day.’ You say to yourself and start driving to church. It’s 4 p.m. Tomorrow will be a better day.