There’s something about continuity. It’s always welcome.
It’s predictable…mostly.
My father isn’t an easy man to deal with. Sometimes I wish I was
comfortable with the idea of being gay. Just to rattle his cage. So I
had to settle with being a sewage disposal consultant (everybody’s a
consultant).
He was very unhappy with me, to say the least. When I get home in the
evenings, he’d say over his shoulder,”Don’t forget the disinfectant!
And shower outside!!”
It’s how he runs me down. It’s cool. It’s worth every moment of
watching him squirm when we have guests. Naturally they ask how things
are with me & my ‘work’. They grow a bit pale when I go into the
details.
They nod politely and then talk about other things like AIDS, poverty
and other pressing societal issues. I think they’re usually confused
as to where to place me in terms of my father’s vocation. My father’s
what you’d call ‘a man in charge’. He’s an airforce general. As was
his father before him (technically speaking, he was a warrant officer
in his majesty’s West African Frontier Force…the context still bears
some weight, I believe.)
I watched him survive 5 coup-de-etats, rise in rank on the corpses of
rivals and enemies. That had no attraction for me.
So when his only son decided to break the proud line of men who risk
their lives to paint the glorious colours of our national flag with
the blood of her enemies, he was disappointed.
To gain his respect would take something extraordinary in my line of
work. An opportunity came & I took it.
A bank client needed me to clear out the soak-away pit. It’s really
lonely work. At 2am with your 3-man crew, all you have is the music
from the radio, the hum of the pump & the smell of fermented shit.
That night, I was a crew member down. Peter had some ‘work’ splash on
his face 2 days earlier. I never believed an african could grow so
green so quickly. Needless to say, he was indisposed. I think he took
John’s advice and drank a mix of antiseptics.
Well, it was about 3am when John noticed sinister movement in the
vicinity. The security guards on duty went to investigate. Automatic
fire was the result. Well, all hell broke loose. It was just John & I
alone in the open (till tomorrow, I’ll never figure out where the
security guards disappeared to…but I do appreciate their inability
to take us with them).
I told John to hide & I washed the driveway, the gates & the entrance
in green shit…then I joined John. It was a spiritual experience.
Gagging reflexes, choking sounds & angry gun fire…beautiful.
They quit. Poor working conditions.
My dad would later say with pride(for 2 weeks), “My boy showed them
shit from hell!”
Gotta love the talk.

* *   * *

About Me:My name is Remi Olutimayin, a writer in Lagos, Nigeria. When
asked what I write, I reply, “Well, whatever finds me rewarding, I
hope.

Here you can read another story by Remi – Burning a dying beast.