Babawillyentertainment.com
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CONTACT: Dr Wilson Orhiunu P O Box 12835 Sutton Coldfield Birmingham B73 9ED
By Dr Wilson Orhiunu
(Babawilly)
‘In the abundance of water the fool is thirsty’ said Peter. He said that anytime he heard of a fuel shortage in Nigeria, African’s largest oil exporter.
‘Look, I didn’t ring you with my precious credit to hear Majek Fashek quotations you hear’ said Mama.
‘Bob Marley Mama’ said Peter.
‘I don’t care. Do you know I have walked into the street for a better reception? This phone cannot pick signals in the house. Now answer me. What are we going to do about Uncle T?’ said Mama.
Peter looked at his watch. Something had told him not to answer the phone. He wished he hadn’t. ‘Have you been to the police?’ he asked.
‘You have been abroad too long my dear. I say people have been burnt to death like Suya forgotten on the grill, totally unrecognisable and you are talking of Majek Fashek and police. Ehen, before I forget. I heard Uncle T’s small wife has gone to see the lawyer early this morning’ said Mama.
‘Why now?’ asked Peter.
‘Why now he asks. The Will of course’ replied Mama.
‘Mama, we never see dead bodi and she don dey find Will?’ asked Peter.
‘Search me’ said Mama.
‘Mama, I really must go. Surgery starts in 15 minutes’
‘You have operation to do?’
‘No, a clinic session’
‘If na clinic call am clinic. Which one be Surgery again’
‘Mama, I will call you later. I must go. Love you’ said Peter
‘If you love me, marry and give me grandchildren before I die’ replied Mama.
Peter switched off the phone and resumed his car journey to work.
The first patient was Jim. He smelt of alcohol. Peter recognised stains on his jacket from last month’s consultation.
‘It’s the knee Doctor Makara. Killing me’ said Jim. He pulled up the right trouser leg to reveal what looked like a snakes and ladders board game without the ladders.
‘Those varicose veins look bigger today. You really should have them treated’
‘No Doctor. I will take them to my grave. Can’t have no Surgeon messing with my legs. Not unless she’s a pretty blonde’. He laughed heartily and Peter slowly leant back in his chair to dodge the foul stream of alcoholic breath mixed with last night’s curry. Jim never failed to mention his grave at each consultation. He came almost very month since his wife died two years ago. Peter felt Jim was actually trying to commit suicide using protracted means. The frequent visits to the psychiatrist had changed nothing.
In the end they settled on pain -killers for the knee and a pair of compression stockings for the leg veins. By now the room stank. Jim taking off his shoes always had that effect on any room.
(Babawilly)
‘In the abundance of water the fool is thirsty’ said Peter. He said that anytime he heard of a fuel shortage in Nigeria, African’s largest oil exporter.
‘Look, I didn’t ring you with my precious credit to hear Majek Fashek quotations you hear’ said Mama.
‘Bob Marley Mama’ said Peter.
‘I don’t care. Do you know I have walked into the street for a better reception? This phone cannot pick signals in the house. Now answer me. What are we going to do about Uncle T?’ said Mama.
Peter looked at his watch. Something had told him not to answer the phone. He wished he hadn’t. ‘Have you been to the police?’ he asked.
‘You have been abroad too long my dear. I say people have been burnt to death like Suya forgotten on the grill, totally unrecognisable and you are talking of Majek Fashek and police. Ehen, before I forget. I heard Uncle T’s small wife has gone to see the lawyer early this morning’ said Mama.
‘Why now?’ asked Peter.
‘Why now he asks. The Will of course’ replied Mama.
‘Mama, we never see dead bodi and she don dey find Will?’ asked Peter.
‘Search me’ said Mama.
‘Mama, I really must go. Surgery starts in 15 minutes’
‘You have operation to do?’
‘No, a clinic session’
‘If na clinic call am clinic. Which one be Surgery again’
‘Mama, I will call you later. I must go. Love you’ said Peter
‘If you love me, marry and give me grandchildren before I die’ replied Mama.
Peter switched off the phone and resumed his car journey to work.
The first patient was Jim. He smelt of alcohol. Peter recognised stains on his jacket from last month’s consultation.
‘It’s the knee Doctor Makara. Killing me’ said Jim. He pulled up the right trouser leg to reveal what looked like a snakes and ladders board game without the ladders.
‘Those varicose veins look bigger today. You really should have them treated’
‘No Doctor. I will take them to my grave. Can’t have no Surgeon messing with my legs. Not unless she’s a pretty blonde’. He laughed heartily and Peter slowly leant back in his chair to dodge the foul stream of alcoholic breath mixed with last night’s curry. Jim never failed to mention his grave at each consultation. He came almost very month since his wife died two years ago. Peter felt Jim was actually trying to commit suicide using protracted means. The frequent visits to the psychiatrist had changed nothing.
In the end they settled on pain -killers for the knee and a pair of compression stockings for the leg veins. By now the room stank. Jim taking off his shoes always had that effect on any room.
Missing feared alive
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