Afam on the Prowl: Notes on Pedophilia

I was keen to exceed your expectations, so I cancelled my day off. I kid! Everyday is a day off. Anyway, I was particularly thirsty for an adventure. I could feel it in my bones. It’s that itchy feeling you get when you know that you could be out there Bunburying. The opportunity came without notice.

I was tired of my hair so I went to cut it. I shaved it all off. Now I look like a bald man with a beard. I’ll rephrase that, I look like an extremely handsome bald man. I look so handsome that one of Mama Afam’s single cougar friends purred at me on my way to aerobics. Yes folks, I do aerobics and humpilates. These are must do activities if you want to please your honeyz and perfect your mating dances. It is written in the lad manual that all lads must be limber for the exertions on the dance floor. As a result I’m sure that when I go to Three Arms, Piccolo Mondo, Rehab, Deuces, and Bacchus every soul in attendance will be in awe of my astounding physicality.(Yes, all in the same night. No, this is not obscene. It’s a night in the life of the gainfully unemployed Nigerian lad. In fact, I’m writing this while in the Three Arms drinking a pot of friendly tea.)

Friendly Tea: Black tea infused with 12 year old Johnny Walker Black Label Whisky.

I strolled out of my room at 7am after I was awoken by my grandmother who’s currently living with us. My Grandmother is a dignified ladette with vascular dementia. She does not remember that the gainfully unemployed prefer to wake up at 2pm sharp. My papa and my sister, Bintin, were having a heated argument about some party...

Enter Papa Afam, and Bintin

Bintin: You’re being unreasonable

Papa Afam: Unreasonable? I let you go to a concert on Sunday. The holy day. The day when you’re supposed to appreciate your family.

Bintin: You made me leave before the concert started! I might as well not have gone!
Papa Afam: It’s not my fault that the performer (some chap called Davido) didn’t come out until past 12. You were there for a good 3 hours.

Bintin: I got there at 6pm and you had me home by 9!

Papa Afam: I can't see what that has to do with me. I let you go, didn't I?

Bintin: I am not Rapunzel! You can’t lock me in a tower.

Papa Afam: If only I had a tower to lock you in, everything would be so much easier.
Bintin: I must go to Red! (Red’s the name of the party)

As I exit my room and stroll across the salon, I feel Papa Afam’s gaze upon me. I was trying to sneak away for Papa Afam is a mischievous and cantankerous fellow. I felt the idea before he spoke it.

Papa Afam: You!

I pretend to ignore him, I’m almost at the Landing.

Papa Afam: He Bellows AFAMEFUNA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

That’s my full name.

Afam: Yes dad.

Papa Afam: Take your sister to this party and stay with her. She has to leave when you do. If my daughter is not home by the time I get home I shall have your head on a silver platter. Also gun down any charlatans that try any funny stuff.

At first my soul was filled with dread and despair. I had to obey. Then an idea crossed my mind. It would be a good way to infiltrate the lives of the Nigerian teenager. I called my sister in for a meeting.

Afam: Bintin, this party sounds like quite the adventure. Given my age it is only appropriate that I assume a false identity. My name is Jigsy, short for Jigsybaba. I am a family friend who you haven’t seen in ages. I am about to start my A Levels at Cheltenham College. I am 17 years old.

Bintin: Paedophile!

Afam: How rude. Take it back.

Bintin: Shan’t.

Afam: It will be exciting.

Bintin: I couldn’t care less. You should really get a life. I find think it’s shameful that you a 22 year old are pretending to be 17.

Afam: It is rather sad.

Bintin: Yes. Well I suppose it can’t be helped, you are mad after all.

Afam: You have the right of it, I am incurably addled.

We both sigh.
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Anyway, now Dasher, now Dancer, now Prancer, now Vixen; on Comet, Cupid, Donner and Blitzen let’s get on with the show. The party was meant to start at 4pm, but we got there at 6pm. I believed that this would be late enough, but I was wrong. The party had not started. This was not at all surprising, for Nigerians learn at an early age that time is best ignored.

I used the time to examine the next generation of young adults and I was astounded! How could they wear such rubbish? I was very nearly blinded. The colours they wore were remarkable, purples, blues, light blues, reds, yellows and all sorts. These ones were bold indeed. I wondered how they would dress in five years. My eyes watered at the thought. We must prepare ourselves for the eyesores of the future.

At 6:30 Bintin and I realised that the party had flopped. After an energetic jig on the dance floor where I winked at several young ladies and shook my money maker, we left the venue. It taught me an important lesson, when attempting to infiltrate the land of the Nigerian teenager one must be prepared. The next time I assume the identity Jigsy, I’ll infiltrate with no fewer than ten open minded individuals, so that a thorough social experiment can be conducted.

Happy Days,

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