Mr March, The Entourage and Narcissus

It is March. I'm sorry for stating the obvious but I feel that it's important to mention that even though I'm an April chap, March is just as important. March is so important, that I appear partially naked on the University of Manchester Society Calendar. I give you permission to admire my exceptionally formidable form. Yes, they call me handsome... at least Captain Reginald (my rottweiler) does.

Mr March

For those of you who are new, you must be aware that I Afam, am not real. I am only the brain child of one extraordinarily ordinary University student. As such I am destined to remain as he imagined me for all eternity. I was quite happy with this state of affairs until fairly recently. It was in sometime in September when I met her, my muse, my mind companion, my foreskin. She was so delightfully weird that I couldn't possibly confine her to the back of my mind. The part of my mind where I send things to die or be permanently erased. You see, I Afam have a monumental problem, it is so transcendental that I feel that it might be the death of me. I am terrible with names and faces but it's no fault of mine. It is the fault of those who say "hello", "how's it going" "I am so and so, or such and such" without considering that it might be vital to say something memorable to be remembered. I perform that routine so often that I can reenact it perfectly in my sleep. If that is all you say to me how can I possibly be expected to recall? Furthermore I have an unfortunate tendency to be quite significantly under the influence at the vast majority of these gatherings. Is the task you place in front of me not insurmountable? I am fairly certain that in the days to come I may be assaulted by those I do not remember, not for the fact that I do not remember them but for the nonchalance I display when I falter.

As you might imagine, the chappette that I speak of is not one to confine herself to the dredges of such normalcy. The impression she made one me was so great that even if I desired it I could not exorcise her; I could not lobotomize her from my head. That is not to say that she is my life and my world and my hopes and my dreams, it is to say that the part of my mind where she resides is undoubtedly the Elysium. I cannot say that her absence from it would turn it into the fields of Asphodel, but I would rather she remained there (in Elysium) indefinitely.

It is for this reason that I made the trip to London for her 21st. Hopping down to London may seem like no significant feat but let me assure you, it is. I am Afam not a nabob. Me going down to London is vaguely similar to Lawrence of Arabia's capture of Aqaba in the Arab Revolution during the first world war. Such is the financial burden. I don't mean to trivialize the efforts of Lawrence but you mustn't forget that I am permanently and incurably addled. It isn't my fault.

Upon my arrival in London I was met by my entourage, BFG, Dada, Jafaar and Akaba. Every young man must have an entourage. An entourage is a fundamental component of the bachelor experience. To be without one is to be a wolf without a pack. While it is possible for a lone wolf to succeed in bringing down its prey, it is infinitely more efficient when he is surrounded by his pack. We were sorely aware of the absence of one of our members, Ser Mbakwe first of his name Heartsbane who has gone ahead of us to lands both untested and untried and we dealt with this the only way we knew how. We pulled all our memories together and acted like he was there somewhere, just out of sight.

Even though we were all incredibly well dressed, I have to admit that Akaba outdid us all. His tuxedo was a thing of beauty and because I do not wish to ever be outdone on all matters of dress I have already made calls to the company that tailored the suit, East & Lester.  I will likely have to obtain parental assistance to procure the suit but a good suit is not only an investment but an incentive to maintain your form. If you have spent a greater sum than £300 on a suit or blazer you're unlikely to allow yourself any form of horizontal expansion.

We waited for a little while as is customary at these things. If she had walked out looking any less than she was it is likely that I would have written that the principles of Nigerian time cannot be restrained by geographical boundaries (and they can't!! In Nigeria it isn't better late than never it is better late than ever. The worst sin you could possibly commit is punctuality.) but when I saw her I forgot about the wait. I forgot the fear and trepidation I felt when I discovered that I'd been put on the same table as Marty for there isn't a bottle of wine safe when Marty is around. Whenever he is about there is bound to be a scarcity; so great is his need. She had appeared, like Narcissus' reflection staring back at him. And if she appeared in my bathroom mirror or some private pool that I frequented I would stare at her eternally. But because we were in public I averted my gaze and hoped that the memory of her would be forever imprinted there, free from the hands of time and disease.

Happy Days,

1 comment:

Tolu Ajayi said...

Solitary audible laughter induced! Partly regarding your poverty status. Mostly relating to the elevation of naija tardiness from a social norm, to a righteous necessity.

I agree, obviously. (If not only to soothe my late trait guilt and justify my own horrendous time keeping :-) )

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