Dateline: Dec 1989
I had been in England for the whole of 9 months without a taste of any correct peppered food. The nearest I had tasted that could be compared to Alhaja’s soup was the Egusi Sade of Peckham made for me……
……and I was only halfway into the àmàlà when her husband decided to do a half day shift and come home early.
The wicked giant of a man even insisted I drop the shàki I was holding as I was marched out of the front door. He did not even let me wash my hand.
So for 9 months, I was pepperless…….and I was randy! I mean real randy o……..like starving horny.
For 9 months, all I did was work, work, work. I was making good money but no time for women.
Once, I had a quick fumble in a public telephone box with this Oyinbo girl, but I was shaking so much, I developed a zipper challenge. That was the first time I realised that women, whether black or white, all hissssss the same way when they are frustrated. So no show for me.
Then one day, I was just chatting with friends when I suddenly sneezed.
“Aaaaaaaaah abe, this is not ordinary sneeze o, see what is coming out of your nose” exclaimed my friend Muye…….. “You must be very full o!”
“Ssshhhhhhhhhhhhh” I hushed him down, as I nudged him to one corner and opened up my heart and needs to my closest friend: ♫ hot pepper and I feel like bursting loose♫
Long and short of the story, Muye linked me up with a Jamaican girl called Sandra and pointed me in the direction of Lewisham Way, to the restaurant of famous Iyàbo Onigbin.
The peppered snails served by Iyabo were legendary, and many a gifted beer guzzlers had been tamed by the hotness of her pepper that escorts the snail to your table. No matter how drunk, Iyabo’s pepper will clear your eyes and show you the road to drive home.
As soon as we sat down, Iyabo was fawning all over us and Sandra was gushing all over at the special attention. All the indications were: this one was a sure banker!
So I ordered double portions of extra hot igbin (snails) and drinks.
As we partied, I showed Sandra how to eat snails with our hands and she was thrilled.
“Ooooooh hot pepper makes me horny babie” she slurred, tossing the last bit of snail in her mouth. “Let’s drink up and go to yours, I’m ready!”
Bingo! Before you could say igbin, I paid the bill, wiped our hands on the patterned napkins and practically flew out the door into my car.
Vrooooooooooooooooommmmm house, lift, door, kitchen floor.
“Oooooooooh babie, I like some foreplay before we start” she whispered in my ears as we tore our clothes off.
By now, my infamous trembling had started again, so it was a good request, to calm me down. I cracked my fingers and went to work.
After a minute: oooooooooohhhhh…..aaaaaaaaaaaahhhh…..aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh
Two minute later……aaaarrggggggghhhhhhhh…….aaaarrrgghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Me : you enjoying it babie ?
“Aaarrrrrrgggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhh……..damnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn! Blaaaaddclaattttttttttttttt ………to rassssss clatttttttttttttt!!!”
Now I am getting alarmed…..she has entered Jamo mode o…….and my fingers are trapped…
” You okay, luv?” I asked softly.
“I am not okay, you stupid African bomboclattt, I am f***king burning!! I am on fire!!….. Aaaaarggggggghhhhhhh!”
Ehn, fire ke? Which kain sex be this o ? I haven’t even started. Only fingers and…..
Then the nickel dropped …….fingers!!!
Yeparepa! I did not wash my hands at Iyabò onigbin’s!
Fire Brigade to the rescue.
♫ I don wash my hand, na God win o! ♫
mazi abe idris © copyright reserved 2015
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