THE ONE THING EVERYBODY DISLIKES

GBA! GBA!! GBA!!!

The knocks were persistent and ruthless on my room door and it was a little past 8pm, who dared such???, I got off my bed stopping my roommate from opening door, he didn’t have half the amount of savagery I was about to unleash on the fucktard knocking the door like it’s his father’s property. Even I didn’t know what line I was going to say first, all I needed was a face before my tongues loosened themselves and unleashed the wrath of my present hunger.

Opening the door and the only thing that could come out of my loose mouth was,
“Good Evening Sir” it was one of the porters and he could probably sense my anger
“Whose corner is this?” he asked pointing to the corner at his rear left, I was in one of the halls where we had four corners. His breath reeked of alcohol and by now, all my aggression was concealed.

I ignored the question and walked back to my bed and laid on it.

“Whose corner is this?” he repeated, his voice trailing behind me.

My roommate who was reading at my table, the very one I had stopped earlier from opening the door stepped out of my corner and made himself visible to the porter.

“Are you in this room?” he asked on seeing him.
“Yes sir” he replied with a nod, he was one of those freshers who wanted to make sure they commit no offense
“Where is your corner?”
“That’s it” he pointed to the corner at the rear left, the one earlier inquired about. Looking at the corner again the porter noticed no beds (yes, he didn’t have a bed in his corner) and wondered
“Where do you sleep?” I’m not sure if it was the law student in him that made him pause and think of a way not to incriminate himself or he was just being scared as a 100L student who does not want to be sent back home but he responded with what seemed like the first thing that came to his head.
“ANYWHERE!”

There is a story behind him not having a bed and it involved importing bedbugs from a friend’s room while reading overnight.

“How can you tell me you sleep anywhere, where do you sleep?” The porter asked sensing he could exploit the boy’s timidity

“I sleep in the reading room” he answered this time, honestly but the porter didn’t believe so he added extra lies to make the truth an illusion of the truth “On the floor, On my table….”

He, the porter, steps into the room now, and leaves the door open behind him (insensitive twat, now mosquitoes will have a feast tonight!). He pulled away the curtain shielding the corner to his front left, the corner opposite mine and then he taps one of the two guys sleeping on what you can call a king-sized bed and asked rather too directly

“Which one of you is squatting?”

The hunt for squatters has been on the rise and relentless announcements have been made on the public address system and mega phones concerning the need to prevent squatters. Rumours have it that the porters have been charged with not doing their jobs as cases of theft and what not keep on arising with squatters being heavily involved in said cases.

“I said who is squatting” he barked this time tapping one of the boys as vigorously as he banged the door earlier.

My roommate, the legal occupant of the corner among the two still in his subconscious, hearing a distant voice he couldn’t really put together (or could he) said without opening an eye.

“It’s him, he, he, he is the one” he said like he had a grudge against his friend, the squatter. Wanting him to be fully awake the porter kept tapping and repeated his question one more time and the reply remained the same but louder.

“I said who is squatting?”

““IT’S HIM! IT’S HIM!! HE!  HE IS THE ONE!!” he replied half-awake pointing to his friend who was just waking him up too. He probably would not have snitched if he had heard the next question first.

“So you are squatting him? Okay”

He,the legal occupant, shrieked when sleep wiped off his eyes and he saw the porter, he was full on awake now. If you’ve ever witnessed the death of someone, you will be familiar with the moment of silence thingy and trust me the silence that filled the room was thinner than that of a grave-yard. Okay, I might have been giggling in between.

“Why are you squatting?” the porter threw the question at the squatter and all I could think of was a befitting reply, because I have a mansion in Agbowo but I’m a loner and I need company plus high transport fare every day and man cannot afford that because recession.

Can’t remember what happened next but all I’m sure of is there was a battle for ID cards but none was shown or given so the porter took down names and room number and left like a bride changing her mind on the altar. As he left, he pointed to my other roommate, the bed-less one, “you want bed? come and see me”. The snitch ran after him like a forlorn groom trying to save himself from the embarrassment of his bride leaving him at the altar.

Anyway, as you expected, the drama ended the same way drama ends when the police stops you and catches you with weed or without a driving license. Hands dipped into pockets, and a smiling Nnamdi Azikiwe, after severe haggling and pleading of course.

So beware O ye squatters, thou whom hath lent you a helping hand might just snitch on you.

 No one likes a snitch that’s one thing everybody dislikes, just in case you were wondering.