Thread by @MADMANofLAGOS

My name is Psalm. Yes, Psalm. Boring, right? But that’s the name my mom called me when I was born. My Dad had wanted to call me Job, but my mom would not have it.
“Have you seen any man called Job that wasn’t a carpenter or a bricklayer,” she had fired at my dad.

“All the people named Job na so so suffer suffer!”
Mom certainly hadn’t heard of Steve Jobs (well, after he moved out of the garage) plus my oldman had suffered so much, having lived from hand to mouth since he lost his job thirty years ago, yet his name wasn’t Job.

So, there was more to suffering than being called an ordinary name.
“Let’s call him David,” my mom had suggested. “It is simple and short. And remember he killed Goliath.”
“David? The man who stole another man’s wife? I can’t call my son David.

All the people called David too like women.”
Mom had thought of it and the live styles of a few people named David in my neighbourhood had been enough to convince her.

In fact, two days before I was named, two married men had fought over a woman on the street, and they were both called David.

After much dilly dallying, they called me Psalm. Oldman wasn’t so excited about the name; David and Psalm were like Bob risky and bleaching - one and the same. But in the end, he accepted it. That was how I got my name.

One would think after all the hair-splitting deliberations that gave birth to my name, my name would at least bring me luck. Far from it. I don suffer pass nyash. Yes. I have been peed on, shit on, sat on and what not…

Yesterday was the day kasala burst for my head. I was on my way to an interview. Since 5 years of graduation, brother, I’ve never gotten a real job. But that yesterday, something had told me that was the end of my job search.

My girlfriend had linked me to a friend that had a friend who was the GM in a manufacturing company. When I contacted the so called GM, he picked up the phone and answered me like a vampire had given him a blowjob.

“Who be rat? He spat out.
“It’s me Psalm. A friend of Sarah, who is a friend of Akpan, your good friend. He said you are the GM of Green Food Limited.” I could hear him chuckling on the other end.
“Werin you wan make I ju for you?” he replied. I was already getting pissed off.

“I want to submit my CV to your company. I was told you could help me get a job”
“Bring am tomorrow, I go help you give the GM.”
“Are you not the GM?
“Bro, it’s like say you never ready. I am the Gateman. Your friend no tell your friend to tell your friend to tell you?

My jaw dropped. But I had no choice; I tidied my white shirt and dusted my CV. I must get that job the next day... I had sworn to myself

As early as 8 AM the next day, I set out. My girlfriend had made delicious afang soup the other night. I quickly heated four wraps of fufu, devoured it and left feeling like a bouncer. It had rained the other night and the bad roads were still muddy.

I did my best to avoid reckless drivers from splashing dirty water on me. My best, as usual, was not enough. A man in a black Prado SUV zoomed past, emptying a pot hole of muddy water on me. I did what any other frustrated man would do. I boarded a bike and chased after him.

Who knows, he could settle me with something tangible.

The okadaman was a skillful rider but the Prado guy had no chill. After five minutes, I spotted his car parked right in front of my babe’s apartment. Fear catch me like politician wey snap picture with Super con (or cop?) Abba Kyari.

I paid off the bike man and cautiously peeped into my girlfriend’s one room apartment. What I saw shocked me.

10 retweets for the next part
#iyabo #NnamdiKanu ##Prayforwhitemoney

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