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COMUI, you have given Becquerel enough ammunition to throw doubt on my age, my qualification and my reason for being at home.
This day, we got talking about a family who Becquerel had stayed with before coming to stay with us. They have a son and two daughters and true to God, I am older than all of them. You have to believe me because by the time Becquerel was done with me, I almost didn’t believe me.
1. The first son had finished from university SINCE (never mind that it could easily have been six months or two years ago. Becquerel’s ‘since’ always sounds like forever) and he had even gone for NYSC. So, why was I just finishing from university as I claimed?
Believe you me; I tried to explain that medicine takes years. All my pleading fell on openly deaf ears. Okay.
2. The first daughter is bigger and fatter than me. All ye fit fam people, see what y’all have caused in my life? Becquerel sized me up with not just her eyes but with her hand.
She used that Yoruba style of summing up a person by waving one’s hand up and down, head to toe, and declared,
“You are still a child joor. Even see how your voice is like a baby, it is not even deep at all.”
I so wanted to scream, “It’s guys whose voices get deep as a sign of growth, sheeesh!”
My people, I am just going to be dressing up, putting on ward coat and leaving the house daily. Even if all I do is mark time and explore the roads and streets of Osogbo.
This one, I couldn’t deal with it with just words and strong face. The violent shall take it by force.