Sometimes, I really wish I had filthy rich parents. Like Kim Kardashian and Kanye West rich. I want to be North West or even South South so much. And by sometimes, I mean all the time.
You know, that trust fund baby life IS the life. The real life. I want that ‘My daddy can buy you and your family’ life. That ‘What do you mean by there is no light, doesn’t your generator run 24 hours a day?’ life. That ‘I have to be in London for my friend’s birthday’ life. Do you understand? That life where in order for me to be the president of a huge company, all I have to do is stay alive. Not hustle, not work hard, just keep breathing in style. That, my brethren, is the baby boy life.
If I keep hanging out with rich people, I might have to get treated for depression, or jump off the Lekki-Ikoyi Bridge. Rich people make you reevaluate your life and the choices you are making.
For example, you have a trip coming up. And because you are poor, you plan ahead. By ahead, I mean centuries in advance. You plan and plan and plan, telling yourself that if you fail to plan, you plan to fail. That, my friends, is some poor man’s quote. Floyd Mayweather just wakes up, packs money in a bag and travels anywhere. Money serves as a cushion.
Before you save up for the airfare, you consider going by road, seriously consider it. But then, you notice that if you book two millenniums in advance, the difference between going by road and going by air isn’t that much, plus the savings in time is quite wonderful.
Another example: Owerri to Abuja by road is at least 8 hours. By air, it’s 45 minutes. Do you know what that means? It means if you leave by road at 8am, you will still be in Imo State when the other person lands in Abuja. It means you will still have your eyes closed for prayers in the bus when the other person is done with his business in Abuja. Don’t read the next paragraph yet.
Let that sink in. Yes? Ok, you can now continue.
Now, after saving up, you buy an economy class ticket, so you can be served 50 naira juice and cake that is so strong, it must have been made out of plywood, while trust fund babies are in another cabin – the first class cabin – eating jollof rice, chicken, fried plantains and wine.
Another reason I have to stop hanging out with rich people is that they are so casual. They say things that will give a poor man like me a heart attack.
“Man, my iPhone 6 Plus and my MacbookProAirRosegoldAppleLaptop was stolen today.”
While you are there doing rough calculations in your head and trying to hold back the tears for stuff that was not even yours, the rich person continues:
“What hurts the most is that Halo game I was playing. I was just about to reach a new high score. Anyway I ordered new ones today.They will be delivered tomorrow.”
All of this is said with a smile. You remember when your Infinix Hot Note was stolen. How it took the intervention of your friends and your pastor to stop you from committing suicide. How it took three months of going without protein to save up to buy a new Infinix Hot, because Hot Note had become more expensive.
This is why I don’t hang with the really rich folks. They will mess up your psyche in ways you never thought possible.
I am tired of this hustle life. I have drafted letters to Zuckerberg and Bill Gates to adopt me. I am praying they respond. I don’t want to have to write to Dangote; rich Nigerian fathers can be stingy sometimes.
Written by Chika Jones, tweets @chika_jones