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The Offshore Diaries (Entry 12)

This is a story about Sex, Viagra and Old Men. Out at sea, for some reason unbeknownst to me, libido is usually high, sometimes too high for comfort. This story begins at the tea room, the place where, while working at sea, all stories arise from. I’m at my unit, finishing up a certain routine preventive maintenance on our ROV (remotely operated vehicle) when I glance at my watch and realize it is 3pm; time for tea. I head for the coffee room because as is always the case, there must be gist.

There is something about working at sea that fosters a certain brotherhood amongst us. This isn’t surprising considering we spend half our lives out in the middle of nowhere with the same set of people. The tea room is the safe, no holds barred, tell-it-all place. Topics range from political arguments to history, to sports. But of course the baba of all topics is sex and every topic eventually winds up here. Some tales are of course embellished for effect and some others totally untrue. But what else can we do other than listen, laugh and try to make the best of being three hours away from land by the fastest helicopter.

So it happened that as I got to the tea room that day, a crew change had just happened and two old men, who we will call Elder A and B, had just come back onboard. The routine is if you arrive sometime close to tea time, you come and say hi to the guys while we who have been around comment on how fresh you’re looking. But on that day, something different happened. Immediately Elder B saw one of the guys, he started shouting, “You home breaker! Home breaker, you this boy!” Even though he sounded playful, you could feel the undertone of seriousness.

To understand why this guy was called a home breaker, we shall rewind to three weeks earlier.

**rewinds tape**

Three weeks earlier, I entered the tea room as before, and the topic was about the guy referred to as home breaker. We will call him Brother Peeshaun! Peeshaun just came onboard along with some other guys who were curious over the babe he had in his room at the hotel in town the night before.

Comments ranged from “Nawa o! Somebody daughter na him you dey do like that? Fear God o, Peeshaun” to “She just dey shout, ‘Hmmm! Hey! Peeshaun! Remain me for my mama! I gree! Na you!  You be master! You be master! You be king! Kingsley! Kingdom! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Sorry oooooooooo!!!”

His response to the comments was, “That babe fall my hand the last time wey we meet, so I gast show am say na very black pot dey produce white agidi. Although make I no lie, sha no be ordinary hand!”

“Wetin you use?” someone enquired.

He went on to describe a certain drink he had drank and one tablet he had taken which he said would turn you into a machine, fuelled with so much lust and strength, bringing on the too-much-juice, too-much-sauce kind of satisfaction to whoever you – in his words – ‘fire’.

Elders A and B’s interests were piqued. They were past their best years, performance wise, but had refused to hang their boots. They were determined to do whatever it would take to keep their inner Gigi Buffon and continue playing till they collapsed and died. I know how many times I’d said to them, “…but Elder, una don do una own na, leave all these things for we wey still young or run am with madam na.” And to this, they would reply, “Tufia! Madam ke? Stop wetin? Make I tell you, na we wey babes dey like pass. We get experience. We no dey give wahala and no be una young men wey because of small ice cream, you go wan do somebody daughter till day break. And make I tell you, e dey refresh skin. Why you feel say we dey always look young?”

So it came to be that on the day Elder A and B were leaving the rig, they were armed with whatever it was Peeshaun drank and nearly finished somebody for her mother whilst also becoming a master and king. Elders A and B had a sexual tryst planned out. Their chopper landed in Lagos, and then they flew to PH the same day, and without informing their wives of their arrival, checked into a hotel.

They each called their respective babes, and as they lounged in their room, drinking beer and armed with Peeshaun’s kingmaker medicine, they pictured it – their coronation ceremony. The picture came bright and multicoloured: both of them draped in Lion skin, a signature of their bravery and conquest, kneeling at the center of the village square, beads made of Peeshaun’s drug on their neck, nubile virgins dancing and rejoicing, young men drinking palm wine from gourds, elders grinning from ear to ear at their capable kings-to-be, who had SATISFIED the priestess, who would proclaim in a loud, wailing voice as instant silence falls on the crowd: “King! Master! All day and all night long!”

It would later be that they both became kings, but in different villages.

Elders A and B had arrived by, say, 4pm and the babes were supposed to be at the hotel by 6pm.

7PM:  No babes

8PM:  No babes. They said they would still make it.

Meanwhile, these elders of the kingdom of what-I-don’t-know had around 7PM drunk Peeshaun’s concoction. Body was doing them gbish-gbish. It was doing them tinini-tanana. They were in trouble. They knew it. And they had not made alternative plans.

9:30PM: Somebody say Praisseeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!! Prayyyyy prayyyyyyyyy Praiseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee Peeshaun!

A good thing happened.

Only Elder B’s babe showed up.

Elder A’s babe, her children and her children’s children could and would not make it, so swore Elder A in his mind.

Elder B carried his babe, told Elder A “Goodbye my lover” and locked his door, ready for the firing squad.

Elder A was stranded. We have all been there. It happens to the best of us. Life becomes formless and meaningless. A tear might even leak from your eyes if you’re not careful. If you’re a creative, you write your most soulful works in this mood. Elder A could not take this lying down, standing up or even squatting. Last minute, Baba decided to do something.

What did he decide to do?

He decided to go home.

In his own words, “…madam never even open door, I don rush am like hot amala! Hei! I fire am eh, hang am like cloth wey dem just press. We even do am reach kitchen sef. Even pour soup pot for ground. We dey like people wey don craze. Thank God say children no dey house. She just dey shout! Dey cry! Dey call Jesus like say na morning devotion. Kpacha, kpacha, kpacha, kpacha, four hours, I still dey go. Oluwa oh! But my madam sef surprise me. She sef dey game. Na die I dey that night!”

But you know how they say joy comes in the morning – well, they lie. Madam A could not be deceived. She had spent over 30 years with Elder A, and this was, according to her, his best performance of the spirit dance ikworikwo since when they were in their 20s and she wasn’t buying any story. She wasn’t about to believe that because he had been on the rig and had grown his hair, he had acquired Samson-like powers! Mba! She could see through it. He had gotten extra help and it wasn’t originally for her seeing, as he had not told her he was returning.

The house was quickly on fire. So he was following small-small girls, she started. At his age! Maybe you have given me disease. She chewed him up. At the end of it, Elder B saved the day. Elder A claimed that they had both taken a drug that a colleague had given them for cleansing of stomach. He didn’t know it had such a side effect. Without being informed, when Elder B was called, he corroborated the story.  Elder A’s wife knew it was far from the truth, but she decided probably to just let it go.

So there we were at the tea room, hearing the story of how Peeshaun’s drug had nearly broken Elder A’s home because another babe refused to show up, and I noticed something. For some reason, it is believed that the dirty, wicked, Van-Damme-starring-Jackie-Chan-and-Jet-Li, kill everybody, Kabiru-don’t-kill-me-for-my-mother type of sex is not proper for a wife or even girlfriend you really love. Most men tend to want to leave the crazy fantasies for side chicks or the other woman outside and only give madam silky loving. Especially when they are at an older age and the libido is still pulsating.

That one is their own.

Dear Future Wife, if you can read this, be ready. Because even at 70, my dear, won ma kere si number wa. I shall be a Christian-NOT-even-Grey-but-Rainbow-Color. We shall be painting everywhere ROYGBIV. The kitchen, the garden, the children’s room, church, under table – even if we go to space, best believe there shall be zero gravity kpanshing. And if I die in the act of lovemaking, something must kill a man. And I won’t be the first. Let me die on top, and upon my headstone, write there:

“Here Lies Uncle Stephen,

“Father, Son, Daddy Yo! And Friend

“Aged 102, who died of Enjoyment

“Ride on, Sir!”

Selah!

My name is Uncle Stephen, and this is my Diary.


About shakespeareanwalter

Walt Shakes(@Walt_Shakes) is an award-winning Nigerian writer, poet and veteran blogger. He is a lover of the written word. the faint whiff of nature, the flashing vista of movies, the warmth of companionship and the happy sound of laughter.

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7 comments

  1. I loved this! ???

  2. Baba o!!!!! I came to give you twale!!!

  3. Hehehe. I was waiting for Stranded Elder to go and knock on Lucky Elder’s hotelroom door and beg for threesome.

  4. Veryyy interesting!

  5. Hahaha, real daddy yo

  6. Oya lemme be your wife!

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