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Ade's Journal Part 6

Ade's Journal Part 6
My Valentine & The Elegance Of A Clean Breakup

Ade's Journal Part 5

Ade's Journal Part 5
My Scrumptious Valentine Kiss

Ade's Journal Part 4

Ade's Journal Part 4
A Scorpion is not a Lobster

Ade's Journal Part 3

Ade's Journal Part 3
My Insane Week Before Valentine

Ade's Journal Part 2

Ade's Journal Part 2
He Had The Guts To Come Back

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Saturday, 17 March 2018

Pedal To The Metal


   Pedal To The Metal the lone flower screeched, just as angry sharp beach sand blasted and grinded it's yellow petals. How long do you think you can last? The army of grains of sand asked as ghastly raging winds aided their onslaught.
As long as it takes, I answer and then sink my roots deep into the Langbasa soil that my ancestors fished and farmed on.

  It was me wishing out loud as angry citizens quelled my dream to cast my vote in this coming elections. I was no longer proud to say I exercised my right to choose not to vote. I was no longer content with watching people blame those if us that did not vote for the woes of Nigeria. Today, I stood in the sun. An early morning sun that raged on by seven thirty. Slamming hard at my relaxer burnt scalp as I tried to do the right thing.
One list had been made and getting there by ten thirty ensured ensured that I could only make the second list. As the supervisor gave me a pen, I shuddered. Not because of feelings that crept up my spine, nor because I felt that finally after two decades I was going to get a voter's card. But because of the number I wrote down on the second list, I was number eighty three.
The logical thing I do was to go home ot find a way around this. But I decide to wait until the end, which was going to be three on. It was not easy and as the first list got exhausted, it filled me with hope of getting my voter's card. But by ten minutes to three, I knew it was no longer the case. The list ended at fifty three, a huge blow to my fragile patriotic ego.
It was bad enough that only one guy was capturing our face and fingerprints, but it was also a security measure. Or so we were told, how a riot didn't break out from the hot dehydrated crowd I was a part of still baffles me. The fact is that I got here late and if I was going to be one of the first ten attended to, tomorrow morning. Then I would have to get here before seven.

 The morning was unusually bright for six thirty but good for me, I was a little scared of opportunistic robbers catching me this early morning. But I wanted a voter's card and of all the excuses I was given for not getting one yesterday, lateness was on the top of the list.
I am proud to say I was number four on the list and did not mind waiting until nine, when the registration would commence. I was better prepared and had my one point five litres of water to get me through today.
By eleven I was done and ended up socializing and asking questions. It was encouraging to hear people still had hope in this country and were going to vote. Better than that, a team was heading to the local government official to get the new national ID card and residency cards.
I am proud to tell you that I have all three documents in my possession, yesterday was gone and today is definitely a good day.

 I was still trying to bask in my jacuzzi and enjoy the cold bubble bath in Ajoke's house, when I was rudely interrupted by the annoying sound of Nnoye's voice.
She was not even listening to Ajoke, who tried to tell her to let me be. And I was not interested in cutting short my me-time.
She barged into the plush gated garden with creeping plants hiding all the metal and stepping on wilthing queen of the flowers. I refused to look back at her and wiped on my Bailey's Irish cream on ice. I heard her shower and then join me in the massive jacuzzi. She did not say anything, she just shut her eyes and then sink her entire body into the bubbling water.
 Nnoye stayed down long enough for me to be worried and just as I was about to go to dig her out, she resurfaced.
'Congrats, I had my own voter's card but lost it. And of course long since got my LASRA and National ID'
 Did I respond to her, am I crazy or do I look like someone that has her time?
'i have confirmed the pregnancy...'
 As if I care.
'Its Idibia's...'
 And so?
'I've dumped the babies for Daniel to cater for... I may just run away like Opeyemi'
 Again I shut my eyes and breathe deeply.
'This is the life...', Nnoye adds and then remains silent for thirty minutes.
I opened my eyes to see her sleeping and almost slipping into the water below.
Ajoke rushed to her and we both lay her down on the beach chair and covered her.
'She has not slept in days... I warned her to see the doctor and the silly girl said she is not Opeyemi...'
'Meaning what?'
'That she is stronger than her and won't break down...'
'Abeg, how have you been?'
'Good and the twins are with their grandpa'
'You let them go'
'Bala's family is communism and not like mine, competitive and vindictive'
'So about the special...'
 I place my finger to my lips and Ajoke covers her mouth and looks at Nnoye.
'What is her problem self?'
 I make a sign of a baby bump.
'Its a lie'
'Ssshhhh', I snap at her.
 I swear she is horrible at keeping secrets.
'What now?'
 Nnoye adjusts and answers us both, 'I am getting rid of it'
 And the silly girl goes back to sleep, notice I'm referring to her as a child. Because she is acting like one.
 'If you like sleep, this problem is here waiting when you wake up'
 Nnoye's bag falls and an empty bottle of sleep aid falls out.

What does this mean?

**"ADE'S JOURNAL" Season 3 Episode 10**
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Adebusola Ukayat Elegbede is a Playwright and Content creator with a passion for real life challenges. Born in Kaduna state and lives in Lagos Nigeria, she has a passion for story telling from the perspectives of characters in conflicting situations. I started out on the New Writing Project in Nigeria with the British Council Lagos Nigeria and The Royal Court Theatre, Sloane Square U.K. My passion for creating stories led to comic books, television drama's and an online journal on my website (busolaelegbede.com). As part of the WPIC in Stockholm Sweden 2012, the experience has forged life long friends and ignited my passion as a volunteer and advocate for human rights and the United Nations 17 Sustainable Development Goals.

Follow @Busola Elegbede