By Olamide Jasanya
I watched as the smoke quietly eased into the air, forming what looked like a squashed image of a Nigerian map, before fussing away into the thin air, and as it did, it slowly revealed the hard face behind the smoke. It belonged to a fine young man, in his early thirties, maybe. His carriage seemed like that of a young CEO and his grooming testified to the possiblilty. I stared harder and noticed his ringed finger, ‘he must be married’, I thought. What would a married man be doing in this kind of place and at this time, I wondered, but neither my presence or thoughts seemed to bother him as he looked away, topped his drink and resumed his puffing exercise. Not long after, a young scantily dressed girl walked pass and diverted his attention from his drink and cigarette as he shamelessly turned and pursued.
I am writing this on my seat at the Club Uno in Ikeja, venue for a cognac company’s recent club tour, which was what I had come to see.
Earlier on as I journeyed down to the venue with my photographer friend, I rehearsed different steps, boasting that i’ll enjoy myself to the fullest. But as I entered the club, it dawned me, I would barely be able to muster enough energy to bop my head, let alone move my feet. I walked slowly towards an empty seat and occupied it, from where I saw my first friend. With Mr married man now gone, I looked elsewhere for fun and caught sight of my ex-school mate. She and her friends seemed confused as to where to seat, so I invited them over and then we became four. Not long after, one of the waiters came over to our table and asked if I came with the ladies and if we were going to buy drinks, I shook my head slowly, hoping that the girls would not catch me denying them. He left, but I knew a mini drama was going to ensue soonest.
Just as I expected, the attendant came back, this time in company of two men. They asked that we stand up as customers who were going to buy drinks had arrived. The ladies pulled up a defence and argued with them. What started out as a little disagreement was gradually turning into a semblance of the Aba women’s riot, as the girls vehemently refused all plea from the waiter and his colleagues. Ashamedly, I kept mute, silently encouraging the ‘wives revolt’ which soon turned into a major drama.
Two bouncers joined the attendants and threatened us all but we (the ladies actually) stood our ground.
Eventually, after much brouhaha, the girls gave in and one after the other, they stood up. I was left on the seat and for that moment it seemed like the whole club was waiting to see my reaction.
I scanned through the faces that seemed glued to me and I knew I had a micro second to make up my mind, but I was determined to enjoy the glory of that micro second. I could see the excitement on the faces of the few that found the scene watch-worthy. Would I argue for my right to a seat in the club or would I prove my swag and order for drinks? The bouncers, on their part, grew more impatient and I knew they wished I pulled up a fight so they could prove to their boss, of what help they are to the club, but rather than fall for their plans, I stood up and headed for the gents. Sure that I had touched up my hurt ego, it was time to leave, so I summoned courage and left, with the little pride I had left in my human account…
