02/01/2016
09:43 AM
[b]HUSTLER'S DIARY
“E be like say you don dey mad!!! Abeg give me my money.." Gladys shouted, holding Damian by his trousers. He looked down at her, considering how small she was compared to him. But he couldn’t blame her. He owed her 700 naira, for about a month now. She ran a small bukka on the next street, and he had been hiding from her for the last week. Today she had come to his house very early, just as he was preparing to go out.
“Gladys you know I don’t have any money to give you now. I don beg you, please be patient” Damian said trying to remove her hands from his clothes.
“That one you dey talk na long story. All this your big grammar no go save you today” Gladys replied, raising her voice.
“Why you come dey shout now? You just wan disgrace me” Damian told her.
“Ok see, allow me go out to hustle today, any money wey I make, I go come pay you your money. For now, manage this 300 naira” he continued, giving her all the money in his pocket, which consisted mostly of 20 and 50 naira notes.
Gladys collected the money, and counted it three times to make sure it was complete, before putting it into her brassier.
“Shebi now the money don dey come out small small. Better bring my balance for evening. Mtchew. Fine boy, empty pocket” with that , she stormed away from him.
Damian heaved a sigh of relief, and checked his back pockets. All he came up with , was 20naira. He shook his head, and left the yard, thinking about how he was going to trek to yet another interview. He had to hurry.
Five hours later, Damian sat by a recharge card vendor, sweating profusely. He had begun his trek back home, when he decided to buy a sachet of water to quench his thirst. He sat under the shade of the umbrella, and his mind wandered to the shocker he had just received.
The ad on the paper, had said male models wanted. Although Damian might not be the most handsome man around, he wasn’t bad looking and poverty had given him a really bony figure, which he aided by lifting weights at the backyard, once in a while with his neighbours.
Back to the shocker. On arrival at the site for the interview, he had met about twelve other guys who had gotten there earlier than he had.
Well calling them guys might be a stretch, because about eight of those twelve, were above 40yrs. The ad had clearly said between 20 and 28yrs olds only. Among the said eight, was Adewale aka freshkid…. Hmmm. Ade should be about 38yrs, but he looked forty five. And he called himself freshkid, and acted and dressed like a kid, without the fresh.
He must have left the freshness at home. More guys arrived after he did, and they were younger and better looking. The interviewers arrived two hours behind schedule, unapologetic.
A malnourished looking girl of about 16, came in, with a bag of male swimsuits. The type popularly known as sucker pant in his neighbourhood. This she distributed among them.
Ade was the first to ask “what are we gonna doing with this pants”
To which the girl replied “You are to change into them, and you would come in according to the number on your own briefs".
It was then I noticed that the numberings were not just a fashion statement. Mine had a bold 8 at the side. The guys started murmuring, especially the old men, and the inexperienced like me. The younger guys, who actually looked like male models, were already stripping.
At that point, about four men left. The rest of us, made short work of our clothing. I was simply upset that my careful dressing was going to be a waste.
Now it is not a funny sight, seeing men naked, At least not in my opinion. Some of us looked downright laughable. There were a lot of skinny arms and legs all around me. Then some guys proceeded to rub body oil on their torsos.
Only about three out of the whole lot, looked like they belonged on a cover of a magazine.
At this point, Freshkid went to one of the guys, and asked for body oil, which he promptly rubbed all over himself, including his feet.
One guy (I later learnt his name is Uju), offered me some of his body oil. Thanks but NO THANKS…..
Then the show began. We were asked to form two lines, and proceed to an auditorium. We got there, and there were five judges/interviewers. Two men and three women. We paraded ourselves, some of us strutting like peacocks.
Right then the unimaginable happened. Freshkid slipped and fell. Probably due to the groundnut oil… sorry body oil he rubbed on his feet. He brought down five guys with him. The judges burst out in laughter, annoying three of the five, and they got up, and walked out obviously fed up.
Soon it was time for the individual interview, I was already tired and had given up any hope I might have had to become a model. I was so angry that after studying economics in school, unemployment had pushed me to the point of trying to be a model.
Not like it wont be a step up from bricklaying and okada riding, which I have had to do in these past years….
When my number was called, I walked in. There was a photographer there, who made me take some really strange poses, and actually ADJUSTED my crotch a couple of times. I was told I would hear from them. I know that is not going to happen.
So there I was, by the roadside with only ten naira to my name, and about 4 kilometres away from home.
A vibrating sound shocked me out of my thoughts, and I spilled some of my "pure" water. It was my phone..... Most days I forget I have one, and on some other days I use it as a radio or torch light. People never call me..... I don't call them either. The caller id on the screen said James. Another shocker.... I am certain James has even forgotten the code his network provider uses to load call units.
"O boy where you dey? Show my area sharp sharp....Pepper go soon rest, Come make we reason one deal" and he hung up.
James sounded excited, and knowing James as I do, he is up to no good. I stand up, time to continue my journey home hoping whatever James wants to involve me in would actually bring in cash.
Unemployment is a really a big issue in Nigeria. My name is Damian and I am a victim…
Compliments of the season to you guys[/b] :)
