Re-Igniting: Saturday Night Out Conversations

It’s Saturday night in the United States and I’m reshuffling my invitations to make sure I really knew what I was doing when I decided on where I was going to spend the evening. Things happen here in the good old U. S. of A. There is an event for every taste and every condition of the human mind. The apparent recession and the hike in oil prices have failed to dampen the Nigerian spirit of perpetual celebration. Any one who can provide ones own generator supplied power and ones own private bore hole can certainly face a recession or depression any where in the world. People who go daily where few men have gone before must rejoice in everything, including the arrival of Saturday night. Tomorrow is a not certain. Live in the moment! Be bold. Live in your dreams. That your millionaire self, your sparse furniture, your five Lamborghinis and arsenal of clothes and fine jewelry may soon find themselves on the road side is nothing but the wish of jealous people. You may never know where you’re headed, but you can certainly cling to your dreams. Reality can be depressing and depression is not for happy people. The right size ego coupled with the right amount of self importance is all one needs to bring everything into perspective.

Saturday night decision making is not something to be done flippantly. Shall I make it an Ivy League night? Will there be enough Ivy League graduates in the room to warrant my presence? The ring of Brown and Harvard simply send chills down my spine. I love the shape of lips as the name of a college and the accompanying degree spills from them. Now that’s sexy. The only problem is pedigree. Perhaps I should consider a titular night? Will there be enough chiefs, senators, brigadiers and other titled people in the gathering to add legitimacy to my title? My title didn’t come cheap after all. The risks I took…We won’t talk about that. The point is I got the money and it got me the titles. What’s the point of being awarded thirty traditional titles and an honorary doctorate degree if there won’t be an audience that appreciates these finer points in life?

Perhaps what I really need is a “What-You-Got-Night” with a room filled to capacity with everyone and anyone who is ready to play show and tell. What-You-Got is the Texas sized game of words where consistency, logic and honesty are completely in the gray area. You know how the game goes? As the saying goes, “It is better to have been rich once than never to have been rich at all.” Love has nothing to do with it. At least I think that’s what I heard.

“What-You-Got?”

“I came here in my navy blue Mercedes Benz. It matches this Rolex that I bought last week while I was in Dubai.”

“Really? I drove my Koenigsegg. It’s a big change from the buses we had to ride in when I was on the campaign trail… with Mrs. Clinton” (Kapow! Now see if you can pronounce that, how much more afford it.) Did you know that I was one of the very first to get mine. The only reason that not one United States president drives one is that they do not want to be falsely accused of diverting money for troops in Iraq toward personal comfort. These Americans are something else. O! Even President Bush stopped playing golf to show support for the troops in Iraq. I am a true republican but…heh heh…you know how we Nigerians like our personal comfort.

(You think you won. Just wait. I’m taking this one down. Ka ka ki omode pa mi l’ayo, ma fi ojoro wo ile) “And would you believe that when a president of a country that I won’t name for security reasons, came to my weekend mansion in Abuja, his personal assistants were riding in those. As for me, I prefer Mercedes Benzes any day because the parts are so easy to find. I don’t have time to wait around for parts to be special ordered. Those Nigerian mechanics are lazy enough as it is. I wouldn’t want to give them a reason to keep any of my cars any longer than necessary.”

(Touche! Pointing to the furthest side of the hall) “Isn’t that one of our men in green who is now in agbada?”

No. I think I should consider the “Nigerian Party Night” since I haven’t bought anything new in the last week and I’m a little behind on my title acquisition. Lately my stream of income has been more like a trickle of income. Investing in two container loads of Fashion Fusion at Holy Ghost Night DVD’s with the Aswani Man of God and his Evangelical brothers seemed so promising at that time. I say, shame on the devil and all workers of iniquity! All of that will be taken care of in Jesus’ name. The problem at hand right now is where to spend this Saturday night. “Nigerian Party Night” it is! Your guess about the quality of the food will be as good as anyone else’s. It’s a fifty-fifty thing in the food department. It isn’t your mother’s kitchen. Puff puff , chin chin, fried meat and bottled water will see you through the night. There’s sure to be standing room only. The music will be plentiful although you may be near deaf in the morning. It’s your disco among compatriots. It is where street fashion meets high fashion without clashing. Every woman will be a queen and every man a king. Every one will be so important so much so that no one will be important. You will certainly eat, drink, sweat, sway, gossip and have to hang on to your party favors. Your hangover will be more from the yelling over the music, colorful characters and the bling blinging in your face all night. Just remember to arrive on time. Invitations are a formality. Bring a friend. The party begins when the invitation says it ends.

Written by
Enitan Doherty-Mason
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