If you’ve ever heard the expression ‘It was love at first sight’ then that’s probably the best way I would describe how I feel each time I’m faced with food. My heart literally skips a beat when I’m about to dine and as crazy as it sounds the Bee Gees (in my head) start singing the all time classic How deep is your love…it’s quite an experience. When you’re as adventurous as I am however you quickly learn to respect your foods; some African peppers could give you a temporary lisp, and we all know the evacuation power of cabbage-farts (more effective than a bomb-scare actually). But nothing prepared me for the aftermath of consuming a generous serving of locally prepared porridge beans.
Before I go into my ordeal in full gory detail, I need to first make some clarifications for the benefit of all non-African readers and those who haven’t ever been to Africa. The beans I’m referring to is absolutely nothing like baked beans – That’s child’s play compared to the concoction that rearranged my bowels in 4.8 seconds. Porridge beans is simply boiled brown beans cooked with tomatoes, onions, palm oil, water, salt, red hot pepper, seasoning and the secret
weapon ingredient potash. Now that we’re all on the same page, let’s get down to beans-ness.
The Night Before: Whilst staying over with my cousins during school term I moseyed over to the kitchen one night to see what was cooking for dinner. There it was, boiling and making sputtering sounds as if to threaten me saying, ‘Run along little boy. You ain’t man enough to handle me!’ Well, a hungry crazy Nigerian was gonna see about that. When the beans was finally ready I scooped up a breakfast-bowl size full and stuffed myself till my hunger was undeniably quenched (and an impending chain-reaction awakened).
D-Day: I woke up feeling great. I had a shower, got dressed and had a sandwich before my cousins and I set out for school. The birds were singing and the bees were buzzing (well, I don’t really know but that’s the way you describe a beautiful day isn’t it?). By the time I started my first class my stomach felt like a washing machine that was warming up for a long cycle. I panicked. The cycle would start and stop and then start again. The stage where the washing machine filled up with water is what the gastric juices in my stomach sounded like. My concentration in class was now a definite zero. This went on till about lunchtime and then the unthinkable happened – my stomach went into full spin!
It was agony trying to conceal my discomfort in the open. There were students EVERYWHERE! Girls I was trying to impress…boy cliques I was desperate to join. This current dilemma was going to ruin any chance of that for the rest of my secondary school tenor. There wasn’t a decent toilet on the premises I was ready to use (and even if I wanted to use it I’d have to run in my delicate condition for about half a mile to get there. I also had only 5 minutes to get back to class but getting into trouble was the last thing on my mind – there was about to be an explosion in my pants!!!
Bombshell: “Uh-oh” I said to myself. The washing machine was ready to go into drain mode and I was no closer to an area I could convert to a toilet. My only option was an abandoned classroom complete with dust and cobwebs. I scampered there like a delusional penguin. There was also a toilet there too *Yippee!* The toilet seat was dusty but I just stooped over without making contact and just got right down to it…but as I started to regain some form of relief I had to suddenly stop midway when I heard the sound of students walking into the classroom. By the time I heard a teacher telling everyone to settle down I knew that I was either going to have to keep the noises (and smells) to a minimum for about half an hour or risk being exposed. To be (or not to be) continued…
To be continued please
We. Red to know what happened!!!
We want more!!!!
Ohhhhh too funny!
lol,….to be continued ooh,…I must know how you were exposed, #tongue out
i’ll think about it *tongue out* haha
Beans the almighty, lol! You should have listened when the beans said, ” Run along little boy. . .” Jollof, feel free to check out my post about what beans did to a grown man, it’s called: Running in the Airport. I have a feeling you’ll appreciate it more than most 🙂
Oooh, thanks. I’ll check it out and see what stunts he had to pull, lol. Beans is no joke if you haven’t got the stomach for it.
It’s amazing how you can laugh at something that at the time mortified you, but it is so funny waiting for the next fart, Ooops sorry part 🙂
Nice play on words 😀
Sure you can handle the next part? It might get messy lol
I will have the toilet paper at hand,or if it gets really messy the washing machine LoL 🙂
*laughs* Stay tuned if you think you’re man enough
Oh my word!
And I love beans o…*sigh* the travails of beans-ness though..I enjoyed this post. Don’t you dare leave us hanging o…. Continue the story jor…
All you curious minds. Why not try eating the same concoction the way I did and see how the story ends, lol. Just playing…thanks for the comment. I wonder if I’m crazy enough to finish this story though…
That is HYSTERICAL! You really know how to tell them!
Thanks. Glad you enjoyed it. I’m afraid there’s a sequel…
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Lol, beans has sent me to the hospital for food poisoning before but did I learn my lesson? Nooo. i had it 3 days ago and let’s just say I’m yet to recover. Nice one though.
Oh, I hope you get better. Thanks for the comment 🙂
Lol. Hilarious and creative writeup!
Thank you for the comment!
Beans could be like a PMS-ing babe; often throwing tantrums and wrecking my system. My worst situation?
Period: Secondary school
Time: Just before midnight (muhahahahaha!!)
Luckily it passed before morning but I spent the night running to and fro the toilet. I wasn’t even exiting ‘solids’, just squishy sounds and the occassional….sorry, lol!
I had a semi-notable limp the next day, my nether region was too sensitive to touch each other. Sadly, I’ve a sensitive stomach so sometimes I think this pales in comparison to when I screamed at a female army official at NYSC camp “I want to sh*t” when she tried to stop me from running from parade ground or Chicken Republic that I ‘scattered’ and discovered the ‘flusher’ did not work or where I had to run into a bush and wipe with the wrong leaves…..the itchy kind. See why I laugh when people call me an ajebor? I’ve done evil thinz *conspirational wink*
Damn! You’ve been through some shit lol. Glad you shared (very brave of you). Welcome to the ajebutter club 😀
Haha! first post I’m reading on your blog and I’m hooked 🙂