The Verastic Xperience

Shock. Then surprise. My jaws dropped. Quickly, curiosity stared apace. What could Vera had written about me, I asked when I saw the title of her piece This-one's-for-kennknotty on my blog. The curiosity soon heightened. But before I could click to assuage it, power struck and my PC went off. I quickly connected to the inverter, bringing back the PC to live. I rushed to read, finishing under few seconds. I then did a second read, slowly.

I had on a few occasions made comments on Verastic.com. Some being sarcastic, others either cocky or cynical. I had on one comment even requested she told me about the time of her menstrual flow as I jabbed her of becoming mushy mushy. The request was jokingly done. But I soon discovered Vera does not play soft. It was the reply to such an inordinate (really?) request that gave birth to the aforementioned. Be careful what you wish, that’s what Charles my friend would always say. I got what I asked for.

Vera, I hope you don’t mind me letting fellow bloggers into the secret. Well, it’s out already, lol. Some of the bloggers wanted to know who that Kenn-knotty whom Mighty Vera devoted so much energy to was, after reading Vera’s piece. They soon flooded my blog, pouring their condolences, sympathy, advice, and encomium on my late dad. Vera's piece drove traffic to my blog, and made me two friends.

I give it to Vera. She could write. Vera, let this not pump the blood flow in your head. And don't be quick to smile for there is a price to be paid for that. Vera had stylishly entwined the not too palatable experience of menstruation with her condolences for my late dad whom I had earlier done a tribute on Daddy Where Are You?

As Vera became descriptive, I momentarily muffled my sorrow. I took the emotional gag effortlessly … I had thought apart from losing blood, that the compulsorily monthly napkins were the only discomfort women felt. I never knew they felt diarrhea too. I repeat, Vera could write. Wish someone could kill her for her skills (that's the price). I need to inherit her writing prowess.

I tell you, burial for Igbo land no easy o! Especially with the obnoxious “Umu-Ada” beliefs. The Umu-Ada would make outrageous demands, haggle over what you give them if it’s slightly an inch less, quarrel among themselves when splinting their spoils, and at the end dust their cursed bums and leave without helping out with errands. Am sure, bloggers from the eastern part of 9ja will easily identify with this.

Okay, let me even forget the longer-throated Umu-Adas. After sobbing myself dry in Lagos and getting rewarded with severe heart ache, I had thought my lachrymal gland would show a bit of maturity at the village. But that was never to be as I soon launched into another round of broken rhythm immediately the hearse brought in what was the remains of my dad into the family compound after taken him to his maternal home.

Even in death, dad still looked undeniably handsome. His pointed nose was untouched, and the grey of his hair still glittered. He was clad in white lace material. I had loaded a camera I borrowed from a friend with film for that occasion. My intention was to snap away, at least to recapture the memory and be kept in my archive. But I soon realised I didn’t want to be reminded of that moment when I beheld the stillness of the man who was my father only few months past. Am no lilly. And effeminate doe not exist in my lexicon. But how I withered still surprises me.

A blogger has even enjoined me to blog some of the pix (the photographer got many). But I jokingly told her some of you bloggers might want to use it for screen savers...Lol. Seriously, my dad was handsome, even in death. He was successfully laid to eternal rest on May 22, 2010.