Trouble in Katsina.

The trouble in Katsina.

It happened two days ago. The man, an elderly Baba, sat between I and the driver of the Volkswagen passat wagon and chatted profusely about the kidnapped children, over the voice of Fati Niger which blared through the speakers as we traveled through the blistering harmattan with all windows closed. The women in the seat directly behind us did not seem to be bothered with the crying of the five toddlers they had with them and neither were the people in the hatch-backed boot concerned about the bleating and bickering of the big rams they had with them - a typical sitting arrangement in Katsina State. One of the three women in the crowded boot held on to the calabash of fresh cow milk she had insisted on keeping on her head for the fear that the movement of the car would spill it if she put it down.

That was when he did it the first time.

The car suddenly became quiet as we contemplated getting dropped in the middle of nowhere to avoid the contents of his powerful backside. He surely knew how to vent his guts!

I nervously opened the window, stuck out my whole head and asked why he was so wicked but he denied it. I shouldn’t have gone and looked for trouble o! Shebi biogas is the future of energy? This man was loaded!

What a mess! Literally! This is what Nigerian anger smells like - pain and suppressed agitation! I reached for my inhaler but could not use it. I wouldn’t open my mouth in the middle of this stench. This one could kill faster than an accident.

The half-hour it took for the air to clear was filled with pious indignation and quiet resentment but we were soon chatting like it was a road trip reunion of best friends. Things were cordial again and when we had put the past behind us, the man silently farted again! The technique he used was simple. First, he would load his backside with the chemical weapon, then he would wait until the driver tried to shift the gear stick. Next, he would cock his body to one side and elevate one of his buttocks as if to create a little space and finally, he would dispense the deadly gas! Yes. You’ve probably heard of Mama Put. Have you heard of Baba Put-refaction - a warrior you should never travel along with?

This time, the window was stuck and the stench was everywhere before I could open the door of the moving car to let in some fresh air. Uproar and pandemonium spread through the car like fire in a forest! Even the driver was baptized in the fire of the unholy ghost that had spread over the pilgrims. I hurriedly closed the door, reached across the front and held on to the steering wheel as the driver, eyes closed, a hand on his nostrils and the other in the air, gesticulated frantically to register his disgust. The wind was truly and indeed, broken!

"Allah ya tsine wa dan banzan shegen aladen nan wallahi! May God punish the bastard pig that did this," he yelled. At this point, serious laughter was attacking me o! I fought back. Before they say it was me that did it. Before they leave me for kidnappers inside bush in Katsina. As I battled the laughter that was threatening to frame me up, A child promptly helped me by vomiting over my head. I let go of the steering to cover my face from the avalanche of mucus and half digested food. We swerved soft to the right and then hard to the left.

A ram stirred and a big calabash of milk came pouring on the four women and five toddlers behind the front seats. Perturbed only by the strong smell from someone's uku, they continued in their rage!

“Menene ya ci? Even if you ate faeces, your fart won’t smell this bad! Wallahi wannan rashin lafiya ne. This is a terrible illness. Demons from the pit of hell!," continued the driver.

“Even if you don’t relieve your bowel in months, it shouldn’t smell this bad! Ni ban gan mushe ba ana na shaka karnin sa! I don’t see any carcass but i can smell it! Wannan rubewar ciki, ko kabari ma albarka. This is worse than a thousand corpses," added a passenger.

Absolute ruckus!

All windows down, the driver back in control, tempers resolving and the Baba, basking in the confidence he had in his technique and charade, did it again. This time, he wasn’t so fortunate as the car was quiet and all passengers were sensitized to the power of his ungodly nyash - the unrelenting anus!

As soon as the driver pulled and pushed the gear stick, the man shifted his leg away from the driver, arched his back, lifted one of his buttocks and let all hell lose. Everyone listened as a slow, silent passage of gas, gained amplitude, tone and timbre, changing from a restrained whisper to a loud and sustained vibration. The flute became the tuba!

Everyone heard him do it. It was he who did it every time! It was Baba all along!

Baba did pppuuuuuUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!!

And the driver parked the car...