L.A.M.P. (Nose Noise)

LAUGH AT MY PAIN (Nose Noise)

There’s something magical and enchanting about waking up to a brand new and colorful day. Nature is just a grand universal orchestra – trees in their evergreen state dancing to the cool beats of the luscious breeze, pleasantly sonorous birds decorating the skies and the warm caress of the golden rays of the sun. This would describe a perfect fairytale morning, right? Here’s how it goes for me.

I wake up by 5am, say my prayers, then run into the bathroom. After trolling people on all the social networks and watching a few funny videos, I finally get to bathe. As for what happens outside, it’s still too dark and the birds may have been having their morning devotion. They don’t even sing anymore; the situation of the economy doesn’t favor singing with reckless abandon. Flying is also a big deal now to them – there’s probably no fuel for that luxury. Everyone is just angry. Considering the fact that by now I’ve spent almost an hour in the bathroom, the adrenaline kicks. I throw on my clothes, forget breakfast (every single time), pack my bag and join the rat race. This is where I’m going to dwell on today.

Going to work takes me about 30 minutes on a good day. I have to walk out to my junction with my earpiece making me squinch and nod in approval to every note I hear, then I’ll have to hop onto an auto rickshaw (keke) because of the terrible road and because I’m a good citizen who wouldn’t drive with an expired driver’s license. After that short journey, I still have to go on a bus or a taxi to work. Evidently, I am exposed to a lot of people and their dangers on a daily basis. Yes, dangers… it gets so bad that sometimes, I have to leave the public vehicle.

Just last week, I got on this keke that was occupied by just one woman and the driver. I sat down and was just about to type something very wise and reasonable on my phone when I decided to greet her – very wrong decision. The flavor that accompanied her reply, “Good morning my child” hit me so hard that my eyes kept twitching and I was so sure I wasn’t her child. I’m not sure she was in a good relationship with a toothbrush and toothpaste. I held my breath and almost coughed, I forgot every word I was going to type, my eyes were bloodshot. We were seated alone behind the keke until one busy-body man sat by her, pushing her to middle – closer to me. My deep and solemn prayer was that she doesn’t speak till I’m off because I was sure I just survived a coma. She didn’t wait for me to end the prayer, she just had to ask me what time it was, where I was headed and if I could help split her money into smaller denominations. I felt my intestines curl up in rot, my lungs were collapsing, my bloodshot eyes couldn’t stay open, my nose was rusting. I suddenly remembered that I probably had to buy emm…something…tin tomato… so I jumped off the keke after begging him to stop, saying I forgot something. Standing by the road, I felt like I had an oxygen mask on. The smoke from the rickety trailer that staggered by me smelled so pleasant at that moment.

I work in an organization where my colleagues can tell if you wear a cheap and stifling cologne or an expensive and warm, yet cool one. Knowing this, I have to either do a concoction of colognes or I just wear one of high quality. The struggle is that these good ones are not so easy to come by so laying a hand on them activates a predator instinct. With my backstory established, let me take you to some weeks ago.

I got into a taxi on my way to work and I sat alone behind. Knowing that the normal capacity of passengers in a taxi in this part of the world is 5 – three behind and two in front (this does not include the driver), I was prepared to sit by the window. I hate the middle position so much. I avoid sitting in front alone because the driver may just pick up that one last passenger that will give me that awkward position between him and the driver. As a sharp guy, I hurriedly sat by the door closer to the road knowing full well that passengers are meant to come in through the other door. I saw two men who acted like they were about getting on but they both withdrew and I heaved a sigh of relief because one looked like he just had a swim in sweat. He was deeply marinated in it. He obviously pulled off his baptism look. Next thing I knew, the men changed their minds and hopped in but one through each back door because the driver had wheeled forward a bit. That morning, I had worn my father’s cologne which I had struggled over the past weeks to lay my hands on and I was just about experiencing a very regretful incident. Now, I was seated between two middle-aged men – one breathing loud and hard and the other, soaked in sweat and adorned with a very thick layer of body odor. Obviously, he forgot, as I presume he always has throughout his 30s, his daily dosage of what my friend calls “Armpit-cillin”. Look up the word “unfortunate” and see that it doesn’t even begin to define this experience. Like sitting close to me wasn’t enough, he placed his left arm on the headrests of the back seat. Turning to the right would place me in a state of utter disorientation and mystification because then, my face would be buried in his armpit. I was choking, my eyes got teary, I developed a sudden sharp headache, I could hear my lungs grumbling in torture. I got to work that day smelling like a decayed skunk abandoned in the care of maltreated morgue attendants. I didn't bother explaining anything, I just focused on my work while "forming vex" so that no one would ask me anything.

Yesterday, I had to talk to one of our big business clients. It was a semi-formal meeting that I prayed, halfway through the meeting, would be brief. Yes, he looked presentable, well packaged and polished. Sadly, the polish did not reach his mouth. I think one of his organs had gone bad because the smell seemed like it was cooked from the stomach. Thanks to Tony Woods for helping me out with this line to express the intensity of this aerial uproar. I just stood there and nodded and so he would wrap it up. My attention was completely gone because I didn’t want to breathe in when he exhaled – this became my primary focus. I could hear the Mission Impossible theme song in the background as I was slowly achieving that feat, and then he talked for so long that I couldn’t hold my breath any longer and I dragged in every wayward smell that oozed out of its residence. I couldn’t stand straight; I had to bend down and rest on my knees.

Have you ever inhaled an odor so bad that it gave you diarrhea?

Life is beautiful, life is enjoyable up until those moments that this great pollution embraces us in a tight hug. If I was an interrogator, I wouldn’t brush or have a bath for 2 weeks before interrogating the suspect. I would also jog to the office that morning just to unleash all the sweat and trigger every smell. World people, please have mercy on some of us. I’m just glad I’ve not developed asthma or lung cancer all these years.

Ladies, please, your hygiene is more important than your high jeans. Cool and hip guys, please, your hygiene is more important than your fly genes. Do the world a favor by letting us stick to one struggle per day. We don’t need the smell because we’re never ready for it.