FRIENDSHIP GOALS

He didn’t look like much. He never did.

His face was etched in a permanent scowl. It always was.

We halted in mid conversation as we watched him make a beeline for the furthest corner of the garden. His pace was deliberate and unhurried like a man that time meant nothing to. The gist around town was that he just left Kirikiri Prison. Debo made a passing joke about him whipping out a pistol and stealing all our car keys and everybody burst out laughing.

He had been to this Sunday evening hangout one time before and we wondered how he had heard about it. Debo, ever the joker was saying something about us not likely to get much food with him eating it all in a hungry rampage. This time he glanced briefly towards us as the laughter rose a notch higher.

I sipped my half-filled bottle of 33 Export Lager beer slowly as I studied the object of our ridicule.

I quickly grabbed another bottle and walked away from my friends.

Don’t ask me why i did what i did, because i wouldn’t be able to say why myself but i was just suddenly drawn to him. He seemed deeply sad and vulnerable like a man that had lost everything; including friendship. It surrounded him like a negative aura. He knew i was coming and stiffened in anticipation, his scowl deepening.

The standard Anti-friendship welcome?

I was still a few paces short of him when the smell hit me. It was a combination of dried sweat and unwashed clothes. I braced myself and continued forward.

He couldn’t ignore me anymore and turned squarely to face me.

He snarled at me as i smiled at him.

I thrust out my hand to him as he studied me with reddened eyes.

“My name’s Jake. Jake Mba. What’s yours?”

We stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity with my outstretched hand still hanging in midair, totally ignored.

Score another point for friendship.

He jerked, twiddling with the edge of his dirty shirt as his eyes narrowed. He suddenly rubbed his palms together convulsively in a bid to present it as clean as possible and then finally shook my hand.

I could hear the hushed murmurings of my friends in the background; probably discussing the state of my mental health.

“Akin is my name.” he offered lamely.

I smiled again, handed him a bottle of 33 Export Lager beer and without thinking grabbed his arm and steered him in the general direction of my friends.

They were too shocked to respond; not even Debo, who always had a joke or two for every situation. They were rooted to the spot, nervously staring everywhere else but at us.

I smiled inwardly as i introduced Akin to the fellas.

“Hi guys, this is my friend. His name is Akin.”

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