EPISODE 3 (Seven Goes Down)

EPISODE 3 (Seven Goes Down)

On the third day, I sat on a sofa in the sitting room to have fun. I relaxed comfortably, awaiting restoration of electricity. I was so eager to watch my Team's (Manchester United) match against Liverpool but there was no diesel to turn on the Generator - we nearly exhausted it when I and my Sisters turned it on last day from morning to the sundown to watch an American season film titled THE SEAL TEAM.

We dared not to try such if Mum was around, she'd went out for a seminar in the morning with her friend and returned late in the night. She didn't go with her Car cos if she did, I would be the Driver.

Of course not, she didn't meet the Generator on, it was after some minutes we turned it off that she arrived. We'd told her there was no diesel in it when she said she wanted to watch the network news last night.

Now, my Sisters were out and Mum was actually sleeping in the room. Dad's departure from home had caused her changes. I've heard her telling Dad on phone that she wanted to go to a Solidarity conference with Alhaja (Mrs Hammed); not because she needed anything from it but, to steal time. Who knows, she would embrace sleep this moment.

 I don't have passion going to Viewing Centre, I always feel the jinx from my team whenever I attempted it. If Policemen didn't arrest Suspects and embroiled some, some fans would fight or even attack the Innocent. And now, I had no hope yet but, I had the faith that the electricity would be restored before the end of the match.

I stood, plodded uncomfortably to the deep freeze to take a 7up Can Drink that Victoria brought for me last day - she was part of the reasons that made the Gen to go so long. I opened it, still cold and wondered how it would still maintain its status for over 16hours after being deserted by current charge. Mum had tell it was better than the former which could not hold for 5 hours - Dad just bought this two weeks ago.

Dad gave the old one to Gbanaje to keep in his lodge at least, to drink cold soft drinks instead of Beers that Musa fondly took which he dared not, four hours before taking Dad on ride.

'Why can't these bastards bring light' I thought with disappointment. I closed the fridge's door and looked at the wall clock; it was 4:45pm and the Premier League match was to start by 5:00pm.

“Oh my God, what a mess!” I voiced out, still cautioning myself not to wake Mum.

“Mum is feeling lonely” I had said to my sisters when she left the dinning room of which Bioye had bluffed to tell her. Who cares!

 I sat on the sofa back and continued sipping the 7up slowly to control my eagerness. The taste seemed to be different, I checked the ingredients perhaps honey was added to it separately but discovered Sugar instead - no wonder!

The time was 4:56, making me to develop a gradual aggression. I landed my leg aground angrily and the lighting indication bulb brightened. I forgot I didn't change the switch back to NEPA; lucky us that Mum didn't notice last night. I went incontrovertibly to the Plasma TV after the change of the switch, and 5:01pm says by my watch.

“Ouch! They would have started” I says silently. I guess the leg landed aground was the itch to the action; if they interrupts it again, I would do the same.

I felt tempered with the sluggish, yet fastest loading of the DSTV Decoder. I held my waist with the remote fighting forward to change the channel to Supersport as soon as possible. Immediately it displayed, the light was interrupted again. I landed my leg again, nothing. I did it severally but, all to no avail. I dropped the remote half-roughly and kicked on the floor with anger again.

“Oh my God!” I reacted bitterly.

 I sat on the centre Table, nearly sitting on the remote but, I let it escape with the proactiveness of my hand. I held it for numberless of minutes waiting for its restoration. My mind even told me to be watching my Charger's light in the socket, the indicator might get burnt before it would be restored. I waited for minutes, placed my back palm at the 7up Drink and it was almost warm. About forty minutes passed, wondering how I sat for that long without feeling any pain.

Then, I remembered that I had some megabytes left on my MTN sim card. I unplugged my phone from the socket and consulted my Browser, I looked at the time again, it was 25 minutes to 7.

“They must be eighty something minutes now” I silently said. I logged on to Supersport website for full commentary. As I looked at the screen, headache followed; it was 0-7.

My boast wasn't valuable again, my eagerness to watch the match became worthless - Gakpo, Nunez, Salah scored brace each with Firmino capping it with the seventh.

My team was Seven goes down, perhaps, seven goals down. As a fan, I wasn't supposed to take 7up drink that day, I should have taken "33" Export so that the match could be a 3-3 draw.

“Man U disappointed me!” I said with anger.

It was a black Sunday for my team, the day Manchester United was burnt by the pool of the wicked Liver, the day Erik Ten Hag eventually 'hang'.

I received a call after the match has finished, it was Tunde, a Chelsea fan. 

I opened the back case of my Phone and removed the battery. At least, the network would not tell him that I disconnected the call, it would just drop itself making him to believe it was the service that was fluctuating.

TO BE CONT'D