Ladies & Gentlemen of Nigeria,

Right now, some of you are upbeat about the prospects of a merry weekend ahead. It's a soothing feeling, good enough to promote individual wellbeing and national development. But do you know that you could be putting yourself in harm's way by not following basic instructions? Well, I thought so too because as Nigerians, we only think about how enjoyment will finish us but not how to avoid agents of 'un-enjoyment'. Do you have any owambe or jindadi lined up for the weekend in any part of the country? The following are quick and easy survival methods required for maximum satisfaction:


You see, I actually learnt this trick from my mother. It doesn't matter if she's attending a party hosted by the Sultan of Brunei or the King of Monaco, she makes sure she demolishes a helpless bowl of swallow - usually Eba - and whatever unlucky piece(s) of meat happens to get caught by her cooking spoon. Call it trust issues but that way, she's sure to avoid total disappointment in the event of "meat has finished" stories and endless assurances of "they will soon bring the food ma/sir, just wait".

As a retired owambe expert, I can authoratively tell you that this trick has helped me become who I am today. Yes! Come and fight me! You know those people who invite you to parties where they serve food as though you're at an IDP camp? Fear them. The only option they give you is prodigal jollof rice with microscopic chunks of meat that sometimes take the shape of chin chin. You want to ignore the food but dey dinor born you well, otherwise, hunger will show you pepper - the pepper different from the one that didn't make a dominant appearance in the food you're about to refuse in the first place. Woe betide you if you're given the option of swallow, in which case, Amala usually tops the list. You say to yourself, at least they have something solid. You lie! That Amala and sun-dried vegetable eventually clog your esophagus and shame will not allow you call for immediate help.

Your eyes suddenly turn red, even redder when you realize that the only drinks you have on your table are bottles of tepid water, plastic Coke if you're fortunate, and a desolate bottle of fruit wine that's equally got the attention of ten other guests seated at table with you. Your chances at the wine are unbearably slim. In fact, it'll be considered an unprecedented act of generosity if you got a spoonful of the wine because one of your seat partners is capable of emptying the whole content in his longer-than-life throat and larger-than-life belly, especially the one whose attire has nothing to do with the colors of the event. They ask why your eyes are red and you tell them it's pepper - not jollof but hunger pepper. Meanwhile, you're dying inside. You finally make your way out of the hall to buy yourself a proper drink from the local vendors. You wish you could eat proper food but there's no buka or eatery around, unless you intend to journey several miles back in the direction you originally came. You burst it. You're here to celebrate with your friend after all, you say, the food doesn't matter. You lie again! Ana emenu!

You go back inside the hall to spend a couple more minutes before bidding your friend goodbye but on getting to your table, you discover they've been served small chops, Chinese, sushi, fruit salad, ofada, prawn crackers, Trophy, Orijin, Heineken and André. You know this because you can see the empty plates and in fact, everybody now looks fatter than you left them about 20 minutes earlier. You leave angrily and even pause on your way home to cry. You suddenly realize that this world is not your home and you're just a passer-by. However, you could obey this golden rule and know peace.

2. After following the first advice, TAKE FLAGYL/METRONIDAZOLE.

You see, there are some people who are out to kill you with enjoyment by every means possible. While some may warn you to prepare for the banquet that awaits you, others would simply set a trap by hurting you with excess food. Fear them too. They might wish you well by doing this but disaster could be in the offing too.

You've downed your swallow or light food at home before setting out for the party. You're ushered by beautiful ladies to an assigned location and can already see prawn crackers and a variety of candy scattered across different angles of the wide table like commercial sex workers. You say to yourself, "these people have welcomed me well." Two milliseconds later, they supply your table with assorted drinks - ice cold Trophy, Snapp, Smirnoff, Orijin, alomo bitters. There's no water in sight but you fail to notice this. Your legs begin to shake not because you've consumed the drinks but because you already know they'll consume you. You and your friends begin the operation anyway. Then without asking, different plates of food - orgasmic jollof, scandalous pounded yam or tuwo shinkafa, flirtatious porridge mixed with dodo and beans, assault you Chinese makes an appearance too. You've all taken a plate each but tell them to drop the remaining at the center of the table so that the food will not waste. Today na today for this place.

You smear your lipstick with a stubborn piece of meat. You're embarrassed but don't care anyway. Good food must be appreciated after all. An hour later, your table is empty but your belly isn't. In fact, you start hearing strange sounds, not from the loudspeakers but from your internal organs. You swear something just made its way down your buttocks. Then it dawns on you that you have an unexpected visitor. By this time, your friends are already dancing and attracting toasters. You know you dare not attempt to dance; otherwise, you'll offload an unexpected baby through anal delivery. You become immobile because any wrong move could trigger an accidental discharge. A fine brother comes to ask you to dance but you tell him you're tired, and then he shakes your hand and heads off in another direction. You cry. You cry not because you're actually tired but because the prevailing circumstances have rendered you incapacitated. To make it worse, your stupid friends are still dancing.

Finally, there's a chance for you to bolt for the nearest mobile toilet. You know it won't be an easy encounter because you're wearing a jumpsuit. But you go. You dump your internal disposables and pay the toilet attendant extra money for having spent longer than was allowed. At this point also, the 'odor' has engulfed you so you dare not make your way back into the hall lest you become a mobile human toilet reeking of profane smell. So, you text your friends letting them know that all was not well and you had to leave the venue. In your text, you write, "sorry love, had to leave. My period came early"

I won't talk too much before they'll say I'm talking. Just follow these two essential tips and enjoy your owambe with peace of mind.