BEER PARLOR CONVERSATIONS.

 My favorite thing about coming to Mama Lucky beer parlor 

Isn't because of the alcohol, or the goat meat. It's because of these conversations, no matter how late, I won't go home till we are done solving someone's real-life problems. The mosquitoes are part of the audience. 

It was in Mama Lucky’s parlor they told me to leave Isaac, they said if Isaac really loves me, he will break his back for me. They told me to pack my emotions and take it somewhere he isn’t worth it. Did I obey them? No, but at least now I know. 

Sometimes I get angry when my voice isn’t heard when I’m making a point and they think it’s one bottle of origin that is talking, I might be staggering but then? I have my senses, and my senses are active no matter what I can still give advice. 

The other day, I took extra shots, I was angry that life isn’t going well with me, can you imagine? I didn’t even ask to be in this world, imagine I have to pay my bills and still be happy, I need to break my back to make ends meet, I was angry that no matter what I do, I always make my way to poverty before the end of the month. Capitalism they say? I call it bullshit. 

Just like me, there are regulars in this bar. They are men, a lot of them have made advances to me thinking I’m a regular prostitute that loves to drink, I laugh when they realize I have a 9-5, and I love the look in their eyes when they realize I’m smart and I just love to drink. Damn the patriarchy!! A female shouldn’t drive to a beer parlor to drink, but a man should? 

It is in this bar I hear about the latest happenings, about Tinubu’s drug dealing and money laundering, someone has even confessed that he has worked for him during the late ’90s, I was also told that he was sending our girls to different countries for prostitution, the man who told me this confided in me, he whispered in my ears saying “ tinubu doesn’t have manhood, he has sold it to some gods in-order to get money “ I believe him. I don’t trust Nigerian Politicians 

    

Sunday evenings are my best days here, the live band, the ladies in short dresses, the men all looking good, and the fish is much tastier. It was during one of these evenings I lost my faith in Christ,  A Muslim has come to drink and we were laughing at him for betraying his religion, he was telling us about the myth that comes with his, and he told us about paradise, he told us about the many virgins waiting for him; about the alcohol, milk and honey and all the enjoyment promised. I was sad that mine didn’t expressively tell me what to expect, I was sad that I’ll just be with the angels singing hymns, I was so mad. I began to lose my faith. 

This gathering of liked mines is the best experience of my adulthood, I get to have contracts and connections, I get the best advice, and I get to be in a frenzy forgetting all my problems. 

The only faith I have right now is in the hands of my Alcohol.