It was
exactly six pm.
Every ardent lotto lover knew what such a time on a weekend meant; winning
lotto numbers! We were all attentively glued to father’s Agege radio set.
He had bought it when returning from somewhere in
Nigeria called Agege many years ago. “Agege
is like my first son. He cost a
fortune!” he would always remind us. It was one of those few possessions of his
which he cherished most.
“The winning
numbers are…” a voice echoed from the inside of the set. “Ninety nine, sixty
five, single three” it
paused. I heaved a deep sigh. My heart began palpitating. The Agege radio set shook gently. “Single
one and forty!” he added. I leapt excitedly and down came tumbling Agege!
“I am a
millionaire. I have won!” I burst out hysterically. My nine brothers
spontaneously lifted me up, amidst chants of my nickname ‘Tikelekele’,
literally meaning the big-headed one. Of course, each of them had to earn a
place in the sharing of my jackpot; the longer they carried me, the more likely
that chance of enjoying it.
“The old man
is in!” one of them shouted. They all took to their heels, forgetting I was
still on their shoulders. Down I came! I fell with a thud, just near where Agege had been dismantled mercilessly;
beyond any form of repairs.
“What
happened to my Agege!?” my father yelled
emotionally. I knew I was in trouble. He had warned us several times, how dear
that set of his was to him and how he was going to beat the stubbornness
out of whoever was going to tamper with any of the knobs.
“He won
lotto!” the youngest of the nine blurted. “Who?” my father asked, confused. The
place was silent. They all looked at each other and simultaneously pointed at
me, who was still finding solace on the floor, near good old Agege. My father walked threateningly
towards me. “Today I’m going to deflate that big head of yours!” he dared.
“What are the factors of six?” barked he.
Still scratching my back, I whined “Single one and forty!”
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