Sirkastiq‘s Twitter profile tells us nothing about him except that his account will cease to exist by December 31st. Oh, the background has a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. That should make us kindred. My favourite whiskey in the whole world! But this blog post is not about whiskey. Sikastiq has a very hilarious true life story of how he went to swap his old Nokia 3650 for a Sony Ericsson P990 way back in 2008. I have put it all together here for your reading (and laughing) pleasure. – Mister Mo
The year was 2008, I think. The month was December and the day was the 29th. I had been using a Nokia 3650. I think. One of those first camera phones and it was clear that The Lord wanted me to upgrade. A new year beckoned and I wanted to enter it with one of those phones that used stylus and were y’know big. So, ladies and gentlemen, I proceeded to proceed to Computer Village to make my dream a reality. I had with me my old phone and about N10, 000. The plan of course was to do a swap, add some cash and get the precious p990. Gosh, I was so excited.
That’s how I got there with my own two legs and saw those guys that sell phones on the street. Asked one if he had the phone o, he said yes. Can’t remember his name sha, but he sha showed me the P990. I played with it, even made a demo call and all to be sure it worked. Baba took me off the street saying, “We can’t do business here o, before these agberos will ask you to settle them”. So, he took me to a shed. All this while, he wrapped the P990 in a white handkerchief saying he didn’t want it to scratch and that’s how he keeps his phones. Me that I wasn’t even paying attention. I was just excited ‘cos my level was about to change. Nigga just give me phone, abeg.
So, we’re chilling in this shed, negotiating. He says I’m going to have to give up my phone and cash. I’m like, “How much?”
He says like N15, 000. I’m like, “Just look at this scam. I’ll give you N10, 000 last.” He mutters some shot and agrees. He takes my phone to check it. He then tells me he’s going to stop a bike for me so that no agberos will disturb me immediately we’re done. I’m like Okak. He takes the N10, 000, counts it and then gets a bike for me. He tells me not to stop o because these agberos. So he hands me the handkerchief.
Men and brethren, I got on this bike so excited and told the bike man, “Go go go, don’t stop!!!”
The bike man took me to Allen avenue before I came down. I held on to this handkerchief like my life depended on it. Fam, I was a big boy now. They were going to respect me now. I had officially arrived. Do they know those of us that have P990s? Shiiii.
So I said, let me check my phone jare. I unwrapped the hanky. Children of God, I unwrapped the hanky – and looking at me in all it’s glory was a bright white bar of B29 soap. I looked at the soap, the soap looked at me…I looked at the soap. I poked the soap. Maybe this was a case for the phone. I turned the soap over. No buttons, No screen. I was weak, guys. I was weak. I stood there for some minutes staring at this soap.
Look. I took the quickest bike back to Computer Village. Of course, it was instinct. I didn’t see the seller. I still had the bloody soap. One idiot there now asked me, “Broda, why you dey para? Dem no give you the cream wey dey follow the soap?”
Ladies and gentlemen, I had sold my phone and paid extra N10, 000 for B29 soap (with no accompanying cream). That’s most likely the most expensive B29 soap in the history of Nigeria.
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