BEANS NA YOUR MATE?

So there I was, sitting in a packed Lagos danfo, minding my business, when my stomach did gbo gbo gbo gbo gbo. I knew that sound. It was the sound of impending doom.

Now, before I continue, let me tell you something. Nigerian beans is not your friend. The previous night, I had eaten a mountain of beans and dodo, washed it down with cold Fanta, and even had the audacity to sleep peacefully. That peace ended in that bus.

The trip was going smoothly. The conductor was shouting his usual "Oshodi! Ikeja! Enter with your change o!" and everything was normal… until I felt it. That deep, unsettling pressure in my belly. The type that warns you, "If you don’t release me now, I’ll disgrace you publicly."

I tried to squeeze my butt cheeks together. I prayed. I even tried breathing exercises. But my stomach was not having it. And then, my body betrayed me.

Prrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!!!!

It was not just loud. It was mic check one-two, one-two loud. It had bass, tremble, and echo. It was like a trumpet fro.