The Crazy Nigerian

When my life really started to suck

I had been making choices all my life, and there I was in the waiting lounge at Heathrow Airport about to make yet another one: who should I sit next to? There was an empty seat next to a stressed-out mother of three little demons, but it wasn't tempting enough for me. There was another free seat next to the human Agama lizard who kept nodding in his sleep, but I wasn't in the mood to give anyone shoulder support. I wanted my space. I kept scanning and straining my short-sighted eyes until I eventually had my Eureka moment-there was a free seat next to a young lady who had no kids with her, was wide awake, and was listening to her earphones. Excellent! I thought.

With roughly two hours to kill before boarding my Lagos-bound plane, I rolled my stroller to the vacant seat and got myself ready to wallow in self-pity. I had reached an all-time low: I was broke, I was being weighed down by a huge credit card bill, I was getting hate-mail from ruthless debt recovery agencies, I was at a dead-end bank job in London with few prospects for promotion, and there was no girlfriend to tell me 'everything will be okay'.

The girl sitting next to me suddenly spoke: 'Excuse me . . . did you go to Chrisland school?'

I wondered if my luck was about to change. 'Yeah! Were you in my set?

'No, I was in your sister's set. You're her big brother, right?

'Yeah, that's me.' 'I thought so. But please remind me, what's your name?'

I paused, not because I had been struck with amnesia but because I knew this was about to be one of those awkward moments with which I was all too familiar . . .