A RAT-RACE AND A PAIR OF NEW BALANCE.

Running shoes is a pair of New Balance. A sleeveless top, and a pair of combat shorts. I'm donned, prepared to take on the stretch of tarmac. Wait, I forgot my Phillip's earpiece - I got that at Isreal's Ben Gurion international airport when I traveled with a group of pilgrims from Anambra state. Twenty dollars, it had cost me. I also bought three books there: 'Twelve years a slave'; 'A game of thrones' - both from the duty free; and 'Letters from the Shoah' from the Holocaust museum in Jerusalem. That was last year. I saved for the books. So, while the over one hundred and eighty pilgrims were climbing over each other's heads to buy cheap, locally-produced, overpriced souvenirs, I bought three books.

I scurry through the pedestrian gate to get the earpiece, slot the piece's male jack into my phone's female jack - you know how this slotting-in thing works, abi?; these dirty minds, all of you.
Enhe! I go straight to music player to make my selection.

Running has become a sort of personal, three-days-in-a-week ritual for me. But it's not private; just about any one can join in. Ever heard that saying that when you do good things, don't stop because you never know who you're inspiring? Well, there's this one morning I had set out on my run. I had gone sixteen minutes way into the road when I turned, by some sort of instinct, to find a lad behind me, jogging, following closely. Wow! Just wow. At that point, even if my legs had started becoming weary, I found renewed strength.

So, like I said, this run-jog stuff is just a personal thing. Healthy living as some may call it. I select Eminem's 'Till I collapse' from the list of tracks on my phone's music player. He's going to be my companion through the session. My ear drums are disturbed by the beats that blare through the plug-ins, but they pound along, eventually.
Beautiful morning, sun is up but covered by clouds, cool breeze sweeps the morning mist, smears my face with Dew. It had just been raining. I smell the air(dense with the scent of wet sand), the greenness of the trees, the grass, no flowers in sight.

I tear through the breeze, leaving invisible imprints on the tar - forming bad guy; a few paces now before the sweat pellets start to form on my forehead. Trickles.

I whiz past tanker trucks parked with one side of the wheels on the pavement, waiting. They've come to collect petroleum; they've been doing so for months now. The NNPC depot is close by. I wave good morning to some mouth-washing, prayer-saying drivers, along with their ever clueless-looking conductors. I don't know if they respond, I'm running, and with my ears plugged, I can't hear a thing but the music.

Cars drive by carrying passengers with glares that interpret: what in the blue f&*k does he think he's doing?
I'm f@$king running, b*^ch! My mind's voice yells back. Shey dem talk say na so craze dey start.
These people look at me like I'm an alien, strange. I know why, it's 8:34 am. I had just dropped my boys off at school. I'm not part of the so-called working class, yet, so I can afford to do this, my time.

Though, I usually do this by 6 am, early, away from peering inquisitive gazes, today I couldn't. I was unable to wake that early enough. The night before, I had set out to battle - make una no laff o.
I dug my trench, laid in wait with a big stick in hand. A bush rat had found its way into the house two nights ago. While I was asleep it nibbled on a toe on my left leg and cut my skin open. I screamed myself to an annoying wake. Damn! I rushed out to the bathroom, washed of the skin where it had bitten, thoughts of ebola patients in Liberia and Guinea flashed across my mind. Hmm! No way, not even curable Lassa. I rebuke.
I returned to room. No light as usual. Thank goodness for phones with touch/flash light. I see the carnivorous rodent scamper out of the window, sneaky bastard. So, I waited it out last night. No, I didn't succeed in killing it, but like I predicted, it returned. Swift, it jumped out the window as soon as my phone light came on. God surely did not create these things.

So, not enough sleep, but I had to jog this morning. Jogged thirty minutes, now fast walking. I go by an open bar and there are young men seated there, beer bottles -some half filled, some fresh from the chillers - scattered on the table in front of them. Seriously? This early? Na wa o. This is why the government eats our cake while we drink toxic bullshit, swallowing (hook, line and sinker) all their 'yeyerity'.
Better to find your self running by 8:34 am than drinking, I thought to myself. I suddenly feel a pain around my toes. A blister I suppose. I don't wear these shoes with socks; my size is UK 13.5 or 14[not easy to find], these are 13. So, to free up space, I leave out the socks. There's a problem, however, with this: the shoes have started to smell from a build of germs and soaking sweat. You don't want to come close when I take them off. Pungent. Your skin will crawl.

One day, about two weeks ago, I ran my way into a hotel's gym. It had rained that day and my shoes had trapped some of the rain water, making it ooze pungence even more. A lady was by the corner, doing sit ups on a bench. I took the bench close to her and immediately noticed she abandoned her exercise and spaced away from me. Weytin consign me. Na work out I come for, no be to look face. I finished up, strode out - Weda I smell or I no smell, na exercise I come do.
But I dey go find new pair to buy, later; bigger size, and with a pair of socks. My feet deserve their comfort, and fresher air, biko.

So, I'm back home, all bathed. Had my glasses of water to replenish. But I'm going to the market today. I must buy rat poison o.