It was a Thursday evening when I was in my second year in the university, at least not a fresher then but that fateful moment, memories would tell the story for years unknown. A prayer meeting was to be held that evening with other church workers in which I must not boycott. Even if there was an impromptu call for lecture at that time, then I would have to forfeit the lecture for the prayer meeting because I have been widely known and nicknamed “Ìsánsá” (inconsistent attendee). And to make it difficult, the pastor called that morning, “Hello,good morning Brother Femi, hope you are good…(the pastor was less concerned about my response and continued)…be reminded of the workers’ prayer meeting this evening; do have a great day ahead.” hanging up immediately.

I realized lateness for a class test that morning was beckoning, so I rushed out of my lodge reminding myself the pastor’s remainder as I ran towards the park. Four o’clock in the evening was an hour to the anticipated prayer meeting yet, I was sweating profusely in a fierce struggle with Linguistic Statistical Analysis, whose significance to my course is yet to be known till date but curriculum is always above the learner’s wants, so that was the fate I couldn’t escape.

On arrival at my lodge, it was twenty-five minutes to the meeting time,then, my profuse perspiration refused to cease, so I fled to have the shower. Within seven minutes, I was on go to the church which was fifteen minutes walk from my hostel. I did not want to be late even for a minute, so I began to jog until a lady from Mass communication department, which I met at one literary gathering tagged ‘Poetry Feast’ halted me by her call from behind, “Oluwafemi” walking closer, she continued, “Hope no problem, why are you running?” “I was jogging, good evening” (I responded) “To where?” (she of course asked) “We have a prayer meeting in the church”, I answered, feeling uneasy seeing my watch being five minutes to the meeting kick-off and with the steadiness of our walk, but she did not seem to understand my non-verbal cues.


“I really love to be a poet like you especially with your performance” Soldier her, Me goes, “It was awesome but wait, what was event behind the poem?”. I was shocked with her latter question because it was one I had been avoiding from colleagues in my department. “Don’t tell me you’re reporting for the school print ooo, because I am avoiding this public peep into this personal palaver. I somewhat regret presenting it ‘cos of questions from here and there .” I explained being lost in the chat ” No,no! Femi,I’m just asking..ehn,please tell me.”, she pleaded holding my arm in such adoring manner and before I could say Jack Robinson, I woke in a clinic ward. I was troubled, what could have happened? what had occurred, my head being bandaged? “Oh,you are awake…” someone I assumed to be a doctor announced. With him was Peter, my classmate living around the church. (He coincidentally saw me when I slumped as he later told me) ” Please,tell me what is happening, Peter “, I said, still puzzled. “We heard from the lady that her boyfriend was the attacker who hit you with a log out of jealousy, as the guy had a tiff with the lady when she posted the video of your performance with the caption, Love this guy! If soldier took her then take me,Femi (with love emoji)…Poets are adorable!!!  And that was enough for the guy to get it wrong with you when he saw you with her intertwined arms. Anyways, the guy has been apprehended by the police and the lady is in the reception weeping flood” “Ah! Mogbé”  Then at that moment, my phone rang and lo! It was my pastor’s call “Hello, Sir…” ” Hello oo, Mister Ìsáñsá”, without any further word, he hung up, then I fainted.

I guess I am still but just Mister Ìsáñsá after all.

©Josh’ Oloyede Oluwafemi.

6 replies
  1. Irewolemi
    Irewolemi says:

    this should be a serious something, but it’s somewhat funny.
    Mr. Isansa! thank God for the explanation of the name’s origin. would’ve read with the thought that it’s one Benin language or something.
    don’t judge me ooo 🙈

    • Joshua Oloyede
      Joshua Oloyede says:

      It is a Yorúbà language and I am not a judge but a poet (smiles) so,always feel free to express yourself here.

      Plus it is a serious something but life is simple to take it high wire… just smile on.

    • Joshua Oloyede
      Joshua Oloyede says:

      Yeah! Poets are prophets destined for persecution! Christopher Okigbo,if here would had said more…
      But rain or shine,we smile on..
      nice you read the ‘tory.


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