If you are a Naija babe coming to London for some grooving, make sure you stock up on PT, Flagyl, Amoxicillin and other necessary anti-fungal creams. You’re welcome.
So, if while getting your groove on the condom tears or bobo refuses to use one, then you are O-Y-O.
But I am moving too fast.
Many of you ladies will remember this scenario in Naija. Males hold up; your turn will come.
Ladies, remember how your weavon is askew, hardly brushed from the weekend tryst. You don’t care, instead jumping off that okada you hurriedly clambered onto after the taxi he gave you money for moved a safe distance away from his ride an hour ago. In your haste you over-pay the okada driver but hardly notice. After all, you are just too relieved see Mama Eze.
“Mama Eze good morning o!”
“My daughter how your body nau?” Your local chemist emerges from the innards of her dingy shop where she has been sleeping on some deconstructed cartons on the floor.
“Abeg abeg I need Peppersoup Tinz 2* sharp sharp! Time go soon pass.” You glance left and right, just to be sure the neighbourhood gossip or the odd family friend returning from a night vigil can’t see you.
“Not even PT1! Oya take. Na N200.” Mama Eze even peels off the blisters and opens a bottle of coke because she knows you miraculously don’t know how to swallow medication with water. Even though you live in a slum.
“Abeg keep the change you too much!” You breathe a sigh of relief and go on your merry way. Until next time.
And that, my people is how you get the morning-after pill in Nigeria. With a smile, and you even used a code with your primary healthcare provider aka Mama-Eze-who-has-a-nursing-degree-but-sells-drugs-and-does-everything-from-stitch-wounds-to-circumcisions.
In Jand? If you ever needed the morning-after pill as a grown woman you would need to either buy it at exorbitant rates, or if you are somewhere between 16-25 years and infected with the cheapness of your home country Nigeria, you will have to sit in the Sexual Health clinic or any other facility you are foolish enough to visit until they call you up….then they ask you about your sexual history, hold your hand and count your periods with you…tick the boxes on their forms and counsel you. All this while, the sperm cells that brought you there in the first place are having a tour of your uterus and on their way to ending your hustle by showing the whole world that when you came to Jand you forgot to “always remember the daughter of whom you are.”
First of all, every single bit of medication; whether it is an ointment or seven packets of antibiotics is a little over £8; or just around N2, 500. To put it in perspective, there is a reason why Nigerian babes coming to get their freak on in Jand stock up on PT, or why the Flagyl, amoxicillin and anti-fungal creams make the shopping list alongside the Dry fish and smoked Pomo.
Because depending on whatever ails them on any given day, you can always find Nigerians in Jand on the queue at the chemist cursing under their breath, as though they were forced at gunpoint to move to Jand.
All you can eat swallow
Men in Nigeria reading this: anywhere you are please kneel down and thank God or Amadioha for Cletus and his likes. Yes, the ones with which you or some of your family members have scenarios such as these:
“Cletus Cletus!! Fine boy no pimples!” You are sweating, your stomach growling in tandem with your thumping heart.
“Toyosi how far. Wey my money, guy?” Cletus has had enough of this your ofe mmanu ways but he needs you to transform his crush on Clementina, your neighbour to a relationship so he sighs.
“Cletus no vex, my pickin dey sick. Since last night we no sleep.”
“Toyosi why all dis nau? At least you go pay me half of wetin you dey owe first na? Her body dey hot?”
“Yes, and she get fever blisters. Salary never come, my broda abeg.”
“Oya take this one, make she use am now now after food. Your money now na N4, 800 o.” Cletus brings out his book to amend your debt when he sees you grabbing a bag and stuffing three packets of Indomie and one tetrapak of Five Alive juice into it.
“Cletus Cletus! Abeg add these ones to my bill. We go see tomorrow. You get any message for Clementina?”
“Toyosi abeg go meet your daughter!”
In Jand there is no Cletus, and definitely no credit book. In fact they have the opposite. Here, if you are so pained by parting with N2,500 or £8 every time you need medicine, then you can pay upfront per month. Of course these Oyinbo people know how to argue their point; they say you can therefore get the prescriptions cheaper. Heck, you can even buy a certificate for £104 that entitles you to all the medicine you can eat, sorry swallow in a year. That’s right; when you come to Jand you have two choices. You can decide to prophesy bad health and sickness on your life and go ahead and pay £104 for the all-you-can-eat medication buffet, or you can bite your currency converting immigrant tongue and pay £8 every single time you get a prescription.
The moral of this story? Wherever you are, I want you to go to your local Mama Eze and Cletus, the unsung heroes who have saved your hide by self-medicating it to health and say a great, big THANK YOU.
Or you can buy me some Amoxicillin and Flagyl and then send it to me; I don’t fancy spending £16 at the Pharmacy tomorrow.
*PT = Postinor
See you next week.