Yes, I did it!! I cannot take it anymore….the shame. The guilt. The nightmares!!! Oh, for the love of God, forgive me, I did it. I cannot bear this burden in my heart anymore. I must confess.<\/p>\n
Several years ago (way before I migrated to US of A), I spent Christmas in my maternal grandmother’s house in the village. I loved having several trees of sweet oranges @ my disposal. I loved being able to eat okpa (that thing like moi moi they make in a leaf) any time I wanted. I loved being able to eat that sweet fruit…still don’t know its name, but the back is green and inside is white with seeds. So milky & sweet! I loved all the fruits @ my disposal in fact.<\/p>\n
But I hated some things too. I hated the heat. I had to take showers several times a day. I hated the dust. I hated my grandmother’s huge turkey that used to chase me around the compound. It always stood outside the door whenever I went to take a shower, so I always had to scream 4 help. Someone always had to come and chase the darn thing away. I think it had a crush on my; I don’t know if I should be flattered, amused, worried, or scared. Right now, I’m all of the above. I hated the fact that the bathroom and the toilet were outside the house. I hated the way people always felt the need to touch me or pull my cheeks. I hate being touched by strangers.<\/p>\n
Most of all, I hated the toilet. It was a pit toilet! I have a big enough problem being in other people’s bathroom, so that pit toilet was torture for me. I never saw poop on the floor, but I always imagined it to be there. The sounds of buzzing flies never made it easier for me either. The idea of exposing my butt hole to a pit full of other people’s poop was just not appealing to me. What if a fly that had touched someone else’s poop came and perched on my butt? Or worse, my face? Eww!! I hated the dinginess of that toilet. I just couldn’t stand it. So I devised a plan. Oh, yes, indeed, I did.<\/p>\n
You know those ‘santana bags?’ Those clear bags they use to bag things in Naija (like peanuts)? Yeah, well, grandma had loadz of them. So guess what I did. I only pooped when I was ready to take a shower. And how did I do it, you ask? In the bag of course! I did it in the bathroom where there were no flies buzzing around. So whatever happened to the bagfuls of poop? Oh, well, I kinda sorta flung them over fence….. into my grandma’s farm!!<\/p>\n
Before you judge me, I did not know that was part of my grandma’s farm! I thought it belonged to someone else. Yes, how very selfish of me, I know. And I was only about maybe 13 or 14 then (not that I wouldn’t do it again if the chance presented itself…). So all through the time I was in the village, I flung all my poop across the fence. It was a perfect plan. No1 ever knew what I did. Every time I did it, a mischievous smile crept upon my face, a smile that was often confused as innocense. Ah, if only they knew!<\/p>\n
But several years later, my grandma migrated to the States (2002, to be precise), and one day, she and my mother somehow talked about the farm. Hehehehehehe. Well, let’s just say my grandma told my mother about how she had found bags of poop in her farm. Walahi, it took all the strength I had to not burst out laughing. What made it funnier was that I was my mother’s first suspect. I dunno why. Did she really think of me as someone who was that mischievous? My feelings were hurt…NOT!<\/em><\/p>\n So, of course, I kept a straight face and denied it squarely. I went as far as saying how nasty it was for someone to do such a terrible, terrible thing! Seriously, how could some1 in their right mind poop in a bag and then fling it into someone’s farm? People can be so cruel! Yeah, whatever.<\/p>\n So, there goes my confession. I am free. Let my grandma not say I never admitted guilt.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"