To Michael Jackson - Naija Style

I love making new friends!! And, on one of my recent trips to New York, I was able to do just that. I met a brilliant Nigerian writer Osahon Akpata, and was so impressed by his work that I made him send me one of his short stories to post on here. This is a great piece that honors the memory of Michael Jackson quite beautifully. Lots of nicely placed Nigerian references. Enjoy!

ps...He's currently working on a coming of age novel about a young boy, attending a Nigerian boarding school. From the bit that he read to me, its gonna be a good one.


BY Osahon Akpata

It was Sunday after church and Tunde was excited. His parents had finally, after much begging and pleading, agreed to take him to his friend Tijani’s party once the service was over. He had made the point that Tijani’s home was only a five minute drive from Our Savior’s Anglican Church. His friend was from a Muslim home and was doing the unusual thing of hosting a birthday bash on a Sunday. Tunde’s mother had first objected.

“We can’t go straight from church to a Muslim house for a party,” she whispered to her husband. “How will that look? What if the meat has been prayed on by an Imam? Is that the right thing for us to do if we eat it?”

“Calm down dear,” his father said gently, “it is important for our son to be religiously tolerant. We can just stop by for a little while.”

Tunde had overheard the whole conversation and could not be bothered about the theological argument. All he cared about was that Tijani always had the latest Michael Jackson music and dance steps at his party. He even had a red leather jacket with zippers all over it, very much like the one the star wore for the Thriller video.

Tunde was crazy about Michael Jackson music too. All young boys in Lagos in the 80s were. Some made his music their own, bastardizing the lyrics to “Come on, je ka fo so ke, don’t stop till you get enough!” or “I’m bad, I’m bad, so mo, I’m bad!”
Thirty minutes later, his stomach gorged with jollof rice, goat meat and coke, and reverberating from the loud speakers thumping out juju music, Tunde got his wish. Tijani’s older brother changed the cassette to a Michael Jackson mix tape and all the boys gathered around in a corner, ecstatic to hear their idol’s voice.
“You know Michael Jackson is Nigerian,” one of the boys said. “His real name is Mukaila Jimoh.” Tunde and the rest of the others nodded in agreement. It was the thing to do, claim anyone who was successful had to be from their country. No wonder Nigerians are said to be the happiest people on the planet.