Lockdown Blues-1

I'm perched on a sofa and looking at the TV, completely naked, except for a pair of boxers because it is hot. These days I only look at the TV. I used to watch before the lockup...sorry lockdown. TV is all crap these days. Please don't get me wrong. The TV is not working because of any stellar performance by NEPA. It's my inverter doing overtime. A lockdown without electricity is suicidal.

My favorite sports channels are showing very old events; many I had seen before. Who wants stale sports? The EPL players in oversize jerseys I'm seeing on the screen are now today's coaches and managers. Look at Man U's Ole Gunnar Solskjær (Jesus! How did I get that spelling right?) But for the name on his jersy I can hardly recognize him. Never knew he was even a player. Thanks to Covid.

I press the remote and see WWW's Undertaker in a wrestling match. So there was a time in his career he didn't look like a dreaded undertaker? Gosh! He is even being thrown around like a piece of junk. Thank God he still won. My psyche just can't reconcile him with losing a match.

Tired of stale sports, I tune back to the dreadful news channels. I had tuned away from them forty minutes before because their broadcasts were countering my Covid prayers. They lack faith, these journalists! I begin with my favorite CNN and immediately run into Trump fuming with journalists. I'm regaled with tweets from him in which he's spoiling for a fight with an unwilling New York Governor. He quarrels, fights, and sacks at will. He has a grouse and wants a fight with everyone except Covid. He thinks Covid is a little clown who will soon fizzle out without a blow from him. How wrong can he be?

Tired of Trump's tantrums, I try the local channels. They are competing so hard to copy foreign reporting styles, and that galls me. How can you ever beat someone you ape so constantly! Just when I think they can't do worse, Channel Television starts a replay of Buhari's latest broadcast to the nation. For Christ's sake, who sent them? I cock my ears very hard and try to catch his drift. I can't pick a thing. When will his accent and pitch catch the attention of the Nobel Prize Committee, I wonder. That guy is overdue for some award.

I try TVC News to escape Buhari's communication assault. They go on and on about being voted the best TV news station of the year. I realise how intoxicating success can be and decide to just leave them alone.

So what channel next? I'm getting bored by my TV. Yes, I know what to do. I abandon the TV and head for our staircase. I change into another boxer and climb up and down eighty times. Come and see sweat! I'm like a human tap. I reward myself with a refreshing shower and an oversize helping of pounded yam and okro soup...imagine the indulgence! Just for losing a few calories.

Man likes to over-reward himself. Which is why, all of a sudden, our less than competent governors have become heroes of the war against Covid. Poor Covid; he can't really talk back to these talkatives. Unlike the governors, his actions speak louder than words. He stacks more victories on his conquests as the days go by. Hapless leaders are breathless trying to wrestle him down.

Even spiritual leaders are getting embarrassingly ruffled by relentless Covid. He's not giving their prophecies a passing chance.

Exasperated by all this, I watched a Nigerian youth somewhere in the North wash his hands into a bowl and drink the water, daring Covid to do his worst. But Covid has no time for men of little consequence. These ones have had their fair share of suffering. They're the living dead. Covid is more interested in the high and mighty. He wants to make an all-time statement: no one, however well or highly placed, is above suffering...sorry, justice.

Well, how do you end a long day of predominant idleness? I throw myself on the bed because NEPA (l have no time calling them any other fancy name!) is performing a rare feat: they bring the light and my room AC is humming the room into a comfortable coolness. These days I leave my AC permanently on, so it can be the first to catch any straying electricity. I grab my phone and luxuriate on the bed. What with the sweating since morning! I try the phone for the usual medley of fake and real news from the social media, but the network is turning and turning like a huge bicycle wheel. I decide to be patient, but what reward do I get? "Unable to complete the download," the phone tells me. Everyone is online and Nigeria's 1G can't cope. Forget about 4G. It doesn't live here!

NEPA's act didn't last--their installations forbid electricity in them! I wake soon--mainly because I'm sweating--to find myself on top of my phone. Thank God! From what I read about 5G, radiation from 1G is relatively harmless. My body organs should be pretty much intact, I guess. I go to open the windows and room door. Good gracious me! God is sending in a gentle breeze. Why did I bother to shut the windows? To hell with NEPA!

(Listen, lockdown is reading time. If you're interested you can get some of my books and read my other articles; take this link: https://www.chrisekpekurede.com)