Ever since I was a boy, one thing had always been on my mind.
That’s why when they couldn’t find it, the people at the art festival assumed I had stolen it. But am I thief just because you found your picture in my bag? I was framed. At least that was what I thought till someone told me borrowing without permission is also stealing. I was six by then. I mean what did I know?
But ever since that incident, all I wanted to be was an artist whose work was good enough to be stolen. Yes. Just like you. You remember Jewels, don’t you? People say he is an Award winning teacher, you know. However, to me, he was like an unlicensed physiotherapist helping you right after an accident. Why? What do you mean why? All he ended up doing was breaking my leg, breaking my back and then asking me to dance. How is that possible?
Yet I was determined to dance. Not because of him, because of Mama. She had spent a lot of money already on my tuition and I didn’t want to disappoint her. So despite his lack of talent, I decided to impress him with mine. I showed him Azonto on the final day of dance. And guess what happened?
When he couldn’t take it anymore, he yelled. “Will you stop dancing?"
"I thought you said I wasn’t dancing." I said to him, confused.
“That’s because you were dancing.” He replied. “Horribly dancing.” “Where did you learn that?" He said to me.
“From you.” I answered.
“Is that how I dance?"
I did not reply.
“I hope you haven’t told anyone I’m your teacher.” He asked me as if he was a taboo to do so.
"Even this reader knows." I replied, laughing. Do you know? Hehe.
For no reason, this upset him. “As long as you have feet like that, I was never your dance teacher.” He said. “ Do you understand?"
But is something wrong with your feet if you can’t dance to any beat? What if dancing is boring? I mean did anyone chase him for a dance? The answer was no.
I explained to Mama. And a month after, I quit. What a relief that was. However, painting wasn’t also exactly what I had in mind when I begun. Everyone looked confused seeing my work. Everyone including me. Some said it was lame. Others said it was stupid. So which was it? Lame or stupid?
After I realized it was both, I quickly quit. There had to be something I was good at that you and others could steal. But what?
When I visited a broken musician friend of mine, I discovered what it was. Music. Yes Music. Everyone was doing it. Pastors. Police men. Lawyers. Name them. They were all downloading it illegally. …And the reason? …Probably because it was good. What else can advertise the hypocrisy of mankind than our constant denial of something good to the senses and morally unaccepted by society?
So I put my first single in the public, thinking people will pirate it. But they hated it, instead. They even threatened to kidnap me if I didn’t stop posting my songs. I know. Terrible. Right?
When I told Kwame about this crisis all he said was it was nothing but love in disguise. I didn’t argue with him because he was my manager. But when his prediction about my second song turned out to be false, I went quickly to his house for an explanation. There was no one home. However around twelve that night someone put the lights back on.
“What is wrong with you?” He said as soon as he saw me.
“This is what’s wrong!” I explained, carrying a chair in my hand and crushing it down to pieces.
"Stop this madness." He said, looking more upset than me." This is my room. Not a football park."
"This is all your fault." I said, pointing a finger at him. He wasn’t doing his job as a manager.
"My fault?” He said. “I never told you to date Dorcas in the first place." Out of the blue, he added.
Who was he talking about? I was talking about my fans. Not my girlfriend. My fans.
"Well you should have said something?" He said, now understanding me. “What about them?”
“Your prediction,” I said to him. “It was all wrong. Not even one person liked the lyrics of the song."
"I told you it was terrible." He said, laughing as if it was my idea to upload my lyrics in the first place. When he saw me watching the glass trophy he won when he was young, he faked some seriousness. Probably because he knew what I was capable of doing. “I was joking.” He said.
“If people hate the lyrics, what do you think they will do to the song?” I said to him.
“I don’t know.” He replied, arranging the other tables and chairs unconcerned. “Don’t you think you are overthinking this?” He said. “ I mean what is the worse that anyone can say?”
"Why don’t you dance to the beat in your bathroom?” I yelled.
“Are you insulting me?” He said, stopping everything he was doing at once.
“Of course not.” I politely replied. “It was someone’s comment.”
No one will send such a comment.
So I gave him my phone. It was after some minutes that he began laughing out loud.
“And what is so funny?” I asked.
” Oh nothing.” He said, still laughing. “I just didn’t know how creative they were till now.”
"Do you know the time?" I asked. As soon as his eyes locked on his watch, he jumped into the bathroom and minutes after; we were on our way to the studio.
“Have you read this?” He suddenly asked, with his head bowed reading a text on his phone.
“Read what?” I asked.
“Someone just posted this one." He said, still lost in reading.
Probably another stupid comment, I thought.
“Have you seen it?" He said.
"Well isn’t it?". I replied.
"Maybe you should read it yourself." He said, now showing me his phone.
And it was another stupid comment just like I thought. In fact, two stupid ones. One from a man who promised never to pirate my song. And another from a man who begged me to pirate my own song.
“Did you see the number of likes?" Kwame said to him, ignoring my feelings even though he knew how me better than myself.
“How is that going to help me?" I yelled.
"How about we take the lyrics and make something out of it?" He suggested.
Something like what? A song only he would buy?
"Just read me the lyrics." He said. And so I did. It goes something like this.
"She is always chasing your car but you are not the one she loves. She is always laughing at your jokes but you are not the one she loves. She is a labo. You better focus on getting a green card. She is labo. She is just pretending you are the one she loves."
Kwame was giggling right after that.
"It’s not you I’m laughing at.” He claimed. “Just put it in the background!" I didn’t know what he was talking about. “Put my laughter in the background.” He clarified.” If this doesn’t work, don’t call Mr. Ebu." You do you Mr.Ebu, don’t you? He is funny as hell. But most importantly, he is not someone to be taken serious. So I guess that was what he meant.
Convinced, I uploaded the song just like he said. But a week passed without any comment. Another week passed without any comment. After a month of no comments, I typed ‘what an amazing song’ anonymously just to see what would happen.
What a big mistake that was! Comments rushed after mine as if I was a thief caught by the mob. Oh ho!
And the funny thing is when I told Kwame, all he said was it was nothing but love in disguise. Again? No way. That was why I was at the Mall a month after. I was waiting for the man I would employ to replace him. Could you believe the man I plan on hiring turned out to be man I thought I was firing? Yes. The name of person who applied was Felix Faith but upon arrival, I realized I had made a mistake. That was Kwame’s English name.
"Since when did you become Felix?" I asked Kwame, unable to hide the rage mounting within.
“Since you forgot I was born on Saturday.” He said, also upset.
“Why didn’t you tell me you planned on firing me?” He added.
“Why didn’t you also tell me you plan on quitting?” I had to ask.
He was speechless. Probably swallowed by guilt.
“So what do you have in mind?” I said to him, squashing the tension that had hindered any of us from speaking. All he said was Daisy. I thought she was one of those hookers of his.
“No.” He said, annoyed beyond anything I could be or have been. “Daisy isn’t just a good friend of mine, “ He continued. “She knows how to make people want more.” And this is the part that broke a rib. When he looked me in the eyes and said, “Don’t you think you should meet her?”
I laughed. “Do you think I enjoy breaking my legs?” I said. Did he think I had forgotten what Jewels did to me?
"Nothing like that will happen.” The liar said. “All you have to do is to be in Dubai on time.” He added, showing me a picture of a pretty lady. Daisy. I assumed.
I was at her audition the following day, yet I saw no one like her in sight. Maybe she didn’t show up at all. I told Kwame on the phone.
“She will." He insisted. After hours waiting, I called back. “ I don’t think she made it.” I said to him. Meanwhile she was sitting by me all morning. And I didn’t even know. Daisy had a strange memory for a lady who was young and pretty.
“It’s not dementia or anything like that,” She said when I commented on it. “I’m just bad with names. So bad with them sometimes I forget mine.”
"It’s Rhoda. Isn’t it?" I said to her.
“Who told you?" She studied my face, curiously as if I could be someone she knows.
"You did." I showed her a name right below her number.
Then she tapped me on the shoulder, giggling."This is ridiculous. How can I be so tensed that I can’t even see my own name?”
"Only you can answer that.” I said to her, laughing. That’s when I realized the shape of her lips, her pointed nose and adorable dimples.
“Is something wrong on my face?” She looked worried.
“Oh it’s nothing.” I said.
“And I thought there was a bug on my face.” She giggled, tapping me once again on the shoulder.
“There is no need to be nervous.” I said. “Dicks would love you.”
“What did you say?”
“Dicks would love you.”
Right after I answered, she slapped me. “Just because I have a bad memory, doesn’t mean you can insult me.”
"I wasn’t insulting you.” I said to her. “Are you not here to audition? Well, that’s the name of the play?"
“oh lord.” She said. “How did I forget that? Mr...?”
"It’s fine.” I said. “Not everyone is good with names.”
She later disappeared after a glance at her watch into a corner, reading out her lines over and over again. It was only when her phone began to ring that she stopped.
Then her script flew off the stone she had placed it under, landing directly before me. That’s when I put my bag on it. But who would have done something like that if they knew the future? Definitely not me.
When it was two, she was on the phone. When it was three, she was the phone. When it was four, she was still on the four. What kind of long conversation was that? I slept as soon as my body begged me to.
"Have you seen my monologue?" I remember someone asking me even though I was half asleep. "A mono-what?" I said, still not sure who or why.
“Let me ask the others.” She said. But none of them knew where it was either. She rushed into the auditorium as soon as fifty-five was called. But in less than five minutes she was back from it as if nothing had happened.
What had happened? She refused to tell me. All she said was whoever took her monologue caused her a fortune. Why would someone steal your monologue?
"I have no idea.” She said. “All I can do is wait for the pinch sheet."
"What’s a pinch sheet?"
“It’s the machine the judges are using now.” She said. “Two of them died for telling the truth. It was invented to protected them. If you don’t like their verdict, at least you don’t get to see them. How can you kill someone if they don’t them?”
“Haha. I hope they pick you.”
“I hope so.” She said to me.
“Here. This fell off when you were on the phone." I gave her the paper under my bag.
"Unbelievable!” She looked at me astonished. “So it was you all this time!"
"What do you mean?” I said to her. “Is this your monologue?"
"What did you think it was?” She snatched her paper quickly from me. “Are you sick or something?”
"I was keeping it for you."
"Did you see 'I need a monologue keeper' also under my costume too?” She said to me, angry. “What kind of moron are you?”
That's when the pinch sheet intervened.
“Thanks for showing up number fifty-five.” It said. “But unfortunately, you didn’t make it to the dance team."
Dance team? Both of us were surprised. I thought she was as an actress. When did he audition for a dance team?
She confronted the people in the auditorium but they threw her out like she was the one who made the mistake. Not everyone needs a shoulder to cry on in times like this. I didn’t know till Rhoda tried breaking my shoulder when I offered it.
“What do you want?” She said to me. “Isn’t my monologue enough? Do you want to kidnap me too?”
"Kidnap you?” I was surprised. “I was only trying to help." I said.
"And who asked you too?" She said to me.
"At least I can dance.” I said to her.
“Fool.” She said, rushing through the gates, her heart beating with rage, her buttocks shaking until she was completely invisible.
When I told Kwame, he looked shocked. “They even spoke for hours,” He said. So how come I saw everyone but Daisy?
"Don’t worry.” He said. “I will personally introduce you to her."
Days after, I found myself sitting amongst her fans just like Kwame promised. I was laughing, waiting for her to be done performing, laughing just like the others at the concert. Laughing not because of the funny jokes she was telling, but because of the costume she was wearing. I’ve never seen a woman in jeans with rabbit ears and a tail before. Ridiculous.
As soon as she waved the crowd, we got up, heading towards the back stage where she was heading.
“Remember what I said?” In front of her door Kwame said to me. “First impression, it’s everything.”
"She won’t even know what I’m thinking when I’m thinking." I said to him.
"Nobody knows what you are thinking when you are thinking." He said to me.
"Are you asking me to be someone else?"
“I’m telling you to be someone else.” He replied. “Figure out the difference before I’m back." He added, then he opened the door, entering the rehearsal room.
At first, things were exactly as expected. Through the half opened door, all I heard was how she would love helping me all because of him. But when she talked about how she lost her monologue in an audition, I remembered Rhoda and how bad she felt.
"Are you the devil or the one he sent?” She asked as soon as she saw me. "First you ruin my audition and now you are back to ruin my night. What do you want from me?"
“You know him?"
"That’s the fool who stole my script." Daisy answered Kwame. “Why didn’t you tell me he was friend? Get out of here! Both of you. Out of my office. Out now!”
She never kicked me. Kwame was the one who waited till she did. I was out already.
"What did I say to you about first impressions?" He said to me, angry.
"It was before you told me." I said to him.
"Didn’t you see her photo?" He asked.
“It was photo-shopped?” I explained.
"How am I supposed to help you now?"
“I thought you were they were good friends?” I said to him.
“Do good friends kick you out of their offices?" He asked me. I did not reply.
“I think it’s time you know.” He said.
“Time I know what?”
"I can’t work with you anymore.” He claimed. “You are nothing but trouble-trouble out of proportion. I’ve signed a contract with another artist. If you want to be in a tragedy, do it all by yourself.”
"Why now?” He didn’t explain. He just walked out on me. All that remained was his words and his face, echoing the number of times I'd failed in my dreams.
That’s why I was drinking at Fogs. I heard alcohol could wipe memories. And there had to be some truth in it. Because after drinking, not only had I forgotten his memories, I had forgotten my wallet too.
"Do I look like a philanthropist to you?" That was what the bar woman said when I told her why I couldn't pay. “I want it and I want it now. If you weren’t running with my money, then what were you doing with it? Trotting with it? Give me my money and give it to me now!” She held the neck of my shirt, asking over and over again.
Everyone was watching. How embarrassing? Had Dorcas not showed up, I swear to God she would have employed me as one of the cleaners in her bar. She was the one who paid.
"Lucky man." The bar woman said. She let go off my shirt, watching the number of bowls she had in her kitchen in regret.
I could never forget that mean face of hers. It was the same one lying about me on the television the next day, talking about how I run off with her money after buying drinks. After all the money she took. I put the television quickly off and decided to quit. If not for you, I wouldn't be doing music again. Why didn’t you tell me you and others have been pirating my songs?
