The Cobra I Saw Last Night When I Was Drunk
Ah, Makurdi nights and questionable decisions, eh? Let's rewind to last night, shall we? I, fresh from a generous helping of "Tashi" (heavy beer), was stumbling home like a lost agama lizard after a dust storm. I took a shortcut through a dirty path. Now, I remember how Mama Catherine had warned me about the "abuku" (big snake) lurking near the stream. Fear, though, had taken a siesta in my beer-addled brain.
Suddenly, my foot snagged on something long and scaly under the moonlight. My heart, already doing a jig for Tipsy McStumbles, went into overdrive. My mind, fueled by fermented barley and paranoia, conjured up visions of fangs dripping with deadly venom. I let out a yelp that would've made a hyena envious, "Abuku! Abuku!"
I scrambled back, eyes wide enough to rival full moons, only to trip over a stray goat (those things are everywhere in bushy paths at night, I swear). Landing face-first in the mud, I saw it – the source of my terror. A coconut branch, bleached white by the moon, lay innocently on the ground, looking vaguely cobra-esque in the dim light.
Laughter, at first nervous and choked, then full-bodied and unrestrained, erupted from me. I lay there, tears streaming down my muddy cheeks, howling at the absurdity of it all. The goat, ever the opportunist, nibbled on my shoe while I cackled like a deranged hyena.
The "abuku" snake incident became legend in my circle. Mama Catherine would recount it with a chuckle, shaking her head at my drunken antics. My friends would use it as ammunition for friendly teasing, forever reminding me of the night I tangoed with a phantom serpent.
And I, well, I learned a valuable lesson – heavy beer and bad lighting are a recipe for hilarious misunderstandings. But hey, at least I can say I faced my fears, even if those fears turned out to be a long-dead coconut branch. I must remember, next time I stumble home after a night of heavy beer, stick to the well-lit streets and maybe consider skipping the scary stories before bed. After all, Makurdi has enough trouble to deal with without adding drunken hallucinations to the mix.
Cheers to my (mis)adventures! May our nights be less boozy and our encounters with snakes and/or evil (real or imagined) be far less dramatic.
Suddenly, my foot snagged on something long and scaly under the moonlight. My heart, already doing a jig for Tipsy McStumbles, went into overdrive. My mind, fueled by fermented barley and paranoia, conjured up visions of fangs dripping with deadly venom. I let out a yelp that would've made a hyena envious, "Abuku! Abuku!"
I scrambled back, eyes wide enough to rival full moons, only to trip over a stray goat (those things are everywhere in bushy paths at night, I swear). Landing face-first in the mud, I saw it – the source of my terror. A coconut branch, bleached white by the moon, lay innocently on the ground, looking vaguely cobra-esque in the dim light.
Laughter, at first nervous and choked, then full-bodied and unrestrained, erupted from me. I lay there, tears streaming down my muddy cheeks, howling at the absurdity of it all. The goat, ever the opportunist, nibbled on my shoe while I cackled like a deranged hyena.
The "abuku" snake incident became legend in my circle. Mama Catherine would recount it with a chuckle, shaking her head at my drunken antics. My friends would use it as ammunition for friendly teasing, forever reminding me of the night I tangoed with a phantom serpent.
And I, well, I learned a valuable lesson – heavy beer and bad lighting are a recipe for hilarious misunderstandings. But hey, at least I can say I faced my fears, even if those fears turned out to be a long-dead coconut branch. I must remember, next time I stumble home after a night of heavy beer, stick to the well-lit streets and maybe consider skipping the scary stories before bed. After all, Makurdi has enough trouble to deal with without adding drunken hallucinations to the mix.
Cheers to my (mis)adventures! May our nights be less boozy and our encounters with snakes and/or evil (real or imagined) be far less dramatic.
