Deciding to be of help can sometimes not be the best decision and may even comeback to haunt you. This I’ve come to learn the hard way, you know the ways of life are never easy.

My neighbour was washing her clothes that Saturday morning, as I returned from buying bread and hot akara that I wanted to eat for breakfast that morning. She greeted me and we gisted.

“These clothes I’m washing, I wonder what will happen to them, I’m about going out, and so too is my friend, my worry is that rain may fall and beat them,” she said.
Out of niceness, I said, “Don’t worry, if it starts to rain, I will help you bring them in.”

Later in the afternoon, it started to rain, looked out of the window, her clothes were still outside, checked her place, she was not around and I hurriedly went and brought in her clothes for her.

When she came back in the evening, since she couldn’t find her clothes outside anymore, she knocked on my door, “Were you the one who took my clothes away,” she asked.

“Yes, I helped you bring them in,” I told her.
Handed them over to her and she thanked me saying, “You are such a life saver, your life savings will never go AWOL.”

Some minutes later she came back, telling me she can’t find her pant among her clothes I gave her.
“I didn’t see any pant amongst your clothes, when I was bringing them in,” I said.

“But my pant was among the clothes I washed,” she said.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
She said, “Of course, I’m very sure. How will I be saying what I’m not very sure of.”
Before I could say Jack, she started accusing me, shouting in a bid to create a scene, “You stole my pant, you hid it purposefully, no wonder you eagerly agreed to help me bring my clothes in.”

“If I wanted to steal your pant, why would I offer to bring in your clothes in the first place? Wouldn’t that amount to I exposing my game plan?” I replied her.
That did nothing to calm her down, nothing to even if it’s as little as to ignite the engine of her reasoning. As she went into full throttle shouting, “You are a G guy, you are a yahoo boy, you want to use my pant to go and buy Benz.”

At the mention of that word Benz. A man in torn boxers and sagged “it-is-brown” singlet (because it was clearly no longer white) ran out of his room, charging in our direction and asking what the issue was, my neighbour told him and he started attacking me, saying, “if you don’t bring that pant out now, I will give you a very dirty slap, the kind of slap I will give you eh, it will be worse than the one Davido gave Kiss Daniel’s manager I swear.” He then touched the tip of his tongue with the tip of his index finger and raised it to the sky, muttering eh, in a bid to show that he meant business, because that clearly couldn’t serve as a show of force. And then he continued, “it’s either one of two things must happen, it’s either your cheek peels off and tattoos to my palm or my palm will tattoo on your cheek, choose one.”

“Mr. Man how can you be asking me to choose one between boiling oil and boiling water?” I asked him.
How can a fellow man be harassing me like that and I will just keep quiet because I was being accused wrongly of what I did not do, had it been it was my neighbour who was claiming to be looking for her pant that was talking that way, it would be bearable, you know women, their tongues can run faster than a Lamborghini, rev faster than the engine of a Benz and perform more revolutions in a second than a ceiling fan.

So I went further to defend myself telling him that, “In fact, is it your pant that is missing? The person whose pant is missing is not even convulsing the way you are, I know you are doing all of this to impress her, so that she will see you as a strong guy, but let me tell you one thing, even when that pant is found she will not let you get under it.”

That struck a chord in him, taken aback, but not wanting it to show. “What you just said shows that you are the one hiding that pant, you better bring it out, bring that pant out now!” he retorted.

Then my neighbour’s friend returned, asking what the fuss was all about and my neighbour explained to her, “Is that why you people have been quarrelling, heating up the whole house like an incinerator? Don’t worry babe, I’m the one that took it and wore it because I really needed to go somewhere,” she explained to my neighbour.

“Is it what you are wearing right now?” the man asked.
What’s the man’s business with what she is wearing right now, does he have any business down there.
“Oga what’s your business with what I’m wearing?” The visibly irritated friend asked.

The man now embarassed said, “I’m only trying to settle the fight amicably.”
“Settle the fight amicably ko, settle the fight amiably ni, you better mind your business, next thing now, you will ask ‘what’s the colour?’ And if I allow you, you will look under to check if it’s truly the colour, amebo man,” my neighbour’s friend said. Fuuunke!

“It’s your type that will come to settle fight between husband and wife, and you will start asking the wife, ‘when last did you menstruate?’ My neighbour added.
I was happy that they had at least, at last left me and faced the man that was threatening to slap me, harassing him very well, that gave me breathing space and relief of some sort.

What was worse? The man’s friend now came out of their room holding a pant with a stick asking, “Wetin woman pant de do for inside our room?”
Ever since that day, I don’t even talk to her when she greets me. Now I know you can never step a foot wrong minding your business.