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If I hear 'peem' from that mouth of yours again, I will personally deport you back to the village—on foot!"
Those were the words Mama Nkechi flung at her son one hot Wednesday afternoon in Odo-eran, her wrapper flagging like a warning flag as she pointed her cooking spoon in his face.
The boy in question, Tochukwu, also known as "Tochi-Trouble" on the street, blinked innocently, his mouth already bubbling with a new excuse. "But Mama, I was only—"
"Tochi! Don't 'but Mama' me. Are you a goat or a boy? Just look at your life at seventeen —expelled from two schools, almost arrested for selling fake iPhones, and now you want to become a DJ with my blender?!" She yelled.
That was the beginning of the end—or the end of the beginning—depending on who was telling the story.
Odo-eran was not for the faint-hearted. Everybody hustled. Even the lizards seemed to be running errands. It was in this buzzing chaos that Mama Nkechi, a widowed food vendor with the strength of seven okada riders, tried to raise her son alone.
Tochi, on the other hand, was a cocktail of talent, mischief, and spiritual confusion. One minute he was writing love songs for girls who did not even know he existed; the next, he was using Mama's Bible to press cockroaches to death. Tochukwu's dream changed every week—from football to rapper, from pastor to pilot. At one point, he announced his plan to become the world's first space DJ.
"DJ Moonboi," he calls himself, striking a pose with Mama's pot of soup cover as his turntable. "Blasting vibes from Odo-eran to Lawanson," he says.
Mama had slapped the astronaut out of him that day.
However, not everyone gave up on Tochi.
I never gave up on him.
I was his friend—his closest pal. He made me laugh, his energy was great, and he is free-spirited like i am. We connected immediately and became best of friends. Our friendship brought both of our families together. Of course, we fought and quarreled a few times, and talk about it almost immediately to maintain the peace and friendship we share. We don't keep malice or harbour resentment; we share our dreams and advice each other wherever necessary, with love, respect, and all humility. What makes Tochukwu different is that his energy and vibes are too high—he is too hyperactive, and he channels that energy wrongly.
I saw the potential in him beneath the layers of mischief and madness.
One cool, windy afternoon, I sat him down behind Mama Nkechi's kiosk, his mother's.
"Tochi," I called him, holding my sachet water like holy communion, "this your freestyle life will soon land you in kirikiri, o. Why not try to do something with all that noise in your head?" I suggested.
He grinned. "You mean my talent?"
I rolled my eyes. "Call it what you want. But I swear on this pure water, if you dont shape up quickly, your next big gig will be DJing at police cell parties."
We both laughed, but I noticed the gears turning in his head.
Their real trouble began the day Mama Nkechi decided to rent out her backyard room to a new tenant: one brother Sylvanus. He was the type of man whose trousers reached his chest and whose mouth never stopped quoting scriptures—even when he was chewing goat meat.
"I'm just here temporarily, "he had said, eyes darting around like a fugitive prophet. "Till the Lord finally plant me where I will actually flourish." He said, chuckling.
Tochi didn't trust him from day one. "Mama, he looks like a retired cultist who accidentally found Jesus inside Kirikiri." he said scornfully.
"Keep quiet! What do you know?! Mama barked. "That man is God's anointed," Mama defended angrily.
Three weeks later, the lord had not planted Brother Sylvanus anywhere—except in their house drama.
First, Brother Sylvanua started borrowing things without asking. One day it was their fan. The next day, Mama's umbrella. Then her gas cylinder vanished for two days.
That aside,
Then came the midnight tongue. Brother Sylvanus believed that the Holy Spirit spoke the loudest between 1 a.m. and 4 a.m. On a typical night, the compound shook and echoed with "Raba sekele brakata! Fireeeee!" and the sound of broken plates falling over.
Mama tried to tolerate it. "He is battling demons," she told Tochi, who is laughing and frowning at the sound of "Raba sekele brakata," sounding like someone who wanted to vomit a huge frog.
"Maybe the demons should rent their own room," Tochi muttered.
One rainy saturday, Mama returned from the market to find her pot of egusi soup—completely ganished with fresh pomo and soft goat meat and stock fish—emptied to a sacred nothingness. The air still smelt of her egusi soup. Brother Sylvanus was wiping his mouth.
"Mama, I feel led to fast," he said patting his stomach.
"You want to fast again? after you have already broken your fast with my soup?!" Mama screamed, waving her wet umbrella like a sword.
Immediately, Brother Sylvanus raised his hands. "Touch not my anointed and do my prophet no harm." he commanded.
"You are a prophet of egusi soup?!" Mama exclaimed in rage.
The compound erupted. Neighbors came out, some half-dressed, others filming on their phones. Tochi started commentating like a football match. "Mama Nkechi is approaching the suspect. She raises her voice—she swings the umbrella— GOAL!"
In the end, the landlord finally came to intervene in the matter. Brother Sylvanus was given 48 hours to vacate the premises. He wrote a short letter to Mama Nkechi, titled "Repent or fry."
Now, Brother Sylvanus was gone. The peace was restored—although temporarily.
Tochi, perhaps inspired by the eviction, and the persistent disturbance from me to do something serious and worthwhile, he took up a proper DJ apprenticeship under Baba Shaggy, a local event DJ who mixed music like he was blending tomatoes.
It wasn't long before Tochi's talents began to shine. He even made it to a radio show where he spun live on air. Mama Nkechi, who once threatened him to exile him to the village (Enugu precisely), now told everyone proudly, "That's my son," DJ toch-Matric. He makes people happy, dance, and actually pay," she proudly said, grinning.
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Yes, Tochukwu was once a thorn in one's side —in fact, he was a thorn in everybody's side. That same thorn blossomed into something unforgettable and beautiful.
THANKS A LOT FOR READING ME
You share an excellent experience with us about your friend Tochukwu. He went from being a boy who wasted his energy and talent on meaningless things to being recognized for his work.
Thanks for sharing your experience with us.
Excellent Saturday.
That's Tochukwu for you.
Thanks alot for reading me.
Many people have their own talent. I think everyone is good at something, it's all a matter of finding what for and focusing on that. Luckily the young man finally found his and his mother could be proud of him.
That's correct. Different strokes for different folks.
Thanks really for stopping by
The imagery and dialogue are brilliant, making Odo-eran feel alive with chaos and energy. This story had me laughing from start to finish! Tochi is the perfect mx of mischief and potential,I truly enjoyed reading this!
Thanks alot @almadepoeta. I'm glad you enjoyed it.😂
Thank God for the transformation in Tochukwu's life. As for the prophet of egusi soup, he's just a thief claiming to be an annointed man of God. Thanks for sharing.
Egusi soup thief?! Shebi...!!😂😂😂 Thanks for stopping by @samolaj
I say this all the time. God created everyone and gave each person a talent.. We just have to discover it and work with it. Thank God Tochi discovered his own.
Exactly true @mrprinxcee.
Just as our faces are different, so is our destiny and talent.
Warm regards my guy. Cheers 🥂