For the avoidance of doubt, I need to make it clear from the outset that the Heineken under reference here is no relation to our Honourable Minister of State for Petroleum (Oil), Sen. Heineken Lokpobiri.
Last weekend, I had the urge to tidy up my library. I had not done so in a long time. Before technology emerged to keep me off what used to be my favourite hideout for research, you could pass me as a library rat. Today, armed to the fingers with my handset and/or laptop, regular visits to the library will now be tantamount to going hunting with sakabula (not to be confused with a widow bird native to South Africa).
While dusting up a file where I kept the cuttings of my stories during my early years with the New Nigerian Newspapers, a black and white picture fell to the ground. I took the photo with my Zaria City Editor at a cocktail party organised by the Institute of Administration, Kongo, Zaria. I picked the picture and immediately found myself flying on the wings of nostalgia. My City Editor was Mr. Francis Talabi, a diminutive middle-aged man from the old Ondo state. He was a brilliant senior colleague whose sense of humour was so extraordinary that even the late Baba Sala would turn green with envy. One could easily rate Mr. Talabi as the funniest man south of the Sahara.
Like most journalists of his generation, my immediate boss loved his beers. He had no favourite beer as such. Anytime he uncorked a bottle, he would shove the cork to our faces and said: “Mo ba eranko ja ni Efesu, iwo re niyi!” It means I fought a beast at Ephesus, here are the horns! And we would dissolve into convulsive laughter. I later discovered that he was quoting a passage in the Bible: 1 Corinthian 15:32 referring to Apostle Paul who fought with ‘beasts’ at Ephesus… a metaphor for the opposition he faced while preaching the gospel there.
I had always admired my senior colleagues whenever they were sipping their beers. Equally marveling to me as a rookie was how they would seamlessly segue from one brand of beer to another. And that left me dying to be a wannabe!
Now, come down the memory lane with me. I was under sub 10 when I first flirted with an alcoholic drink. My father was a dyed-in-the-wool disciple of Johnnie Walker (as if you do not know him). Anyway, Johnnie Walker was a brand of Scotch whisky that came into existence in 1820. Johnnie walked for close to two centuries until it stopped walking as recently as 2012.
One evening, my old man returned from a party, armed to the armpit with a glittering bottle of Johnnie Walker. I always got curious whenever I watched him and his friends smacking their lips after every sip, followed by a wince. I had a childhood friend named Akumasi in faraway Ghana. I told him about the arrival of Johnnie Walker at our house and my desire to experience the smacking of the lips followed by a wince. After my dad uncapped Johnnie, I swore to have my own encounter with the visitor. And that no Jupiter would stop me! Akumasi dropped on his knees and begged me to carry him along. I gave him my word.
On the fateful day, I sneaked into the cabinet where Johnnie was held captive and served out a small quantity… small enough to avoid any suspicion. Akumasi and I went outside the compound to enjoy ourselves. I shared the liquid with him in two little cups and we toasted like adults. Then, we quaffed the whole content at a go. It was a bad idea for first-timers like us. The cups flew out of our hands as we reached for our throats. They were on fire! I could have sworn that we drank acid. We tried to throw up the content but nothing came out. So, we had to rush for water to quench the fire. What followed was an instant sore along my esophagus. My mother soon noticed a change in my voice when she returned from her shop later in the evening. I lied to her that I had a sore throat. She opened her bag and produced a peppery lozenge which she shoved into my mouth. But it was like adding petrol to fire. I lodged the tablet in one corner of my mouth. After a short while I left her to go and spit into the gutter. Following that nasty experience, I distanced myself from Johnnie. It was obvious that our throats were too fragile for the strong drink.
The next experience I had was in Zaria. After the cocktail party at Kongo, my boss felt he had had more than enough beer to be in charge of the motorbike we both rode to the venue. So, he handed the key to me since I was not a beer buff like him. However, unknown to him, at the party, I settled for Heineken which sat well with me because of its unique taste. I must have consumed about four or so cans, and assured myself that I had arrived too. I was now a complete journalist like my other colleagues!
I took the key from Mr. Talabi and gunned the bike to life. It was when we hit the highway that my boss began to notice that my ride was not as smooth as he knew me for. I was riding the bike as though I was the only road user. At one point, I narrowly avoided a head collision with a tipper. My boss panicked and ordered me to pull over. But in my tipsy state, I ignored him and revved on. He tried to trick me to stop by announcing that his cap had fallen off. I glanced over my shoulder. He lied. His cap was firmly on his small head. I rode on. He panicked and reminded me he had a family to cater for, while, as a bachelor, I belonged to no one. Fortunately for him, we ran into a hold-up. He jumped down from the bike and seized the key. We were about midway to Sabon Gari where we lived. The rest of the journey was made on foot and I rolled the bike along.
My last notable encounter was in Jos when I joined The Nigeria Standard Newspaper. My colleagues used to tell me that any time they wanted to write good stories, beers were their sources of inspiration. I decided to give that belief a trial… to write better stories in my own case. Again, I aligned with Heineken. I emptied a couple of cans at the occasion I was assigned to cover. On getting back to the office to craft my story, I felt like some blacksmiths had already seized my head. There and then, I realised the fallacy of trying to follow the crowd. I had to inch my way back to the house which was a shouting distance from my office and slept off the headache. After three or so hours, the blacksmiths had finished with their assignment and vanished. I returned to the office with a clear head and turned in my story.
Believe me, Heineken would have been my favourite beer if it had not failed me and sentenced me to the life of a teetotaler till date, thus missing the opportunity of being called to the Bar of Booze which many of my colleagues proudly belong to!