By the Idler-in-Chief
Here in Nyagenke, we have several categories of citizens; the hardworking, the politicians and the idle, whose interests I largely serve. We also have the wigs.
You see, wigs are not just head-covering decorations. They’ve fully assimilated into our life and unconfirmed reports show that some wigs own voter’s cards, and made it to SHA list last year.
The reports add that the hairpieces own plots behind Nyagenke River but are afraid of grabbers. This December, they will do their Annual General Meeting, complete with an anthem, (de)motivational speaker, tea break and buffet lunch.
You can tell that I admire wigs and their courage. A wig from Nyagenke Industrial Area (NIA) can survive a boda-boda ride at 1200km/h, endure a full day in the burning sun, and sit through ten separate Sunday church services without demanding compensation.
Some wigs have been on active duty longer than some marriages but they don’t say. They have seen three elections, two impeachments, and survived Korondovirus.
Recently, my neighbor Omwana Enyanya celebrated when her wig qualified for pension after it surpassed its expiry date. Gossip has it that the last time the wig saw shampoo was when Nyagenke FC beat the Splendid Eagles, and each player got a brand new girlfriend and a cheque from an audited basket.
Sadly, Omwana Enyanya’s wig now discharges a nose-blinding scent that can make you reflect on every bad decision you’ve ever made. You see, you cannot just pluck a wig from your dressing table like a brave chicken, slide it onto your head, and expect it to impress.
Wig fixing experts have now agreed that from a safe distance, a neglected wig might look acceptable, even respectable. But lean in too close and it becomes a wildlife documentary.
I once bent forward to greet someone and I’m fairly certain I heard a cricket chirping inside the curls. In fact, it’s only a matter of time before UNESCO protects certain wigs as “rare ecosystems of original 2010 Nyagenke dust.”
Now, Nyagenke is hot. I just saw chickens pant and lizards negotiate for shade. Wearing a wig here is like carrying a portable sauna strapped to your scalp. A mix of sweat, dust and perfume equals a substance so complex that scientists might soon call it a biological weapon.
The other day, I overheard a wig whisper to another wig at Nyagenke Inter-villages Market. I’m not fluent in Wig Language, but I caught the words “strike” and “relocation.”
I suspect some wigs are planning to leave their current heads for better ones before 2027. Imagine the embarrassment of finding your wig imperfectly seated on your neighbour’s head at a political rally, smiling at you.
It’s time for Nyagenke Technopolis Health Office to step in before tenderprenuers ink a deal with the administration’s not so useful health (mis)advisors. We need a Wig Inspection Day. You bring yours in, the officer checks its hygiene, and if it passes, you get a sticker reading: Certified Clean by Nyagenke Health Department.
The Nyagenkeans will not shame you for wearing a wig but if it starts waving at people in the market before you do, action must be taken. Wigs should add to your confidence, not to your criminal record.
Keep them clean, keep them fresh, and they will serve you faithfully. Neglect them, and one morning you may find your wig gone, having jumped on a head that treats it better.
Essentially, if your wig has started looking like the tail of a goat that has been through a thunderstorm, remove it and run. I don’t sell this advice, imagine!
As I go, may your brain covering stay cool, your wig remain intact, and your neighbours be polite to say what they’re really thinking.
- babahezel@gmail.com