The Senator's Driver

Ultra Thin, Extra Drama

The morning in GRA, Lagos, unfolded with a serene tranquility that blanketed the elite neighborhood like a gentle whisper. Unlike the raucous honking and hurried footsteps that filled the mainland streets, GRA’s air was still—decorated only by the rhythmic chirping of birds and the subtle hum of the gardener’s shears clipping hedges to perfection. The sunlight filtered through tall palm trees, casting golden patterns on the paved driveways, while hibiscus flowers danced softly in the breeze. A new day had begun, but inside one of the cream-painted duplexes, a different kind of storm was brewing.

Araire stood at the entrance to her room like a queen on her balcony—hands on her hips, eyebrows arched, and a robe that swept around her like silk armor. Facing her from the opposite door was Ayobami, the live-in driver with a sharp tongue and an even sharper attitude. His brows knitted in both confusion and mild amusement, as if unsure whether he was being pranked or summoned for war.

“I need you to go to the pharmacy and get me some sanitary pads, the maid is on sick leave.” Araire announced, her tone clipped and decisive, like a general issuing orders on a battlefield. “Always Ultra Thin. Size regular. Don’t come back with rubbish.”

Ayobami’s face contorted as though someone had poured pepper into his eyes. “Ah-ah. Madam, you dey talk to me like say I be your fellow woman,” he said, blinking twice. “Sanitary pad ke? You mean me?”

Araire’s nostrils flared. “Do I look like I’m asking your ghost? Are there three people in this corridor? Or did a spirit whisper ‘Ayobami’ when I called your name?”

He shifted on his feet. “But madam… sanitary pad no be wetin guy dey buy naw. Dem go look me like say I resemble Bobyrisky…”

“Will you shut up?” she snapped, stepping closer. “I’m not asking you to perform surgery. Just walk into the pharmacy, ask for Always Ultra Thin, regular size, pay, and come back. Or do you want me to draw a diagram?”

Ayobami folded his arms, half-offended, half-entertained. “Okay o. I don hear. Always Ultra Thin. Regular size,” he muttered, turning to leave. But his eyes sparkled mischievously, and as soon as he descended the marble staircase, his lips curled into a wicked grin.

“Ultra Thin abi?” he whispered to himself, chuckling. “I go show this madam small shege today.”

By the time Ayobami reached the pharmacy at the corner of the street, he already had a plan. He walked to the feminine products aisle and picked the biggest, thickest, old-school cottony pads he could find. The type that looked like a folded towel and came in packaging that hadn’t changed since 1998.

“Make she vex small,” he said under his breath, whistling as he paid the cashier and headed back home.

When he arrived, Araire was in the living room sipping from a porcelain mug, legs crossed elegantly on the edge of a velvet armchair.

“Where are the pads?” she asked sharply without looking up.

Ayobami stretched out the pack like a magician revealing his trick. “Here e dey, madam.”

She turned her gaze toward the item, and her face contorted instantly. “What in God’s name is this, Ayobami?”

Ayobami shrugged, barely suppressing his laughter. “Na pad, madam. Abi wetin e resemble?”

“This isn’t what I asked for!” she barked, rising to her feet. “I said Always Ultra Thin, not this... mattress in a nylon!”

“Ah-ah, madam, pad na pad,” he said, spreading his arms wide. “Dem all dey for same purpose naw, abi no be blood e dey absorb? Naw water this one dey absorb?”

“I asked you for something specific. This isn’t a joke, Ayobami!” she snapped, fuming. “You’re deliberately trying to annoy me.”

Ayobami tilted his head and gave a sly smile. “But madam, I be man. I no dey use am. How I go sabi which one thin or thick? You fit carry me pharmacy next time make I point to the correct one?”

“You’re my headache!” she hissed, pacing back and forth. “You’ve made up your mind to frustrate me. I swear you have!”

He leaned on the wall and gave a theatrical sigh. “You no dey appreciate person wey dey try help you. I risk my street credibility for this pad mission o. Boys for junction don see me with this pack, and you still dey complain.”

“You risked nothing,” she shot back, rolling her eyes. “And for your information, street credibility is not a currency in this house. So next time, follow instructions!”

As Araire stormed off, heels clicking angrily against the tiled floor, Ayobami stood rooted, a grin slowly spreading across his face. He glanced around, satisfied that he was alone, and began to mutter to himself.

“See her head like car battery. Spoilt brat. Just because her papa na senator, she think say she fit command everybody like soldier. I go show this girl say I no be mumu.”

He walked toward the dining area and continued ranting. “She think say na only her sabi vex? I go frustrate her life! I go burn her rice, fold her clothes like say na small pikin dey wear am, I go put salt inside her tea instead of sugar. Then I go smile dey say, ‘yes, madam.’”

He laughed heartily, slapping his thigh. “Araire, welcome to suffer-head deluxe. This na just episode one.”