You know that moment when you're just trying to live a quiet life, minding your own business, and then a toddler decides to drag your whole reputation through the mud? Yeah, that happened to me, and I’m still recovering.
It all started one lazy Saturday afternoon. I was on the couch, eating bread and groundnut, watching cartoons with my 4-year-old cousin, Junior. He’s the type of kid that talks like he pays rent. You can’t trust him with secrets, silence, or even air.
Out of nowhere, Junior jumped up and shouted,
“Mummy! Mummy! Come oh! Brother is kissing the fan!”
I choked on my bread. What in God’s name does that even mean?
His mum, my Aunty ran in like she was auditioning for a Nollywood drama, already ready to slap somebody. “Kissing what?!”
Junior pointed confidently, like a pastor calling out sinners, “The fan! He was standing and smiling at it. He kissed it two times!”
Let me explain, I wasn’t kissing the fan. I was standing under it and trying to blow something off my lips. But how do you explain logic to an African mum who just heard the word “kiss” and “fan” in the same sentence?
Aunty looked at me like I was possessed. “You’re now in love with household appliances? Should we take you for deliverance?”
I was speechless. Junior stood by the door, hands behind his back, nodding like an elder that just exposed corruption in the government.
To make things worse, he added, “He also said the fan is his girlfriend and her name is Sandra.”
Sandra ke?
I’ve never seen a woman kneel down to pray for someone that fast. My aunty turned full prophetess, started rebuking the spirit of madness.
And this boy? He just walked out, whistling like he didn’t just set my whole life on fire.
Two days later, we went to church. Junior decided to give testimony in children’s department.
He took the mic with confidence and said, “I thank God for my cousin. He used to kiss the fan, but now he’s fine.”
The teacher asked, “What fan?”
Junior replied, “Standing fan. But he’s delivered now.”
I almost melted into the church floor.
From that day, I became “Brother Fan Kisser” in our street. Even okada men were shouting, “Oga, breeze no go carry you go Sandra house?”
But do you know the funniest part?
Junior has forgotten the whole thing. Just like that. Meanwhile, I’m still here, trying to convince people I’m not romantically involved with a standing fan.
Lesson learned: Never trust a toddler. Their mouth is sharper than your village people’s plan
Image usedAi generated
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