First Gentleman with Wilson Orhiunu
Email: babawill2000@gmail.com Twitter: @Babawilly
Dear Usain Bolt,
I know that the arrival of my letter may induce some degree of puzzlement or even hilarity but these things are what they are. Fate and circumstance have joined forces to bring me to this point. It was not too difficult to find your agent’s address thanks to Google, and here I am or perhaps I should say, here is my letter.
Now, I will go straight to the point. A few hours ago, I had a dream. And no, it was not deeply rooted in the American dream. It was just one of those dreams, but this one was different. You see, I dreamt that I defeated you in the 100 meters Olympic final race in Rio 2016. I then woke up, went in front of the bathroom mirror and slapped my face as punishment for the audacity to conceive such an improbable victory.
“What nonsense! Even in dreams should one not know one’s limitations?” I thought. On getting back to bed I found that my movements had woken the lady of the house.
“Why are you up?” she asked.
“Oh, nothing,” I answered.
“You were kicking in your sleep,” she said
I became suspicious. Perhaps I had also spoken in my sleep I thought. I was now keen to go back to sleep, and to avoid a potentially long line of questioning, I opted for telling the truth.
“I dreamt I defeated Usain Bolt at the Olympic finals,” I said.
She began to laugh.
“In the 100 meters,” I quickly added. She laughed harder.
“I was not expecting Ice Hockey. It had to be athletics,” she said between fits of laughter.
“I suppose you were running for Nigeria,” she said.
“No, it was actually Pakistan,” I replied.
You may not believe this but she laughed so much that she fell out of bed. I became concerned. You know how it is, falling out of bed at 2am. What will I tell my friends, family and in-laws if she gets injured falling out of bed? Soon the laughter adopted a wheezy quality and I switched on the lights.
“Darling, let’s forget I mentioned anything. Let us just go back to bed,” I said as I stood over her slim frame that convulsed in laughter on the floor.
“Why yu no run for Naija nau?”
“Woman, I no sabi make we sleep. It is only a dream,” I replied.
“So what did you do when you won?”
“I ran to the crowd, leaned to the side and pulled an imaginary arrow, standing with my legs wide apart. The crowd went wild.”
“Nigerian or Pakistani crowd?” she asked and kept on laughing.
“I am not sure. They had green passports for faces. I then ran around waving a flag bare footed.”
“You had no shoes?” she asked
“I had no shoes,” I replied.
We didn’t get to sleep till one hour later.
The next day she suggested that I write to you to apologise for the insult. Yes, she deemed the dream an insult to you and the good people of Jamaica, since I was nothing but a snail dressed up in a pair of Nike trainers. I refused initially but however had to concede (for peace sake).
So here is my letter. Please accept this apology.
Moving on, a lot of things have happened since that dream. I told it to my friends and most found it funny. Some however thought that the whole race could be a metaphor for some great feat I was due to perform. Others told me to start training hard. They said I could beat you. Perhaps they have not listened attentively to your surname and the images it triggers. I would need a lot of steroids; both anabolic and barbaric, mixed with Banga soup to get my body into such a peak condition that would make me able to defeat you.
Another philosophical friend of mine said that the dream was possible to realise. If I did not achieve it then my children would. Food for thought there. (Or maybe when you are 90 years old my grandchildren might outrun you).
Did I mention that in my dream, not only did I beat you but I ran a new world record of 9.3 seconds?
You needed to have been there to see the crowd go wild my man. Sorry, you were there. In my dreams.
I was running around the stadium with the Pakistani flag held aloft by my hands proudly held high.
Anyway, I would end here. I need to write another letter of apology. You see, when I slept the second time last night, I met Mike Tyson in the ring at his prime. I knocked him out in Round One.
My regards to the family.
Babawilly
