We all have that uncle who has some dirty little secrets that crack us up every time we encounter him or when we have some wild dejavu moments. Well, I had one but his dirty little thingy was nothing close to a secret. That dawg was so lit every sane human being in the neighbourhood knew his Achilles heels. Yes, Uncle Joe had a weakness; a weakness for tushi, or cargo, or fee lɔle, or ɛtuɔ. If you can’t figure it out, please get out of my hair.
We often spent our vacation at Uncle Joe’s residence in Bubiashie because he knew how to spice up our leisure periods. Damn, that dude had the swag of an alligator: Perfect fragrance, cool BMW, sneakers on fleak, and oh… his rolex. He could tell a million stories about how a lady stared at him with her mouth agape until a beetle stung her tongue. Of course if you ask the lady who was allegedly stung in Uncle Joe’s story, the storyline will go like: “I was surprised at how conceited a normal human being could be that is why I was looking at him with my disappointing stare. Please note that it was a house fly that entered my mouth not a beetle. HE’S A LIAR.”
Yoo we hear!
Back to the main story. We loved Uncle Joe’s house because of the fruity trees, beautiful fragrance of fresh fruits and Uncle Joe’s sweet tooth, or is it his sweet balls for big bottoms? ‘Commot’ for there, I will not explain!
Okay, calm down and let me try and elucidate (Shhhhhhhhh I just used a big word). Uncle Joe’s sweet bottoms were a bevy of naturally curvaceous and voluptuous ladies who had been blessed on the south side (Learn a little geography na wo’a bɔn dodo). Let me break it down. If Jocelyn DuNas was around in Uncle Joe’s days, she will be a size 6 on a scale of one to ten. Uncle Joe’s sweet bottoms were generally between seven and nine on the bottoms scale.
Legend has it that Uncle Joe was never really a lover of endowments. But something happened to change the destiny of sweet bottoms in his golden hands. Many years prior, during his A-Level days, when Uncle Joe was a hotshot, he was ditched by a classmate who was the toast of most teachers and rich guys on campus. In an attempt to woo this ’pawafuli’ endowed lady, Uncle Joe spent his last pesewa to purchase a designer perfume, wrapped it beautifully and presented it to ‘bottors lady’ in the full glare of his competitors. Bottors lady opened the present, looked at the label, smiled and sprayed the perfume around her buttocks. She then turned to Uncle Joe and said to him:
“You are a small boy. Your ribs are two small to handle these assets” (While slapping butts). Go and look for those fianga fianga girls to finger.”
The earth literally opened up and swallowed Uncle Joe because he did not know how he walked back to his dormitory. According to my dad, Uncle Joe had nightmares about ‘bottoses’ until he took the bold step to overcome his fears. Operation conquer all sweet bottoms!
Uncle Joe made it his commission to floor every sweetly endowed bottom to appease his massacred ego; and boy did he floor many!
So going to stay with Uncle Joe until the old boy returns was not such a big deal because he was actually quite fun and gave us time way from stingy mum whose money was never enough. I know, we were eleven kids.
Every vacation, we (my siblings and cousins) kept a logbook of Uncle Joe’s escapades and graded each ‘bottom’ that entered the house based on size, width, visual weight, and attitude. The most important criterion was the need to come bearing gifts to the self-proclaimed sweet bottom assessors. So while some slept over and left in the morning of the next day, most of these unsuspecting healthy bottoms spent about five hours in his room and about 30 minutes everywhere else in the house. I will jist you on what goes on in that legendary room in some other of my adventures but today let me explain to you Uncle Joe’s code around bringing sweet bottoms home:
- If I bring you home, don’t smile at the kids in the house
- Stay in the room;
- Do NOT ever go into the kitchen
- Woe betides you if you cook from home
- All I want is your waist and your sweet bottom
For some reason all these ladies but one understood Uncle Joe’s bottoms code and followed it religiously. Lady in Pink, as we used to call her (1. because Uncle Joe never called them by name and, 2. She always had a tinge of tacky pink in her attire) had the habit of always coming to the house with a basket of what we believed at the time to be home cooked meal. It was not until five years later that we found her in the God is Love chop bar at Kaneshie sweating behind a fat bowl of fufu, pun intended. Sorry I digressed.
So she always scored high on the rating scale because whenever she was around, we did not have to eat that watery soup by my cousins, Mchewwwwww! That soup that tasted like the sweaty armpit of a baby.
Unfortunately, Uncle Joe had noted her escapades with disgust. One hot afternoon when the lady arrived, he chased her away with the food.
“Did I tell you I can’t feed the children, Nonsense?” He bellowed at Lady in Pink. Who does that? Look at this idiot of an uncle. Small chop bar food we go enjoy, you have sabotaged it. At least keep enjoying the bottom so we can also enjoy her bottom cedi.
Cut a long story short, Uncle Joe eventually married Auntie Lori who had the flattest bottom ever recorded in the history of man. In fact, we used to joke that Auntie Lori’s bottom was so flat that it was sunken. That bottom was so flat that our grandmother who praises flat bottoms could not help but shout eiiiii, wei diɛ gyama ɛtu ghost! (Get a Twi-speaking person to explain it to you. Don’t come and stress me)
But in all this, Uncle Joe was the star. He went from grace to grass without breaking a sweat. From Goliath bottoms to Delilah bottoms. As the kokonsa king of the house, I overheard my late Uncle Joe in a conversation with my dad one evening about why he made such a drastic change. In his own words as I recall:
“ɛtu diɛ ɛnuaa ni tui”.
On his epitaph is etched these everlasting words…
“Star Boy Joe, You do all, Rest in the peaceful bottom of the earth”
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