The plan was simple, stay in on Sunday morning and snooze as per the usual custom. Nothing was gonna get in my way, alas I was so wrong. I was rudely awakened and informed there was no fuel to run the generator, long story short I had to hit the streets. After snoozing for another 10 minutes I grudgingly got up to begin the search.
The first petrol station was packed full, and the gits weren’t selling to those with kegs (I still wonder why). So after swearing, inaudibly that is, I pushed on. Next petrol station wasn’t so packed but mehn the ‘keg queue’ long dieeeee!!!!!

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I didn’t have the energy to cry, I just burst laugh say ‘yes! Today na today’. Thus began the oh so slow crawl toward the pump, 2 hours plus on my feet, hunger eating all my insides. I had almost reached the promised land (about 5 kegs left in front of me) when shouting suddenly erupted from the back of the queue. Apparently some animals were trying to cut on line, next thing kegs were flying, shirts had come off and the usual yoruba thug behaviour (making so much noise without throwing any punches started). I was just shouting ‘abeg make I buy fuel before una start fight o!’ i so wasn’t ready for so close yet so far. Everything was sorted out, I filled my kegs and began to think ‘for how long are we gonna live this way’ this isn’t life, iya yii po……  

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