Contrary to popular belief, I am a bit of a couch potato. I just want to lay down somewhere, read a book, watch videos about dogs on YouTube, or have witty bants with someone in person or over the phone. If I have all or some of these, I'm typically good. However, on Thursday the 17th of March, at 5:08 AM, when decent people were still asleep, except of course they live in Lagos, I put out a plea for "hep" because I wanted to attend the Etisalat Prize for Literature. I don't actually consider myself a writer because I think owning that tag requires a lot of boldness, deepness and sometimes, a dash of weirdness (or uniqueness if you want to be polite), and I'm not sure I possess all these qualities in adequate measure. However I thought to myself, "if you are too chicken to call yourself a writer, won't it do you some good to be in the midst of literary giants? Maybe by osmosis, you might get some of their qualities and realize that the writer tag is not for a few." So I made a decision that I was going to attend the event, but there was a little snag, I didn't have a ticket or know how to get a ticket, and the event was strictly by invitation. So I began a quest to get tickets, and I sure did learn a great deal along the way.
By the time I embarked on my quest, the show was only two days away, so I did what came to mind first, I asked for help on Facebook.
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| My Cry for "Hep" |
