Toks buzzes you about the new group.

‘Mommy jst joind Whatsapp.’

Sigh.

There’s a million reasons why you sigh, chief of which is your brother’s incomprehensible mode of writing. You stow the itch to nag him about it.

‘Tell her I’m not on Whatsapp.’

‘But I alrdy told her I chat wt u all d time.’

Fuck!

Toks is only in JSS3, so you don’t say that out loud. It’s your use of words like that that has put you on Mum’s bad side. Shit! Fuck! Asshole! Mum has not given up including your name in her prayers during devotion for a ‘wholesome tongue’.

Sigh again. Add a not-interested emoticon for effects.

‘Is it just me left?’

‘Yh’

‘Dad?’

‘Dad z nuh on whtsapp’

You can’t take it anymore.

‘Toks!’

‘Yh?’

‘How do you expect to pass your exams when you keep spelling like this? Haven’t I warned you to always type in full?’

‘Sorry bro.’

‘Better. Add me.’

Minutes later you see the extremely cheesy group name your brother named the family group: THE HOWOLHABEEZ. You sigh. You brace yourself.

‘Ayaf added Wale o’ Toks announces on the group.

You roll your eyes; this boy will never learn.

It shows that Mummy is typing. You decide to scroll up and see what you’ve missed.

Titi, your kid sis, is at it again, saying all sorts of evil behind your back. Titi pathologically lies, and cheats and brews mischief. But she hardly gets caught, and you’ve had to fill her spot as black sheep of the family for years. Oh well…

Titi has told your mum about your numerous girlfriends, about how you don’t look after her in school, how you now move with the dread-rocking SUG bad-asses, and how she suspects you’ve even begun smoking weed…

‘WTF?!’ You type. Then you remember Mum is there and hurriedly delete it.

You want to reach into the phone and give Titi one resetting slap. You know what your famous blows have wrought in the past –Toks has a missing premolar to show for it– but then you realize it is only a waste of time; Titi is far from your reach, and that girl has absolutely no chill.

Soon, typical Mum begins her sermon.

‘Wale, you have got to change your ways, dear…’

You know you can’t last on the group. You begin to cook up the excuse.

‘…but if you fail to listen, I pray you have a son like yourself.’

What! No, that wasn’t Mum cursing you. But was she really cursing? You don’t want a son like yourself? Why? Oh, why not? Maybe you should really get your shi.., your act together. You notice no one has typed anything after that. Looks like Mum finally got to you. To all of you. You hope she got to Titi too.