QUEEN ENGLISH IN THE WASHROOM

Last night, I was roused from sleep by some noise from the washroom. I have the privilege of sleeping just adjacent to the washroom. Some university accommodation staff member saw to that. It feels ‘cool’ with 'nice scent' periodically wafting into my nostrils making my days. I am not complaining; am proud. From my experience living in a washroom neighborhood, I can tell you without blinking who is using the toilet at any given time. Male or female.

Women walk in, pause momentarily, pee a little, pause again and then let out the real thing. In between the pauses, I presume that they are admiring the toilet architecture. You know how women can be nasty in admiring everything they set their eyes on? They could probably be thinking that the toilet bowl looks lovely and even let out a gasp of “Oh my God, the bowl looks cute!“ You can never understand these creatures. 

When they are letting out the ‘real thing’, you will never realize it. You only know they are done the moment you hear a ‘Bum!’ Water flushes and they are out, lighter and happier.

Men are different. I think they are ever in a hurry. They recklessly walk in, stumble on everything and knock the door too hard before banging it close. They are like a hurricane or a noisy rhino charging. Carelessly, they undo their trousers. I sincerely feel for the belts. They are so much mishandled. Even before my sympathy for the belts reaches a climax, the moaning begins. Maybe it is worth noting that they do not begin by peeing because everything comes together. Moaning continues… I wonder why we men moan. Is it that the stuff is too enormous and painful to push or is it that the outlet is too small? I am sounding mischievous.  Let’s go back to yester night’s story.

I was woken up by some men’s strange noise in the washroom. If I said that I was excited, it would be an understatement. It would not capture my last night’s adventures. I was curious—more curious than a midwife who wants to know the sex of a newborn. You have ever watched (in movies), how they behave once the kid is safely delivered?  They do not even care to know whether the kid’s breathing is good. No, that will come later. They rarely check whether the kid has five fingers on each hand. That is not their role—the father will do it. Their duty is to go directly to one part; the nether worlds. It is as though they expect to mine some gold down there. And as sure as death, they mine gold. In a few minutes time, they will celebrate their catch by shouting, “it’s a boy” or “it’s a girl”.

Let me spare you the suspense and ordeal of having to read so much fluff and filler content. It could be that you have some funny thoughts about what the men could be doing. They were not doing what you are thinking. Otherwise, I would not have written this article.

The men were speaking in English. Did I just hear you sigh? Well, do it again. They were speaking in pure queen English, the kind of English that at times flow through your nostrils. I couldn’t understand this. I dared not move nor make a sound.

You see, at the wee hours of the night, men do not speak queen English, ladies are allowed. By Jove, it is bad for men. It is uncouth and unbecoming. I do not get how sober men in their right senses do it- speak queen English (not just English but ‘queen’) at 3.00am? It is a waste of language. Methinks you should reserve such colorful language for other times: like at 9.00am when you are throwing lines at that lady you have been eyeing for ages. Or maybe, keep it to convince colleagues at a group discussion. That is wiser. At least people hear you. They compliment your polished language making you feel like a superman; a European in African skin. It is indeed a light bulb moment. But at 3.00am, in the toilet? No!

At that very moment, I felt the urge to pee but I wouldn’t move out. How dare you walk to pee in a washroom occupied by men speaking good English? They could be robbers, madmen, murderers or gay. For heaven’s sake, sane straight men do not do so. They speak in broken and vulgar mother tongue at such hours. If anything, aren’t they called’ ungodly hours ‘of the night?