My sister has written me a nice poem for my birthday. She is cute, always kind and loving; a rock for our family since I’ve been conscious of her. But in the poem, a line has stuck out to me: a description of me as a prankster. This is absolutely true, but the memory of some of my best work in this regard has eluded me for a number of years. Her reference brings it back with all the attendant chaos and delight in a notable example.

There was a time in Nigeria when “killer numbers” were a thing. A rumour, originated from where all popular beliefs originate, convinced everyone that a certain phone number (or set of phone numbers) had been calling random people. And on receiving the call, the receiver immediately (or soon after) dies. For some reason, this piece of “news” made the rounds, from radio to television to newspapers, with eye-witness testimonies from family and friends of victims of the killing spree.

So parents warned their children about receiving strange calls from these numbers. These numbers were sent around so people would have them saved on their phones, so as to be on alert. My Sister Lará stored hers as “Killer Number 1”, “Killer Number 2”, etc. I always found it funny, since I neither believed that such numbers exist that could transmit death nor that any of it was going to call me. What was more hilarious, of course, was how seriously she had believed the stories and stayed on alert waiting for the killer number to call her.

So, one day, I went into her phone and changed one of the numbers to mine.

And the next time we were talking about it at the dining table, I called her phone from under the table. Imagine the look on her face when “Killer Number” flashed on her screen.

“Mogbé, it is calling me!”

“Who is?”

“Killer number.”

“Ha ha, don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m serious. Look!”

“What? You stored the number in your phone?”

“Stop laughing Kọ́lá. What should I do?”

“Hmm”

“And why are you trying to receive the call? Kọ́lá!!! Don’t pick the call!”

I did pick the call, of course, and seriously freaked her out.

Later I showed her the trick and she gave me the dirty eye of anxious relief. She may have hit me too.

But it was such a fun experience. Even funner in hindsight.

She has a blog here.