Sling-back hooves

A freak accident is an accident that is extremely unlikely and unusual.
It is kind of like breaking your wrist from tripping over a lizard while paying for fuel you brought 65 Naira per liter at a petrol station in Nigeria today.
Breaking it down further, I will go ahead and paint a picture.
Please follow me.

Imagine waking up at dawn to a bright and promising morning.
Imagine checking your calendar and preparing for an appointment that would herald your biggest break ever.
Imagine being careful with your wardrobe, accessories and (if you are female or Denrele) make up.

Note the absence of the need to get maimed or die in the sequence?
Good.
Now imagine being stuck in traffic for about an hour, lamenting on the loss of precious time and then having the bright idea to hop on an Okada
(motor bikes with the ability via the experience of the driver to meander through traffic at a daredevil pace) to get to your destination.

(featured above are bikes and samples of some of their uses)

Usually, this idea works out for the best and the day goes on as planned but on rare occasions, this turns out to be the stuff of nightmares.
It begins when while on the bike; a truck suddenly manifests from nowhere, the bike man reacts illogically and runs into something (most likely a car, tree or signpost) from there, things generally begin to go wrong.
When this happens, you develop amazing mutant abilities that keep you airborne for all of 3 seconds.
If after your “flight” you are able to land on your feet unscratched then, it is no big deal.
If you however land on parts of your body not adapted for flight, you will end up breaking joints, limbs and fleshy parts.

The thing with freak accidents is that we pray it never happens to us but unlike regular accidents where you can avoid (like not deliberately sticking wet fingers into an electric outlet, dating a Nollywood icon or consuming expired food and drink)
freak accidents happen when we least expect and are ill-equipped to handle.

This entry is supposed to be about the life and times of cattle and the men who attend to them.
From their conception, growth and sacrifice to the different forms in which they appear on food menu’s after they cease to be alive.

When I want beef, I look for an honest looking butcher and buy the needed quantity from him. I imagined the same would happen when I wanted an interview.
I was wrong.
It turns out there is a strong solid society of butchers which consists of a head, secretaries, other executives and loyal members.
If I were inspired, I would call it a cult of sorts where men are born to slaughter cows, rams and goats while defaulters are stripped of their knives.
On that faithful day, after being passed from one butcher to the other, I was finally brought to the public relations officer who spoke to me as he cut up chunks of beef into smaller pieces with a dangerously sharpened knife without missing a beat.
We began the interview but because of my timing, I was given a later date and time for its conclusion.

Thinking of the date I was given brings a sultry satisfied grin to my face.

It was for earlier this week, I missed it!

Given another chance and a choice to choose between the interview and *cough-cough* I bet you know which I would go for ;)