Growing up where I did, meant you were opportune to at least 3 fights in a good week. I don’t mean that thing Yoruba men do in bus parks, all voice and no fist (I find it disappointing most of the time, being deprived of a front seat view at an amateur MMA match). This isn’t actually the case for us as one way or the other, fists are launched from as many directions as possible, whether willingly or by pressure from willing spectators eager to watch a bloodbath.

I pride myself as an easy-going person who wasn’t eager to have fist flying because, at the end of the day, both parties never go unscathed. However, if you were smart enough, you could plan it well enough to go unharmed. The word was that the last person to land a punch in a fight was the winner of the battle. This can be debated, but at the end of the day, there’s a semblance of truth in it, not because of the hit in the first place, but the pain and disappointment from not being able to return the favour one last time. At the end of the day, you want to be the one to laugh last at all costs or go home in tears from the disappointment and people cheering your opponent.

If you were smart enough, you could have the perfect plan and go free. This centres around having everything duly planned, from the fight’s location to the timing and the getaway plan. It was widespread knowledge that fighting in the afternoon was synonymous with a battle to the death. This is because every self-respecting adult capable and willing to end a fight is either not at home at that time or is resting in the hot afternoon. This means the chances of having a saviour coming to break up a fight, especially when you are being dealt random punches, is low compared to an angelic intervention that leaves you waking up in a hospital ward. So the smart thing to do, especially for a fight you are not confident in winning fair and square, is to have the battle in the open on a cold evening, not too far from adult intervention. The game is to have the perfect timing that allows you to land the first punch, followed by adult intervention. This leaves you walking home a proud and powerful victor, and your opponent goes home replaying the whole incident in his mind in frustration and pain. The only caveat to this plan is that you go home, have a nice indoor, quiet life for the day and never give in to the pressure of a rematch another time, at least not until you’re prepared and have all angles set for a replay of this master plan.

I pretty much never had a reason to need this master plan because I was always an observant, willing spectator at any onslaught anyone decided to willingly commit to. I was that guy who was always willing to watch but unwilling to fight. This is not because there was no one to fight or no bullies to stand up to, but because I couldn’t see myself, in my skinny stature, going against anyone. I reconned I could land multiple punches, and it all won’t have so much effect on the recipient because I wasn’t that guy. Or maybe it was the thought of throwing a punch and having my fist land in the wrong place, resulting in me having to deal with the pain and potential sprain from such lousy launch. All in all, fighting wasn’t as much my thing as watching, and no time spent watching Bruce Lee or Jackie Chan (you think I will mention Jet Li? Shame!) could motivate me to stand up to any bully. I was too smart to know that movie fight scenes were heavily choreographed. I had watched one unfortunate person, that happened to be a friend, go up against a bully in the “Drunken Master” ways and get himself a generous beating. So yeah, IT CAN NEVER BE ME!

This was the case until I gave in one day. I had been bullied by this boy older than I am and more built than I could be. I tried to stay calm and avoid engaging with him on specific issues that would lead to confrontation. This was working well until the day that it didn’t. Coincidentally, it was on a very late evening, we had a late-night football, and an argument came up over a goal I scored against this bully. He was going to have his way and insist the goal be cancelled, and for some reason, that day, I wasn’t going to have any of it, so I stood my ground. One thing led to another, he rushed at me, and I dodged, tripping him in the process, and he fell. The crowd of us in the game roared in excitement and mocking laughter. This, in turn, fueled him with rage. He jumped up and raced like a bull towards me, and by reflex, I threw a punch that landed on him, and the fight was quickly separated by bystanders. I walked home like a king while the others laughed and mocked the boy over being beaten by someone younger than him.

I got home feeling good about myself, replaying every bit of the incident repeatedly and being pleased with myself for humiliating this boy who seemed to always have it out for me. I must have done this so many times in a short time that it quickly entered my head, and I forgot about the only caveat that should never be forgotten. I went back outside and sat on the veranda of our house, watching as the crowds kept hailing me and mocking the bully. I felt really good, proud, like a victor, and like they say, pride goes before a fall, and my fall was around the corner.

One unfortunate fellow, who happened to be a friend of the bully and eager to watch his friend have a second chance at me, suggested a rematch while hailing and jeering me to have a second go at the bully. Unfortunately for me, I yielded to the voice of the devil, left where I was and walked towards where they stood. We moved somewhere a little out of sight. Before I could blink twice, the rematch left me being rained blows by this bully as he vented all the pent-up anger and humiliation on me.

I prayed to God and asked for forgiveness and saving because deep down, I knew this boy wouldn’t stop until he was satisfied. And my God, who never flops because He doesn’t wear flip-flops, sent an angel in the form of a human who so happened to be walking past, and the fight ended.

I walked back home again, but this time in humiliation, regretting ever agreeing to a second fight. At that moment, I realized I wasn’t cut out for a life of violence, as peace, without the bruises of punches, had to be the way, my own way. However, I wished I could have another chance to win in my own way or outsmart my bully; maybe I should, perhaps I need to go back out and have another go at it; who knows, his pride might bring him down too, I think…

NEVER AGAIN!