Shine The Congo, (Part II) – By Alba K Sumprim

The policeman was thanked for saving the day. The neighbours gossiped about the early morning drama and were just returning home when the shitting man began to scream again. A bigger worm was passing through. Unfortunately, the policeman and his bullet-less gun were long gone.

The scared neighbours gathered to discuss how they were going to deal with the worm as sticks, stones and cutlasses weren’t going to do the job. While they discussed, the shitting man continued to scream in pain. Dr. Alex suddenly remembered his action powder – hip, hip, hurray! – and rushed home to returned with a packet (obviously, so powerful, only one was needed).

He bravely inched closer to the swaying hypnotic worm. Dr. Alex acted and narrated the story, while his captivated audience followed his every word. It was so quiet in the bus, not even the noisy surrounding traffic could penetrate the spell Dr. Alex’s story had created.

The worm stood like a menacing cobra but the brave Dr. Alex risked his life inching closer and closer until he was able to pour the contents of the all-powerful powder on it. Immediately, the worm began to shake and tremble – Dr. Alex started shaking his body to demonstrate the power of the powder on the killer worm. The worm shook as if it was having a seizure and then slowly began to wither until it crumpled to the ground – Like the wicked witch of the East – and died.

This entertaining anecdote led to more packets of the action powder being sold and that’s when I parted with 100 Naira for a sachet. I was stunned, I had never, ever bought anything on a public bus but having heard the worm story, I was inspired to try one. I also noticed that no one was getting off the bus and the conductor had abandoned announcing bus stops. Everyone was in for the long haul.

Dr. Alex mopped his brow and moved onto the main topic.

I’d noticed that with each ailment the action powder cured, it was known by a different name. Therefore, for sexual problems, it came as no surprise that of its many names, ‘mountain of fire,’ and ‘AK47,’ were the most popularly.

Dr. Alex took a deep breath, signalling the beginning of proceedings. We craned our necks listening with rapt attention.

Dr. Alex began this new sermon by championing the cause of women. He admonished men for not taking into consideration what women found pleasurable in bed. “Una men no know wetin woman want! Una no sabi d things wey dey make woman bodi wakiwaki for on top bed. I am not exa-ger-rating.”

“True talk, Dr. Alex!” I muttered. The old man sitting next to me threw me a dirty look.

He shook his head, expressing pity, “Hmmm, my sister, Most of our men no sabi shine de congo!”

From the back, I heard a few voice quietly repeat, “shine the congo.” I laughed.

Dr. Alex went into explicit X-rated details of men with huge penises inflicting unnecessary pain on their women, thinking that that harder they pummelled the poor woman the more MEN they were.

“Women, don’t enjoy that-o. They don’t o!” he stated with authority.

I looked behind me and saw a few men looking sheepishly around.

He talked of rich Ogas, who, though they had all the money and cars and houses, it was sad to find out that it was the watchman or houseboy who were keeping Madam happy. Passengers murmured. The rich Ogas didn’t know how to ‘shine the congo’ and a lot of men were also in the same situation.

“I’m not exa-ger-rating,” Dr. Alex let us know.

He gave instructions on how to use the action powder to please women, claiming that a man could last for hours on end and the woman would feel the power of the powder.

Being the only woman sitting on the front row he passed me the sachet to feel the power of the powder, his whole body shaking as he handed it to me. The other passengers were looking at me expectantly and enjoying the situation so much, I started to dramatically shake my shoulders.

“I can see that you can feel the power,” Dr. Alex shouted, “Can you feel the power?”

“Yes, I can feel it!” I shouted, nodding my head furiously. I didn’t feel silly.

Good grief, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity of putting in an Oscar performance of my own.

The passengers applauded and I glowed under all that attention.

“You see the power!” Dr Alex shouted, and the passengers cheered some more.

He told us of the great power of the AK47 powder during sex, and how long a man could last pleasuring his woman.

He started up a call and chorus and all the passengers joined in wholeheartedly, shouting ‘Congo.’

“You go last 1 hour,” shouted Dr. Alex.

“Congo!” We responded.

“2 hours.”


“3 hours.”


“4 hours.”


“Five hours!”

Before we could squeeze out the ‘Congo,’ one passenger, rewriting the script, quickly interjected, in a pleading tone.

“Oga, no kill am-o!”

To which the whole bus fell about in hysterics.

“Till daybreak!” Dr. Alex finished.

During the sexual sermon, this call and chorus was repeated about five times and no of us tired of it. A couple of wily passengers even tried to snatch the ‘Oga, no kill am o,’ line from the inventor but he guided it so jealously, Dr. Alex could hardly squeeze his words out first.

Even more packets of the AK47 powder were sold.

An old man next to me bought some AK47 powder and asked if he could prepare it with hot drink. Previously, Dr. Alex had said that the powder was to be mixed with water, warm mineral or lime. The old man’s question produced huge guffaws.

“Wetin? I just de ask!” He bristled with indignation.

This was the cue for Dr. Alex to give another medical lesson and though he didn’t put the old man down, he mentioned that alcohol acutely affects a man’s sexual performance; therefore it wasn’t the best thing to use. He sidetracked and gave us a quick lesson on the evils of alcohol.

Having giving his sermon and extracting a promise from the old man that he wouldn’t mix AK47 with ‘hot drink,’ Dr. Alex was ready to take questions.

“Don’t be feeling shy. Na helep I wan helep una,” he said in a soothing, ‘this is just between me and you’ sympathetic tone.

The gospel according to Dr. Alex claims that many people had sexual problems that could be easily solved but because they were shy, they hid it and missed out on a lot of good things, particularly, the great help that AK47 could become in their lives. There was a moment of pure silence, and then some passengers started teasing and nudging each other on to air out their sexual problems.

“I get problem!” The old man next to me said in a very loud voice.

I looked at him with horror as others sniggered.  I leaned over and whispered, “For goodness sakes, don’t air your dirty linen in front of all of us. You already know how to use the powder.”

“I know I get problem,” he declared, standing up for all to see him, “I no ke-yer. E no konsain me if evribodi know wetin dey happen! I go yarn, make dem hear!!”

Most of the passengers did nothing to hide their mirth as the old man glared at them with resentment. With a much-practiced straight face, Dr. Alex waded in again with his, obviously, much practiced soothing ‘this is just between you and me’ tone to encourage the old man to reveal his sexual problems. The rest of us turned expectantly, and a silence descended on the bus.

I glared at the old man and he hesitated.

Dr. Alex moved closer to us and cooed coaxingly, until finally, the man, with eyes downcast blurted out, “I no fit make my JT tanda gidigba!” He couldn’t sustain an erection.

The noise of laughter on the bus was deafening as all the male passengers collapsed with laughter. The raucous merriment was so loud it alerted the attention of those outside the bus, and nosy pedestrians rushed to jump on board and ask what was happening. The giggling men happily narrated the old man’s sexual woes.

“Make una hear well. I know wetin my problem e be, and shame no dey catch me to tell evribodi!” The old man defended himself.

I encouraged him while throwing dirty looks at the men behind me. “Bush men,” I mouthed at them.

One of them mouthed back, the laughter plain on his face, “Na wetin be ur wahala sef? Na him be ur guy?”

I was shocked, how dare they assume the old man was my ‘not able to shine the congo’ boyfriend, just because I was defending him.

I shook my head furiously and sneered, “You are still a bush man. And I won’t be surprised if you can’t shine the congo. Men!!”

The men at the back started barking. Well, that’s what their indignant words sounded like.

The smooth Dr. Alex waded in to calm the situation. It was beginning to turn ugly and he didn’t want to lose his crowd. With words of advice and wisdom, he told the old man to spread some of the potent AK47 powder – not all of it – on the tip of his penis just before entering the woman and he’d be able to ‘shine the congo’ . . . the call and chorus was repeated at the top of our lungs.

“You go last 1 hour,” shouted Dr. Alex.

“Congo!” We responded in unison, like a demented church chorus.

“2 hours.” Trying to whip us up into a frenzy.

“Congo!” Trying to outdo him in the melodramatic stakes.

“3 hours.” Dr. Alex was now wiping sweat of his brow.

“Congo!” To show we were feeling the AK47 spirit.

“4 hours.” Dr. Alex’s voice had taken on the frog-in-the-throat tone; think Buju Banton in his Ragga days.

“Congo!” We screeched, getting hoarse.

“Five hours!” Dr. Alex shouted as if in pain.

Before we could wheeze out the ‘Congo,’ the old man butted in before the shouter of “Oga, no kill am o’ could get a word in edgeways.

“I no wan kill am o!” He shouted, turning around to flash a smile at his tormentors sitting on the back row.

“You are the man. You know how to shine the congo.”

” “Na u be de area Fada! U sabi shine congo well well!!” His tormentors had become his ardent fans, clapping loudly while those within reach slapped the old man on the back. The smile of pure joy on the old man’s wrinkled face was priceless.

“Till daybreak!” Dr. Alex gasped, mopping his brow, as if he had been on a five-hour marathon sexfest, aided by the handy AK47 action powder.

The old man’s problem had been sorted out and on cue more packets of AK47 were sold.

The old man’s story had broken the dam and before I knew it, others were clamouring to air their sexual frustrations and woes. My jaws hug open as people happily aired their private business in a public bus to a bunch of strangers. Dr. Alex was as helpful as ever and could have rivalled Oprah Winfrey any day of the week.

As they say all good things come to an end and soon after, we reached Dr. Alex’s bus stop, the only stop the bus had stopped at since we left the bus station over an hour ago. Dr. Alex’s stop was right in front of his house. He pointed out his apartment in the block and also reminded us that his address and telephone number were on the packet, for when we needed more of the powder. Those who had missed their stops along the way queued up to get off the bus, cross the road and catch another bus going in the opposite direction. Within a few moments, the bus had lost most of its passengers.

Of course, Dr. Alex couldn’t get down without a final congo chant. The old man shouted the loudest.

Dr. Alex left the bus to rousing applause and as we pulled away, the few remaining passengers hung out of the window saying their final farewells.

For the rest of the journey, the congo chant plus a couple of Dr. Alex’s stories and anecdotes were repeated and are probably still being repeated in bars, bukas, homes, and bedrooms.

I am not exa-ger– rating!

*Alba is a renowned writer with two must read books to her credit. To contact Alba please visit

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