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Writer Joey Akan Explains The Pain Of The 4th Totori In New Article

Writer Joey Akan Explains The Pain Of The 4th Totori In New Article

is 4th Totori. I come from Wizkid and Olamide’s creativity; far deep in the dark reaches of their mind, where onion booty can inspire a hardworking honest man to shed tears while begging to be pleasured. While begging to be Totori-ed.

You see, we Totoris are a proud bunch. We come from an inspired place of intersection. Where simple pleasures can meet artistic creativity, and like magic, once Wizkid smokes his weed, and Olamide takes insane gulps of that stout that has branded him, they begin to vibe. And you know that when men are left alone to vibe, they don’t stray too far from their dicks. To Totori, is to engage that dick.

So here I am, a product of Wizzy’s dick jokes. But I am not alone. I have three other siblings. They are all named Totori’, with the only unique identifier being the number of times we are used. First Totori, Second Totori, Third Totori, and me, the lastborn Totori, 4th Totori. It all feels like a huge Tortorlogy!

I am not friends with my siblings, and it’s partly my fault. The other half? Well, you have to heap the blame on my creators. You see, we Totoris have a simple but unique lifespan. We reside in the happiness of the music that we are utilized in developing. Our life cycle is easy. Wizkid and Olamide consume mental stimulants, start talking to each other, and boom, when they conceive us, and agree that we are a thing, we begin to exist. Once they fit us in a song, and that record is marked for release, we are close to adulthood. When we are finally released, we come alive in the hearts and voices of all the fans who catch the lamba, and scream our name.

Each time a fan says “Oya Totori me one time, Tor!” we Totoris are flooded with a strong sense of satisfaction and happiness. The more you sing, the more a Totori stays happy, blooms, blossoms and dies at the ripe old age of 3 months, when fast-food Nigerian music becomes old, and fade away as fast as it gained acceptance. While our life span might not be lengthy, it is filled with joy. I have seen my siblings scream out in orgasms every day and at every time because the song is always playing n one corner of the world. Nigerians really do love their Totori.

During holidays and weekends, First, Second and Third Totoris are having a ball, shaking with pleasure and living life as Wizkid and Olamide envisioned it to be. Everyone’s having the time of their lives, except me.

I was born defective. In the entire history of Totoris, I am the first of my kind to possess the genetic inability to fit into the chorus where all my other siblings reside and revel in. Wizkid birthed me, but he failed to nurture me to maturity. While constructing the chorus, he tried to squeeze me in to fit with the bounce, but he did a terrible job.

You see Wizkid could have stopped at my first three siblings. But he kept going, because his fans call him Starboy and that makes him think he can just do anything he wants. Those Totoris were wonderfully and fearfully made in his image. Me? I was destined to be malformed. After fitting in my elder siblings on the chorus, Wizkid could have found a way to end it there. But his daring attempt at squeezing me in at the death of the chorus, became my ultimate death. That’s what star do. Star does not give a fuck. They just want a song.

I blame it on the unhealthy Colorado. These things have a tendency to ruin lives. Wizkid and his Colorado ruined me.

Totoris have to fit perfectly in songs. It’s what we were born to do. There are very few Totoris in existence, and I happen to be the last one. Last and the least. When all my siblings reached puberty and crossed into adulthood, I couldn’t. I didn’t perfectly fit in the song. It’s like sitting at that seat just behind the front passenger seat of a Lagos Danfo bus. If there’s any fat person on the bench, you have have to learn the art of butt-hanging. One cheek in, one cheek out. One of my cheek is out. I am uncomfortable. A good number of you don’t even know of my existence. I mean, there’s an entire debate on Twitter about Wizkid not offering a final Totori up.

He did offer me up. But with the finesse of a randy bull. No grace was applied. I was forced to become this entity. Too low to be a full Totori, but audible enough to make my existence be a reality. I am stuck in-between.

Every time you people fail to say the final ‘Tor’, I die a little inside. My chest heats up and explodes in a hale of Orijin bitters and actual Bitterleaf. I die a little each time I am snubbed and ignored because I am not worth the stress. Music is a thing of ease, and when you complete it, fans would rather exclude you, than learn it. Even if it is a Wizkid song. I have

Fuck you Wizkid for making the wrong decision.

The whole world might think you nailed this song, with all its sweet melody and killer sexual innuendos. But you are a villain in my world. You created this monster, this vile excuse, this obscure in-betweener. Starboy, my Hellboy.

So here I am, unable to fulfil my destiny. I a helpless Totori, cursed before I came to be. I deserve better. All the other Totoris have it good. me? Why always me? I hate my Tor-ibble existence. I will remain a little deformed and malformed Tor-ddler forever, while I cry in Rema’s voice: “somebody save me…”

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