Chapter 16: DIY Disaster — Samuel the Plumber
After Mr. Akrugu pulled his disappearing act (and my GHS 50), I sat on my bed, soaking wet and emotionally damaged.
My inner voice whispered:
"Samuel, are you a man or a mop? Stand up and fix your life."
I took a deep breath, rolled up my trousers like a village uncle about to weed the farm, and grabbed a spoon (yes… a spoon), a small bucket, and one leftover rubber band from Indomie packaging.
I was now officially a DIY plumber.
I marched outside and traced the source of the water:
a broken pipe near the wall, spraying water like it was celebrating Ghana's Independence Day.
I poked it.
It laughed at me.
I wrapped it with the rubber band.
The pipe clapped back with more force.
Next, I added black polythene and tied it with an old shoelace.
It worked — for 3 seconds — then exploded again, this time spraying me full in the face.
I staggered back like I had just received a baptism of fire and pipe water.
A small crowd started forming.
Some neighbor's kids were pointing at me:
"Look! The uncle is losing the fight with the pipe!"
Even the old lady from the next house passed by slowly, muttering:
"Hmm. Young people of today don't know pipe from pepper."
At this point, my pride packed its bags and left.
I stood there, dripping from head to toe, holding my useless spoon like a knight with a broken sword.
Then — because Accra has no mercy —
the landlord arrived.
He looked at the flooded yard, the broken pipe, and my soaked self, and asked calmly:
"Samuel, what did you do?"
I wanted to say:
"Sir, I tried. I gave it all. Even my spoon."
But I just said:
"It was like this when I got here."
End of Chapter 16