(Originally written in 2021 and published on my medium) I realized something profound about defecating the other day. It has a way of humbling a person. Whether a person is big or small, rich or poor, he or she still uses the toilet (to defecate) and there is something all poops have in common — they…

I realized something profound about defecating the other day. It has a way of humbling a person. Whether a person is big or small, rich or poor, he or she still uses the toilet (to defecate) and there is something all poops have in common — they smell.

This realization first came after reading Trevor Noah’s Born A Crime but it did not register well until I met this guy recently who was a member of my team during a project. For the sake of privacy and because I am as kind and forgiven as the Good Lord, I shall call him, Tom.

This guy, no sabi anything but he could sell his nonsense well. He was a fine boy (very fine boy actually), quite tall, fair with well-groomed beards, dress sense to match; he even spoke well with an American accent … but all na wash!

Tom reminded me of a beautifully packaged box that will draw your attention as soon as you see it, but leaves you surly disappointed on a closer inspection because it will be E for Empty.

That was Tom – E for Empty. T for all-talk-and-no-action, add no facts to it. But I digress. I did find his inflated ego and tall-as-kilamanjaro confidence amusing though. In every subtle way I tackled him, Tom dodged. When someone asked him a question he didn’t know, he would artistically extricate himself and leave you feeling dumb. If one wasn’t confident in oneself or abilities, Tom could further shatter your delicate self-esteem.

He was one of those people who could sell you nonsense and destroy your common sense; even I at some point, started to get carried away by charm and charisma … but na lie! My Jesus is still alive and He’s the best lie detector.

Anyway, back to my story. We were working on a presentation and Tom was talking and swaying hearts when he suddenly excused himself.

“I need to use the gents,” sweet baritone voice crooned at us and everyone nodded, mesmerized.

We continued the work at hand, debating how to incorporate Tom’s jargon into the presentation when suddenly I started feeling the urge to pee and excused myself also.

As God will have it, the toilet was such that gents and ladies were just divided by a thin wall (which was creepy), however, I reluctantly entered the toilet only to be assailed with groanings that could not be uttered.

Mighty groans of a person straining to …… (fill in the gap). I was scared, to be honest. My medical mind was already coming up with a list of possible medical conditions that could develop when someone continues to strain to defecate. But when the groanings turned explicit and downright crude, there and then, I decided that I must see whoever was on the other side of those walls.

Occasionally opening and closing the door to make it seem like different people were coming and going, I stayed put.

Through the tirade of expletives and even when the first bomb landed — with just as much force as a real bomb — I was there. The person on the other end even sang for his …….. (fill in the gap), which sounded like he was serenading a woman. At this point, I was beyond myself! Almost choking with barely-stifled, manic laughter, but I held myself. Omo! Wetin person no go see for this Lagos!

Finally, the person flushed. I waited for the person to open the door and step out to wash his hands before leaving my stall. Lo and behold, it was … you guessed right! Tom!!!

“Hi, Tom,” I deadpanned, acting all innocent. I applauded myself mentally for keeping it together because the laughter within me was threatening to pour like gushing water.

“Hey,” he replied cheerily, washing his hands with so much care. “Kenny, right?”

“Yeah,” I responded, quickly washing my hands and walking off.

Actually, I wanted to just go somewhere and laugh my head off but I held it all in. I held it all in throughout Tom’s presentation and during the rest of the project, but whenever our eyes met, there was a shared knowledge of what had transpired within those walls.

Maybe it was just me, but in those moments, that felt too intimate for comfort, Tom seemed to deflate a little.

This brought back one of the profound lessons from Trevor Noah’s Born A Crime: Stories from a South African Childhood

It’s a powerful experience, shitting. There’s something magical about it, profound even. I think God made humans shit in the way we do because it brings us back down to earth and gives us humility. I don’t care who you are, we all shit the same. Beyoncé shits. The pope shits. The Queen of England shits. When we shit we forget our airs and our graces, we forget how famous or how rich we are. All of that goes away.