Interview With… is a Zikoko weekly series that explores the weird and interesting lives of inanimate objects and non-human entities.

Zikoko is on a queue, waiting for their turn to pick up their PVC when they start hearing voices.

Unknown voice: Zikoko! 

Zikoko: Who’s calling my name? 

Unknown voice: Zikoko!

Zikoko: (looking up) Father, father, speak, for your servant is listening. 

Unknown voice: Look down, you idiot.

Zikoko: Satan? I know I’ve done some questionable things, but ah ah? 

Unknown voice: It’s not Satan. It’s me, PVC. 

Zikoko looks down and notices a card on the floor. They pick it up, and it’s someone’s PVC. 

Zikoko: What’re you doing on the floor? 

PVC: I fell from someone’s pocket. 

Zikoko: How do you know who I am? 

PVC: You cause chaos in the human world, you cause confusion in the land of objects. Who doesn’t know you?

Zikoko: We don’t want Meffy to know us please…. 

PVC: I think we should focus on my solvable problems. I tried reaching out to you last week, but I couldn’t get to you. I think meeting your right now is an act of divine intervention. 

Zikoko: Yeah, sorry about last week. I briefly got kidnapped, but I’m okay. What’d you want to talk to me about? 

PVC: Once again, thank you for the opportunity.  I’m here because there’s fire on the mountain. Plenty of fire, and it’s hot. 

Zikoko: What’s burning? 

PVC: There’s no other way to explain it. Do you know what’s happening on the 31st? 

Zikoko: Some people’s salary day? 

PVC: Yes, but also, it’s the deadline for picking up PVCs. 

Zikoko: Yeah, I’m aware, every Nigerian is aware. Is that why you’re looking for me? 

PVC: Yes and also, no. Do you have siblings Zikoko? 

Zikoko: Yes, one 

PVC: I have millions, scattered across Nigeria. If people don’t collect their PVCs, we’ll all be stuck together in offices that barely have light. Do you know how much they’re selling fuel now? Since there’s no light, there’s heat. All till the next election. 

Do you know what it’s like living in a room with hundreds of your siblings, tied together with rubber bands so tight you can’t even try to stretch your legs? No privacy whatsoever. 

Zikoko: What do you need privacy for? 


Zikoko: What does that even mean? 

PVC: PVC no go fuc— 

Zikoko: Please, it’s enough. *scratches head* They don’t pay me enough for this. 

PVC: What do you think we do in your houses four years when we’re waiting for the next election? 

Zikoko: Reading, learning how to become a passport or ID card, lying down and waiting for the election you were created for… 

PVC: Have you yourself done the things you were created for in the last four years?

Zikoko: Who is the interviewer here? Maybe you want to add interviewing to the things you’ll do for the next four years.

PVC: Zikoko, calm down. We don’t have to resort to violence. My siblings and I need to escape those conditions. We’re desperate. 

Zikoko: What will help you escape? 

PVC: We need people who haven’t gone to look for their PVC to go look for it.

Zikoko: But that doesn’t mean they’ll find it.

PVC: Yes, we know people are trying and it’s difficult. We just want to make sure everyone is doing it — let’s have a chance to escape four years of stagnant offices at least.

Zikoko: Get your PVC. Choose pregnancy over stagnancy…

PVC: Sigh. I don’t know how you have rights.

But look, what I’m saying is that I know it’s not easy asking you to suffer for my sake, but abeg, try. We are nothing but beans, waiting to be picked. 

Zikoko: What does that even— –

Zikoko is cut off by an announcement

Announcer: Please, a person is looking for their PVC. If you found any PVC, can you let us know. 

Zikoko: I think it’s your owner looking for you. 

PVC: Yeah, I think so too. When you pick yours up, tell my sibling I passed the message along. 

Zikoko: Will do. Will do.

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Starting next week (January 31st, 2021)


Zikoko amplifies African youth culture by curating and creating smart and joyful content for young Africans and the world.