I felt guilty.

It was during holiday in my highschool days and some friends and I decided to go and work on a farm to make money in preparation for resumption of school activities.

I was waiting at an agreed venue for others to meet me before we proceeded to the farm.

Adjacent to where I was standing was a shop selling liquor. I dashed into the shop to clear my eyes before going to the farm.

Clearing of eyes is a slang term used to express the effect of alcohol on one's sight and behavior.

I entered the shop and met people of different ages drinking different grades of alcohol. The overcrowded room was like a chimney with the smoke of different types of cigarettes competing with one another to take over the atmosphere.

I realized quickly that it was a market day and on such a day, people from neighboring villages came to transact business of different kinds. The reason for the unusual overpopulation was clear. I stood around for a few minutes scanning through the brand of gin that I would go for. After a few minutes of looking around, I settled for alomo bitters, a popular brand during that period to gin consumers.

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The last time that I took it, it contributed to efficiency at work. It gave me unusual energy to do the farm work. I picked the green bottled gin and paid. The concentration of smoke in the room was making my further stay difficult. I decided to go outside to take the gin.

I made the first sip and squeezed my face as it traveled down my oesophagus. It was at this point that my friend's father, known as Adayi Raimi emerged from a street close to the shop.

Despite being a much older person, whenever we meet at drinking spots, we greet each other as if we were age mates. Upon sighting the bottle that I was holding, he came close to identifying the brand.

"Which one is this? My rich boy," he hailed.

"What's the name of this brand?" he asked with the plastic bottle now in his hand.

Though the name was inscribed on the bottle, he wasn't literate enough to be able to read it.

"Alomo bitters," I responded.

"How much is this?"

"250 naira."

"It's not meant for me. That's expensive," he remarked.

"This is better than ogogoro. Ogogoro is unrefined and can easily be contaminated. Many people died of methanol poisoning recently through the consumption of ogogoro." I made some clarification for him.

Ogogoro was a locally made unrefined gin that was popular among the people because it was cheaper than the refined sealed products.

"Let me take a sip." He requested.

I requested a cup from the shop and served him a small quantity for him to taste it.

"This is superb. I have never taken this brand before. I think this is good for me to clear my eyes before going on my journey."

"Are you traveling today?" I asked.

"Yes, I will be traveling with my family except your friend today for Christmas."

My friend, Ojo, who was his son, walked up to us having the conversation. It was in his presence that his father went inside the shop to purchase the gin.

Ojo knew that the brand was my favorite and he was quite aware that his father didn't drink that particular brand.

As he saw his father emerging from the shop with a bottle of alomo bitters, he jokingly accused me of initiating his father into the family of alomo bitters consumers.

"Your dad saw it and liked it. I didn't force him nor did I purchase it for him." I responded in the same manner.

A few minutes later, my other friends whom I was waiting for in order to proceed to the farm arrived and we took off to the farm.

After returning from the farm in the evening, I met a report that Adayi Raimi and his family, with whom he was traveling, were under police detention.

I asked for the details of the encounter that resulted in their arrest and detention and I was told that when they were inside a hired car conveying them home, they met a police checkpoint. The policemen were engaging the driver with some questions about his driver's license and other things when Ojo's father felt that his time was being wasted. He approached the policeman interrogating the driver and gave him a slap for wasting his time.

The police team impounded the vehicle and locked up all the occupants. The news filtered in and people were seen discussing it in groups.

Some of the close relatives were mobilizing themselves in chartering a vehicle to go and bail Adayi Raimi and his family when Ojo sighted me from afar.

"You see what your bad influence had caused to my father and all of us? He got intoxicated with the drink that you gave him and went ahead to slap a policeman in a case that wasn't involving him directly. It's not your fault. It's my father that doesn't respect himself. Whenever alcohol is involved, he can disrespect his age and get into troubles. This is one of it." Ojo vituperated in anger.

"Don't tell me that nonsense. I didn't give the drink to your father nor did I purchase it for him. He saw me taking something and he requested to have a taste which I obliged. He decided to buy his own afterwards. What's my offense in all this?" I fired back.

We didn't engage in war of words further as he hurriedly joined his uncle and they embarked on the journey to go and bail his father.

They returned late in the evening and we were told that they spent thousands of Naira to bail the detained.

Throughout the period, I fired back at anyone who accused me of influencing the old man but deep down in me, I felt guilty. I was convinced that I could have acted in a way to discourage the man from taking alomo bitters knowing fully well the way the intoxication lingers in the system.

"Why can't I influence someone to do something great instead of making someone land in the police net?* I asked myself.

That experience formed one of the reasons that made me quit drinking in no distant time.