On The Streets of Lagos too...

My afternoons –evenings were the most exciting parts of my day. After school every day, I will return to the hustle and bustle of the garage life just beside my Mother’s stall. Noise naturally became a rhythm I could never separate from my life.

My Mother, the primary and most fundamental source of noises my life. Her natural pitch is on the highest tune, you would think like an interpreter she was trying to catch up with a preacher’s sermon. I know better to either complain or correct. The first day I said

Maa mi, lower your voice. The veins on your neck are throttling like snakes trying to escape a fire hole.

She looked at me for about a minute and landed me the most resounding slap I have ever received to date. My ears lost their function for over five minutes because I couldn’t make out what she said before;

Na your papa, you dey follow talk that one. Stupid Pikin

It was at that point that I burst into tears, I cried for hours, and it only irritated her more. By the end of that day, the imprint of her five fingers was on my cheek. I didn’t see it, her customers did, and they all reprimanded her for being so stern. She never apologized (as if you have ever seen a Nigerian parent do), but that evening I got popcorn. Apologies, I believe, come in different forms and languages.

Even though I never heard the words out loud, my Mother loved me in her way. Weird but not unfelt. So when I began to hang out with one of the most popular and notorious agbero in the park – Egbon Ajepeaye, my Mother smacked my head with a concentrated knock. 

“I dey suffer for make you no suffer.” “If I see you for that Lungu ehn, you go hear am.” But I went back the day after, then the following day and later the day after until we became padis- Ajepeaiye and I.