On The Streets of Lagos

Egbon Ajepeaye was no do-gooder. Bus Conductors on the streets of Lagos are rarely any good- that was the impression my Mother instilled in my young mind. “My pikin, agbero, no be your portion. You go speak better English,…” and on and on she will continue. Some of them have an aspiration too, you know, maybe some even dared to see their future beyond the agbero zone.  But somehow, we all grew into the street consciousness of any proper Lagos kid – the street OT of a Lagosian never levels down. Don’t ask me what an OT is, ask the streets of Lagos.

My home was a shed attached to my Mother’s famous Boli stand. The sun shines on us there, the rain soak us wet there, the putrid smell of the darker parts of Lagos is our natural stench. But her Boli and fried meat stew managed to be one of the joys of that area. That was all I ever knew as food until the sun of change smiled at me.

 When I was still in primary school, one of my rather unfortunate teachers had the tough luck of following me to my Mother’s stall one fateful afternoon. Her mission, unknown to me was to lecture my Mother on a growing Child’s nutrition. By sweet heavens, I had seen her pass through our street many times; I would even wave at her. She must have drawn her inference on such pass-bys, because I still don’t know how she knew. That day, Iya Oniboli threw saliva up into the skies and allowed it to make a landing on her face. She tore at my mistress with the kind of madness only seen in a loving mother. Let’s hope that one of these days, the mistress will walk across the street again and not turn deaf ears to my greetings. But I know she won’t, a mistress should keep her big mouth close to the lips of her toasters.

I am nonetheless grateful for her short-lived visit. Mama soon made a welcome substitution in my diet; Beans for breakfast, boli for lunch, and whatever my mouth could munch on for dinner. I know why, and I never complained. The mistress had a point, and iya Oniboli will rather die than admit.