On The Streets Of Lagos.

Time passed and the air between my mother and Ajepe got comfortable. I think I was satisfied with the understanding. No familiarity, just mutual acknowledgment. My mother was grateful for his protection and I was grateful I meant that much to her.

I never witnessed how it started but I fair knowledge of how it may end.  Jokes began to pass between Ajepe and Maa mi. That smile I seldom saw began to come frequently. Hearty, wide and really beautiful.

  The nosy neighbors, customers with half baked skin and most of the people my mother placed curses on never failed to notice. Once or twice, I caught Iya Basira oni paraga giving her the eyes; the kind a child gives when they first see the cake.

Soon, he was visiting our stall every other evening marking the gradual decline of my ten naira stipend. I didn’t know how to react at first because it was weird. Coming back from school to meet my mother in the company of a male figure that was neither I nor my faceless father. I suppose I shouldn’t be bothered as I never grew up to and with any fatherly figure. My mother is my Father, mother and then my sibling. I should be happy that my mother is beginning to get along with someone, but in truth, I felt something deep inside.

                                    ******

I forcibly accustomed myself to the sight of coming back from school to see Ajepe by the stall. Opening his tattered teeth in a crooked smile. I used to appreciate the frenzy running errands for him brought me, but not anymore. I really could do with him making himself scarce for a while.

Each time he calls me, “Bois”, I scowl at him in my mind and wear that halfhearted smile on my face. I keep telling myself he makes the mother happy, I should not misbehave at least not yet. Sometimes, I long to ask him if he no longer has his job, because the Ajepe I knew was only free after I was back from school. But I could imagine maa mi’s high pitched voice swearing at me with such question. So I’d spare myself the trouble and keep my mouth in the permanent position of shut up.