ON THE STREETS OF LAGOS

Basira, the daughter of Iya Basira OniParaga, is one of the girls that allow agberos to by force her. I wonder why they speak of it as by force since Basira giggles like a wild duck on honeymoon during the act. In my understanding, whatever you enjoy is not forced. At least that is what our English said when a schoolboy told us his Mother forced him to eat his favorite food every day. Hearing Basira's cherry moan amongst parked cars is everything but by force. Right, what does a boy know?

Everyone in the Lungu knew Basira's gist. Well, except, of course, her very Mother. If she knew, she never let it on because Iya Basira was only in the second position to my Mother in curses and fake enmity. Lizards in the wall cracks carry on the tale of Basira's numerous by force escapades. Denial is just denial. That woman has heard the stories; she is lying to herself.

On this day, Basira and one of these no do-gooders were sharing a moment in broad daylight. I must commend the audacity on her because she had never gone so far. Maybe that one was her boyfriend since they both grinning from ear to ear, and for once in her life, she wasn't whispering, "Don't by force me." I saw them from a distance, I had no disgust, and I think I saw some kind of valid emotion pass between them. However, the moment was fleeting, and those agberos hardly fall in love beyond dry humps and wet kisses. So, let's kindly move on.

I kept my mouth to myself, and whatever reaction a boy of my age should have, went into the wind. I passed by, not acknowledging them. I get it, in their world presently, I probably don't exist. I realized too late that the corner of Basira's eyes caught my movement, and she almost immediately broke into a run. I could not fathom how a blissful moment suddenly became a case of temple run. I shrugged off the feeling looking instead at the man she left abruptly. The young man was as surprised as I by her abrupt departure. I should not, but I felt a tad sorry for him.