8 Where you find me again

HADIZAT Within two weeks, I had realized that I lived among different but wonderful people who had different lives and stories. Kenny and I became good friends, not surprising. I met Wale, his brother Femi and their funny mother who was called Mama Sharp, because she ran a fast food stall called Sharp. Wale and Femi, although identical twins had very different personalities. While Wale was calm, a bit quiet, smiled a lot and tried too hard to please everyone, Femi was an extrovert, hot headed and very carefree, he was kind of like the black sheep of the family, according to what Kenny told me. I was closer to Wale and we hanged out more together. My next door neighbour was anty Samira, who was a very talkative woman and was quite interesting. She had a mental disorder, not too critical though. She had lost her husband and all three children in a car accident three years ago, and ever since, she wasn’t the same. Anty Samira would sometimes loose it and start talking alone and sometimes she broke down crying. Other times when she was sober, she was absolutely amazing to be around. I also discovered that the word ‘anty’ didn’t necessarily mean you were anyone’s aunt; it was just what people called female strangers. If they were a lot older, then you call them mummy. For the men, you call them unku and daddy, depending on perceived age as earlier stated. The rest of the people in the compound were all wonderful too, but there were a few grumpy ones too. The people in the compound had nicknamed me ‘Anty Ajebo,’ I didn’t know why or what it meant, and each time I asked Kenny what it meant, she’d simply laugh and not answer my question. Kenny sometimes called me Americanah because of the way I spoke. I learnt how to shout NEPA whenever the lights went out, which happened often. Wale told me NEPA meant never expect power always and that they had changed the name to PHCN but it wasn’t as ‘sweet’ as NEPA. I got used to the fact there was nothing like peace and quiet in Lagos, except if you lived in the big man’s neighbourhood. I learnt the lyrics of popular songs that the barbershops and the cassette shops played every night like ‘shake body’ and ‘shoki’. I thought the dance styles were funny and used up too much energy, but Kenny made them look very easy. Kenny told me she always went to the market every weekend where she sold palm oil. She had asked me to accompany her and I agreed, because I was dying to actually see the market, completely forgetting the palm oil selling part. I woke up very early in the morning, very excited. I took my bath before everyone else in the complex. I wore a yellow blouse, blue jeans, a mustard coloured veil and wedges. I applied little make up on my face and was checking myself out in the mirror when I heard a knock at the door. Of course, I knew who it was. I flipped the door open and Kenny was outside with an additional company, Wale. Kenny wore a simple long skirt, a sleeveless top and scarf tied on her head, while Wale wore a jersey top and shorts. I looked so off and I knew they thought so too as they stared at me from head to toe with a wide grin on both their faces. “You didn’t tell me there was going to be a party at the market,” Kenny said sarcastically. I wasn’t dressed for a party, so I didn’t quite understand her joke, but I knew something wasn’t right, seeing how they were both dressed differently from the way I was. “Yes o, I for don ready now,” said Wale in Pidgin English. I had started understanding some words in pidgin, but that one was a bit hard to understand. Kenny said my clothes were too bright, the palm oil would stain it too bad and to lose the wedges if I wanted to come back in one piece. I quickly changed into a maroon blouse, a flowery long skirt and a black veil. I thought was simpler, but I still got that look from Kenny and Wale that meant I was still overdressed. *** As I sauntered into the market alongside Kenny, Wale followed behind us, with some of his friends. “Where are you really from?” she stared at me intensely, “you don’t belong here,” she waved her hands in the air. I contemplated in my mind whether it was wise to tell her the truth or not, then I figured she was way too smart to be lied to. She would find out something sooner or later. I didn’t tell her everything; there were a few omissions and a few white lies. Meanwhile, I only told her what was necessary to keep her from being suspicious. Even with the very little I told her, she thought it was insane and totally crazy, but she promised to help me in every possible way. We walked all the way to Obalende junction, ignoring the touts that whistled and stared at our behinds,- well I ignored but Kenny eyed them in a way that scared even me, but they just whistled louder and called her ‘babe’ ‘baby’ and ‘first lady’. When we reached the junction, we met a fight between a police officer and an okada rider. The okada rider was bleeding all over and cursing the police officer who held a blood stained bat and kept reigning curses on the okada rider. People were gathered round them, discussing the fight like they were discussing soccer. Kenny said to hurry up and get a bike man who was willing to go before someone died and a fight erupted, the boys were hesitant to go, but eventually followed us. The market was called Idumota, located in Lagos Island. Idumota was indeed no place to wear wedges, the ground was rocky and muddy, the roads were congested, with a lot of bumping and pushing. There’s literally nothing you won’t find in that market. They sold clothes, foodstuffs, fruits, fish, meat, underwear, jewellery, chicken, snails, tortoise, DVDs, hair extensions, everything. There was a section of the market that called juju market where lion eyes, dried cats, frogs, white lizard, skinned frogs and all kinds of creepy things were sold. It had been whispered that if you knew who, you could buy human parts too. We set the palm oil on a wooden stand with a small shade next to a group of women who also sold palm and groundnut oil. Kenny and I cut and sold fishes all day, while Wale and his friends disappeared into the market. I learnt to stand my ground that day, when people would come and want to bargain on every price you told them, whether it was a cup of oil or a bottle. Some women would try to intimidate you, and others would even call you a thief despite knowing very well that the prices were set. At the end of the day, one gallon of oil and a few cups in the plastic bucket was left. Kenny said she was going to sell the rest to the retailers in the neighbourhood. She held the gallon and I held the bucket of oil as we chatted with the boys arguing and swearing in front of us. I was laughing at something Kenny had said when I heard a car honk behind me. I was startled, I was about to turn to see what the honk was about, when the bucket on my hand slipped, spilling oil all over the sleek range rover behind me. I ruined the windscreen, there was a small crack on it, and it stained the colour of palm oil. “Oh my God I am deceased,” I gasped. Kenny and Wale just stood looking at me with their mouth wide open, like it was the end of the world. I went straight to the driver to apologize but he motioned me to the back seat where I assumed the owner of the car was seated. I moved to the back seat, the glass was tinted, but he didn’t slide down. “I’m so sorry; I promise I’ll clean it, I’ll fix it. Please, I’m so sorry,” I begged through the tinted glass. Kenny and Wale also came forward to help me plead with him or her. I couldn’t tell since there was still a tinted glass between me and the owner of the car. By then, I knew Lagosians were not very nice when it came to their vehicles, and the owner of the vehicles, no matter how rich or high classed would not hesitate in ripping you to pieces. I was terrified. We pleaded over and over again, and then kept quiet waiting for a judgement. After about a few seconds, the car door finally opened. I stood face to face with the main character in my dreams for the past two weeks. “Get in.”