They managed to squeeze the twenty four room storey building and two
self contained and four shops of number 225 Kata Street into a plot
of land that was formerly a swamp. No one knows the exact number of
occupants of this building. People stream in and out at all hours like it was
a shopping mall, except that here you will see men in only boxers with
stiff erections bellowing greetings at neighbors in the morning from the
top floor balcony while still rubbing their eyes, women clad in only
wrappers around their breasts washing heavy lather from the heads of
their children close to the gutter, the privileged shop owners spraying
holy water with incantations round their business premises, and many
other people being supremely busy within the compound while people
continued to stream in and out of the building.
I had since given up hope of knowing all my neighbors. Even with the
endless throng of occupants and all the in and out movements all year
long, there were still rooms that were secured with large shiny
padlocks that were never opened for months. The owners were said to
either be out chasing goods or visiting the village for the planting
season or ensconced in some bush for religious reasons or even running
from the police. There are however many with steady lives with whom I
interact everyday and whom I will be telling you about.
My name is Ndifreke. I am a university graduate just arrived Lagos to
hustle. I share a room with my thirty year old cousin named
Mkpoikanna-Abasi, the pronunciation of which has set up many
wrestling bouts down the years, due to his insistence that it be said to
perfection, something people of other tribes cannot just wrap their
tongues around. Someone had suggested that they simply called himMkpo. That also drove him mad. So they just call him Calabar boy. He is
a wharf rat and proudly so. His only passion in life is Manchester
United.
You?ll hear him say “This season we will win the league. Mourinho wins
the league in his second season wherever he goes.”
For actual neighbors, I?ll start with my favourites. There is Irikefe,
nineteen and timid looking but every mother?s nightmare as he is said
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.
to be the biggest threat to virginity this side of the equator. He is the
son of the caretaker and an apprentice carpenter who everyone knows
cannot handle a saw. You will always hear Irikefe say things like “Bros,
I will be rich. Whether the devil likes it or not, my time will come.”
Recently he has been saying “When I grow up, I want to be like Evans. I
supported the free Evans hashtag on twitter. Why would they touch
him when bigger criminals are roaming free in the Senate? Free Evans
joor!” Then there is Mr Zubi, middle aged, impossibly dark with a knife
scar one side of his face. He occupies one of the two self contained in
the compound with his large family and we respect him because he does
not have to share a bathroom with anyone. One day, his precocious ten
year old son Willy-Willy came up to him and said “Daddy, is it true what
bro Irikefe said that some of the Chibok girls refused to be rescued
because of the rod of Moses they were receiving in the bush?”
“Gerraway from here! Ewu Gambia!” he retorted with blazing eyes. The
boy was lucky to duck in time as three menacing knuckles flew past his
forehead”. The six sons of Mr Zubi always gave him cause to bellow
“Ewu Gambia” about one hundred times a day.
His wife is Mama Willy-Willy. You will hear her say things like “You see
what I always say about those actors?! They are all promiscuous! I hear
those two from The Wedding Party are getting married! How can they
convince me it did not start on the set of the movie? Someone will now tell me all that kissing and touching and holding mean nothing. That it is
just acting. Is a kiss no longer a kiss irrespective of the circumstance
of administration? They started enjoying themselves from the movie
set o jare! Today, they are husband and wife and nobody is talking
about the poor boyfriend and girlfriend who were at home supporting
their dreams while they were away fornicating on a ready-made excuse.
Now those ones are brokenhearted and getting no sympathy.” She
threw her right arm around her head in a wide circle and swore that
thunder will fire any woman who would near her man in the guise of
acting.
Mr Zubi shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was regularly bedecked
as a monkey in NTA?s Tales by Moonlight in the 80?s and once landed a
20 seconds cameo as a cripple in a 90?s drama series. He swears that it
was he who should have been casted in the lead role with Omotola
Jalade in Mortal Inheritance in ?96 and not Fred Amata.
“He got there through nepotism! The Amatas controlled the industry
back then.” He secretly dreams of a lead romantic role with Mercy
Johnson. “Thunder will fire you before it happens” his wife had said
when he mistakenly said it in his sleep one night. If you like, don?t get
up and go to your civil service work.”
There is also the neighbor Akunna. You will hear him say things like
“this is a calamity of a democracy. Wastefulness, imbalance in every
facet, and a mechanism for corruption humanity will see no greater. I
don?t blame President Buhari. If I were him, I will not return from that
London. Even the messiah cannot fix this nation. Light skinned and
freckled in the face and in his forties, his only other problem is his
wife. Recently he said to her: “Serena Williams won a grand slam with
eight months pregnancy! But two weeks after you have conceived
another bastard I will not be able to enter my own house because of
your nonsense squirming.” His four children were all dreadlocked and bore more than a passing
semblance to Talabi the tailor who was dreadlocked since birth. Akunna
did not hide the fact that he had been saving up for DNA tests
sometime in the future. He also likes Arsenal. Perhaps losing was in his
DNA.
And then there is Talabi. He is regarded as a hero in the neighborhood.
When Alhaji Sirika would not give any of his resident tenants
occupancy of the shops as he did not trust them with rent payment,
Talabi led the cry of injustice for many years. When the Alhaji would
not budge, he planted faeces in front of the four shops every night for
one month until all the occupants of the shops fled. He took the best
one for his tailoring business. The other three were occupied by
Lukman the one eyed barber, Josiah the carpenter and the oni rice
they called Mama Cowbell, all of whom were also resident at number
225. Other than Akunna?s wife, Talabi loved Chelsea FC, and being
reigning champions, his feet barely touched the ground since the close
season.
The last neighbor I must mention at this point is Mr Cosmas. He
occupies the second self contained and also does not share a bathroom
and would naturally have our respect. But he is weird and says very
uncomfortable things. Whenever a discussion veered towards religion,
he always had something different to say. He famously said that Jesus
did not die for our sins but was murdered for the truth he preached.
He said we would all pay for everything we do as God cannot carry the
sins of one child and put on the head of another. The less I say about
Mr Cosmas the better. It?s just that he is not one to ignore.
