The Hustle

"Good morning Ma."

It is the fourth time that I am greeting, and I already know there will be no reply. Mama has been staring at the wall since last night. I sit beside her on the ragged foam and attempt to find the object of her attention.

The wall is not painted like the rest of the house. There are cracks that run from end to end adding some finesse to the uneven patches of brown dust on the wall.

"Mama won't you eat something?" I ask her as I tear my eyes away from the wall.

She does not flinch. Since she has chosen to ignore me, I decide that it is best to take my leave. I walk into the kitchen in search of anything. Even water. I find a little water in the storage bucket at the corner and pour it into a pot. It is another garri and palm oil day. It has been for a week now.

Unbothered by the mundane routine we have acquired, I search for the box of matches and try to light the wick.

First strike.

Second strike.

I raise the burner to find the problem and it is glaring at me. The kerosene tank is parched. It looks like someone wiped it clean. I turn towards the garri sack and find it empty.

I laugh bitterly and stand. I have always dreaded this moment where I would have to beg for assistance, but I have no choice. Exhausted, I drop my pride at the door and walk out in search of food.

"For mama, " I whisper to myself in consolation. I would do anything for her.

The empty streets remind me of the radio announcement that disrupted our lives a week ago.

Due to the corona virus pandemic, there will be a compulsory lockdown starting by midnight tomorrow.

I miss sprinting after cars and hanging onto lorries in order to sell my satchets of water. I know mama misses her roadside fish stand too, but she is being too dramatic. Why won’t she even speak to me? Does she really yearn for her old home and that bastard that left her two years ago? Am I not enough for her?

I am distracted by a girl rushing into a house nearby and I run after her. She looks slightly younger than I am, but I am not sure.

“Please help me. I just need a little kerosene to boil water for my mother and me.”
She looks at me sadly. Her empathic countenance makes me want to cower. I have resorted to begging the beautiful girls I should be wooing.

“I don’t live here,” she tells me.

“I am sorry for bothering you,” I reply. I want the ground to swallow me whole. I turn to leave, but she holds my hand.

“Wait.” She leads me into the house. “Don’t say anything. I can’t let my friend know that you are here.”

She disappears behind a door while I stand awkwardly, like the beggar I am. I notice a painting on the wall and I am grateful for the distraction.

“Here,” I hear her say and I look down. She hands me a full bottle of kerosene. I can tell from the glint in her eyes, that her friend does not know about this. I feel a tingle in my chest.

“Is it inappropriate to ask for your name?”

“Temi.”

“Kola.”

I nod. “There is something else, ” I say anxiously. “Is there any chance that I can get garri too?”


It takes about thirty minutes to get home and prepare food for mama and me. I drop a tray for Mama who is still oblivious of my existence. I return to my food, but I find that I have lost my appetite. Temi has overtaken my entire brain space. She never smiled at me, but I can already imagine how breathtaking that would be.

“Oh boy!” I hear Ade shout from outside. He bangs hard on the door. “Guy show abeg.”

I look down at my full plate and resign to my fate. Ade has never let food pass him by.

“Guy, chaw dey?” he asks as soon as I open the door.

“Eh?” I pretend not to hear, but I know that I am prolonging the inevitable.

“Food,” he says and pushes me aside. I watch him grab a stool and sit in front of my food. “Make we chop.”

I sit and and eat silently. Ade devours my food mercilessly, and I let him. Once we finish, he licks his fingers. I do the same and take the plates to the sink.

“As you don give me chaw, I get compass wey I want give you," he says.

“Which kain compass?” Ade always has the worst ideas.

“Na Bro J carry am come. We wan go one or two houses this night,” he explains.

I don’t like Bro J, but I don’t mention that. “To find wetin?”

“Na to borrow small food and money, but we go use gun do am.”

I know what he means. It is not the first time. I want to say no, but I think of Temi. I will kill myself first before I beg anyone again; especially someone as beautiful as her.

“What time?”

“I know say you get sense. Eight sharp.”


The ‘borrowing’ exercise has been successful so far. We have visited three houses and none has disappointed us. Ade has been raving about the laptops and iPhones but I am more interested in the yam and the rice. Rice became a luxury for us when evil vendors nationwide decided to hike the price unreasonably. They used to blame the government. Now it is corona's fault.

“Let’s go home,” I say casually. I no longer feel comfortable.

Bro J sneers at me and turns to Ade. “Why you carry this ajebutter come here?”

Ade looks at me. “Nothing do am,” he tells Bro J. “Na my boy.”

“One more house,” he announces. I want to go home. I feel a strange premonition about this idea, but I say nothing. I simply obey orders.

Once we scale the fence and force the family to open the door, we walk in and start making demands. Before long, bags of rice, beans, and garri have been brought before us. I am taking inventory, when I notice Temi. Her gait gives her away as she enters the kitchen and returns with a tuber of yam. I pretend not to recognize her. I have to save this girl somehow.

I start pushing for us to leave.

“Wetin dey worry you?” Bro J asks angrily.

“Ade no carry this boy come again o.”

I try to avoid her altogether, but I know the moment that she realizes who I am. Thankfully, Bro J had finally agreed to my request. We start carrying the foodstuff to the bus outside. I return for the last bag while Bro J points his gun at the family to keep them in check.

“Kola?” someone whimpers and I freeze. I play deaf as I pray silently that Bro J did not hear her.

“Who talk that thing? Kola, person know you for here?”

I shake my head. “I no hear anything," I lie. Temi’s trembling gives her away.

“You, come out!” Bro J orders and she does. He forces her to kneel before us. Flashes of this morning return to me and I want to cry. She shouldn’t have spoken.

Bro J hands his gun over to me and I stare in confusion.

“You know this babe?”

“How na?”

“But she know you.”

I shrug. “I no know am.”

“Finish the girl make I carry this bag go bus.”

Bro J takes the last bag and leaves. I am left with Temi who is still trembling. I raise the gun to her forehead.

“Kola you don’t have to do this,” she whispers. I notice randomly that her cornrows are fraying and her nose is too big for her face. Her lips are very thin too.

“I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

I hear the horn outside and I make a decision. I shoot at the wall instead and turn around. It is difficult to ignore Temi's hyperventilation and her mother’s sobs. As soon as I reach for the door handle, I overhear Temi's hushed words.

“I think I know where he lives.”

Without hesitating, I turn around and pull the trigger again. This time, there is blood everywhere mingled with screams of agony. I close the door easily and walk towards our bus.

She is not even that pretty.


#TheRitaSide

(Thank you Thelma for making me write this one.)

*chaw: food
*chop: eat
*compass: job
*kain: kind
*wetin: what