DIARY OF A LAGOS PRINCESS (EP 5).

PHOTO CREDIT: VECTEEZY.

EDITED BY: THEUNUSUAL _WRITER.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

JINGLE BELLS AND A MATCHETE.

Dear Readers,

It's me again! Ife, like Ifeoluwa Makinde. It’s been such a long time, and I’m so glad to be back. A lot of bad things have happened, like really, really bad things. But then. I’m not even in the mood to ask about how your Christmas went because I’m still grieving. Anyway, I'll tell you what happened. Like everything.

**************

Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock

Jingle bells swing, and jingle bells ring.

Snowin' and blowin' up bushels of fun

Now the jingle hop has begun...

Bobby Helms country voice resounded through the room from the old black Bluetooth speaker that had started sounding like a bad cough. It belonged to Abeya, one of the girls. We have begged her countless times to dispose of it or sell it to that Abokina who always came to knock on our gate. But Madam refused, insisting that it was a gift from her first love.

Wahala for who no get first love o

It was about 6:30 p.m. in the evening, and the room was unusually quiet as everyone lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. It was Christmas Eve, and no one’s true love had anything to say. Even Kofi’s overly romantic boyfriend didn’t call or send gifts over.

And trust me, I had a good laugh.

Breakfast on Christmas Eve. I just laid down, thinking of how Christmas was going to be. No plans had been made, and there was no money available. I reminisced about how fun and exciting Christmas used to be when I was much younger. Then, the price of knockouts hadn’t gone up, people could afford as many as they wanted, and we would stay up all night shooting till dawn, but with the current state of the economy, People hardly shot any, and when they did, it would sound like they were trying to scare unsuspecting thieves. One, two shots in the air, and they are done.

Shikena!

“Guys! Any plans for tomorrow? Abi all of una wan Dey house?”. Kofi said, breaking the silence.

“Funds no Dey at the moment o”. Abeya said, “But e get one big party wey Dey happen for that club in Ikorodu, we fit just dress,go there.”

“That one no bad o”. I said, nodding my head.

The next morning, I was up and about to go to Mama Bunmi’s house. I was certain that she was going to cook. Kofi tagged along, and when we got there, her living room was filled with human heads. Little children lapping one another, women with big geles and wrinkled makeup smiling at themselves as they discussed nothing in particular whilst shifting their attention from the large serving of pounded yam before them. My eyes darted to the big fish in the melon soup, and I wished I could grab it and run away. But then. When we saw that there was no space, we had to go to the back, where the whole event was happening. I whispered a few words into Mama Bunmi’s ears, and she quickly got a small cooler ready for me and Kofi.

“This fish is sweet o…it will be very good for garri." Abeya said as she munched it hungrily. I and Kofi had poured the food into a tray and sat down on the floor with the others to eat. Mama Bunmi was a really good cook, as the hot smoked jollof rice banged my head like a sweet headache. I squeezed a satchel of water into my mouth and laid down. Christmas was just getting started. I would have liked to go to Mama Fejiro’s place for round two, but after I heard that she uses menstrual blood to cook, I snapped my fingers, rushed to the market to get Goya olive oil, emptied the contents of the bottle into my mouth, and never patronized her again.

E get as e Dey do me do me do me... The music from Abeya’s speaker had changed, and I tapped my feet to the song as I dressed up. We were all leaving for the party. I borrowed Abeya’s bone-straight replica hair and wore one of my old dresses. I wanted to wear slippers, but the girls advised me against it.

Na money I dey go pick, no be fashion parade!. 

I later settled for an old heel Maami’s friend gifted me. When we were all ready, we took a cab and went to the party. The whole place was jampacked; people were dancing and rocking themselves. I could hear Sammy of Hype’s thick Warri tone as he hyped one fat, dark girl.

On the first day of Christmas, my true love said to me 

4 bones straight

7 handbags

5 pixie curls

2 SDD’s

8 Jimmy Choo...

That one no be my problem; make them spray money.

I winced as I gulped down a shot, another shot, another shot, and so many other shots, and I started seeing some strange faces. I’m very sure I saw Johnny Bravo and some other faces I couldn’t make out. I danced out all my sorrows and brokeness until Abeya dragged me to where a pile of money was, and the lion in me emerged as I grabbed as much as my hands could carry, stuffing them into the nylon bag I brought. A few minutes later, we exited the club, stopped a cab, and thought we were on our way home when the cab stopped on a bushy and lonely path.

“Oga! Where you dey go? You don miss road?”. I shouted from the back seat. “Will you shut up?”. The driver shouted back. "In fact, all of you come down." We remained in the car until he came, opened the door, and forced us out, pushing us to the ground.

“Oga! Oga! Abeg! Abeg! Which kain nonsense be this? Why you Dey humiliate us? Na the work you dey do be this?”. I was a bit high, and it was giving me a lot of morale. The driver slapped me so hard on the face. “Will you shut up? Ashawo!”. I was about to protest that I wasn’t an ashawo when Abeya held me back. I noticed that the girls were all quiet and shaky. Even Mudiaga, the gra-gra one among us who was supposed to bring the driver and his men down, didn’t say a word. I was literally the only one who was bold enough.

“Silas! Scorpion!”. The driver shouted, and two hefty men came out of the bush with glistening matchets. “Oga abeg, we no get any money; we no get." Kofi cried out, and the rest of the girls joined. “Shut up!”. He shouted and ordered the men to search us. They took all our bags and emptied their contents on the sand. No shi-shi. We always hid money inside our brazziers.

"Oga, no money!”. They said. “Money dey! Search them well!” The driver shouted. "I don’t want to search your bodies; bring out the money or we will waste all of you!”. The driver said again, and we kept on pleading that there was no money, and the next thing that happened shook me. Silas placed the matchet under my neck, and I didn’t know when urine flowed out of my bladder.

“Your money or your life!”. He shouted in my ears, and right there I began to think of all the things I had planned to do with the money, and I thought again that if I said my life, they would kill me and search me afterwards, so I shouted none, and he kicked me at my back with his boot.

After everything, I surrendered the money to them, the girls too, and the driver smiled as his boys stuffed the money into a big bag and placed it in the trunk. They pushed us into the car and dropped us off on a lonely road.

Guess the time? 2:30am.

We started running. Lagos can be dangerous. My body ached both from the slap and the heavy kick and my dress smelled of urine and fear.

Breathes in heavily. It’s been a few days now, and Abeya is still massaging my swollen leg with hot Aboniki balm.

Please send in your condolences.

Yours sincerely,

Ife-yam-leg.

THE END.

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