I want to entertain you.
It should happen that in the next few moments I will arise from sleep. Whilst outwardly I may lie down, sprawled as if I was a dead man, this was a period of sleep that was actually quite pleasant because I had been working all morning in the busy market, pushing wheel barrows like my life depended on it. Well, if you considered it, my life did actually depend on it; because the number of barrow trips that I made was directly proportional to how full my stomach would be at the close of work that day, subtracting excess water drunk after each meal.
The afternoon was hot as most afternoons were, and I had no qualms in exposing my well formed chest and my well defined sixpack for everyone to see; I’d gotten a few compliments from time to time. It was also my marketing strategy, because a taut, ripped young fella is more likely to be picked to haul your goods while you surreptitiously checked out his own goods… Heh? Am I right, ladies?
Good, I am awake now. My mouth has begun to have the resident flavour of the fufu I had eaten in the morning, while my stomach though feeling empty, still felt strangely full. From my experience I know this is merely sleep satisfaction, and in a few minutes my belly would be roaring and groaning. I take a short trip to Iya Ibeji’s kiosk: the woman who has gotten fufu-making down to a science. The three sweat-faced but pleased looking men rolling hot balls of it between their fingers, with one of the men hoisting the ball of fufu a little distance upwards before catching it once again in mid-air, and the man standing in a corner giving a valiant assault with his teeth to a well rolled piece of kanda seem to agree with my posit. Indeed, there are some things you can never learn in a school. The art of fufu is one of them.
I sit down and wave at her and she gives me her loyal customer smile, but today’s own is too smiley. What’s up? Is she feeling the boy? Heh heh… If na so, make she stop the rough play oh. Though Iya Ibeji is not too old she is still old enough and some, for me not to reason in her direction. The plate of chicken laps that she puts beside me causes my eyes to open wide.
“Iya Ibeji, I no ask for this wan oh” I hastily say
“I sabi” she replied “na just make you take this one hold body, unto say you be good boy”
Gbehn? So, all these years way I dey here dey hustle she no sabi say I be good boy, make I for dey scatter chicken laps pissis everyday. Wait, come oh. E be like say this woman they work overtime. I have it on good authority that her daughter had just come to stay with her from the village. Sparky T, the market girl scout had told me this. (Just in case you were wondering, Sparky T is not female and he doesn’t wear a uniform) Sparky told me the girl was very down to earth and brief and also that the only kind of love you could feel for her when you saw her figure was the agape kind. So this is Iya Ibeji’s plan abi? No wahala. I reach for a lap of chicken and I tear into it with my teeth. It tastes very good. Sheebi no be because say I be good boy? She bin talk anything else? Abi I no be good boy? Until she speak word make I hear, she never tell me anything oh! Let me keep some meat for Sparky T and Femi-boy just in case, because as we all know, love potion for one man no dey work again once e don dey on top three pesin head.