Street Life

As we all know, (so I think) that it is best not to speak at all if you don’t know the full story or have all the facts instead of filling in the blanks with your prejudice and bias.

A little background story to the sentence above;

You know, I grew up sheltered. I don’t know if it was a silver spoon but spoon sha dey when dem born me. So, most of the things I did on the streets were not for survival but just for adventure and my intrinsic trait of trying to create my own path in life. So, in this pursuit of a path, I met some street boys who didn’t end up on the streets by their choice but by fate.

I met Paul.

Now Paul was the boy every parent told their kids not to hang out with but he was so dangerous and nothing attracts thirteen years olds than danger. He was much older, say in the region of nineteen and twenty years. Growing up, most of my ‘friends’ were always much older. Maybe they liked me or I was some sort of insurance scheme, I don’t know but what I know was that they always kept me around.

Back then in Lagos, there was something called “Deal” or “Odu”. This was street speak for selling stuff to make a quick buck. We sold everything from refrigerator compressors to mercury. We heard mercury could be used to mint money, I have a story about that lol 😂

This particular Odu had to do with selling a compressor and somehow, Paul was the man with the plug. We somehow got a compressor and trekked our souls out to go see the man to buy it. Oh, this racket had like five of us involved. Long and short of it was that we got paid. It was successful – wow, my first business transaction. We had big plans for our money and by this, I mean to be the freshest kids on the block. Back then, you recognize crews by their attires. Everyone in the group wore the same kicks so we agreed to buy stuff.

We agreed to buy lumberjack shirts, jeans trousers and timberland boots. Back then, this was the hip-hop look and we were going to kill the streets, or so I thought. Of course, Paul agreed to keep the money and he was going to buy everything for us which he actually did. Now, there laid the issues, my mummy knew all my clothes because she did all my shopping so I didn’t know how I was going to keep the clothes. Paul offered to “help”. He told me he’d keep them and anytime I wanted to wear them, I’d just come to his house to wear them.

Problem solved or so I thought until it was time for the crew to appear in our kicks and Paul said he was not home. Everyone was fresh to death but me. Here I was with my Adidas shorts and a T-shirt with Smithsonian written on it. I took it to the chin until I saw Paul docked out in my own kicks. I was mad but I was thirteen. He was twenty and way stronger so we resulted to verbal gymnastics and Paul threatened to report me to my mother. Now, I may be everything but I’m not bigger than my mother.

I called his bluff of course but silently prayed he doesn’t come to report me to my mother. I mean at that point, all my assets were in my mother’s name, work to Hakimi. Then one day, Paul dressed up in my kicks and came to my house, ostensibly to greet my mother.

I don’t think I’ve sweated like that before lol 😂

The more he talked, the more I stuttered until I couldn’t take it anymore.

I had to beg him.

He now told me that if he had to cut a deal with me, I had to forfeit the clothes and pay him with my own part of the balance. I agreed. That was my saving grace.

So, when people (friends) ask me what happened with that event, I say nothing, expecting them to let it be but that is not the case as they have been running with too many different narratives and looking back at it now, it’s funny because not all adventures should be pursued.