Why was the ceiling in my face and everyone else lying on the ground? This was all I could think of in those few seconds as stars and cute birds flew in a circle above my head. In those few seconds, I couldn’t figure which was more colorful- the birds or the stairs. They refused to stop dancing round my head, singing and cheering as they went round, over and over again, blurring my vision and impairing my sight.
Suddenly, my vision became clearer, birds and stars had moved on and the voices were that of the crowd who had shamelessly abandoned their businesses to come watch history play out its biggest plot twist. The ant- after a billion and one folk tales, finally defeated the elephant with something as minute as a shove.
Maybe it had something to do with the fatigue of having to satisfy the sexual adventures and depths of two different lovers in less than 24 hours and the light meal I had before leaving the house. Either was to blame, I only needed to figure out which.
Their cheers got louder.
The laughing got even more hysterical.
And the shame a little too overbearing!
I couldn’t stand, I didn’t want to. I couldn’t bear to face the crowd after my defeat. The cold concrete ground, after my pleading had simply refused to open up and swallow me. There and then, i said a prayer.
“God help me escape.”
“Ha! She don die oh!” I heard someone shout out from the crowd.
“Orobo wey no get power!” another shouted louder, lauging.
“Madam you strong oh!” Obviously not in reference to me, I knew they were cheering the little lady with the large fist- the same one who had sent me down here with a little shove (not even a punch).
“Ha, na thief?” someone supposedly just arriving at the scene asked.
Immediately I heard the word “thief”, a million and one horror flicks came pouring in my ever imaginative big head.
Aluu 4..
The Bakassi boys…
African China’s ‘Mr President’ playing in my head with a little voice as I reminisced on the viral videos I had seen on mob reaction to theft in different parts of Nigeria. or even something as unsure as a suspected theft. Of course, a little voice in my head called attention to the possibility of the mob needing a truck- sized tyre to roast me. This was never how I imagined myself exiting this world; getting roasted like a diseased pig!
God, the ground was so cold, yet comforting almost like my father was during my childhood. It felt like home, my home. I almost wanted to never leave its familiar cold embrace. Lying there was almost like déjà vu, like I had been in this same mess sometime in the past. Only problem; I had forgotten how the story ends and I still didn’t know how to get out of this mess with a million eyes fixed on this large fold of flesh, lying in a lifeless state, too scared to move! I was stuck.
“Are you ok?” someone said leaning so close I could tell the major ingredients from his last meal, still fresh in his breath.
Pretending to have been unconscious throughout the dreadful experience, I feigned to struggle with opening my eyelids.
“Can you see this?”, he said waving his hands like a lunatic who just learnt he was Ebola free.
I kept up my pretense with nothing as much as a blink to rat me out ; I relaxed my eye muscles and continued my “pretend to be dead charade”, scared a blink might expose me.
“Hello!!!”, he screamed almost popping my ear drums with his awful breath.
Still trying to overcome my frustration with my rescuers breath, he screamed again.
“Can you hear me??”, he breathed again.
‘Yes I can hear your breath’, the little voice in my head mocked.
Irritated, gagging and nauseous, I decided to pull off the façade by responding and saving myself from death by bad breath. Like being knocked out by Janet ‘the ant’ Ali wasn’t enough evil for one day.
“Uhum”, I managed to mumble.
“Good… get up”, he said, helping me to my feet and almost losing his.
“Ashe o o tie le”, the ant mocked.
Not quite sure how to respond to that, I just kept quiet, humbled by my defeat.
If looks could kill, she would’ve died. I gave her the saltiest look possible.
“If na me ehnnnn, chai!” I heard a similar loud mouthed onlooker say.
To save face, I decided to pick my bone with another person- the loud mouthed onlooker.
“Shut up, if na you wetin go happen?” I replied, still searching the crowd, struggling to put a face to the voice.
“Wooooh, no make me face you oh” a short but surprisingly muscular person with short scary arms stepped out.
I swear, my heart sank into my large bottomless canal of a stomach, I didn’t know whether to apologise or simply continue making false threats or run away as fast as my stub legs could carry me, waving my arms in the air, screaming and crying frantically whilst I did so. I chose the smart option; I just stared at him, wide eyed as my eyes begged for mercy from the crowd. Luckily for me, my bad breathed rescuer stepped out to my defence yet again-
“Oga wetin na?’, he asked the dwarf-like buffed-up terrorist.
“Na your wife? Please mind your business”, the man replied, showing no signs of intimidation, taking bolder steps forward as he talked.
I scouted the room quickly, to see if anyone I knew was around to witness my second ass whooping of the morning! Luckily for me, there was no one at all. So I prepared myself for more whooping as I breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that this would only happen this once, being that no one I knew was available to witness this and thereby mock me with it for the rest of my shame-filled life.
I honestly didn’t know what to do, think or say. I decided to have an ‘out of body experience’- zone out if at all it got to the beating aspect as I couldn’t quite imagine what would become of me. If a single shove had knocked me out, what kind of damage will ‘dwarfed muncho the boxer’ cause to me!
“Yes, she is my wife!” a voice said, pulling me out my thoughts.
“Sorry… who? What?” I asked, dazed, searching for who had just spoken.
“That woman is his wife”, my rescuer spoke, in reference to the woman that knocked me out.
“Apparently they claim, you stalked his wife and started looking for trouble for no just cause…. But why na?” my rescuer further asked me.
“ehm” I managed to utter, still dazed at my stupidity, not only had I been unwantedly paranoid, I had also thought she was “FXY_GAL” or worse a nemesis of somewhat.
“ehm what, ehn?” the little ant woman screamed out.
“Darling relax, let me handle this” Mr Husband, professional ‘dwarfed muncho du boxer’ scolded his wife.
“But she was staring at me!” I screamed in my defense, hoping to buy new supporters.
“Staring at who?” she screamed again.
“I said I would handle this” her husband re-scolded.
“I was behind you, at the other aisle, we- my wife and I were both exchanging glances… she wasn’t looking at you!” he explained.
“Chai!!!” someone screamed out from the crowd.
“Human beings ehnnn” another added.
“They will never look well before they jump, e good as dem beat am sef” said another spectator.
“I think you should all apologize to each other” my rescuer offered as a truce.
“oya…” the husband nudged his wife.
“Ehh but… but… ehh… oya… *hiss* fine… *hiss*… sorry sha!” she finally said reluctantly.
Everyone immediately turned their heads in unison towards me, expecting my own apology, I suppose.
“Madam… your turn…” my rescuer said to me.
“Ehm oya fine. My apolo—but why should I apologise na, she hit me!” I complained, sulking and feeling cheated.
Yoruba-like Claps (the ones that seem almost like they are dusting dirt of their palms)… Hisses… Insults… Yabs… Curses… Filled the air simultaneously as everyone grumbled at the same time, obviously displeased with me, or something I said.
“See this mumu oh!” Someone shouted from the typical Lagos crowd.
“Iya laya eh, ni mumu” I snapped back.
“Oya fine… my apology” I managed to finally say, scared the crowd might devour me if I had mistakenly said otherwise.
“You see, it wasn’t so hard” my rescuer said, his lame attempt at trying to make light of the situation which had fast spiraled into my most embarrassing and worst experience EVER in my life!
“Whatever!” I said walking out; hoping to catch up with what little of my dignity was left as I silently ruled out the area, street, shop and any other reminder of that day from my diary of life.
PS. I would never EVER go near No. 34 Oguniro Street, Surulere!!!
PSS. Dear diary, the worst part of this terrible encounter was I even forgot to buy what actually took me into that shop in the first place- my stalker sim card, I didn’t even remember anything like that as I struggled to even cover my face, talk more of covering my stalking tracks! Something deep down mocked that, maybe it was God’s mighty way of warning me to desist from the act of STALKING 101 but I wouldn’t give up so easily! Never!
PSSS. Oh, I forgot to mention, my so-called ‘rescuer’ toasted/wooed/chyked me immediately I left the shop; but Dear Diary, that’s a story for another day. Its just everly shocking to know how the male brain functions, even after so many re-occurrences, it still shocks me every time!
Men ehn!!
They would never change!
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