By Morenike Nie Smith
Growing up, my mother used to say that the early morning prayers would guide me through the pregnant day. It was not in our place to ask what it would bear but we hoped for the best. It was late evening when I finally got out of bed, like they say, this was my morning. I had given up on the training my mother had instilled because it had gotten me nowhere. Life was still as tough, bread was hard to come by, and so what daily bread did I really hope for? There really was no use trying to rationalize what cards life had dealt me, I had taken my decisions and would live through it no matter what you think, I don’t care. You in particular, have no right to judge me…after all I remember mother used to say, ‘judge not that you might not be judged’. The Bible was her way of setting us right. Well, in all fairness, she did her bit and this is my bit.
I have no excuses for whom, and what I have become, the path I chose was not as a result of rape, or lack of funds for school. I love sex. It is as easy as that. I left home because the meetings were becoming unbearable. Mother made sure I was the topic for discussions each time her siblings stopped over for ‘palm wine’ or ‘banga’ soup. I would watch as they would pretend that they were not all having this ‘thing’ they made seem like a sacrilege. After all, am I not a product of the so called “thing”? What exactly was the big deal? The teachers loved me, the boys loved me. The girls were all jealous because I was every man’s dream. Perhaps, mother was jealous too…I really don’t like to think of what led to my leaving home, I still have the scars on my back from that fateful morning when I walked into our small living room and saw my mother with a wire laying in wait as though she was expecting me to fight back. As she designed my back, all I could think of, was how much a bus ticket would cost to Lagos. That was the last time she ever saw me.
As I racked my brain for what I would wear today, the hassle of waiting for my turn in the public bathroom was one thing I never looked forward to. There were too many girls, too few men, and the government of Lagos State made it even more difficult with the police taking us into custody. ‘Man must wack, so man must work’ so eventually, I dragged my lazy self up and looked into my bags for something I had not worn in a long while. A pair of black shorts and a see through chiffon blouse with buttons. Surprisingly, there was no queue, so there was no need for me to be heard. As I wore my clothes, I hoped that this would be the day that I met someone who would at least be careless enough to forget his blackberry and I would be lucky enough to own it.
I picked an ‘okada’ to Adeola Hopewell. My day had begun. I lit a few sticks of cigarettes and kept hoping that all these yellow busty looking girls around me would take few steps away from me. I did not want to fraternize. I am not exactly what you would call beautiful, but for every woman, there is a man who finds her attractive. That’s how I ended up in this car, chatting away counting my chicks and he says ‘I no go fit pay’. So many things ran through my head. Was he about to embarrass me? Did I beg to be picked up? He even drove us away into the corner of Ahmed Onibudo Street and now he wants to drive off? I could not take what he was saying and just as I pulled his shirt, some police men who were guarding another building came to his rescue and he drove off. I was livid. I took off my clothes to show them how mad I could get. They hit me. I was treated like an animal. The same way mother had treated me the only difference was the fact that I was butt naked and everyone was looking.
I kept thinking to myself, I should have seized his phone, wallet, taken something. What gave him the right to raise my hopes and dash them just like that? I do what I do because I love it, so I deserve respect from whoever chooses to patronize me and here I was, stark naked, completely without shame. What was there to be ashamed of? Don’t you fight for your right? I stood there, ranting and raving, hoping that someone would have pity on me. Lagosians, very typical, they just looked, some must have laughed yet they knew not what went through my head. Uncertainties as dawn broke; even Gladys came to show solidarity. No one had pity on me. They just looked on. I had lost all. Why are people so callous I thought? What if I was their sister? This was my job after all and I deserved to get paid! I hate the police. And as I picked up my clothes where I had dumped them in rage, I could hear the sniggers from the onlookers. I could only imagine what the drivers that drove by thought. I swore to take out vengeance on the next man who dared speak with me after tonight.
Call me what you may, ashewo, opio, you can never wear my shoes and the one thing I know is, I am an executive comforter and my next client is a pssst away.
Photo Credit: Juanmonino
1 comment
Wow! I luv this. Vry creative, and intrstin. It rep facts.