2 The Hard Knock Life
Life in the city of Lagos has an adventurous thrill to it.
The sight and sound, a city-wide awake, energetic and malicious at the same time, one of the most populous parts of the country, with people from different natives and cultures all coming to have a big taste of what treasures the city has to offer.
Many come with hopes of achieving big dreams. But are awoken by the harsh realities of life. For some, they tend to live out their dreams, enjoy the beauty and luxuries of the metropolis, while for some others, the ghetto becomes a part of their reality, striving to make it up the social ladder.
The busy streets, filled with store owners, roadside sellers, and hawkers calling out their wares.
The children running the streets mostly half-naked with inventive schemes of mischief and havoc, generator sounds engulfing the area with a loud noise, the welders and tomatoes grinders use its generated electricity to carry out their duties.
The aroma of locally made cassava flour (Amala) and Mama Ike palm oil stew coming from the small food canteens around the corner encapsulated the neighborhood.
The mediocre constructed low buildings with many occupants. Some were made out of scrappy woods, laying over canals, the dirt roads full of potholes, stagnant waters, and dumped refuse that constitute pungent odor within the environs.
The Danfo (commercial buses) motorcycles streaming the streets in an utterly manic state, with no regard for their safety or passengers.
Street bars and brothels open for business, pounding with loud music as young and old men troop in to enjoy some euphoric experiences with the young and old courtesans.
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Kevan and his family lived in one of the low buildings with over eighteen occupants. A few blocks away was stationed a church next to a brothel, sights he would remember for a very long time.
On some occasions, mostly Sundays, the street bars and the church standoff in a music contest, displaying who makes the loudest noise, creating nuisance within the neighborhood, sometimes it's a bloody scenario where street and bar fights take an overwhelming turn of event. All he could do was enjoy the sights and sounds of his neighborhood.
Kevan quickly took off his school uniform, getting ready for lunch after an uneventful day at school.
"Nancy"!!... he calls out to his sister, what are we having for lunch? I'm so hungry.
"I'm making yam with palm oil stew." She replied.
Neither bothered about what dish or how long it would take. All Kevan could think of was a way of quenching his hunger. He had never been a yam lover, but that seems to be the fastest meal arranged at the time. He didn't mind waiting a little longer to dive at it.
"Ahh ahh... Do you want to kill him"...
The commotion outside started to get louder, people screaming and running in disarray, with their increasing feet stomping.
What's happening again...?, he said to himself, his attention quickly drawn to the commotion outside. Hurriedly, he put on his footwear to step out, his face filled with excitement as he's about to witness some street fight.
He missed the last one Henry told him about a couple of days ago.
Now he's going to do the storytelling, as he thought to himself while stepping out. With one glance, the dust-up in the air, shouts and screams as people took to their heels.
Run!!...., the only word he could make out as he stepped outside.
Without reasoning, he ran back into the building, shut the gate behind him as he made way to hide. All around him were faces he had never seen before, all taking refuge in his building.
"What's going on out there"? He asked.
"I don't know...., I saw them running and followed suit, didn't have the time to ask," the young girl beside him replied.
In situations like this, you run first then ask questions later. That has always been the motto in these parts. Still unsatisfied with the response, Kevan stepped out once again to find the reason for the commotion.
The terrifying sight mystified him.
A 5ft tall young man with a lean face and an athletic build, in his late twenties. Half of his shirt torn and covered in blood, his head open with deep cuts, his feet bare covered in mud, his left hand holding a broken piece of bottle. He had a stab wound that left part of his torn flesh dangling from his chest, dripping with blood all over, with a mean-looking face chasing after his opponent.
"How can he still be alive with all these cuts and blood oozing over him"?
"How does he have the strength to chase after his devourer after such an ordeal"?
"What was the reason for the fight?
"I have a lot to tell Henry. He's going to be mad he missed this".
All these, he thought to himself as he made his way back to his house.
Henry has been a close friend of Kevan as far as he can remember. They lived in the same building, attended the same church which was in the building they lived. They are known to be mischievous.
From a very young age, both boys combined their efforts creating games and plays. Kevan has always come up with ideas and schemes, while Henry, leading the charge and proceeds to action, and the other kids follow along. Both friends never went to the same school.
Probably, that would have been a recipe for disaster.
They hung out together after school, playing football by the street.
The kids set rocks to stand as the goal post, taking turns moving them when a car drives. They certainly have to look out for the nosy neighbors that always complain about their football games.
Player's are selected and grouped into teams. Henry and Kevan mostly play on the same team.
And the game begins...
"Please don't shoot shot...., so they don't seize our ball", one of the kids cried out.
The kids enjoyed their football game, playing with so much passion and vigor. Henry was gifted at the game, scoring many goals for his team. These were one of the things the kids love to do after school and on weekends.
Kevan related the incident with his friend later in the day, how horrific the sight was, how he hasn't seen someone with so much blood dripping and still in a fighting spirit.
These events gave him a clear view of the kind of life he and his family have been exposed to, living in the slums of Lagos.
Henry was thrilled by such news and couldn't understand how he had missed such an explosive confrontation. With an array of knives and bottles, blood and sweat.
