Chapter 3: Shit for Door
Next day, as I comot, na so one kind wicked smell jam me. I nearly faint.
My nose catch am first. E be like say the spirit of soakaway dey pursue me.
I quick trace the source.
Ah, wahala.
I see am—smear for my door, brown and evil. Somebody don rub shit for my door.
The thing dey there dey shine. Flies don gather. If you see am, you go know say na fresh work.
No wonder nobody dey drag with those neighbors—those two no get shame at all.
E shock me. I just sigh, carry phone, call aboki for gate make e help me clean. I even pay double. Cleaners for Lagos dey see all kinds of things, but e look me, shake head, say, "Oga, na so dem dey do for this your side?"
I just close eye, whisper, “God abeg, hold my temper.”
I hire person clean my door, but I no go argue with them.
Aboki shake head, mutter, “Lagos people wahala no dey finish.” I just laugh, dash am extra hundred.
No need to exchange words with gutter. To argue dey work for people wey get sense. If you wan face mad person, you must mad pass am.
That day, I enter market, buy one bottle of strong stink spray—no dey harm person, but the smell fit kill.
The aboki even ask me, "Oga, you get stubborn neighbor?" I just laugh, say, "E pass stubborn."
As the couple comot together, I sneak go their door, spray everywhere—the door frame, doormat, even all their shoes join.
I carry broom and dustpan, act like say I dey sweep corridor, but na mission I dey run.
I wear face cap, waka like say I dey go drop dustbin. No CCTV, so nobody go fit point finger.
When dem return, dem stop for door.
I hear their footsteps, followed by long silence. Next thing, both of them squat like dog, dey smell everywhere—door, frame, floor, shoes. The wife nearly vomit.
She shout, "Ah! What is this?! Chai! O my God!"
Me, I just dey inside, hold my belle dey laugh.
Tears dey my eye as I dey hold laughter. Revenge dey sweet if e no dey kill person.
Next thing, na so my door nearly break from the way dem dey bang am.
The man dey use him leg, wife dey use fist. Na proper family teamwork.
I open small. The bald man poke finger near my eye, shout, "Na you do am, abi?"
E dey pant. The anger for him face fit boil water.
I put on innocent face: "Which one?"
I use my best acting voice, as if say I never see chemical for my life.
"No dey form! That smell for my door—who else fit do am if no be you!"
I come dey wonder if na only me get passkey to spray bad smell. I just dey look am.
"You see me with your eye dey shit for your door? Somebody rub shit for my door too. Maybe na you. You do am?"
The wife open mouth, look me up and down, hiss so loud e echo for corridor.
"You..."
The bald man just yank my door, try grab my shirt, but I sharp, hold him wrist.
Years of loading cement for Onitsha no waste o. Strength for strength, I no dey carry last.
His wife rush come join, stand behind, hands on waist, dey shout like market woman:
"No dey pretend! We know your hand dey inside. Bad belle, do this kind thing, your son no go get nyash for belle!"
The curses begin fly—dem dey mention thunder, dey call sango, dey add pepper to prayer.
"Wicked soul, you go die bad death!"
Chai, see vex.
If na some people, dem for faint, but my own be say I go just dey watch dem dey perform.
When dem rub shit for my door, I no even make noise like this.
No matter how dem curse, I just dey repeat: "No know, no idea, no be me."
I just bone face, dey look another direction. Person wey dey innocent no dey fear lie detector.
The bald man no get proof, no fit free from my grip, so he pull hand, dey grind teeth like say e wan break: "No wahala, you go hear am. This matter never finish."
For my mind, I dey laugh. E never start. This one dey learn work.
The stink spray strong well, so for days, their place dey smell like gutter explode.
Even rats run comot for their corridor. I see cleaner dey use mop, dey spray air freshener. E weak dem.
People for the building start dey gossip: Flat B dey shit for their own door? The couple vex, curse everybody for group, warn make nobody talk about am again.
The WhatsApp group dey hot. People dey drop coded messages, dey hail me for private chat. Somebody write, “E be like say ogiri dey rain for this compound o!” Another reply, “Make dem no go use am cook jollof!” Even security dey shine eye for corridor.
The aunty downstairs hear about the wahala, call me: "Ifeanyi, those people no just get wahala, dem no get shame. If you drag with them, caretaker or police no go fit help you."
She dey advise me like big sister. But me, I get coconut head. I dey ready.
Heh, na who first tire go call police, make we see.
If na my old area for Surulere, by now, dem for call vigilante. This one go sweet pass Netflix.