Chapter 5: Corridor Wahala

Anger wan finish me.

I feel say na film I enter. Lagos wahala no dey end.

I kick the door. “Come outside! You think say you fit hide like tortoise and go free? Thunder go fire una! You no dey fear God?”

My shout loud. Tenants dey peep through window. One woman just dey shake head, dey whisper with her neighbor. I no send.

One small girl dey peep from window, her mama drag am back quick-quick. Everybody dey wait for drama.

My shout make all the third floor neighbors come peep.

Everybody dey gist for corridor. Dem dey wait to see if wahala go burst.

I no send anybody again.

Na today. I ready for anything.

Within ten minutes, I swear pass all my life put together.

I swear with my papa grave, swear with last Sallah ram, swear with all the beans wey my mama cook. Today, dem must hear word.

Finally, 301 door open again.

Na so I brace myself. I ready anything.

This time, one fat man with big face waka come out.

His singlet no clean, his voice loud, face dey shine like person wey just chop suya.

He just dey shout for neighbors, “Wetin una dey look? If anybody no mind demself, I go deal with you!”

He get the kind voice wey scatter area meeting. Neighbors just bone, close their doors quick.

People no wan enter another person wahala. Everybody mind their lane.

I look am well. “You be Musa Garba, abi? No shame dey you at all? How you go use another person slot for your pikin?”

I dey try hold myself, but my voice dey shake. My hand fit fly if e provoke me.

As I dey boil, Musa Garba just cool like say nothing dey happen.

He even smile small. "Na so this life be. If you no sharp, dem go use you." The audacity.

“My son go school because I pay person to run am. How dem take do am, I no know, I no even send. If you get problem, no come disturb me.”

So na sharp guy, no remorse. He just dey form street, dey brush mouth. I dey see am now.

I no fit hold myself. “Which kind talk be that? Your pikin family registration land for my side, you dey claim you no know?”

I step forward, my hand for waist. My anger dey show for my face.

Guilty look flash for Musa Garba face.

He shift leg, clear throat. Small fear dey inside, but e dey form hard man.

“So, wetin you want now?”

His voice come down, but him eye dey stubborn.

“Carry your pikin family registration comot from my place. Return my slot. Now now.”

No be negotiation. My mind made up.

He just bone. “No way. My son no fit stay without school.”

He cross arm. E sure say wahala dey boil.

I wan punch am.

My fist dey heavy. Only God hold me. My daughter face flash for my mind—if dem arrest me, who go pay mortgage?

So your pikin no fit miss school, but my daughter fit?

Life dey show me pepper.

Na that time one chubby boy—Ibrahim Musa, no doubt—appear behind am.

He wear Superman singlet, hold toy gun like police.

Ibrahim Musa point toy gun at me. “Daddy, I go shoot the bad man for you!”

Everybody freeze. Next thing, I feel sharp pain for my right eye.

The pain shock me—my eye see stars. Neighbors gasp, some even laugh small. Shame and vex mix for my body.

The boy shoot me with plastic bullet. Real wahala. If not for God, my eye for go.

As I dey hold my eye, Ibrahim Musa dey shout, dey happy. “Oh, oh, oh, I catch am! I don finish am!”

He dey jump up, dey celebrate as if he win lottery. His papa dey clap small.