No Longer the Same by Omoruyi Uwuigiaren

 

Food vendor in Lagos: No Longer the Same

I was at a restaurant around 11 pm. It was odd, bitterly cold and there was nothing I could do about it. I was desperate to see Dorcas, the food vendor. She's a great cook. So I was ready to wait forever in order to eat some tasty noodles.

No time was too late to attend to the call and keep the stomach and mind in check. I will be at a disadvantage if I go into the night shift without food in my stomach. It was surely going to be a long night. I had to eat in order to be in the right frame of mind. One easy way to be distracted is to be hungry and watch the time slowly ticks away. The feeling can be frustrating.

I was not alone. Next to me was a fellow in his thirties. He was pale and drawn. Dark and slim. If he was placed on a scale, he would weigh slightly more than a feather. I don’t know why he wore a long face. But if I am to judge by the prevailing circumstance, I would say the harsh economic climate in Nigeria had directly impacted his life. High cost of living have swept the poor off their feet. Those who could not stand the heat, have been dragged into oblivion. Now, it is a crime not to be poor.

At intervals, the creature would glance at his faded gold wristwatch that was old and begging for replacement. Perhaps, it was an indication that the young man was tired of waiting for Dorcas but was only kept on the seat by some powerful spell. The magical character that pinned him to the seat was arguably bigger than the pair of legs that carried the man. It was his cross to bear. His bone to chew. If waiting was killing him, he should do the needful and leave. It’s written in the Bible that man cannot live by bread alone. It could be hard but there are chances that he could survive the night on empty stomach.

My case was different. I know why I was there. If Dorcas cast a spell on me, it will likely linger because I wanted to be wild and free. Eat whenever I wanted to. Embrace the freedom that comes from living in a world that is secure. That freedom improves economic activities is no news.

No doubt, the young man needs to get out of the restaurant as quickly as possible. Not just him. We all need to leave as soon as we can. It was late. Were it not for the street lights, it would have been pitch darkness. Something we all dread. In this part of the world, darkness is synonymous to evil. Staying too long under the suiting weight of her cover would mean bad omen. It is imperative to stay from evil. His willingness to stay for this long only mean one thing. He was also under her spell and Dorcas had us where she wanted.

Dorcas is a woman with extreme qualities that drives unimaginable traffic to her side. Her straight legs, good height and round ass filled the room. It was only a matter of time before I crumbled under her feet. At intervals, the large innocent balls that sat on the sockets of my skull would look in her direction. I was trying to process the figure and properly evaluate the time it took her maker to knock her into shape. Considering her beauty, a lot went into the making of the woman. And she’s worth every attention that she is getting.

Beautiful African woman: No Longer the Same

A lot of things were happening in my mind. I was going astray. I could see myself falling all over the place to get her in my arms.  It was hard to look at Dorcas and not be lascivious. She was an embodiment of beauty. The total package and well-developed black woman that every decent man would love to have. She was a meal with the right condiment. Her skin glowed under the nicely fitted dress. Feasting on such meal could only mean I have tasted the best apple in the neighborhood and there is nothing anybody can do about it.

Because life is tough, it’s proper to think and be at peace. But of what use is it when you know your thoughts can never be good enough to win a beautiful woman like Dorcas? Thoughts without action is only fantasies. In judgment, they account for so little.

It was late and there was no need to allow my mind stray too far away from what had brought me here. I was hungry. I need to stick to the plan and get my stomach filled. I shouldn’t be carried away by mere mortal. She could be a poisoned chalice.

It was important to note that she was something remarkable. In such an unholy hour, things could spiral out of control to the benefit of miscreants or anyone that holds the key to her heart. It is a double edged sword. Her situation is like biscuit that one does not know where it will crack. Making the wrong move could be fatal. Her world could crumble before her very eyes, business ruined and innocent admirers like me will suffer the loss of not seeing her again. On the other hand, she could enjoy the pleasure that comes with spreading the legs for an entity to insert his body. Once the petal is bruised, the wound could heal but the scar will never disappear,

Sometimes, joints and street corners are places to be when you are horny. You will be filled if you know your way. The street is a blessing and can also be a curse. To get into the temple, you only have to pull a few strings. The guitar is held firmly when the orchestra is playing. Quickly, the result appears, but soon it is swallowed up. Once wrapped in the warm hands of darkness, it is sucked in and forever gone. Never to return. If it doesn’t go according to plan, your hands are burnt and cracks will appear on the wall. The street have destroyed many lives. With fury, the street washes down their corpse into abyss.

Dorcas is in a class of her own. Such a woman cannot wander on the face of the earth for long before she would be taken. She will surely have a place to lay her head. A place to call home. A place where her petals will be repeatedly bruised and body massaged into the night. I wish I could have her and render the service and be praised up to the high heavens. I will occupy the south and fill my bucket with laughter. A man is to serve humanity. Forbidden fruits are sometimes the sweetest.

Dorcas, a typical Ibadan woman raised in one of the cities in the heart of Africa. She flaunts her assets at the slightest opportunity and I believe some of the faces around mainly visit the restaurant to catch a glimpse of her back side and the huge tits on her chest. They are fruits, ripe oranges, not deflated. They looked like bodies that have not been touched and brought to their knees. The precious stones are in their proper place under her braless shirt causing distraction as she moves from one end to another. It is no news that Dorcas is provocative. It is your business if you decide to burn. As a real man, it is expected that rage or madness should be subdued by self-control. Any man who does not tread this safe old path, will burn in hell.   

Suddenly, two teenagers walked in. They carried themselves to the creature that sat beside me. One of them bent his body over and whispered to the lad. After he had sounded the information, he rose to vertical. The teenager patted the creature on the back. He quietly walked to his cohort who was standing some meters away from us and they disappeared into the night the same way that they had come.

I barely raised my head and glanced at their direction. They were not persons of interest and I did not spare them any further glance.

As soon as the wind blew them away, the lad turned to me and said, "Oga, those guys came to our hotel with sacks full of money. Dem don hammer! Each of them get 850k for their hotel room now, now!"

I swallowed hard and asked, "What do they do for a living?"

"Na runs! Na yahoo boys’ dem be. Na dem I come buy noodles for!"

“How do you know they carried large sums of money into the hotel? Are you one of them?”

“I dey work for the hotel. I enter their room. I see everything. Money full everywhere!”

"Interesting," I sounded and smiled faintly. "It is late. Where are they going?"

"Dem wan go bring women wey dem go fuck this night."

“Prostitute?” I asked him.

“Yes,” he cocked his head.

Yahoo Boys: No Longer the Same

I slowly turned away from him and faced Dorcas who was at the other side. I paused for a while and tried to ponder about what the creature beside me whom I guess was under the influence of liquor had said. Why is he telling me all these? Does he think I will be happy to hear that teenagers who should be at home or in school are out on the street destroying themselves? How can people celebrate criminals to the point that they no longer feel ashamed to say they defrauded people? I don’t get his drift.

The young man is morally bankrupt. It was senseless to reveal such thing in the public. In my opinion, the hotel does not deserve to be in business for employing such a person. He was crude and foolish.

I was a total stranger. I don’t know him and we have never met. I could be an undercover cop sent to monitor the activities of fraudster in that neighborhood. He foolishly exposed the lads. What the young man told me is enough to put the boys and himself in trouble.

What sort of hotel employ such a daft in this age and time beats my imagination.

I looked at him one last time. "Why waste 850k tonight when they can sit at home and plan," I told the guy.

He smiled and noted, "Dem go continue work this night. All of them go knack phone till daybreak.”

It was too late for me to tell the poor creature my mind because my noodles were ready. She packed it and handed it over to me.  

I took my meal from Dorcas, made payments and left the scene quietly.

As I walked to the office, I wondered what type of generation is this.

They are doomed if nothing is done to stop these children from covetousness. The desperation to get rich quickly is evil enough. There is no future for people who want to be rich without following the due process.

 

About the Author

Omoruyi Uwuigiaren is a former cartoonist turned writer. When he was a kid, he loved music and composed songs for his high school band. After school, he wanted to pursue a career in music. Instead he embraced writing and studied Mass Communications. His literary works and books have appeared in Moronic Ox Literary and Cultural Journal, Open Books, Urban News Express Online and many more. He’s the owner of Ruyi’s World of Books and Stories. 

Related stories

In the Line of Duty

The Bone in Our Neck

The Winning Mentality

Miracle, Medical Breakthroughs and the Losers

 

Read 

The Adventures of Nihu

 on Bambooks!

CLICK HERE TO READ NOW

Nihu is falsely accused of a crime and is banished to the Lonely Forest. He is challenged with a mission by a magical character. As brave Nihu quests to fulfill the mission and gain his freedom, he is sucked into a world inside of a stone, visits a powerful ruler in an underwater city, and makes friends with a group of refugees only a hero could love.

CLICK HERE TO READ NOW

There was trouble. 

Tom was at the heart of everything. 

When it involved the police, 

things did start to spiral out of control. 

You don’t need to know everything. You only need to know enough.

In the Line of Duty by Omoruyi Uwuigiaren

 

In the Line of Duty by Omoruyi Uwuigiaren

One day, I ran into some police officer who mounted what I considered an illegal roadblock somewhere at Ajangbadi, Afromedia. In this part of the world, you expect such move to fish out criminals and send them to jail. Clean the streets of bad eggs and restore law and order. It is hard to say if the police are winning the battle or this type of policing is effective considering the high level of insecurity in Nigeria.

One thing is clear. Standing on the road with an AK 47 pointed at oncoming motorists with the hope that they will be intimidated and line the pocket of the officer, is far more lucrative to some average Nigerian police than fight crime. It is safe to say that fighting crime is expensive and mounting roadblock is lucrative. Mounting roadblocks with the sole aim of extorting money is evil. You cannot effectively fight crime and deliberately collect bribe at the same time. You must draw the line because one bad cop is worse than an entire criminal gang. Combating crime is an art. It is right of the people to be protected by the police.

It is hard to win an argument that the presence of police officers on the road have helped to reduce crime. If the idea have not send real criminals to jail, then we are yet to have a police force that can be trusted with the protection of live and property. This is sad. No nation can progress when those who are saddled with responsibility to combat crime are compromised

However, while the police officers took their place by the road, some wielding AK 47 and others grabbed their club with an iron grip, I decided to stop at one of the shops owned by a friend. I was on a deadline. My editor have asked me to submit a story and I was desperately in need of an idea. So I thought hanging around the friend and watch the officers could open the floodgate and lead me to the Promised Land. Just as I had anticipated, I had my hands full. The police did not disappoint. I got more than what I had bargained.   

I faced the road and watched how the police men extorted money from motorists. Nearly every car that came by was forced to part with some cash. It was an embarrassment until a young man emerged on an unregistered motorcycle. One of the officers crossed his path and asked him to stop. Rather than comply, the young man flared up. “You can’t stop me. I am not an okada man!” he yelled at the officer. He tried to maneuver his way out but was blocked completely by the officer as others watched from their abode on the side of the road. It was a dreadful scene to watch and all eyes were fixed on them. I was still fuming from what I have seen so far. I wasn’t impressed.

“I say stop!” the officer sounded with one hand on his AK 47. The motorcycle rolled to a corner where the officer had expected. But the poor soul on the bike was furious. This resulted in a shout match between the police officer and the man. Before it could degenerate into a melee, three or more police officers stormed out of their corners and set them apart.

I crossed my hands over my body with keen interest to see what would happen. I wanted to see how the officers would handle the matter. The men were still breathing down on each other’s neck, when one of the police officers who had come to sue for peace took the young man aside. “Why are you arguing with my colleague? He asked you to stop. You should have obeyed him. He was simple and clear. STOP! YOU STOP! IT DOESN’T REQUIRE YOU TO START QUARELLING WITH AN OFFICER.”

Nigerian Police: In the line of duty

“I have money on me and I am late for where I am going,” the man told the officer.

“That is not enough to act the way you did. We are police men. You should not entertain any fear. We are from Okokomaiko police station. Aside the money with you, what else do you have?” The officer smiled and added, “Na me and you dey here. Talk. You are covered.”

The poor soul scanned the police officer carefully, perhaps pondering if his next line of action would be a good move or not. It was clear that the young man had encountered many police officers in the past and things have not been straightforward. He knew some of them could fall flat at the very sight of money. But he forgot the wise saying that “choose your next words carefully, they may be your last as king”. The police officer may have come from another world where fighting crime is more important to him than personal gratification. You can hardly know who is righteous until we are put to the test. In the underworld, there are hardly common interests. Personal interest is king. It reigns supreme. The Nigerian Police Force is a breeding ground for men who are interested in their personal interest than the common goal. This idea can only lead to retrogression and failure on many fronts. My candid advice is that we restructure the police and flush out the bad eggs immediately. No nation can sustain mediocrity. It’s the highway to hell.

The young man got his calculations wrong. In the criminal enterprise, the right thing to do is to offer bribe as quickly as possible and move on. Once the dust settles down, your money may look like a poisoned chalice. No matter how much, even the ugliest of cop will gladly turn it down in order to save his face. Nothing last forever. The police who frequently takes bribe knows that one day, he will account for his profligacies. Sometimes it only takes intuition to know when not to accept the bribe. These things come in rough packages. Sometimes, a veteran can easily tell when it is over.  

His outburst may have occurred to him as a wrong move so late. He had caused a scene and had left several of the officers angry and unsettled. No sane person likes to be embarrassed. The public was watching. I was there too and my presence alone was enough to shift the balance. Now the young man may require more than a few Naira notes to get himself out of the hole that he had dung. It is difficult. But in most cases, money is a defense and can open many doors. He reached out to his pocket and brought out some Naira notes. He flashed an exaggerated smile at the officer and said, “I get something. But na small thing.”

“For where? Where the thing dey?”

“E dey for my bike.”

“Wetin you get?” the officer sensing that the man offering the bribe had something more than the Naira notes in his possession, asked. They exchanged glances. “Na wetin be the thing?”

“Na small thing,” the young man said again. He flung a glance at his motorcycle and slowly back to the officer standing before him like a pillar of inquiry. He breathed deeply and revealed, “I carry tramadol and small cocaine…”

The officer wore a frown. He swallowed hard and calmly threw out a question, “Where the thing dey?”

“E dey for my bike,” the man confessed. He stretched the money that he had brought out of his pocket to the officer but he was ignored.

The officer turned to his colleagues who were few meters away and sent a signaled that they understood. Before the young man could blink, the other police officers dashed to his side. They pounced on him and dragged him to the bike. “Oya, show us where the thing dey!” one of them thundered, almost knocking the man over.  

Sensing that he had been betrayed by the officer, the man brought out his phone and placed a call on another officer called Gangan. He told Gangan that he was being molested and harassed by some police officers at Afromedia.

Unfortunately, the telephone conversation only made the matter worse. Gangan is a popular police officer around Ojo and these officers knew him. “For making that call, we will get to the end of this matter. You must get to Area K!”

They grabbed him tightly and asked to bring out everything that was hidden in the bike. The young man reluctantly raised the seat and several drugs concealed in small containers were exposed.

The officers checked the items. They were truly tramadol and cocaine as the man had revealed.

“No wonder you had the effrontery to raise your voice against me!” the officer he had confronted earlier said. “You are in soup!” He brought out his phone and placed a call.

Not long after, a police van pulled up in front of them. The man and his bike were arrested and thrown into the waiting van. One after another, the police officers claimed into the van. Once they had settled down with their guns and clubs by their sides, the van slowly moved away.

Meet the Author

Omoruyi Uwuigiaren is a former cartoonist turned writer. When he was a kid, he loved music and composed songs for his high school band. After school, he wanted to pursue a career in music. Instead he embraced writing and studied Mass Communications. His literary works and books have appeared in Urban News Express Online, Moronic Ox Literary and Cultural Journal, Open Books and many more. He’s the owner of Ruyi’s World of Books and Stories. 

Related stories

The Bone in Our Neck

The Winning Mentality

Miracle, Medical Breakthroughs and the Losers

BUY