Do you know Ikorodu? I mean, Odogunyan to be precise? You don’t? Well, Google Maps can help you with that.
Once there, take a glance at both lanes of the expressway because bike men who value their pockets more than human lives, ply the wrong way with reckless abandon.
When you cross, walk straight down the road. Boutiques are lined up beside the road. Search for one with the inscription “De Fest Boutique”. Once you see it, know, that was where it started and ended.
Charles, the owner, a young man of thirty-seven was seated in front of his shop. In the twilight of the evening, the fluorescent bulbs powered by his generator were beaming in the semi-darkness. He sat outside his shop, covered by a few mannequins that showcased his wares. He was nodding to the rhythm of the “ Ije Awele ” song blasting through his loudspeakers. The song belonged to the Umu Obiligbo brothers.
His phone was in his hands as he twirled his feet in the act of dance. His wife had gone home. She had taken the day’s sales with her. What was remaining in the drawer were just lesser currencies for his transport fare. In case he made no more sales.
Lifting his head to visualize the atmosphere, he saw people of different stature and sizes walking briskly and hurriedly to their various destinations. Their march and steps were screaming home. The woman with a bowl on her head, the man with a knapsack, the boy with sagging trousers, and the football kids bouncing their balls and chattering. He saw his favorite banana seller too. How she clipped her tray beneath her armpit and waved to him. He acknowledged.
“Goodnight!” She screamed.
If only she had known.
He looked up from his seat. That was when he saw them. Two men crossing the expressway. They looked like customers because they gazed at the boutiques as they approached.
He raised his hands. And waved at them. Beckoning them to come over to his place. So did his neighbors too.
“Na here Oga. Na here my chairman,” he kept saying as the two men stopped for a millisecond to make the decision.
The next step they took led them into his shop. His neighbors that even tried to lure them glared at him but he smiled a knowing smile.
These men were on black jeans, white shirts, and black boots. Their eyes had dark shades of glass hiding them.
They walked in.
Inside his shop, the music had changed to “On God” by the same artists. It was loud that they had to shout to hear each other. He wanted to turn it off but they said it was okay. He went over to his counter. An unnerving feeling rested on him. He shrugged it off and continued showing his customer’s stock.
They chose a handful, placed it on the counter, and asked the price. He told them and watched their lips part in a smile. One of them, the light-skinned man feigned a phone call and stepped outside. Charles didn’t know it then but he’d realize later that he was on the lookout for intruders.
The second man, a dark skinned man didn’t bargain. He just put a hand beside him, brought out a pistol, and pointed it at his head. Dread washed over Charles. Realization settled in. He raised his hands in surrender.
“Give me all the money in your drawer!”
Charles obeyed. He emptied his drawer in a flash but the notes in there were of the most minor denominations.
The robber barked orders.
“Na this rubbish you sell since morning?”
“my wife…” he stammered.
“Your wife, what? Talk before I blow your head now.”
“She don carry the money go house.”
The dark-skinned thief scattered the counter, flinging the clothes in a zigzag fashion. “Shit!” The dark-skinned robber slapped Charles. The pain stung and he rocked backward but the dark-skinned thief wasn’t done. He signaled and beckoned on his friend the light-skinned.
”This idiot nor get money sha. Him wife don carry money go house.”
“Your phone!” the light-skinned said. Charles handed over his phone, a Nokia 3310 new model phone. He took it and smashed it on the tiled floor.
“You think we are joking?”
He corked the gun and placed it on Charles’s forehead. The coldness of the weapon sent shivers down his spine.
“Oga, abeg na. My child is just two years old.”
“You dey craze! ” he stuttered as an explosive left his gun. The shop vibrated. Blood splattered on the clothes behind Charles as he fell to the ground.
They ran. And people noticed. But before anyone could ascertain what happened to Charles. They were long gone.
©Stephen Toochi
StephStories.
