Chapter 4: Lagos Games

Businessmen dey wise. Small business people, even wise pass.

If you see the way area people dey hustle, you go understand why person fit turn anything to business. Everybody dey look for short cut, but na only the wise sabi when to enter and when to run. The way Baba Musa dey run him buka, you go know say survival dey push am.

Baba Musa dey struggle for bottom of life. E marry Amaka because, to be honest, Amaka sef no too get level. From street work—no matter how fine, people no dey see her as real wife material.

Area women go dey gossip—'that Amaka, ehn, she too fine, but something dey her body.' For their mind, person wey dey do street waka no suppose marry chef, but Baba Musa no care. Maybe na old promise, maybe na desperation. For Lagos, everybody dey manage. Sometimes na hustle bring people together, no be love.

Maybe for Baba Musa, to dey enjoy Amaka na pay-per-night, so he no wan miss any night. All those sweet things wey Amaka dey do, na just work for her, habit from her old life.

The way she dey answer, the way she dey move, e dey too perfect. Sometimes, I fit see her eye dey roll when Baba Musa dey talk. E dey clear say routine don carry love commot. For this city, sometimes na only habit dey remain between man and woman.

Maybe na money, maybe na loneliness, Amaka don go back to her old work. Five p.m. na when Musa's Kitchen dey busy pass. I guess say she dey hide am from am. Even though Baba Musa dey oily, his food sweet and e cheap—for that kind slum like Palm Grove Street, e mean say him try. Person wey dey hustle for honest money no go wan make him wife dey do that kind thing.

Area boys dey respect Baba Musa, but dem dey talk for back—say 'your wife too fine, your eye sure?' But Baba Musa dey trust, he dey proud. E pain me, because the street no dey forgive soft men. If man dey hustle, he dey expect peace for house, but life no dey give am sometimes.

To know who Amaka really be na like cold water pour for my body. The pain reach as if your first love wey you think say pure, you catch am dey sneak enter nightclub with small bag.

E be like say dream break for my eye. All those small hope, all the sweet face, na just market for Amaka. I feel shame, but I no fit vex for her. Everybody dey find survival. Even for street, na wetin you fit carry go house you go carry.

I lose interest for the next door matter, go back to my normal: dey play game for day, dey write web novel for night. Na my own work be that.

I plug my ear, focus on computer. Lagos dey noisy, but for my small room, na only keyboard dey click. I try forget Amaka matter—make I dey mind my own lane, as my mama go talk. My story no dey sell much, but at least na honest work.

Not too long after, I jam one babe wey dey play game. Her avatar fine, but she no sabi play at all. Teammates dey always curse her—say she dey mess up, slow, even talk say she fit be guy.

For chat, her grammar dey funny, e clear say she dey try blend with people wey no send am. Boys for group dey attack am, but she go just dey laugh, dey miss shot, dey send sticker. I dey observe her, dey reason say maybe na real person dey suffer for back of that cartoon face.

Truth be say, I no too like make person dey drag me back, but as person wey dey play for money, the more bad players, the better for me. So I dey always defend her, try comfort am.

For every curse wey dem throw, I go talk 'abeg leave her, she dey try.' Sometimes I go send her cheat code, help her pass level. The way she go reply 'thank you bro' dey sweet me. For my mind, I dey hope make this one turn friendship, at least get small balance for my side.

One day, after dem curse her comot for game, she say make I add her for WhatsApp. As I add am, she video call me. For the screen, na cute girl with round face, dey cry like say rain dey fall for her eye.

Her background na small room with curtain hang for wall, teddy bear for shelf. As she dey sniff, her voice break. 'Abeg, no mind them, na so dem dey do,' I tell am. I talk, she smile, use hand wipe tears, then try form strong.

After I carry her go chop pepper soup once, we become close. Everyday gist no dey finish. She no send say I broke, I no send say she dey do anyhow. Her name na Zainab, and we begin date.

For our first date, she show up for K-Square with Ankara dress, her hair plaited like pikin. She chop pepper soup, dey joke say her tongue dey burn. I laugh, she laugh. After then, every evening na gist—she go talk about her family for Kogi, I go talk about Lagos wahala. Sometimes, we go just dey walk for street, dey share gala and coke. Na so we begin grow.

That time, I no even remember Amaka.

Amaka story just fade from my mind. Na only Zainab face dey run my world. Even my sleep come sweet, my house dey light, my music dey loud. Life, for the first time, come dey soft small.