Chapter 1: Baby H Wahala

I jam wahala with enemy Halima while I dey play game.

As e be for Lagos, wahala dey everywhere, but this one get as e be. As I dey play, na so Halima just dey para for my case, like say person thief her meat for pot. Her voice loud for compound, neighbours fit hear. For my mind, I talk say, today get as e go be.

I pause, side-eye am, wonder if she dey mad or na just her wahala spirit.

That same day, one popular internet celeb come use her fans scatter insult for my head for Twitter.

E be like say dem just dey wait make one gist drop, so that dem go carry torch follow person. I just dey scroll my phone, see as my mentions dey burst like firecracker for Ileya festival.

“Who you be sef, wey you go insult our Baby H?”

“If you no wan make dem expose you, better beg sharp-sharp.”

Even the way dem dey type, you go know say e pain dem reach bone. Na so Naija fans dey behave for Twitter, wahala too much. One small mistake, dem go finish your life.

My Infinix phone dey vibrate sotay e nearly fall from bed. I just look the 99+ hate DMs, hiss and bone face.

For my mind, I just dey wonder when people go get better thing do. Na so I drop my phone for table, tap my foot for floor, as if the hissing fit drive their wahala comot from my head.

Sharp, I tell my PA make e freeze Halima’s game and Twitter account.

Omo, you gats get people wey fit run things for you. As I talk am, my PA—Ifedayo, sharp guy—just nod, type something for laptop, and face me like say na small errand. Ifedayo just grin, “No wahala, boss. Dem go learn today.” For Naija, if you get connection, things dey easy well-well.

Who no get backup account?

I just shake head. For this Lagos, person wey sabi internet game go always get like three or four extra account, dey wait. Na Naija sense.