Chapter 2: Small Change, Big Palava

After we don work tire for morning, I carry my boys go the food stall.

Na sun don dey hot small, our shirts soak with sweat, slippers dey dust. Everybody dey hungry, na so we dey rush go Baba Musa place, dey talk, dey laugh, dey hail me, "Oga Olumide, today we go chop correct!"

Sule dey joke say, "Today, I fit chop three plate, if Baba Musa gree!" Boys dey laugh, dey hail am.

Na only Baba Musa food stall dey for this area. The food no too get taste, but the portion dey enough, and you fit always collect extra soup and rice for free.

The stall na like home for us. Sometimes, we go dey gist about football, dey bet for who go win Super Eagles match, dey talk about wahala for site. Na for here we dey use relax small.

E no easy for site boys to make money, so dem no too send taste. Na why I dey bring dem here for three years now.

Some days, boys go just dey drag leg, dey complain say belle dey touch back. But if dem remember Baba Musa food, dem go get small hope. Hunger no be friend for labourer.

As we dey waka go, dey gist dey laugh, we jam some workers wey don chop dey return.

Dem dey wipe mouth, dey clean hand for trouser, dey wave us. "Oga, make una get ready, Baba Musa don change o!" One of dem talk as he pass, voice loud.

Dem stop me.

Two boys from block-laying team just block road. Their face tight, like people wey hear bad news.

“Foreman Olumide, dem don change for that food stall o. From today, if you wan collect extra rice, na two hundred naira.”

Their voice get that warning tone, the kind wey you go hear for bar when dem dey share correct gist. Site boys dey respect me, but hunger dey worry dem.

I just dey wonder.

For my mind, I dey reason say: na so life dey change? I dey look my wallet, dey calculate how e go affect boys.

Back then, na near my daughter school I find this food stall.

I remember the first day—na harmattan morning, dust full air. Baba Musa dey use old bench, na only two customers. E look up, beg for patronage.

That time, e business no too move. After I bring am come construction site, him business just blow.

If you see the line wey dey stretch reach main road, you go know say site boys sabi support person. E begin employ boys to dey wash plate, im wife join to dey fry meat, business don turn family matter.

Now, if anybody talk about construction site food for this new area, na Baba Musa name dey everybody mouth.

Even bus drivers dey yarn, "Na Baba Musa food dey make person survive for this part of town."

Because the construction site make Baba Musa chop better, he promise us say soup and rice go dey free refill for workers.

That day, e use hand touch chest, swear for our front. "So far una dey here, extra rice no go cost una anything."

So why e wan dey charge us now?

People dey suspect say na because money don enter, Baba Musa wan forget the people wey carry am for back. Na Naija way, but still, the pain dey bite.

That worker see say I dey doubt, he point: “Foreman Olumide, see the sign there.”

He point quick, like say na police dey pursue am. The sun reflect for the laminated sign, e glare for my eye.

I waka go, na true.

I move closer, squint to read am well. Even small pikin no go miss am—e bold like election result.

Baba Musa hang sign for where dem dey serve rice for front of stall. E write: If you wan collect extra rice, you go pay, two hundred naira for each extra plate.

As I stand there, na so my chest dey tight. Some boys dey hiss, some dey snap picture with their phone. Wahala dey cook for that stall.

I adjust my glasses, na so I see Baba Musa carry big rice spoon dey knock the sign, dey look my side.

He knock the spoon for signboard like say na bell, dey alert everybody. Some market women dey laugh for background, dey mock us small. Dem dey tap each other, dey whisper, "Site boys don meet their match today."

“All of una, una no get eye? If una see am, make una read before una pay for food!”

He raise voice, dey form boss. One small boy wey dey sell sachet water just shake head, dey mumble for side, "Na wa o, hunger dey cause wahala."

I no happy at all.

My mind dey heavy. Na this kind small thing dey cause fight for area. I hold myself, no wan show am for face.

Because this no be the first time wey he dey reduce wetin we dey get.

Last year, he talk say portion go reduce because tomato price rise. This year again, na salt shortage. Everytime, new excuse dey show.

To talk true, him food no too sweet like that.

All the boys sabi am. But because we dey manage, nobody too shout. Hunger dey teach humility.

But before, every table get one bottle of ata dindin sauce.

The bottle na old Fanta bottle, but the pepper wey dey inside fit wake dead man. If you like hot food, na there your joy dey.

Na Baba Musa wife dey make that sauce—e dey salty, e dey hot, e dey go well with rice.

Every time she carry am come, she dey shine teeth, dey smile give boys. We dey hail her, "Mama Musa, abeg add extra for my plate!"

After work wahala, site boys need salt, so everybody like that sauce.

People fit queue just to collect that small pepper. Sometimes, I dey see boys dey fight over who first reach bottle.

But two months ago, the sauce just vanish.

No warning, no explanation. Everybody just dey ask, "Where ata dindin dey?"

I go ask Baba Musa.

I catch am one morning, greet am well, come ask: "Baba Musa, this pepper sauce na wetin happen?"

Baba Musa just look me one kind: “That ata dindin dey make una chop pass normal. If I put am, una dey collect two extra plates. From now, I no dey give again.”

E talk am like say na play, but for him eye, you fit see say na business calculation.

But him wife dey try calm the matter. She drag him shirt small, come explain to me gently.

Her voice soft, she dey plead. "Uncle Olumide, abeg no vex. The market don dry, pepper expensive. We dey try, make una manage. Na dem market women dey hoard pepper for Mile 12, e don affect everybody."

“I know say na wetin Baba Musa talk true, but I no talk anything.”

For Naija, na so things dey go. If dem say market dry, you just gree. Wetin man go do?

After all, we just agree to dey buy food—nobody talk say ata dindin must dey.

For my mind, I dey reason say: make everybody dey manage, e go better.

So we leave am, but some workers don dey complain for back.

Boys wey no too get mouth before, now dem dey grumble. Some dey say, "If to say we fit cook for site, who go dey chop this kind food?"

I no expect say after the pepper sauce disappear, now even rice refill go dey cost money!

People dey look me as if na me bring wahala. I rub hand for head, dey think of solution.

I wan talk for workers, so I act like I no sabi, ask Baba Musa:

I clear throat, raise hand like schoolboy, “Baba Musa, this rule na for people wey come alone, abi?”

Baba Musa eye me:

E sharp, like say I insult am. If no be say we dey public, maybe he for shout.

He sigh, rub face, voice low at first: "Olumide, you know how things dey now..." then raise voice. “Which kind talk be that? Na una site people I dey talk to. If I no do something, una go chop my business finish.”

People for queue begin whisper, some dey shake head, some dey ready to vex. For Naija, if food wahala start, na big matter be that.

As he talk am, site boys just dey vex.

Sule dey grumble, other boys dey stretch neck, dey squeeze face. The air just dey heavy, as if rain wan fall.

Thunder dey rumble far, breeze dey blow dust, as if even sky dey vex.