Chapter 2: No Time, No Pity

Food na life—but if you no dey alive, how you wan chop?

Na true talk be that. For this life, you fit get everything, but if your head no dey your neck, you fit lose am sharp sharp. Na the wisdom wey elders dey talk be that.

Now, na 10:25 a.m.—less than 24 hours before everything go scatter. No time to think. I gats run—run go hill.

Time no dey my side at all. My mind dey calculate, my spirit dey hot like akara for frying pan. Every second dey count.

I try squeeze pass people for supermarket door, but the way people dey rush, e be like stampede wan happen.

I dey push, dey squeeze, dey shout 'excuse me!' but people no dey hear. One aboki for my back dey shout, 'Wetin dey happen sef?' as if say the matter never serious.

No way, this one too slow. I tiptoe look around, dey find weapon. God help me, I see hardware shelf dey one side, long-handle cutlass dey hang for top.

As I see the cutlass, I remember old Papa Ade wey dey use am clear bush. For Naija, cutlass na friend for wahala time.

"Abeg, comot! I get infectious disease!" I shout with all my power. Everybody freeze. I use the chance push pass them, run three heavy steps, reach hardware side.

As my voice echo, everybody just pause. Na so I use sharp guy, waka pass dem. Sometimes, you gats fear Naija crowd, but if you sabi use mouth, e fit save your life.

As everybody dey find food, this place calm. I grab the long cutlass, hold am tight, carry all the boxes of nail put for my backpack. This supermarket no be hardware shop, nothing much dey useful here.

Na so I sweep the shelf—anything wey fit help, I gather am. Even small torchlight I grab, just in case.

I hold my cutlass, waka go exit, dey shout, "Abeg, shift! Shift! If this cutlass touch you, na your wahala!"

People see the way my eye red, nobody wan test me. In Naija, once person dey vex with cutlass, you go use sense jejely clear for road.

As people see cutlass, dem clear road sharp sharp. Nobody dey push again.

I see one old woman do sign of cross as I pass. Another man just dey shout, "Omo, this one no dey joke o!"

Five minutes later, I finally stand for outside street. As I expect, e no better. Trucks and private cars jam, horn dey blast. People dey curse join the horn noise.

E be like Lagos traffic on a Friday night after rain—nobody dey move, only wahala full everywhere.

Road don block finish.

Na so I dey reason say, how I go waka reach house now? Okada sef no dey gree pass.

As I dey run cross the street, I dial my papa number. I remember say for that side, shops dey, and one dey sell okada.

My hand dey shake, but I must reach papa and mama before everywhere lock.