Yellow. Yellow. Yellow. Blue. Yellow. Blue. White. Yellow. Yellow. Yellow. Yellow.
Yellow.
Yellow.
Yellow.
Green.
The mag-rail train came to a stop at Abdeh Park. Olewa’s eyes closed, savoring the pause before the doors whispered open. Her eyes opened with them, on high alert as she watched the influx of business professionals crowd into the car around her at the end of their work day. One, an older woman with a proud tower of silky black curls perched like a crown atop her head, pushed her back from the entrance to take the prime spot in front of the door. Olewa’s small, dark form made way to the woman’s pristine, pale one. The woman didn’t apologize.
Olewa raised the hood of her large, black jacket over her head. A small face covered in darkness. A small change to transform from girl to ghost.
The intercom chimed in three languages: Please watch the closing doors. The ghost moved.
A quick tug on the $200 purse was enough to remove it from the woman’s unsuspecting grasp. The ghost ran. The woman screamed after its hooded form.
The doors snapped back open. She heard stilettos chasing her. The tower of stairs to the ground level above were before her, and she ran behind its form to hide where the cameras couldn’t follow her. Loud screams followed instead: Help. Thief. The Train Ghost.
In the shadows her jacket was removed. Inside were heels to replace her sandals. The hood had a wig, and beneath her pants was a skirt. Inside the purse was a girl in black. On her person was a professional woman. The transformation was complete in seconds.
But there was a cough in the shadows. Olewa turned to find a dark homeless man grinning a toothless smile at her. One of the Gbagbe. A few hundred naira from the woman’s wallet bought his silence.
The screams came closer. With confident stride Olewa left the shadows, waiting for the train in the opposite direction, purse beneath her arm. She was the owner, and she was on her way back to work.
The screaming woman had police in tow. Their eyes passed the ghost without stopping. They wondered how the thief could have escaped. The train rolled into the station.
The ghost, now a professional woman, stepped into the car. She bumped back a youth to have the prime spot at the front near the doors. She smoothed down her wig and pursed her lips, looking through her new purse to find a bit of makeup. She was not disappointed.
As the ghost glossed her lips with blood red paint, the doors announced their closing. The pale woman, bagless, was marching past the doors, yelling at the incompetent police men who let a child get away with her purse. A split second, a quick glance, and she was eye to eye with Olewa, purse in hand, painted lips stretched in a victorious smile.
The woman screamed. The doors closed. The police ran after a moving train, and the girl relaxed as her adrenaline slowed.
Green.
Yellow.
Yellow.
Blue.
White.
Yellow. Yellow. Blue. Yellow. White. Yellow. Yellow. Yellow…
