Face to Face
I rubbed my eyes, still groggy from the heat that made sleep almost impossible. The ceiling fan above me spun lazily, barely moving the thick air. I checked my phone - 6:45 AM. Time to hustle.
I rolled off my thin foam mattress, careful not to bang my head on the rickety table that doubled as my wardrobe. Rummaging through the pile of clothes, I fished out a shirt that didn't smell too bad and a pair of trousers with only one small tear.
“Wetin man go do?” I muttered, giving the shirt a quick sniff before putting it on. No time for ironing, as usual.
As I struggled to button up, I could hear Mama Blessing’s voice getting louder outside. “Blessing! You never wash these plates since yesterday?! Na so so sleep you just dey sleep, no make me enter that room o!”
I slipped on my worn out shoes, wincing at the hole in the sole. “Last last, I go buy new one next month,” I promised myself for the hundredth time.
Grabbing my small Nokia phone and the few naira notes I had left, I took a deep breath and stepped out of my room into the bustling corridor.
As I stepped out, the smell of Iya Sikira’s akara hit me. My stomach rumbled, but I ignored it. No time.
“Oga Testimony!” I called out to my neighbor. “Abeg, you get small soap? I go return am this evening.”
“Na wa for you o,” Testimony replied, shaking his head. "Every time na borrow borrow. Oya, come collect.”
I quickly washed my face and brushed my teeth in our shared bathroom, careful not to step on the wet floor. The last person to bathe no dey ever wipe ground.
As I hurried out, I nearly collided with Aunty Ngozi.
“Ah ah! Mr man, you no dey everly look road?” she scolded. “Na so you go take jam soldier for road one day.”
“No vex, Aunty,” I mumbled, dodging her and the basket of vegetables on her head.
Outside, the compound was already buzzing. Children in school uniforms ran around. The okada riders at the junction revved their engines, competing for passengers.
Oga Chuks! shouted Baba Ibeji, the local provision store owner. “You never pay your 200 Naira o. No forget!”
I waved at him, pretending I didn’t hear. As I joined the throng of people heading to the bus stop, I silently calculated how I’d make it through another day in this beautiful city we call Lagos.
“God go provide,” I said to myself, squeezing into a Maruwa. “Na today be my day.”
