Entry 32

IN THE HOOD

Unlike that gorgeous, handsome, honest-to-G*d-talented-music-marvel (real name withheld) when I wake up in the morning, I not only brush up my teeth, I have my bath and put on clean clothes as well!!
Walking through the porthole infested streets that snake around my area, (although times without number, I curse the government officials that collect millions of naira with the promise of good roads and more only to fall short of expectations once again) there is this something at the pith of my stomach that perks up with pride whenever I move through the shameful occurrence that we call roads.

On the street where I live, there is a sense of belonging that makes each step I take a confident stride, these people would drop what they were doing and come to my aid, these ones would stick their necks out for me if the situation requires it. These are my people, these are my own.

Whatever name you decide to call our members; the general class of students or the more specific genus of hustlers, g-men, tilĕ’s, code breakers or Barbie dolls. There is just something about that sets them apart.
Buh, there is daytime life and nighttime life on my street.
Seriously, the same girl you see with knee length skirt and mary-amaka blouse clutching her books tightly around are chest at dawn is the same babe you would see ‘strutting her stuff’ from 6pm in the evening (that same day).
With backsides that can stand beer bottles, long legs that go all the way and make you rethink the word “bridging the divide” and/or ample bosoms that could literally put a stop to world hunger, these girls would look for every and any excuse to wear those killer outfits and torment the ‘boys in the hood’ . Be it borrowing notes form the next block, getting noodles [and suya/ meshai/ moi-moi or that special on code “ingredient” I can’t write on paper for fear that pound would see] from Mallam down the road, or even to pack their clothes form the lines on a sunny day turned cloudy. You have got to love them!!
Our men are not ones to be left out as they too they show themselves. They migrate from crazy hair cuts to outfits that shock and shoes bound to cause a stir. If you have got a ride that ‘sparkles’ YOU ARE THE MAN!

Once in a while, when things get too dull, they’d throw a block party and of course, I’d get an invite. There I’d meet the longest standing couples, the Bonny and Clyde couples [and the Chris and Riri type too], the reigning ladies and they men that serve them and the occasional dude that has a ‘skirt’ fetish.
Paul doesn’t see what the big deal is about my street, if he doesn’t get it, then it’s too bad for him [buh, I can’t believe I prefer him to Faruk. Did I just admit that aloud? Yikes!]

Ibiela left unsupervised in the area is like putting a pretty shinny object in front of a female and asking her not to touch.

I don’t talk to everyone on my street, (I am Tahilita Swahita duh!) I have to still form, front and all that, it is expected; the unwritten code. Every now and then, we’d see ourselves outside, ‘in the world’ on cue, we’d both nod. Acknowledging the fact that each other’s presence has been recognized and noted.

Plain Dash (mother’s new beau –I can’t believe she left teacher dash for him, she is greedy and doesn’t care about my future!! Besides, I think he is way too young for her, I blame it on that movie where they keep going on about how it is empowering to date a younger man, if I set eyes on the team of producers, directors and script writers eh… I hope for their own good they don’t have cats) has a business office not too far from where I stay, so every now and then, we play the could-be-related-if-things-workout-game.
By default, he is also one of us.

No day is the same in my habitat. The drama that unfolds each moment is like scenes from the documentary “student life”. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. If given the chance, I would change nothing! These events, these memories are all exclusive and only happen [like Durella would say…] IN THE ZANGA!!

- Tabby