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|Diaries Of A Runaway Kid by funmo(m): 4:07pm On Sep 06, 2015|
On September 5, 2005, I left home for Cotonou, Benin Republic all alone. It’s been 10 years already, yet the memories of the days I spent away from home are still as fresh as my skin. The 3-month experience and journey remains a forever-cherished one. Just like the stories are with absconding, the good, the bad and the ugly had their toll on me. But being someone groomed to see the positives in every negatives, I chose to make best use of every moment I spent outside the warmth of a home, and here am I reliving my experiences 10 years afterwards. If you have ever heard people call me / called me / seen people call me funmo du BENIN/Benin republic, Cotonou/Cotonou boy, Enilolobo (he who departs eventually returns) or Osanle (home runaway), here is the full story behind those names. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, DIARIES OF A RUNAWAY KID.
Enjoy the series.
On that Monday morning, I looked ready for my Mathematics tutorials as usual, but while the 4 people at home (grams, mum, my only sister and oldest brother) pictured me departing for the tutorial place, I pictured myself boarding the next available bus to Lagos. I knew getting to my destination; Cotonou, wasn’t possible that same day, so I figured out I still had to spend one more night, my last night in Nigeria. Mum and my brother had departed for work, my sister went to the makeshift library (the uncompleted building opposite us as at then), and grams was in her room. I scribbled down a departure letter(stating my reasons for leaving home and vowing not to come back anytime soon), dropped it under the bed and flung my Maths textbook and note there too. I slipped into my favorite black jeans with a France ’98 shorts on me, wore a white top, dropped 2 shorts, 1 black shirt and another T-shirt inside the common 10 Naira polythene bag. I also took a story book with me. I found my way into mum’s room and did away with 4 500 Naira notes- Tfare and miscellaneous. Nobody must find out I am leaving home with a poly bag instead of a textbook and Biro, so I made sure my sister was settled in her library before I walked out. To avoid other regular faces, I took a longer route to the road to get a bike. Off to Lagos garage. I joined the next bus in line and we set off for Lagos. Seeing a young boy on bathroom slippers with a bag heading to Lagos wasn’t a new sight, so there wasn’t a case of suspicion from other passengers. Not even from the young man that I sat beside in the drivers apartment of the bus, he had earlier helped me resound it to the conductor’s ears back at the garage that my change should be handed to me whilst the conductor was fumbling around. We got to Oshodi, and the journey for me started proper. To get to Cotonou, I saw wharf, Apapa as the place to go. I had assumed for the port to be situated there, it shouldn’t be far away from Cotonou, and that Apapa should be in Badagry. I didn’t know how to get to Apapa, but I knew it was just some buses and bus stops away from anywhere in Lagos. Of course! I trekked for about 2 to 3 hours, and I even saw familiar faces on the way that I had to dodge my face for. Let’s just say I got to Apapa eventually in the evening, then it kind of dawned on me that it wasn’t Badagry. But I already knew I was spending the night in Lagos before “travelling out” to Benin republic, so I wasn’t moved by my being not in the supposed place. I walked aimlessly around for a while, decided to have me supper before getting to the nearest cyber cafe. Couldn’t find any around until I got to the main road, I found a sign board advertising one that sits behind the post office. Took a bike to the post office and the Okada overcharged me, I knew it. To justify the fee, dude had to go make useless turns to get to the post office. Welcome to Lagos right?… I checked into the cyber cafe, hoping there should be overnight browsing, but there wasn’t. Paid for 1 hour, checked my yahoomail and hiphopworldmagazine. Afterwards, I checked if any cafe around could host me for the night, but none was forthcoming. Couldn’t believe my luck, I had no plan B.
The night was already setting in. What to do? I decided I was going to ultimate search around for any building that looks abandoned or deserted. If I don’t get any, then maybe a deserted danfo bus, behind a shop, or just anywhere safe enough will do it for the night. I found one. A deserted building; small fence, no sign of life, a storey building, and probably the occupants lived abroad and won’t come home until Christmas. But daylight was still upon us, so I couldn’t just scale the fence and go take a night rest. I hung around a bit and found some Hausa guys around. One of them spoke a handful of English, and he asked what’s up with me. Told him I was on exile from home, and I sought me pastures away from this beyond. I picked my story book to while away time and all that. My Hausa friend suggested I spend the night with them, I nodded in approval and appreciation, but at the back of my mind, that house belonging to the folks in America was my abode for the night, nothing would change that. Once he went to attend to some business, I slipped away and decided to stroll around the area. After some minutes of strolling, I scaled the fence into my destined-abode for the night. There were no signs of life around, nor was there electricity. Sleep wouldn’t come, and the mosquitoes kept me company. My legs ached a lot and I was really tired… I slept off, only to be awakened by an horn and an opening of the gate. WHAT!!!
|Re: Diaries Of A Runaway Kid by funmo(m): 4:10pm On Sep 06, 2015|
Rest of the series will drop here as at when due...
|Re: Diaries Of A Runaway Kid by damiperry(f): 7:52pm On Sep 06, 2015|
|Re: Diaries Of A Runaway Kid by funmo(m): 10:07pm On Sep 08, 2015|
DIARIES OF A RUNAWAY KID 2
As in big what!!! But I just chilled in the position I was at. No going back on that decision to pass the night at the house. Believe me when I say I slept off. Only that the mosquitoes wouldn't let me sleep... well, since I had made a decision to leave home, I was ready for anything that came my way - the great consolation I always gave myself all through the runaway days. I woke up in the morning set to leave, and my entry point was also to be my exit point. However, some other Hausa folks were just few meters away from the fence making tea or something. I figured it should be 5am yet, and I must leave before sun ever rises. The gate was my next plan, and I gently approached it to open, or at least scale. Did I tell you I needed to be quiet about it? Because the driver/gateman/security was sleeping in the verandah. The only thing that separated my "bed" and his was actually a railings. The foolish gate made a creaky sound, and the man stood up. Remember there wasn't power supply, so it was dark kind of. I quickly bent down and hid beside the Hilux car, he approached the gate with his touch and made for the side of the car I was, I tip-toed back to my corner. He really didn't suspect a thing, dude went back to bed. Wish I was scared, but I wasn't, I was scared that I wasn't scared though. I decided to come up with another plan; a much more feasible one this time around. The best bet was to throw in the towel and give up. That was what I did when I decided to walk up to the man. "Good morning sir", and dude was like stammering and wondering where I suddenly (dis)appeared from. From "who you be?", "where you come from?", to "you be thief?" and "when you enter, how you take enter?", this man was just all confused. I told him I scaled the fence and had been with the Hausa folks around earlier in the evening, that I just got ejected from home back in Ijebu-Ode and on my way to nowhere in particular. He was just staring at me! When he finally summoned enough courage to talk, he said he would wait till morning for his boss before he takes any further action. My heart should jump to my mouth I think, but the solid thing wouldn't move an inch, I almost let out my usual smile. He talked of how he could have attacked me with his knife, of how I gave him license to tag me a thief and other stories... anyways, I caught more sleep right beside him and woke up when it was dawn.
I really couldn't figure out what would have been going on back at home. Thinking of home wasn't part of the plan. Of course I cared, but I needed to still do what I wanted to, no going back. Would I have changed my mind if I could turn back the hands of time? Sincerely I dunno, I was something else as a young teenager... I'm still.
Oga came out, and he didn't look as if what happened was big deal. He is actually from Ijebu-Ode too. Seemed he was just too busy to give a hoot about one poor rascal that scaled the fence to spend the night. I bade them goodbye, and the tough security/driver/gateman warned me not to ever come back again. I just left him and Apapa. I set for how to get to Badagry. After some 2 or 3 hours of walking, I finally got to the express, asked a guy how someone can get to Badagry, he said via Mile 2. Mile 2 then!!! Took a danfo, and then hopped on to the next bus going to Seme boarder and Badagry. I just wanted to leave this country asap, couldn't risk getting seen by a known face. The journey to Badagry was actually longer than I anticipated, and I spent the better part of the journey sleeping. I was tired, hungry and hard-hearted. We got to Badagry and some few people alighted, then the bus continued towards Seme boarder. The boarder brought back the memory of some 13 months ago when I first came there. It was also on a trip to Cotonou, but I wasn't alone then. It was a youth camp from church, and we were headed to Houdegbe North American University back then to camp therein. We spent only a week and hardly communicated with the outside community, except for once when we went on an excursion. So when the choice of where to disappear to was upon me, Cotonou was the best bet. Why disappear? It really wasn't the biggest of issues, let's just say an ego problem. After my s.s.2 promotional exams, I didn't meet the cut-off percentage earlier agreed on with my mum and sister as per moving to s.s.3. I was in the sciences, and I wasn't really good with physics and chemistry. After my s.s.1 promotionals, my results were just average. My folks rightly felt such a result didn't have what it takes to write WAEC. I was advised to reread s.s.1 as an art or commercial student. I declined and rather promised to do better in s.s.2, and they both agreed. But on the condition that I make 65% at the end of s.s.2 or go back to s.s.1 if I didn't. We actually signed an undertaken to that effect. Of course I didn't make it, isn't that why you are "opportuned" to be reading this story after all? I wasn't ready to go back to s.s.1, so I decided I would go continue school somewhere else. And Cotonou appealed to me, definitely because of its "proximity". Although they later agreed I read only s.s.2, but my mind was just made up already.
The only thing that now stood between me and Cotonou was the boarder. It was going to be bye bye to Nigeria, to Ijebu-Ode, to church, to school, to family, to home. Bye bye for a long time, or so I thought. I took a long breathe and thought it all over again, am I really doing this?... what was waiting for me in a land I knew nobody? What will happen? I had no answers, but I went ahead towards the line that separated both countries. I didn't know if any of the custom officers was going to ask me questions, so I beckoned a bikeman and asked how to get to the other side. He asked if I had an international passport, of course I didn't, I still don't, almost getting one though. So he said I should hop on his bike and he will take me across for 100 Naira. 100 kini? Nibeyen, I pointed at the other side. It was just 10 meters or less away, but I paid it anyways. Got to the other side, and decided to change the remaining Naira on me to Francs/Cephas. Can't remember how much I got, but it definitely wasn't much again. I bought a bottled coke, and headed to the park in order to get to the City. A car was ready to take passengers, and I joined the others inside. Myself, a Yoruba dude that doesn't understand a word in English and an Hausa woman with her 2 kids sat at the back. I had asked the Yoruba dude in English how much the fare was, and he replied in Yoruba that he doesn't understand English. I kinda knew something was up. I had thought English was Benin's official language while French was just the "local" language. I prayed I was right and off we zoomed. We got to Cotonou in less than 45 minutes, and I could hear the Muslim call to prayer being made when I alighted. I guessed it was around 2pm. Here was I in dreamland, what to do next? I had no idea. But an idea flashed into my mind...
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|Re: Diaries Of A Runaway Kid by nimat158(f): 11:50am On Sep 09, 2015|
|Re: Diaries Of A Runaway Kid by funmo(m): 1:51pm On Sep 17, 2015|
Since I left home primarily because I didn't want to repeat a class in school, there was no way I had plans to come to Cotonou not to continue schooling. Back at home, we paid less than one thousand Naira per term as school fees, and I didn't expect it to be much in Benin Republic. Although I had fantasies playing around my mind back at home of how the new life in Cotonou would be like. I had seen myself maybe getting picked up by some nice family on the street, getting sent to school (s.s.2) by this family... etc. I really didn't have a concrete plan anyways. Or I felt, to get an hustle going and paying for school fees, I could be an houseboy for some rich family that will allow me school off my salaries. The latter seemed a better idea, and I executed it pronto.
Well, French seemed to be the language here, and it must be acquainted with, so I bought me a French-English dictionary, and all I had left on me wasn't much. Since my classmates will soon get to know of my absence at home, I felt I could tell a few of them of how fine I am. I headed for a cyber cafe, bought 1 hour, and I set to send messages from my yahoo mail to my classmates. With that expenses, I had only 100 Francs left on me: a coin equivalent to 20 Naira back then. My diary was with me, and I reached for emails therein. After mailing like 3 or 4 guys, and playing around the internet, I paused at 30 minutes and decided to set out to start looking for my prospective boss. I asked the cafe receptionist... she didn't even understand a word of English, and my French was on same level as her English's, even the keyboard was in French. I just left and was heading to anywhere I could do some inquires as per who needs some houseboy or something. After some few minutes of wandering about, I got to what looked like a Government Reserved Area (GRA), and the first man I met wasn't much of an English speaker too. But I saw a couple of whites, and that was it, I was definitely in the right place. My life is about to change, I'll be working for a white family and schooling in this French land. Oui! Oui! All away from the troubles of home and Nigeria, this is it. Or so I thought. So luckily for me, the next person I approached understands and speaks English. Paul, a uniformed security man cum gateman. I asked him if any of the white folks is recruiting or something. And his "no" shattered my dream runaway-experience into many pieces. But he offered help, a great one. One that defined my 3-month stay in Cotonou. Paul told me to go meet a certain Ada at a certain Jonquet (pronounced John-K). She would be of help, so thought Paul. Not dejected, but at least happy things worked out to an extent, I set for what would be my new home till December 2005.
I imagined Jonquet to be a popular man sort of. It sounded like a person's name to me, but as I kept asking people for direction to where this man lives, it was becoming clearer that Jonquet is rather a location, a street sort of. But Jonquet isn't a street, it is an area. Like Lekki Phase 1. Or Molipa. I got to JohnK in the evening, around 6pm. And the search for Ada began. Paul actually penned something down on a note for her. I can't remember word for word, but it was something like,
"Hello Ada, Long time. How are you? Please help this your brother from Nigeria. He just came in and needs a place to stay. Thanks. Paul"
I didn't know who she was, and the search for her wasn't fruitful. Prior to the time I entered the park street, I figured out that something didn't seem right. 2 folks I asked Ada from replied me with "you come f*ck?"... really? So I got the shocker that wasn't shocking: Jonquet was the hookers' den. Getting to middle of the park street, I approached a man is his mid-30's and made inquiries of Ada. He asked something akin to what the earlier 2 folks asked, but it was in Yoruba... something like "shey asawo ni e?". I could only nod in disapproval. He wanted to know why I was looking for Ada, and I fed him the same BIG STORY I fed Paul. The same BIG STORY I fed everybody in Benin that cared to listen for the 3 months. The same BIG STORY I had fed the Hausa guy and the security man back in Apapa a day earlier. The man, one I later nicknamed "boda", pitied me, and felt the best he could do at the moment was refer me to Madam Chinyere. Madam Chinyere runs a cafeteria, and her employees were also Nigerian. Her place was only like 5 minutes from park street. (Park street in Jonquet hosts the motor park for cars coming/departing from Nigeria and other West African countries). I fed her the same big story, and told her of how I would like to school and work at her place. First off, she made me know the English-speaking schools are all private, and that means they aren't cheap enough for me to do any type of work and get the school fees, and she broke the camel's back when she said I was too young and small to work at her place. True!!! The 2 guys I saw there had strong and big arms. Mine were toothpick-looking arms - not match for what served as prerequisite. However, she offered me a meal; big eba and vegetables and some meats. The meal was that much that I couldn't finish it. I tried to... it looked disrespectful to waste food when in such position. I told her to help me keep the remaining till the following day, reason being that I was actually too full, as a result of the earlier coke, and had lost appetite a bit. I knew I wasn't coming back. I returned to Boda, and it seemed my story had gone around. At this point, I got to meet fofo Mousah, Alhadji and Apichaw. (Fofo means brother in Fon/Egun) Mousah happens to be a young man hustling at the time. Alhadji, a man in his late 30's and never been to Mecca, drives a cab amongst other jobs. Apichaw looked over 50, I never got to know what he was doing for a living at the time, looked like a variety of hustles. Seems I got bitten by the same bug too... Sometimes I can't exhaust the list of things I do. I also met some of the girls: all hookers. When it was evening, they all filed out to advertise and display their goods. One even mistook me for a prospective customer and held me, until one of the girls that speaks fluent Yoruba told her I was the new boy. They laughed it off, and I went to sit by an evening cafeteria; the types that only operated in the late evening to sell Sphagetti and fried eggs majorly. I enjoyed a French movie on the TV and picked up some French words. The night was nigh, and Alhadji beckoned me inside. He provided me a mat in a room with no accommodation for bulb, and I slept off. Maybe this wasn't what I bargained for in my fantasy while still at home, but I definitely harbored no regrets. I planned to make the best use of it. And that was what I started doing the next day, which happened to be Wednesday September 7th, 2005.
1 Like 1 Share
|Re: Diaries Of A Runaway Kid by mimicious(f): 3:56pm On Sep 24, 2015|
Nice write up, please continue
|Re: Diaries Of A Runaway Kid by iamehmakute(m): 5:38pm On Sep 24, 2015|
haba Op,because we no dy comment no mean say we no dey ur back.nyc write up awaiting update
|Re: Diaries Of A Runaway Kid by funmo(m): 7:54pm On Sep 24, 2015|
guys! I'm on it... reliving an experience a decade old isn't really that easy... trying not to miss anything... just taking my time...
and... I'm actually writing it for my blog... nl is only and always second fiddle to me
hey! but Thanks all the same... don't allow kids read tis o! I no fit find pikin o...ehen
|Re: Diaries Of A Runaway Kid by iamehmakute(m): 8:18pm On Sep 24, 2015|
funmo:Any pikin wey read am na OYO,i even had do cover my dog eyes with my hands,can't imagine going to cotonou to look for him.
more flexibility and doggedity to the nerves in your fingers
|Re: Diaries Of A Runaway Kid by mimicious(f): 9:49pm On Sep 24, 2015|
|Re: Diaries Of A Runaway Kid by mimicious(f): 9:50pm On Sep 24, 2015|
Covering ur dog's eyes got me laffing
|Re: Diaries Of A Runaway Kid by iamehmakute(m): 10:04pm On Sep 24, 2015|
mimicious:i checked your dp and noticed how breathtaking you are when you smile,therefore making you laff makes me fill fulfilled for today.
It's really an honour making you laff(bows head).
|Re: Diaries Of A Runaway Kid by imsuboi(m): 4:25am On Sep 25, 2015|
|Re: Diaries Of A Runaway Kid by mimicious(f): 5:08am On Sep 25, 2015|
|Re: Diaries Of A Runaway Kid by semasir: 3:36pm On Sep 25, 2015|
Hi, you can join www.badagryforum.com and make your inputs there to promote Badagry and also give insights. It's a forum dedicated to Badagry.
|Re: Diaries Of A Runaway Kid by iamehmakute(m): 6:02pm On Sep 25, 2015|
mimicious:ow is her highness faring today.
|Re: Diaries Of A Runaway Kid by mimicious(f): 6:15pm On Sep 25, 2015|
Fairing well and u
|Re: Diaries Of A Runaway Kid by iamehmakute(m): 6:24pm On Sep 25, 2015|
mimicious:as healthy as the petals of a rose flower,and where is my sallah meat my lady.
|Re: Diaries Of A Runaway Kid by mimicious(f): 6:38pm On Sep 25, 2015|
Salah meat has finished, till next year or maybe this Christmas
|Re: Diaries Of A Runaway Kid by iamehmakute(m): 6:47pm On Sep 25, 2015|
mimicious:aww,this christmas then. mylady mimicious is a christian?
|Re: Diaries Of A Runaway Kid by mimicious(f): 7:01pm On Sep 25, 2015|
Yes she is
|Re: Diaries Of A Runaway Kid by iamehmakute(m): 7:32pm On Sep 25, 2015|
mimicious:am starting a fast tomorrow,theme:oluwashine your light on me make i hamma.so that i could come back to nairaland and post a story "my runaway from nigeria with mimicious to a land where we would live happily,successful and fulfilled everly after".
what do you think my lady?.
|Re: Diaries Of A Runaway Kid by mimicious(f): 7:45pm On Sep 25, 2015|
Now this is hilarious hahahhahahahah
|Re: Diaries Of A Runaway Kid by iamehmakute(m): 8:27pm On Sep 25, 2015|
mimicious:i am delighted i made you laugh mylady(bows head).
|Re: Diaries Of A Runaway Kid by mimicious(f): 8:31pm On Sep 25, 2015|
|Re: Diaries Of A Runaway Kid by iamehmakute(m): 8:34pm On Sep 25, 2015|
mimicious:sent you an email
|Re: Diaries Of A Runaway Kid by mimicious(f): 10:56pm On Sep 25, 2015|
I didn't get it
|Re: Diaries Of A Runaway Kid by Nobody: 10:55am On Sep 26, 2015|
Nice story, will surely keep reading.
|Re: Diaries Of A Runaway Kid by funmo(m): 7:41pm On Sep 30, 2015|
DIARIES OF A RUNAWAY KID 4
Wednesday morning, September 7, 2005 and I'm waking up in a different country entirely. The night was well spent sleeping "dreamlessly" and of course, fearlessly. I folded my mat and left the room to sit outside in the yard with my famous polythene bag. I had already finished the novella on me before I even got to Cotonou, so there was no English piece to read any longer. I went to sit at the cafeteria, and after few minutes, I set out to mission number 2. To get a school and place myself in S.S.2. Wasn't that the major reason of this whole adventure? With no place particularly in mind, I left Jonquet, and after a long walk, a very long walk, I arrived at the Nigerian International School. Relieved, I approached 2 men who I guessed to be teachers at the school. Asked them what it takes to school at the N.I.S as I just came in from Nigeria a day ago. They first directed me to the Vice Principal, a Nigerian Northerner who was on his way out in his car, he redirected me to the teaching duo. All these were happening just outside the gate. The teachers broke my heart the moment they told me the school fees run into 500,000 Francs (can't remember if it is for a term or session... I guess session). That was like 100,000 in Naira. God!!!!! Time to go back to Nigeria! Nobody in bathroom slippers can afford that fees. I'm going home.
No way! Nigeria isn't an option, not in the next few years. They however referred me to the Nigerian embassy (after I fed them a short version of the BIG STORY), which is just a stone throw away, or so it seemed when compared to the distances and kilometers I've covered in the last 2 days. I got to the embassy to meet a rude and unwelcoming gateman who wouldn't let me in no matter what I say. I left, not dejected, as the embassy was never in my plans anyways, they could deport me self, so why bother. I wandered around a little bit and saw students returning from extra mural lessons, then saw Alhadji driving a cab. I knew he wasn't heading back to Jonquet anytime soon, so I didn't bother beckoning on him. I headed back to Jonquet tired, hungry but not sad. The remaining 100 Francs on me was going to serve as lunch fees, but since I wasn't used to coins any longer, I didn't know when the slim coin slipped away from where I kept it in my pocket. I got back home (Jonquet) and decided to spend my last cash only to discover it was missing, I had still felt it in my pocket few minutes ago, I searched the sandy streets for it like they would search for treasure in Ultimate Search, but it was far gone. However, I wouldn't be without brunch that day as the heavens already made preparations for a meal. And the heavens definitely were with me all through my stay in the no-man's land. With the sunny afternoon already taking its toll on me, one of ladies - whom I later discovered to be an Ijebu but with an Eastern Nigeria accent, provided me some Francs that came handy in supplying me Garri and honey-groundnuts. Was still so tired that I slept afterwards, right inside the yard and on a bench that barely accommodated my full height.
(Alright... at this moment, I can't remember the adventures in a day-by-day sequence again...)
Remember Fofo Mousa? He had told me the night before of an English Pentecostal church close by, and that they could be of help. But he broke the news to me the night that the church wasn't no longer in Jonquet and had moved to some other place he knows not. However, he had a plan B, one of the church members who speaks English and Yoruba and is married to a Nigerian stay just beside our own crib, and we will both approach him the next day at his work place just also nearby. He could be of help. His name, Boda Waidi also known as Fofo Felix and daddy Sarah. I really didn't know what the subsequent plans will be from me, but I knew a way was going to make itself. No bathe, no brushed teeth, 3 pieces of clothing, 1 Jean, 2 shorts, a diary and no money, this adventure isn't going all well, but when there is life, there is hope.
Fofo Mousa had seen Felix to table my matter prior before the Thursday meeting, so all he had to do was take me to him at the Benin Body Building where he works as a protocol and security outside the gym, and Felix and myself took it away from there. I fed him the big story, and nothing much happened afterwards. Save for him gifting me 100 Francs (Cent Francs/ San Fran) at a food kiosk we went together, and that was used to provide breakfast for an hungry tummy. And my introduction to Cotonou weird delicacies started. Majorly Asheke (with both e's pronounced err) and Pe (a form of long and dry bread). We didn't talk much at length, except for him telling me to check on him at night at home for further talks. I left for the crib and set to the cyber cafe to finish my time. I got my way around the French keyboard this time and decided to mail more of my friends back in school of how I'm doing well wherever I was. Mails none of them ever got till tomorrow (Bisi Lateef, Jide Bakare and Promise Ogunsola! Whatever happened to your emails guys)...
Later in the day, I kicked soccer on the streets with the young boys around, and I really had a good time displaying my average soccer skills. They spoke French and Fon, but football is only one language. Folks around nodded to my seemingly quick-adaptation to my new society. Only if I knew a shocker was awaiting me that night. One of the ladies got me water (we had to buy, as our own crib had no well) to take my bathe after her nosy-self inquired if I have had one for the day. After chilling around in the evening and watching in awe the ladies take their customers inside, I went to the next house to meet Boda Waidi. I got to meet his Nigerian wife, a 6-year old Sarah, a few-month old Emmanuel and Felix's niece, Gladys, who was a year younger than me. The kind mama Sarah served me dinner, and I had a great evening at the Felixs'. He asked me to check him at work the next day, and I felt things were beginning to take shape at least, until I got back to my crib to discover that the landlord just got back from a trip to Lagos. And then the shocker came.
|Re: Diaries Of A Runaway Kid by iamehmakute(m): 10:02pm On Sep 30, 2015|
I WANT MORE
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