tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2171286018357378845.post6083309991875936197..comments2023-10-22T19:25:09.958-07:00Comments on The Emerge Review: KPAKO ESTATETHE EMERGE REVIEWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17317266682611536706noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2171286018357378845.post-76065717287577754872013-05-21T10:05:52.895-07:002013-05-21T10:05:52.895-07:00The similarity is amazing:
"Ajegunle was a c...The similarity is amazing:<br /><br />"Ajegunle was a contrast to life, a euphemism for the lack of it. People, infrastructure, even the air itself all contradicted meaningful living, for which the city could earn an unopposed nomination as the king of slums in Nigeria. Everyone there was angry. Little delays or hitches over change from the bus conductor for fares paid resulted in expletives. <br /><br /><br />People thronged along the busy road that should lead me to my destination. I mistakenly stepped on a fellow’s heel ahead of me. Before I could say sorry, a blow had already shut my lips. Everyone seemed to have a serious issue of lack rattling their inner peace, the very catalyst for anger and poise for violence. <br /><br /><br />It was not difficult locating Number 8 on Ashafa Street. The road was untarred and busy. Street soccer and the noisome loitering of jobless boys and girls held sway. At the frontage of my prospective host’s house, a scene was created by a couple that threw tantrums at each other.<br /> “Yeye man! Na drink and Baba Ijebu go finish you, otobo! Come cut my breast chop, you de hungry, mcheew!” <br />The lady mimicked the sentence “I dey hungry” contorting her face in the effort. She slung her verbal assault from afar, as the crowd cheered. The man could not earn crowd support with his drab flaks, and resorted to violence: he glanced around, picked a nearby stone and lobbed it at her but it went over her head. “Over the bar!” chorused the crowd. A naughty fellow ran commentary for the duel: the man he called America; the lady, Iraq. The lady chased the stone, caught it, and sent it back to source. Crowd ran helter-skelter as the stone flew menacingly to crash on anyone. I was standing opposite the house and waited for a safe moment to move into the building.<br /><br /><br />When I entered the building, I spotted a pretty young lady leaning on the doorway from one of the rooms. We exchanged glances severally, and smiled. <br />“Welcome!” she said. <br />“Thank you, good morning. Please I’m looking for Mr. Okey, a newly married man...” <br />“That’s his room behind you, knock at the door,” she said.<br />The communication cut off the formality between us and she stepped forward to help with my bag, as I knocked on the door. <br />“Thank you, I can carry it. It’s light,” I said.<br />“I know you can carry it, let me see if I can carry it too,” she said. We smiled again. I let her have the bag.<br />“Iyawo! You get visitor!” she shouted, knocking a bit louder on the door. Okey’s wife was inside. Her husband had gone to work, but was expected back that morning – he was on night shift the day before.<br />“Anyway, I’m Victor. What’s your name, my friend?”<br />“Nse.”<br />At that point Onyinye, Okey’s wife, opened the door, and Nse left. In that short moment I looked at her quickly as she walked away. With the vibration that emanated from her backside, I knew there was trouble ahead.<br /><br /><br />Okey’s abode was the first room in a structural contraption that was no more than a dual stretch of rooms separated by a long, dark corridor. No, it was not a single room; it was double: the living room consisting of three worn-out sofas and a tacky centre-table, stopped at the opaque partition of a curtain. Behind that curtain was a room within a room, the venue of the couple’s covert bedtime activities. Not that the regular moans at night from that quarter did not puncture the pretensions of that obscurity. The corridor that led to the room was cluttered with all manner of things, and served as make-shift kitchenettes to tenants. Tenants were entitled to the spaces behind their doorways as cooking spots mostly on top of food cupboards. But no one dared leave food in those cupboards even if the largest padlocks were on guard. Most rooms had up to ten occupants, and the corridor served those who came back late from work, who could not find sleeping space in their rooms - and these were practised food thieves. Soup pots left in that corridor could be mopped thoroughly by skilled fingers till Made in China showed up."Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15880547352099594690noreply@blogger.com