I have felt like this before, long ago, when I first arrived here. The problem was so bad that my stomach kept growing as if the vulcanizer was pumping me. After many weeks or months, I couldn’t take it anymore. I bought a bottle of agbo and mixed it with alligator pepper, potash, and exhaust soot. I drank half in the morning and the other half in the evening. That night I went to the bushes near the rail line, and as I squatted, everything in my stomach just poured out. I was very relieved.
I don’t want to suffer like that again. That time it was Obe that visits me in the night, but when my stomach started growing, he wouldn’t even look at me again. After a while I stopped seeing him altogether. I didn’t miss him much; his thing was not as big or as sweet as Rosco’s.
The shouts of the crowd forced my attention back to the woman. Her madness was improving. Her bra coming off had caused the shouts. But now she was doing something else, something that was driving all the men stupid. She was moving her hips to the music from one of the stopped danfo. The woman can dance, I swear. But it was her breasts that were causing the traffic hold up; they were jiggling and bouncing like no man business.
The woman suddenly dashed off. Her speed was good; the foolish crowd hardly had time to give way for her. They cheered.
I walked over to the woman’s container, took one Lacasera, and then a Coke, for tomorrow. The crowd followed me and rushed for the other drinks, and then traffic began to move again. The show was over.
In the evening, I saw the woman coming back. I don’t know why mad people think they can come and live in this place with me. I don’t want any mad body stealing my things or scattering my decoration. I untied my wrapper and made myself naked enough for a fight. She came closer and I picked up a big stick.
But the woman just went over to her empty drink container and started cursing and screaming “Ole” at everyone. Then she found her wrapper and buba, dressed herself up, stopped a bus and got on.
I shook my head, na wa o.
Standing there in my fighting position, enjoying the air the passing busses caused on my naked thighs, it was me people were shaking their heads at. I did not mind them. It wasn’t me that was mad. They are alike, but to be poor is not madness.
But my problem is this stomach. I am worried that if it keeps growing Rosco will see it, and because he is a fool, he might stop calling me into his danfo at night. I cannot let this happen.
I will make my concoction again. There is nothing agbo mixed with the right ingredients will not cure.