I’m worried because today makes it the sixth day I’ve been feeling different, from the tingling sensation in my breast and hunger pangs, I think I am…….No, I don’t think, I know I am pregnant. Now I’m hungry again, suddenly remembering the wares of ‘the new mad woman’, I smile to myself as I watch her dance farther away from her drinks. I decide to help myself to some bottles since no one is watching. I walk back to my house across the street, open one of the bottles out of the many I greedily took, with the aim of taking a gulp, then try to shine my teeth gleefully like lots of people do. I really don’t know if its hunger or thirst but I didn’t stop at a gulp, I finished the bottle. I look around for Rosco, then I realise his danfo isn’t in the garage, he has gone to work. I’ll wait till he returns then I will tell him about ‘our problem’. I’m thinking to myself as I fall asleep.
I awaken to the noise of Rosco’s vehicle, I know the sound too well, the sun is scorching so I know its midday and Rosco is back for some shots of that strong, smelly, bitter (cause of the way he squeezes his face like a chimpanzee licking lime) dirty liquid with sticks in it called ‘Agbo Jedi’ and to smoke indian hemp. Now will be a good time to tell him about the ‘growing’ problem. So he can give me more money cause N100 will barely feed me, talk more of now that my stomach feels just like a ruminant’s with four chambers only that I can’t regurgitate food. As I approach Rosco, he starts to hiss and shake his head, I am past caring because I’m hungry and determined, just as I reach him and try to start talking, he starts screaming; “Yayyyy…….were,e gba mi lowo were!” And his gang members start laughing, one of them picks up a cane and starts flogging me, I run away crying, not because of pain, because I feel humiliated.
Only God knows how long I walked, oblivious to the world, when a big black van pulls to a screeching halt next to me and two men and a lady in green uniform pounce on me, grab me and push me into the back of the van, gradually as my eyes adjust to the darkness I notice three women in the van. Then I hear voices, presumingly the people in the green uniform say; “Fashola really intends to transform the streets of Lagos, once we are done with the mad people, we will move unto the beggars and hawkers”.
I look out of the small opening, which I suppose was meant to be a window and I see No 8,harvey street yaba, then a bigger writing catches my attention, “The Federal Neuropsychiatric Hospital”.