Sad on a Sunday

Every Saturday Yemi goes away he gives me N500. I wish he goes away every Saturday.

I’m Ibrahim, and I’m a gateman. I help people repair their shoes for money too. The money is small, but it feeds me. I have a family all the way in Chad, and I send them my gateman salary every month.

I like Nigeria. There’s a lot of money here. People give me money just because I help them do very easy things. I wash their car, cut their grass, put on their generators. If they did not give me money I will still do it because I have nothing else to do asides open a gate.

On Monday, Mr. Kabiru’s wife asked me to come to her house. Every time I see her outside her head is always covered and she’s always bending down as if she’s a shy 5 years old girl. She always wears a long gown too. Sometimes I pity her, but my wife in Chad who I have not seen in 4 years wears the same thing too. My wife is beautiful, but not as beautiful as Mr. Kabiru’s wife. When I entered the house it was dark, but I know there was light outside unless Nepa just took the light. She told me she was in the kitchen and asked me to lock the door and come help her. Mr. Kabiru looks like a rugged person, but inside his house is very fine. I shout all the way from the parlour to tell Mrs. Kabiru that her house is fine before I enter the kitchen. She says nothing. I enter the kitchen and I see her on a stool, and she’s stretching to put something on top of the cupboard. Her skin looked sweet like nunu, and the way her body stretched in her house wear was like how the man that sells tea to me pours his tea from cup to cup. Mrs. Kabiru looked like tea that I wanted to drink. My throat was dry. She spoke what sounded like Hausa to me, but I did not understand. “I don’t know Hausa.” I told her. She laughed and asked me to help her. She got down and gave me a yellow container with blue cover, and told me to help her put it on top. She stood very close to me and I could smell her perfume. It smelled very sweet, and my throat got dryer.

I have never seen Mrs. Kabiru’s face before or any part of her body. She was very beautiful. Just like tea that has plenty milk. I only drink that kind of tea on Sundays because it is more expensive than normal tea.

Her breast were big like my wife’s own. I like big breast. I used to tell Halimat, my wife, that I will touch her breast when we were younger before I married her. One useless man raped her and nobody wanted to pay her bride price because she was impure. We got married when we were 19, and she gave me 4 children before I left Chad. Children are expensive. That is why I am in Lagos so that I can send money to her to take care of the children.

Mrs. Kabiru was short and very portable like my palito radio. Her bumbum was just big enough in her small jeans short. I climbed the stool and put the yellow bowl on top.

She said she was making eba, and asked me if I was hungry. When I did not speak she touched my stomach and I was afraid she will touch something else. Then she went to the cooker and poured food into a plate. I don’t know why, but I told her I like tea and she laughed. She laughed like a child. The way my Halimat laughs too.

She put the food on the table. The eba was very big and I ate everything. She kept on looking at me and laughing. She will touch me from time to time. I asked her if Oga was around. And she laughed again. She said no.

I did not leave her house until 6PM. By that time many people were looking for me. Landlord was very angry and said he will sack me very soon. But I was just smiling as he was shouting.

The next morning she brought me tea with plenty milk. Just the way I like it. And she asked me to come in by 1PM. That’s how this week became the best week of my time in Lagos.

By Friday, Mr. Kabiru returned and when she passed me on Saturday she did not say anything. She passed me like I was a ghost. Shortly after, Mr. Kabiru gave me his shoe to polish.

I saw Yemi coming out of his door, and there was a car waiting outside for him. He comes and goes in different fine cars all the time, and the driver is always different. I am sure he has plenty money because he’s always using different cars every time. I quickly crossed the road so that he will see my face and give me N500. But he greeted me, entered the car, and left me without money. He never does that and I don’t know why he did. No one has given me money this week, maybe God is punishing me for liking Mr. Kabiru’s wife.

Tomorrow will be the first time since I got to Lagos that I will not drink tea on a Sunday.