The Life of a Lagos Mad Woman

My name is Joy. I live very close to the dump hill here. I am a mother of two. Say… Where the heck are my children? Oh yeah, I remember. They both died after their father left me and never came back. How did they die? Abeg, don’t ask me questions jo. Leave shit mata for shitpacker.

Since the members of my husband’s family called me a witch and sent me packing, I decided to take a long walk to where I’ll find peace and serenity. Nobody disturbs me here. It’s my own world. You should see my apartment, it’s lovely. I laid the green rug I found at the dump site on the floor and then I’ve got some paint buckets I use as my toilet bowl. When they are filled, I stark them on each other and count them all over to see how many buckets of faeces I’ve got. Isn’t that beautiful? Yet they say I’m mad.

Right now, I’m waving at Sikiru. Sikiru is the bus conductor that comes to me everytime to collect number for Baba Ijebu. They say the numbers I give them are always lucky numbers. I never get it wrong. I like Sikiru a lot. He is the only one that gives me money or food in return for the number. The others just bring their pen and paper… Stupid idiots. God will judge them.

Apart from Sikiru who gives me money and food, there are also some nice men whom I like so much. One of them is the man that comes to the T-junction every Wednesday at 1:00am to leave me food. He always acts weird anyway. He wears a white wrapper and carries the food in his hands like he wants to serve Queen Elizabeth. He puts the food in a brown or black bowl and places it right in the middle of the T-junction. I really like him o. It’s not every time you get to be fed in a black bowl. He really treats me specially. But there’s something he does that I don’t understand. He doesn’t like it if I come for the food when he’s around. He chases me with a stick. He prefers me eating when he’s absent. I wonder why.

I also like the woman who comes every last Friday of the month to share jollof rice in the afternoon. She packs it in a nylon bag and gives it to me and the beggars over there. Then, she also comes at night, with a plastic doll tied to her back and a man beating a small drum. Then she’ll dance for about 30minutes and then leave. Yet they say I’m mad. At my age, will I carry a plastic doll and dance around like I have nothing to do? I have better things to do, like taking care of Chief.
Aah!!! Chief, Chief, Chief! Chief is the surest person in this world. When I see him, my heart skips. Chief is the one that gives me everything I need. He comes here every Tuesday. Even the vigilante guy knows him. Chief is so consistent. He is my lover, my friend, my confidant, my everything.

He comes alone in his jeep at around 1:00am in the morning. He buys me a lot of things. He tells me every time that he wants me to always be happy. Chief spoils me. There was a day he bought me a big bucket of KFC chicken. Chai! I will not forget that day o. When Sikiru saw the bucket the next day, he was so surprised. He said “Ha, KFC chicken ko leleyi ni? Ta lo fun were ni KFC je?” I only smiled because my relationship with Chief was a secret. I don’t want anybody to pour sand sand inside my garri o.

Chief loves me. He might not say it, but I know he does. He buys me food that even those that say I’m mad have never eaten in their life. When he comes around, he waits for me to finish eating whatever he brings and then the most interesting part of the night starts. We have sex. Seriously, we make love. The way Chief touches me is indescribable. He takes me to the seventh heaven. I always look forward to Tuesday’s because of this. Chief is something else in bed. You would not think he was that good, looking at him from the age standpoint. Chief should be close to sixty, yet he works it like a man in his thirties. What I don’t like about the sex is that it doesn’t last long. Sometimes I feel like he’s forcing himself to do it. Anyway, sex is sex no matter how long it lasts. After we are done he even cleans me up himself. Huh… He’s such a loving man. He doesn’t use a handkerchief, he doesn’t use a tissue. He has a particular cloth he uses to clean me up and then he takes it with him. Isn’t that romantic? I’m so special. And they still say I’m mad.

Right now, I’m seated here waiting for the woman that sells porridge to pass. I’d like to buy some. Sikiru just gave me fifty naira. That should do it.

(To be continued)