Initiation

By Adetokunbo Abiola 

I do not wake this December afternoon because the waves of the Atlantic Ocean breaks on the Kuramo beach with a roar. After a few days of living in the abandoned shack, I am used to the sound of the ocean. What wakes me up is Muyi’s shout: “Come later in the day! Come later in the day! I’ll give you money.” I am not used to Muyi, my elder brother, speaking this way. If he said, “I’ll break your head, you motherfucker!” It would have been more in character. However, his conciliatory tone makes me curious, and I roll over on the sand and stare. 

Dancing Jasper shouts at him: “Moni owo mi da? Where is my money?” People say Dancing Jasper works for Alaye Papa, the ‘Area father’ of this part of Kuramo Beach . Sweet Mama, who owns the bar where Muyi and I work, calls him Omo Alaye Papa. One of the ‘Area Boy’ at the beach told Muyi and me the previous evening:

“Settlement is your certificate for Kuramo. Once you settle Dancing Jasper you and your brother can work here.”

“Come later,” Muyi tells Dancing Jasper now.

“You said the same thing yesterday. Look, are you not going to settle us so you can work with Sweet Mama?”

“I swear, I’ll give you later.” 

Dancing Jasper stands in front of my brother, wanting to fight. But Muyi does not want to exchange blows with him. If he wants, he would have raised his right fist across his face, held the left low and danced on his toes. He would have posed to throw a right jab and left hook to the nose, jaw and side of the head. The left hook normally knocks his opponents senseless.

I saw him throw it three months ago at African Pacquiao in the gym where both trained in Surulere. When the left hook caught Pacquiao by the side of the head, he went down like a falling pole, knocking his head against the canvas. When he got up, Pacquiao began to speak in an Indian language. Now Pacquiao never spoke this way before, so there was pandemonium. “Take him to the hospital!” his trainer shouted. “Take him to the hospital!" Pacquiao was rushed there before his madness became permanent. Obviously, Muyi does not want to do the same thing to Dancing Jasper.

Dancing Jasper does not care. He shouts “Ah!” and throws a punch at Muyi’s head. As it comes, my brother easily blocks it with his left arm but does not throw a counter punch as he would have done in Ajegunle a few weeks earlier. Dancing Jasper closes in on him again, shouts “Ah!” and throws a deadly left hook. Even before he throws it, my brother sees it coming, bends down his head and the blow sails over him. Again, he does not retaliate with an uppercut. Angry now, Dancing Jasper grabs Muyi, who allows this to happen. Dancing Jasper shouts “Ah!” for the third time and punches at my brother’s stomach, but Muyi does not flinch because he is used to much harder blows in Ajegunle. Dancing Jasper, after the punch sinks in, leaves my brother. 

“If you don't have money later,” he tells him, “I won't stab you on the face, I won't stab you on your belly. I will stab you on your penis. You will know no motherfucker can fuck me up in this place.” After he says this, he turns to me and hollers: “Talk to your brother! Talk to your brother.” And he marches out the shack. 

As he leaves, I feel a wetness on my pants and touch the affected area - I have peed there. Why should I not? How could I not? Hearing the baritone voice of Dancing Jasper is enough reason to make any twelve-year-old boy in Lagos – including me – pee on his pants. But I am also ashamed because I forget my brother’s advice a few days earlier: “If you show fear here, they will kill you like a chicken.” 

Dancing Jasper is not the only one harassing us since we came to Kuramo after our house was pulled down by government tractors in Ajegunle. ‘Area Boys’ around Sweet Mama’s bar and beyond wanted to deal with us. Boys who have no job, no land and no house are cordoning every parcel of land on the beach, calling themselves landlords, and extorting money from traders, government agents, homeless people and passers-by. When government officials speak about it on television they say: “We’re doing something about this terrible situation. However, we are trying to teach these small boys how to fish rather than giving them fish.”

The boys are everywhere. They hang around the shacks, knives hidden in their pockets, freely smoking marijuana and drinking local gin. “I make a living out of making trouble,” one of them, who went to school, told me the previous day. They stop unwary people at night, bring out their knives and say: “Your money or your life!” Some of these boys live on the beach, are born on the beach and would probably die on the beach. “If you can’t beat them, join them,” Sweet Mama told me when I complained to her. 

In more ways than one, Muyi resembles them – he walks with their swagger, has a baritone voice and was an ‘Area Boy’ in Ajegunle before government sent tractors to destroy our house. When our father – who is now at Agege with the rest of family - spoke to our former neighbours about my brother, they told him: “Muyi has more than a diploma in the university of the streets. He is a degree holder. His certificate is his fist.” When Muyi drank at Mummy Dammy’s bar fifty metres from our former house, his friends teased him: “Some are blessed with stamina, some have strength, some have nothing, but you’re have powerful fists.” When our father advised Muyi to face his studies, my brother told him point-blank: “When you live with crocodiles on the streets, you must have a strong blow.”

Muyi prefers going to the bar than the four walls of the classroom. One day, I was at Mummy Dammy’s bar when he was holding court. His best friend at Ajegunle, Blackface, was there. His second-in-command, Eedris, was there. His girl friend, Killer Queen, was there. With a bottle of Star in hand, he stared at his friends.

“If we don’t have palm wine and cigarettes, are we not in trouble?”

“We’re in trouble,” his friends replied.

“If we don’t have bush meat and pepper soup, are we not in trouble?”

“We’re in trouble.”

“If we don’t have Star and gin, are we not in trouble?"

“We’re in trouble.”

“So let’s have these things so we won’t be in trouble.” 

But that was when we lived in Ajegunle, before our family became homeless. Now we are in Kuramo Beach. “No man’s land,” Muyi called it when he suggested we lived here until father got us a new apartment. Unfortunately, he discovered Kuramo was a land of ‘Area Boys’ , and we are in serious trouble. 

After Dancing Jasper leaves the shack, I stare at Muyi. He grunts like a pig as he massages his stomach, which is lean and hard. “I can’t understand why it's so lean with so much palm wine and beer in it,” Blackface once said, tapping it. After Muyi finishes with his stomach, he moves his head from side-to-side as though he wants to shake out sweat from his hair. Finally, he sighs.

“I don’t want to fight,” he tells me. “That’s why I didn't hit that rat, Dancing Jasper.”

“Why don’t you want to fight?” I ask him.

“Sweet Mama told me not to. Trouble may burst out if I fight here.”

“Which kind of trouble?”

“They might drive us out of here before Alaye Papa comes. Also, it's not good to fight too early in a new place. Alaye Papa may not like it.”

I remember Alaye Papa. He was the boy who farted in Sweet Mama's bar the previous evening.

“Why are you waiting for Alaye Papa?”

“Did I not tell you I want to settle him with the last five hundred naira with us?”

“Only five hundred naira? Can that buy five bottles of beer?”

“It can buy only bottles. But they can kill us if we don't give Alaye Papa the money.”

"Why must you settle him?"

"This is Nigeria . You must settle someone to survive."

“What of Dancing Jasper?”

“I’ll not settle him. Why should I waste my money on that fool?”

At that moment, we hear commotion outside the shack. “When you hear strangers shouting outside your house,” our father once told us, “go and check what is happening. Somebody might be coming to break your head and you have to run for cover.” Remembering this, I get to my feet and walk to the doorway of the shack. Muyi does not stand up where he leans against the lone chair in the room. Instead of standing, he runs sand through his fingers.

Outside, the man Muyi calls Scarface strolls towards our shack. He has a long scar running along the side of his face. “Someone use hot iron burn him face when he want steal fish from pot of soup”, Sweet Mama told us a day earlier. When Alaye Papa farted yesterday, Scarface stood up, took his bottle of beer and left the bar in anger. As he approaches, he walks by lifting one leg high in the air as though he has a boil in his anus. Rumour has it he is one of the henchmen behind Alaye Papa. “Beware of that boy,” Sweet Mama told us. “He danger pass snake.” 

“Scarface is coming,” I tell Muyi.

My elder brother does not stop playing with sand.

“Let him come. He’ll not get anything from me.”

“Why not settle him?”

“If I settle him, the money with me will get finished before Papa Alaye comes. If that happens, you and I will be in very big trouble.”

Scarface enters the shack.

I know I am only twelve years old, but I know there are three types of people that enter a room. When some kinds of people enter a room, everybody greets them because they are happy to see them. When some others enter a room, half of the people want to see them while half may not. When some others enter a room, everybody wants to run because the visitor comes with big trouble. Scarface belongs to the last group of people.

“So where is my money?” he asks Muyi.

Muyi looks at him. When he wants to tell lies, he’ll raise up his head, jut his chin forward and wear a winning smile. He does so now.

“Alaye, you know I've just started work with Sweet Mama. I don't have money to give you yet.”

"Which kind of nonsense is this?”

Sensing Scarface will make trouble, my brother gets to his feet, still keeping the winning smile on his sixteen-year-old face.

“Please,” he says, “just a little …”

Before he finishes speaking, Scarface crosses the room with surprising speed. “Motherfucker, bastard!” he shouts. Raising his left fist, he brings it down on my brother’s face, but Muyi, who has been at alert, anticipates the movement. Before the blow lands, he skips out of its path. Scarface loses his balance, crashing into the only chair in the room. The chair topples over, and Scarface falls to the sand along with it.

When he gets to his feet, he has sand all over him – his face, his arms, his dress and his hair. While he beats sand from his eyes, he puts his finger into his anus, as though he wants to remove the sand in there. After a few seconds, he gets some sand off his face, but his finger is still in his anus, and he raises and lowers his leg as he scoops out the sand. After he finishes, he stares at Muyi.

“You will die today,” he says. “I will teach you a big lesson.”

“I’ll give you the money tomorrow. Let me do some work this evening. I’ll give you the money.”

When Scarface ignores him and advances, Muyi runs out the shack. “Motherfucker!” Scarface shouts and dashes after him. Not wanting to miss the action, I leave where I stand at the corner of the shack and go out the room.

Muyi stands in front of a coconut tree, the winning smile still on his face. Scarface stands five metres away, moving around him. When he thinks he sees an opening, he punches at Muyi’s face, but my brother sees the move before it is executed. He blocks the punch with his arm but does not aim at Scarface’s unprotected head. Instead, he closes on him and grabs his waist.

“Come tomorrow,” he tells him. “I go give you the money.”

Rather than listen, Scarface brings up his knee and rams it to Muyi’s crotch. My brother does not anticipate the move, and he howls as pain crawls through his body. Holding his crotch, he sinks to his knees while Scarface goes in for the kill.

But he has made a mistake. When Muyi does not want to fight, he would block and dodge the punches of his rival, smiling. But when he wants to fight a little, he howls and tries to fight back, just as he has done. When he wants to fight all the way, he wipes away his smile and balls his hands into fists, looking serious. Now Muyi wants to fight a little. Before Scarface reaches him on the sand, Muyi gets onto his feet, wearing a hard smile..

Scarface yells and throws a left hook. My brother blocks it with his right arm and sinks a left shot into Scarface’s stomach. It is an extremely dangerous blow. Two things happen at once: Scarface grunts and then farts. Within seconds, the smell of rotten egg fills the air, but the afternoon breeze blows it away. “Motherfucker!” Scarface says again and advances.

But Muyi wears the winning smile on his face. He does not really want to fight. He begins to dance around the front of our shack, dodging Scarface’s blows. Finally, he stands in front of the coconut tree. Thinking he has trapped him, Scarface throws another wild blow, but my brother leaves his spot at the last moment. Scarface’s fist misses Muyi and hits the trunk of the coconut tree.

He shouts and begins to shake his hand as though he has dipped it into fire. He moans, putting his hand between his thighs to control his pain. But it does not go away. He dashes towards the ocean, dips his hand into the waves coming to the beach, swearing and shouting. He soon stands up and looks at Muyi. “You’re a dead man,” he says. “I’ll make sure Kpalongo comes for you. You’re a dead man.” Still shaking his hand, he moves away and is soon a spec in the distance.

“What are we going to do now?” I ask Muyi.

“Wait for Alaye Papa,” he says. “He told me he’ll be at Sweet Mama’s bar by six.”

“And it’s just half past four .”

“Yes, but these motherfuckers won’t leave me alone.”

“And you’re getting angry. You want to fight a little now.”

“It's these people who won’t leave me alone. I didn't want to fight anybody. But right now, they want me to fight them back.”

“Don’t fight so trouble won’t burst out.”

“I’ll try not to fight,” Muyi says and runs his hand over his head.

He soon steers me to the shack and we enter it. Outside, the sun is two-third of the way down the December sky and night approaches. “You have to hold your head tight here. If you don't do so, your head is gone before you know it,” Sweet Mama told us yesterday. Apart from the sun there are other signs of the approaching night. The waves slap on the beach with frequency and the ocean roars as water smashes on the continental shelf. Already, I can see a few prostitutes and other night crawlers sitting a quarter of a kilometre on the beach. I stare unhappily at the sun.

We do not know when the man comes into the shack, as he arrives like a thief. One minute Muyi and I sit quietly, waiting for Alaye Papa; the next moment the man is in the room. He looks like a gorilla and wears an over sized shirt reaching his knees. He puts two fingers in his nostrils, pulls out a hair, chews it, saying, : "Oh! My God!” After doing this two times, he stares at us and smiles. It is not a normal smile, but one of a gorilla I saw at the Lagos zoo when our father took us there last year on Christmas Day.

“So you’re the new boy causing trouble on this beach since yesterday?” the man says to Muyi. “Welcome. In case you don’t know me, I’m Kpalongo. I'm the chairman of the whole of this beach.”

“Good afternoon, Chairman,” Muyi says. 

Kpalongo scowls at him. “Were n she e ni? Are you mad? What is the meaning of good afternoon. Is that food? Where’s the cash?” 

That is when it clicks. I heard about him the previous day at Sweet Mama’s bar. One of the ‘Area Boys’ there referred to him as ‘Cash and Carry’. Another person called him ‘Miss the Beer but Don’t Miss the Cash.’ Sweet Mama referred to him as ‘Mr. Where’s the Cash'” I also learned he broke a friend’s leg during an argument over a stick of cigarette. He was the one who said "Alaye Papa, go to the hospital and see a doctor" when the 'Area Father' farted yesterday.

“Tomorrow,” Muyi tells him, “I’ll give you money tomorrow.”

“I want my reward now, not tomorrow.”

“I don’t have any money on me now.”

“If you don't want to cry, bring the money now.” 

"I can't do …” Before Muyi finishes to speak, Kpalongo marches across the room and grabs his shirt. Muyi does not move, allowing Kpalongo to drag and push him around the shack. As Kpalongo does this, he gasps and flares his nose like a panting horse. His eyes are vacant, as though he has inhaled cocaine. The thick fish smell he brings from outside soon fills the room. Finally, he stops at the middle of the shack, still holding onto Muyi’s shirt.

“Are you bringing the money or not?” he asks.

In a swift movement, Muyi brings his hands together and thrusts them up over his head, dislodging Kpalongo’s grip on him. Before his rival knows what is happening, Muyi slips under him and is free. Kpalongo’s shout reminds me of the bellow of a bull when food for dinner has slipped out of its grasp. Kpalongo’s gorilla face contorts with rage and he turns towards the doorway of the shack, but my brother is already outside.

I stand by the corner of the room when Kpalongo arrives. I watch how he frowns when my brother tells him there is no money. It makes me remember one of my father’s wise sayings: “If a dog cannot catch the elder brother of a cat, it will pounce on the younger one.” To prevent being pounced upon, I move to the doorway so I can run if for any reason Kpalongo wants to vent his rage on me.

And he is about to do just that. Seeing Muyi has dashed out of the shack, he turns to where I formerly stand. Not seeing me, he looks at the doorway where I am standing. I see the light that sparkles in his eyes when he sees me, and I know he will harm me if he gets me. I dash out of the shack as well.

Outside, Muyi has not ran away; he is standing just beyond the doorway. As Kpalongo comes out, Muyi puts on his winning smile.

“You can't get money today,” he tells Kpalongo. “Come tomorrow.”

Filled with anger, Kpalongo reaches for his neck with his gorilla hands but Muyi dodges them. Kpalongo loses his balance and staggers, almost falling to the sand. As he staggers about, one of his hands swings towards Muyi’s face. My brother does not see the hand until it strikes him by the nose, right at the spot where he suffered a wound while defending Blackface in a fight some weeks ago. Muyi howls with pain and his hands flies to the wound.

As he does this, Kpalongo takes advantage and punches his stomach. Muyi clutches it and screams. I pick a handful of sand and throw it at Kpalongo, but he is not aware of this in his anger.

“I will kill you today,” he shouts at my brother. “All your shakara, all your pride, will end today.”

He grabs my brother’s face with one hand and kicks him at the groin. Muyi staggers away then falls to the sand. As Kpalongo advances towards him, Muyi howls and struggles to his feet.

But Kpalongo does not give him a breathing space. Wearing a gorilla smile on his face, he grabs my brother and sends a punch towards his nose. This time, however, my brother is ready for him. As the blow comes, he blocks it with his powerful right arm and throws a punch with his left fist. Kpalongo staggers as it lands against his jaw and his gorilla face crumbles into a mask of pain, his hands hanging by his side. My brother slams another crunching blow on his face, this time just above his nose. Touching his face, Kpalongo looks at his palm and sees it is smeared with blood.

Angrily, he looks around him, sees a plank lying in the sand just by the coconut tree and moves towards it. But my brother anticipates this and gets to the plank before Kpangolo does. He picks it and waits for Kpalongo to get within range so he can slam it at him. Seeing he is beaten to it, Kpalongo backs from my slowly advancing brother. “Follow me,” he says with fright, backing away. “Follow me.” Suddenly, he turns and runs up the beach. But he trips on a stone, gets up and runs away like a frightened pig. When he is fifty metres from us, he stops, turns and shouts, “We will come for you! You won't escape.” We stare at him until he disappears into one of the numerous shacks on the beach.

By this time, the sun is three-quarters of its way down the sky and night approaches fast. Already, I can see one or two stars appear above us. If Alaye Papa does not come quickly enough, the ‘Area Boys’ around may attack us under the cover of darkness. "It is far easier and safer to break someones head at night than breaking in in broad daylight," my class teacher told me a year ago. While I think about this, I stare with sadness from the sky and focus on the ocean. Its water is climbing further up the beach, foaming with salty whiteness. Away from us, down the beach, many rough people have come to the sand, some of them having sex right there on the ground. I look away from them and stare at my brother, who is taking in the scene. His eyes are bright and I am scared. His desire to fight always increases with night and the gaiety of those around him.

Why do people fight those who have come to live among them? I ask myself. Why won’t ‘Area Boys’ allow us to survive? When we get to the entrance of the beach, they are there. “You bring us goat pepper soup? You bring us plenty of money? Wetin you bring?” they ask. We hurry and go to Sweet Mama’s bar, thinking they will not be there. But when we get there, they are at the tables, drinking Star and smoking marijuana. “We want to taste your bottle of beer, we want to feel the smoke of your cigarettes,” they tell us. We leave the bar and go to the back, helping Sweet Mama with service. But they will come to meet us. “Hunger wants to kill us,” they tell us. “We will die if we don't drink from your beer. We can't sleep if you don't give us money.”

When we do not have money to give them we are selfish. "Which kind of people are you?" they say. They see Muyi's money as theirs and ask: "Where is our money?" After we give money to a few, we think they will leave us alone. But one or two of them will see us and growl: “Your money is not enough. You can’t work with Sweet Mama unless you settle us.” We will give them sticks of cigarettes and a little money but others will appear from nowhere, look at us and say: “You boys don't have respect for the owners of the land. How can you come here without settling anybody?” In exasperation, not knowing what to do, Muyi shouted the previous day: “Ah! Ah! Mi o settle any kan kan mo, I won’t settle anybody again.”

If Muyi gives money to anybody apart from Alaye Papa, it will be the same old story of ‘Area Boys harassing us and saying: “We have not eaten since yesterday morning. Do you want us to die of hunger?" It could go on forever, and we could be forced to live like rats at Kuramo or sleep under the bridges in Obalende.

Thinking about this, I realise sleeping in Obalende is no solution. There are ‘Area Boys’ there too. They may say: “What did you bring for us. Go and bring goat meat pepper soup, six bottles of beer and one thousand naira before you can sleep here.” It does not matter they have not eaten this food in months. Their friends may tell us: "Why are you so selfish? If you don’t want to help your brothers, you can’t stay here.” It does not matter Muyi and I are the ones needing help.

But if we settle Alaye Papa, Muyi and I would not have any problems again. Alaye Papa would send word out we should be left alone. Since Alaye Papa is the King of the ‘Area Boys’ at Kuramo, those under him will obey his command at once. But until this happens, every Tom, Dick and Harry can stop us and demand to be settled.

I agree with my brother: if he settles anyone apart from Alaye Papa and money gets finished, we are in trouble. Alaye Papa, who promised to be around by six, would send word out to his boys and they could attack us and throw our bodies to the ocean as dinner for fishes.

Now, as we sit in our shack, Muyi lights up a cigarette, draws in smoke and blows it out, staring at me.

“I want to fight,” he says, touching his bloody nose with his free hand.

"Why do you want to fight?" I ask.

“It doesn't matter whether we're new or not. If I don't fight, these people will kill me. Look at my nose. It is better I kill them before they kill me.”

“What if trouble bursts out?”

“This is night. We can hide in darkness till tomorrow."

“Don’t fight. Don’t fight.”

“And it won’t be long before Alaye Papa comes. If I beat one of these ‘Area Boys’ silly now, they will have no time to call the rest. I will have settled Alaye Papa by then.”

“Don't fight.”

“Alright, I won’t fight. But if night comes before Alaye Papa, I will fight. But if night doesn't come, I won’t fight.”

But night falls before Alaye Papa comes. With a heavy heart, I watch the sun dip down into the ocean, while stars and a full moon appear in the sky. As this goes on, I watch the waves climb up the beach. I see a couple making love in the sand fifty metres away in the moonlight. The busy night life of Kuramo is about to begin. A few hours from now we will begin duty at Sweet Mama’s bar. I pray no ‘Area Boy’ comes to disturb us.

But God does not answer my prayer. As Muyi and I watch the flickering light of the lantern Sweet Mama gave us, we hear a creak at the door of our shack. Before we can count from A to B, an ‘Area Boy’ stands in the room. Half of the hair on his head have been shaved; while his left ear, like something feasted upon by rats, is just ragged pieces of flesh. His pair of trousers fully covers one of his legs but stops at the knee of the other. Standing in the doorway, he brings in the smell of marijuana mixed with beer. This is the kind of ‘Area Boy’ who will cut off a man’s throat over a debt of one hundred naira.

I have seen him before. Yesterday, when he came to Sweet Mama’s bar, Alaye Papa held him by the shoulder and said: “I want to talk to you, Pajero." When Sweet Mama wanted to hand over a wrap of marijuana to him, she told him: “Why you always complain say marijuana no reach, Pajero?” When he snatched a bottle of Star from one of the boys sitting around, the latter complained to Alaye Papa: “See what Pajero is doing. See what Pajero is doing.” So the name of the boy standing in front of Muyi and me must be Pajero.

Muyi told me he was a boxer thrown out of camp because he stole the bottle of gin belonging to his trainer. He was the same height with my brother, but older by at most two years.When Alaye Papa farted yesterday, Pajero stood up and said: "Which kind thing be this? Which kind thing be this?"

“So you don't want to settle anybody?” Pajero says to Muyi now. “You think Kuramo is a boxing ring?”

Muyi stands up, wearing the innocent smile on his face.

“I swear, I will settle you tomorrow.”

“Shut up! Come outside. Kpalongo tell me say you be fighter. I want teach you lesson.” And he goes outside. After a moment, Muyi, unable to ignore the challenge, follows him. I follow them.

Night has fallen on Kuramo, but a full moon is in the sky. This is the time when people’s head are broken. A hundred metres from us, the waves pound on the beach. Still further away, Kuramo has come alive as prostitutes, ruffians and others hang around. I look at my brother’s face and his eyes shine with the desire to do battle. He is now convinced it does not matter he is new in Kuramo he has to fight for survival at all times.

“Where is our money?” Pajero asks him.

“I think you should wait for … “

Before Muyi finishes, Pajero lashes out, slapping him across the face. Muyi, the innocent smile no longer on his face, clenches his hands into fists and mutters under his breath. He throws a right hook at Pajero’s face, but the ‘Area Boy’ dodges it and closes in on him. His knee catches my brother at the crotch and Muyi screams. “Where the money?” Pajero asks. “Where’s our money”. Before Muyi recovers from his pain, Pajero grabs him by the neck, shoves his head down and throws three quick punches at his face. Muyi gasps and falls to the sand, moaning.

“No!” I shout. Pajero glowers at me in the moon- lit night.

“If you come near me I will break your neck.”

He turns and kicks my brother on the face. Muyi doubles over and rolls on the beach towards the ocean. “Where’s our money?” Pajero shouts, going after him. “Where’s it?” As he kicks again, Muyi catches his foot, twists it and heaves. Pajero flies in the air like a bird and crashes to the sand. Muyi gets up, grabs him and slams a punch to his brow. “Come tomorrow,” he says and sends an uppercut to Pajero’s jaw. The ‘Area Boy’ staggers like a drunk before he crashes to the beach. “Come tomorrow,” Muyi tells him again, advancing.

But Pajero scoops up a handful of sand from the beach and throws it at my brother’s face. As Muyi’s hands fly to his eyes, Pajero gets to his feet and kicks at his stomach. My brother clutches his waist, groans and falls to his knees. “Where’s my money!” Pajero shouts. “Where’s it?”

“Leave my brother!” I shout. “Leave him!”

“Just come near me,” Pajero says, “I will break your neck.”

With a shout, he grabs Muyi’s hand, drags him to his feet, pulls out a knife, aiming to stab my brother. As the knife flashes in the moonlight, my brother ducks and it sails over him, leaving Pajero’s head open. Turning, Muyi pounds his fist at Pajero’s left ear, and the young man howls, his hands flying to his head as the knife falls to the beach. “Come tomorrow,” Muyi tells him, going towards him. As Pajero flails his hands, Muyi tags him at the jaw with a right and smashes a devastating left to his left ear. He repeats the combination three more times and Pajero groans, sinking to the sand.

But he stirs, gets to his knees then falls, rolling on the beach. Not giving up, he brings himself to his knees, mumbling a strange language. Rather than get up, he starts to crawl on the sand in circles like a man who has lost all sense of reasoning. He then mumbles “My face, My face”, rolls to the ground and is still.

“Let’s go to Sweet Mama’s bar,” Muyi says.

“Is he dead?” I ask.

“Unconscious. He’ll stand up hours later.”

"What will happen when he stands up"

"Nothing will happen. Kuramo is like Nigeria. Nothing happens"

As we reach the bar, Alaye Papa and two other boys wait for us.

“Where’s the money?” Alaye Papa asks, holding out an open palm. When Muyi puts five hundred naira on it, the King of the ‘Area Boys’ smiles and pats my brother on the shoulder. “Welcome to Kuramo Beach .” 


Adetokunbo Abiola is a Nigerian journalist and writer.