Fresh Fish

The sun scorches as I plow along the outskirts of Igando market. Lean, I find it easy manoeuvring slow-paced grown-ups, trays of egusi, and muddy shortcuts.

No one seems to not be talking and once, when haggling the price of fresh fish, the voice of a conductor shouting
”Ojuelegba!” had rubbed off on my speech and I’d found myself pricing Ojuelegba for N150.

By dusk, I’m already leaving with two set of fresh fish in my bag when I see a troop of men and women parading a half-naked boy across.

A thief?

I ask around, and when certain he is one, I join the pack. Having been on the receiving end of their con, I make sure I’m part of teaching him some lesson. I rack the fresh fish to his head. The boy grunts and I giggle, winning me an is-this-one-alright stare from one older man. I retreat, only to return to rack the boy’s head again.

Soon, as is jungle tradition, they head into the market to continue their parade. I follow, excited. The boy’s face is a mess, but he doesn’t plead. Strange.

But what seem disturbingly odd is the smile playing at his lips.

“You dey laugh, ba?” one man say.

The reply comes sooner.

“Allahu Akbah!!”

A rush of adrenaline have me running in the opposite direction, but it doesn’t shut out the shuddering echo of a sweltry boom, nor stop me from reeling several feet into the air.

I land on my back, away from where I was, watching my lower legs floating toward me. I stare down, grunting, and all I can see are my thighs. And blood.

I stare down a long time, and I can’t push back the thought that I only came to buy fresh fish. Just fresh fish.
***

Written By- Iwundu Wisdom

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