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“This Life Just Bend” — A Pidgin Short Story by AnikeBeloved

I be confam Yoruba babe wey love pidgin but I no fit yarn am well. This tory about me wey you go read go be the ‘e get as e be version’ of my writing. In fact, na mixed breed, no be proper broken. Make I tell you why I no fit yarn am well? Well, Maale no too like am. She go dey make us understand as she dey hol her ear with her aged hand say “Na spoil broken dey spoil grammar.”

Make we no leave tory dey yarn another tory. I been dey think why this life be like this. Nothing straight, everything just dey look crooked despite the fact say na straight things persin dey like asides body shape sha. Dem boys love curvy girls; girls wey go be like hour glass or beer bottle or GoTV remote, and me wey be girl wey sabi, I love guys wey carry small small bicep and triceps, not guys wey go straight like rope wey dem dey tie join drawers or buckets wey dey fetch water from well.

For some area like this where legit things dey look like say e dey happen, Monday na the day wey serious work wey go fetch confam money dey start but for my area where I just dey dey fan my hot bodi, Monday na mourn day. E no tey when I still dey curse the persin wey get the generator wey the exhaust wan choke another person pikin to death, when I notice say notice say the noise don end. The noise wey end get belle oh, na why him give birth to another serious noise: dem don carry the generator waka—those people wey get quick hands, hands wey dey make things disappear, just like whirlwind, that people in my area dey hail as the sharp thief. The gen owner don dey swear say the whole area no go sleep until dem provide the gen wey he don dey use since ages past. When e be like say people no dey hear wetin he dey yarn, his voice don dey shake as if e get convulsion.

“Na hungry people wey lockdown don collect work from dem hand dey steal to make ends meet. At their end, dem go end like morning dew wey meet sun if dem no make ends meet.” Na my Iya Landlady voice be that.

I no know why e be say na him tory I first yarn, maybe na because we get something in common. When the kuukuruuku wey be my phone’s ringtone shake me from the mattress wey don become ocean from my saliva this morning, na Jide’s call I jam. Jide na my sweet potato, my boyfriend since March when Corona virus knack the ground of Nigeria. How we take meet go be another story but na the same bus wey drag (that bus na die, snail sef better am) me home from school, drag him home too. Fiam! We don exchange contact and na from there our love tory begin o. From calls to chats on WhatsApp to every now and then video calls. He shot his shot after demanding bow and arrow from Cupid and yakata, your girl throway body for ground.

All these tory I dey yarn sef na because e still dey do me like dream. “I need you to hear me speak and please, there are no jokes this time around.” Jide’s request throw me off balance, like the blow from my opponent for knockout.

“Abi na proposal?” My spirit don scream as I use hand cover my mouth.

How e go take be proposal when we never finish school? my mind come reason with my head.

“But wetin Jide dey plan with all these serious serious tone now? Shey na because I ask him say we should see again since dem don ease lockdown? Him voice no too sweet after that.”

When my mind still dey think all of that one, na him Jide throw bomb. “I am so sorry for all inconveniences. I got scared of getting bored particularly after I heard that there will be a long break because of the coronavirus pandemic and I decided to create fun for myself. Thanks for coming through when I needed you. I hope we will be able to handle this like mature people that we are. I need to tell you this: I have a girlfriend and I love her.”

That was the last thing wey I hear before word no gree comot for my throat again.

Na as I dey hear this man’s voice wey dey sound as if him get convulsion, na him I remember the convulsion wey carry me in the morning. My eyes comot their socket and my shaking teeth almost comot my index finger from im root as I ge ika abamo je.

Ge ika abamo je: Yoruba words that reiterates putting one’s hand in one’s mouth as a sign of regret.

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One Comment

  1. Dis one make Wella.
    But, I be dey reason, the picture of the plain wey write dis ‘tori no too resemble “curvy” for my eyes.

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