.
.
‘Bako, if you follow me enter that Keke make you help me feel my thing’ He paused, shivering with a shaky hand placed on his protruding crotch ‘I go dey give you 200naira every morning when you dey go school’

Silence overwhelmed us both after he dropped those words, words which I understood but will be very glad if I didn’t. As if the raindrops were mad at our stolidity, they slightly increased their own pitter-patter by dropping heavily, threatening to turn my cheap umbrella into shreds.

I stared at him with disbelief, same waves of absolute incredulity I once felt the day I read a Newspaper’s headline that says;
“Sodomy; 40years Old Man rape 14 years old Boy”
those kind of stories that makes one wonder if such madness do really happen or it was just fabricated by a desperate Cub Reporter disoriented by a dry day when nothing worth reporting seems to be happening. Because going back to the newsroom empty handed was an abomination, he cooks, adds maggi, and puts salt just to be tagged ‘Worthy’.

But here I am, right before me, same wrap of incredibility was unfurling itself gracefully to me. A light skinned fine Man whom I believed should be in his mid 2os, with an athletic body and curly hair which most of these “Hanty’ could easily fall for was telling me to ‘Help him feel his thing’… Inside a keke.. past 8pm!
Me? An 11 years old Boy who just did his registration as a JSS1 students two days ago.

But, who was he?..... A complete stranger whose kindness in his smile and greetings of ‘Fine Boy, how are you?’ made him transcended to the level of someone I call ‘Broda’, same title every known older males are entitled to in the neighbourhood. I don’t know where he stays except for the fact the he ply my street everyday when going to somewhere I believed should be his workplace.

Our first point of interaction started when he called me one afternoon while playing Table Tennis with peers, after exchanging a brief pleasantries, he complimented my haircut and my corpulent body saying I look like an ‘Ajebutter’. I laughed, because I think I must probably be the only ‘Ajebutter’ in the world that stays in a ghetto. He said he wanted to be my friend, and I nodded perfunctorily in a bid to let him free me and join my friends who were obviously waiting for me to come and play the final which I just qualified for, a final that I know I was going to lose, and I eventually lost to that webbed fingered Uche.

The next time we met, I had become freer with him; there was kindness in his words, actions, appearance…. Everything! Our next topic of discussion was on how to toast one of my sisters for him. He said he liked our first born, and I could feel his desire, fore I knew that my Sister was the hottest thing on the planet that year. Every guy wanted her, but I always pour ‘San San’ in their Garri by reporting their tryst to my overprotective Dad. Till today, one of her Boyfriends doesn’t respond to my greetings. But for this my new Friend, I don’t mind selling her out! I gave him her phone number…. I don’t know if he ever called or not.

All these flashback happened in swift seconds of me trying to establish a connection between the happening of that night and previous encounters. Bits by bits, the pieces now all converged in creating a clear picture I was too blind to see earlier. It saddened me when I realized that I was being ‘toasted’ amorously the day he said he wanted to be my friend. It scattered my head to discover that I was really the target of this Broda, and not my Sister.

Me? In this my young age? God forbid bad thing!

I yanked my umbrella from him and ran as fast my legs could carry me. Luckily I met my Dad outside and seeing how frightened I was, he queried. I watched his fury grew as I narrated everything that transpired to him.
“Take me to the place!” He roared!

On getting to the Mechanic Workshop behind our house, beside the evil Keke Broda asked me to enter with him, we met him still there, with a burning cigarette in hand and twirls of smokes flowing gracefully from the side of his lips, what an effrontery?
My Dad launched immediately like a Lion that he is, grabbed Broda’s trouser by the waist and landed him a slap that sent the Cigarette down to the puddle already gathered.

‘Are you mad?....... ehn! Are you mad?’
‘Sorrrii sah…. Soorrr”…. Broda pleaded
‘U no know where to get Ashawo if you wan do?’
‘Soorrryy saahh… no saaahh’
‘Him resemble girl for your eye? I must carry you go Station this night’.. My Dad made a sudden progressive movement towards the path that leads to the police.
‘Forgive me sahhh… Abeg Oga!’ Broda cried out with both palms rubbing against each other.
‘If I ever see you for this street again, just know say you don die’
‘Yes sah…I no go come again’…. Broda nodded like an Agama lizard
Dad let him go, and I watched as he walked theatrically under the rain to the scorns of a crowd of 5 that just gathered to see the face of an adult male who just tried to engage a small Boy in a sexual act.
I heard them say;
‘What a waste to Manhood!’
‘Chai! Na God save dis Boy ooo’

I believed he heard every word said about him, the way he bowed his heads said it all and his steps were so heavy like moulden balls of cement were tied to his calves. In an act of slow motion, he turned his heads, took a deep stare at me and shook his head sorrowfully like someone who just lost everything worth living for. I watched his manly figure gradually became another member of the shadowy night until he disappeared completely into the darkness. I cried inside my heart for the friend I just lost, he was such a nice fellow before this night came, and I wished I could just turn back the hands of time and make everything normal again.

And that was the last time I saw the Broda who was my friend.
A sad goodbye, but good riddance to bad rubbish!

Great storyline with compelling descriptions.

Onalow:
Great storyline with compelling descriptions.

Thanks for the feedback