Chapter 7: The Gentleman with the Iron Fan

After I give the iron staff to the blacksmith, I go find the third weapon.

Blacksmith mouth still dey open. People dey wonder how I dey do am—na only God know.

Third weapon na iron fan. Yemi Zikora, for the streets dem dey call am Gentleman with the Iron Fan—fine boy, sabi fight—every babe dey dream am. Dem say if you see him fan for party, just know say wahala fit land. People like that no dey lack friends, and him own plenty join.

Yemi dey waka with swag. Clothes neat, shoes clean, perfume loud. Him smile dey melt girls like ice for sun.

But some years back, he use him iron fan scatter him friend wedding, carry the wife, kill him friend there. For blacksmith eye, this one na unrighteous.

Rumor still dey go round. Some people say na jazz, some say na love. Me, I no judge anybody matter.

I carry palm wine, find Yemi Zikora as he dey select powder for boutique for Allen Avenue.

The shop get mirror everywhere. Yemi dey check Funbact-A powder, the one wey dey make face shine for Instagram. Small girl dey watch am, dey blush.

"You na man. Even if you fine, you no need all this powder na," I frown.

I try form old school padi. The girl for counter laugh, but Yemi no send.

Yemi Zikora hold one box of powder, eye me. "You sabi the first law for the streets?"

He ask am with pride. People for back dey whisper his name.

"Wetin be that?"

I talk like JJC—na to make am explain.

"Face your own wahala." With that, he drop one powder, pick another.

He talk am like motto. For Naija, e sure for street.

"But me, I like face people wahala. E dey my body from birth."

I laugh, dey tease. For my mind, I dey ready my plan.

I shrug, move closer. "Na you go use the powder?"

I watch am, try catch him eye. For Naija, eye contact dey matter.

"…Who talk say na for me? Na for my wife I dey buy am."

He lift powder, show am like trophy.

"You don marry?" One idea flash—na the same wife wey he snatch?

I dey check for drama. If e be the girl, wahala fit burst.

"Three months from now, I go marry. If you wan chop free food, you fit come."

Yemi Zikora raise eyebrow, joy for him eye.

He look proud, like person wey win lottery. For street, wedding na big flex.

"Correct! I no dey miss free wedding food." I grin, shake palm wine jar.

I shake am, make the wine dance for bottle.

"But today, na you I come make drink."

I look am with challenge for eye.

"No wahala, when?" Yemi Zikora pick one powder, pay, follow me out.

He walk with me, style dey body. Girls dey look, some dey whisper.

"Now-now."

I talk, no delay. If you wait, story fit change.

"Alright."

We sit for roadside, borrow two bowls from nearby mama put.

I greet mama, collect bowl, clean am well. For street, you must dey careful.

"Why we no enter mama put drink?" Yemi Zikora ask.

He dey eye me, maybe dey suspect wahala.

"Because sun dey shine here," I talk, open palm wine.

Sun dey burn, but for my mind, I dey play strategy.

"No be too hot?" Yemi Zikora look the hot sun.

He wipe sweat, fan himself small.

"If heart calm, body go cool," I talk, pour palm wine.

I pour am, let the smell rise. Small breeze blow, powder smell mix with palm wine. Sun dey roast my back, but I no gree shift—respect na respect.

Yemi Zikora collect bowl, drink. As he dey drink, he dey use him fan blow breeze.

He blow fan for himself, then for me. Na sharp guy.

"Abeg, drop the fan small. I dey fear make those poison needles inside no fly come kill me," I bend head talk.

I talk low, but I dey watch him hand. Fan dey famous for street, dem say e deadly.

"Who send you to insist on drinking for sun?"

He laugh small, like say na game.

"No choice. Everybody get small darkness for heart. More sun, less darkness," I talk low.

I dey reason life matter. For Naija, sun dey expose wahala.

"You no look like person wey get darkness for heart."

He check me from up to down. Maybe e dey test me.

I sigh. "Who say? Now-now, one big darkness dey my mind."

I let the sadness show small. For Naija, if you no form, people go help you.

"Wetin be the darkness?"

He ask, voice soft.

"My babe talk say she go only marry me if I fit give her ‘number one blade for Nigeria’ as engagement gift. I no fit become ‘number one blade’ myself, so I need find the number one blacksmith make he forge one for me."

I frown.

I look ground, let my face fall. For street, to marry na big deal.

"But the number one blacksmith no dey forge blade for people," Yemi Zikora reason.

He dey reason say my wahala deep. For street, na only connection dey solve this kind matter.

"Na why I come meet you," I talk, look am direct.

I hold him gaze, no blink. For street, na who first run dey lose.

Yemi Zikora think small. "I know since I kill that guy, e dey find how to collect my fan, so na you he send?"

He eye me, smile small, like say e fit see through me.

"Na so."

I talk am straight, no bend. For Naija, lie dey backfire.

"You dey talk true."

He check my face, maybe e see say I no dey fear.

"I dey always talk true." I smile.

Smile dey my face, but my heart dey beat small.

"If na the fan you dey find, I go use the poison needle inside finish you," Yemi Zikora talk calm.

He no shout, but the threat dey real. People pass, dey look us.

"E be like say you no fit again." I sigh, raise my right hand. For my hand na rough cloth, inside am steel needles.

I show am, let am see say I no dey play. Street sense dey save life.

Yemi Zikora look me well, then shake head, smile.

He smile, as if e see challenge wey e like.

"E mean say we go just dey drink."

He down him palm wine, pour another bowl.

We drink, breeze dey blow. For my mind, I dey hope say my charm fit work.

After three bowls straight, I talk: "No finish the palm wine, remember say I still dey here."

I try joke, but eye dey sharp. For street, poison dey everywhere.

"You get plenty time for hand?" he ask, tilt head.

He dey study me, maybe dey plan next move.

"No too much." I snatch palm wine jar, pour myself.

I pour slow, watch am.

"Then fight me small!" he stand up.

He stand, pose like movie star. Girls dey pass, dey giggle.

"You carry wrong person come. I lazy. To draw blade three times a year dey too much." I just lie down for ground.

I stretch for ground, hand behind head. For my mind, if I no move, e no fit attack well.

"You no dey fight or kill?"

He look surprise, like say e never see lazy warrior before.

"At all. To dey fight and kill dey boring. To dey drink and look moon sweet pass." I sip palm wine.

I talk am with pride. For street, na enjoyment dey reign.

"So, wetin you dey use blade do?"

He dey look my waist, maybe dey suspect magic.

"Na pillow."

I smile. For this Naija, to dey waka with weapon na stress, but if e dey your body, e dey calm mind.

"Pillow?" Yemi Zikora confuse.

He burst laugh. Some boys for other side dey look.

"To waka for the streets, waka the world—the sky na my wrapper, ground na my bed, blade na my pillow." I smile.

I stretch my hand, dey act like poet. For Naija, you gats dey wise for street.

Yemi Zikora sigh. "E bad. No matter how lazy you be, today you must fight me."

He talk am like final judgment. Voice deep, eye dey spark.

"Why?"

I adjust small, voice calm.

"Because the poison from those needles don pass through the cloth enter your hand. If you drink again, you go kpai." Yemi Zikora smile.

His fan flash small, poison needle glint for sun—my heart jump. For this kind wahala, na only street sense fit save man.