Chapter 7: No Escape for Lagos

Next day, just as day dey break,

Mosquito don chop me finish, but I no send. My bag dey ready, ticket for pocket. I dey pray make no wahala happen for airport.

I carry my bag, step out from my room.

I dey move like thief, dey look left and right. Compound quiet, birds dey sing, but my mind dey race.

I no sleep well, fear dey my mind say person fit break in come do me strong thing for sleep.

Every small noise dey make me jump. I dey pray make landlord no ask me unnecessary question.

After I lock my door, I look the house one last time, then waka go.

I dey remember all the memories—my first viral video, the night NEPA take light for middle of stream. I sigh, carry bag.

As I dey leave my floor, I dey extra careful, check everywhere. When I confirm say no danger, I rush go.

I dey tiptoe, dey count my steps. For my mind, I dey say, "God abeg, carry me comot this wahala."

But as I just waka small, na so I hear one cold, fine voice for my back:

"Oga, you dey run commot? You think say we no go catch you?"

Na there my chest lock. Voice clear, soft, but e carry power. I freeze for corridor, bag for hand. I turn slow, sweat for my brow. For this Lagos, nobody dey disappear without paying their own debt.