It’s another exciting edition of Wednesday Express. Our short story for today is titled ‘Blood on the Street.’
“Má mà jé kú lórí mo se é, se é se é o
Má mà jé kú lórí mo jìyà, mo jìyà.”
Munira hissed as she watched at her colleague croak like a restless frog. It was six fourty on a Monday morning and Silifatu had begun her usual pathetic song that reminded her of how hard she worked and how little her wages were.
Munira took her broomstick and walked further down the road, irritated. She wished her life was different; that she was educated. She wished didn’t marry Subaru, the inter-state driver. She thought he was her knight in the shining armour until he’d left her for a younger woman at Oshogbo. Now she had to fend for herself…and the children. And now, she had to sweep the roads with Silifatu and her croacked voice. Hell, she wished she was still in Lagos.
Monday mornings were the busiest in Lagos. People went about their works with determination. Mondays determined what happened in the rest of the week…she stopped. A man laid on the floor beside the drainage, his chest bare on the concrete floor. His head was in between the drainage. She shrugged and dropped her broomstick. Just another rubbish she had to put up with; an alcoholic that had lost his way home.
“Bòdá. Ilè ti mó” she said as she bent over and tapped him, but there was no response. Her brows came together in a frown; he was cold and stiff. “Bòdá.” She said again and turned him over. She jerked herself up and began to tremble. He was slit in the throat, and his blood flowed down the drainage.
It is #WednesdayExpress