"When dem say hustler, e mean say person wey dey hustle gas smart wella..." I was lost in thought as I watched my master gave a lecture on hustle to a couple of boys and I. He had stated that only poor people hustle and also stated that hustlers get what they want in a negative way. He brought out his mobile phone and showed us the meaning of hustle that best suited his explanation.
"But bros, for Urban Dictionary..."
"Urban kill you there. See rural pikin wey wan dey quote urban," he interrupted me before I could finish my sentence.
I left my village for Lagos in search for a greener pasture, but I was surprised Lagos didn't live to the hype of "You will make it once you are in Lagos." It was filled with people only trying to make ends meet.
"Hey, Urban," my master snapped me back to my consciousness.
"Bros!"
"You think say you smart. Nah your over sabi go make people turn tyre necklace for your neck."
I said nothing and he sent me on my first mission; to get him food with worn out money.
My master decided to put us to the test after days of lectures. He told us to pick pockets in the busiest and crowdiest place we could think of. The operation was like the Producer-Wholesaler-Retailer-Consumer kind of operation, the only difference was the absense of trade. I took the lead to steal from an unsuspecting person and passed my steal to my partner behind me who also passed it till it got to my master. I continued with the act till the sun decided to take a nap.
We met at my master's place later in the evening to receive our reward. He kept a straight face as he gave us very little of what we've made. The other boys went away with their share, but I stood behind to protest.
"Ah! Bros, this money no fit do anything nah."
"You say wetin? Oya bring am make I add small."
"I say make you add, you wan minus again."
"Minus keh? Nah times I go times am. I go times am by zero," he smiled as if he was proud of his mathematical skills. I left his sight when I saw my protest wouldn't fetch me a thing.
We made picking of pockets an everyday practice till I wore the "necklace" my master talked about.
"No be only me, no be only me," I screamed on top of my lungs as I tried to expose us all. But the bloodthirsty mobs wouldn't listen; all they chanted was "Nah ram wey dey available dem dey slaughter for Sallah". I couldn't even make sense out of the proverb. The tyre was already around my neck, my body was wet with fuel and all that was left was a little touch of fire.
The police siren blared and SALVATION was all I could think of.
© Aminu Abdulmumeen
#ANSAFlashFictionContest.
Absence and not "Absense".
There was no pressure fah..
Lolz... You would have effected the correction in the main write-up.