Pressures of Nigerian life
The hustle is real
"Money no dey bring happiness o..." The man sang.
"Abegii, shut up, even if na temporary happiness we go manage am". Ebuka, an Igbo man sitting close to his friend and singer cuts him off . His famous Igbo accent dragging the "up" lazily behind.
They both are seated on a bench close to their shops in Ogbogonogo market in Asaba, Delta state.
"Wetin you dey talk?" Ebuka says again, eyeing him angrily. So he, Hassan, the singer stops the song; Adekunle Gold's "it is what it is" and begins to think about how right his fellow man might actually be.
They both sell female clothes and shoes and after chasing different ladies with their fine various accents, results don't come as expected.
"Baby, I have your size; I have nice gowns for you. Your boyfriend will like it o". They've had just two customers since 9am and now, it's already afternoon; a Tuesday afternoon, and they are exhausted. They decide to take a break while eating brunch "abacha"; an Igbo meal consisting of cassava flakes and raw ugwu leaves with peppered palm oil sauce and boiled juicy cow's skin.
It is during this break that the discussion holds. Ebuka discards the takeaway plastic used to package the meal and uses his hand to scoop away the sweat pilling up on his forehead.
Later, he would suffer much discomfort from the hands which was once used to dissect the juicy cow skin known as "pomo", and his next customer would ask "Oga, what is wrong with you" and he would reply "nothing, but this gown go fit you my sister" in his fine Igbo accent.
But he doesn't know that now, so he says, "so you mean to say if you see one million laidis you no go happy"
"Ah omo na true o" Hassan replies.
"Be like say you no understand wetin you dey sing". He squeezes the pure water tighter to suck out the remaining fluid. In his mind, nothing must go to waste. He belches and rubs his tummy and shouts "back to hustle".
"Igbo men in the hustle!" Someone yells from a distance. A fellow Igbo trader shouts and they both wave at eachother, but not as energetic as they would have on a good day when sales are good.
"Hustle"
Someone once asked me what my hustle was.
I remember I had to really think about it. The thing is, ever since the start of the COVID-19 period, I had engaged in so many things that I don't know which one to call my hustle.
I once sold chicken and chips. It went well at first until needs arrived and the capital went along with those needs. It wasn't because I didn't know I wasn't supposed to use the capital but it was because of the "pressures".
"Pressures of Nigerian life" as Chinamanda Adichie called it in her book, "Zikora" .
Pressures of Nigerian life coupled with the emergencies that can't help but be attended to.
I also once sold car parts in Aleshinloye for my boss until the whole market got burnt, leaving me jobless with a sympathetic heart not for myself but for my boss.
I went into Forex, convinced by a scammer that he was an expert in Forex trading and he would make me rich overnight. I went around elated to go from 0 naira to -100 naira while gathering the 100k for my great debt. Chai!
I wasn't discouraged. Why should I? I'm a Nigerian.
I also invested in selling hair attachments. It's been two months now and I haven't sold up to half of the entire bundle shipped from China.
I was snapped back to reality when the person asked again. "What is your hustle?"
I replied, "nothing right now"
"Ah get one oh", the person advised.
I'm Demola by name and a Nigerian but I haven't given up.
Pressures of Nigerian life she says...
The type that forces a young teenage hausa girl born in a not so wealthy home to enter a marriage she so much detests to save her family from poverty because that is the only possible way she can; Hassan's beautiful daughter and nothing can convince him otherwise about the future he's setting up for her.
Pressures of Nigerian life...
The type that pushes youths affected by the ASUU strike when pushed to the wall think of making money by hook or crook.The daring ones go into the landmine of the Yahoo industry never to return because in their minds, they're not in this country anymore and everyone else is below them.
Pressures of Nigerian life...
The type that makes policemen stop nice cars; Venza, Honda, Lexus and stick their heads in when the window has been wound all the way down and say, "oga, anything for us?" with a stressed, fake and sunbaked smile.
Pressures of Nigerian life...
The type that makes a young man carry a shovel and pour sand into the potholes made by just one or two heavy rainfalls and stand to wave down every car coming their way for a reward for their serious hardwork, and hardwork it is indeed under the hot scorching sun, yet, compelled by no one but poverty.
There are still many more Hassan, Ebuka and Demolas out there, hustling while being chased by the pressures of Nigerian life, secretly hoping that by miracle they encounter a million naira and their happiness is guaranteed for a lifetime.