They managed to squeeze the twenty four room storey building and two

self contained and four shops of number 225 Kata Street into a plot

of land that was formerly a swamp. No one knows the exact number of

occupants of this building. People stream in and out at all hours like it was

a shopping mall, except that here you will see men in only boxers with

stiff erections bellowing greetings at neighbors in the morning from the

top floor balcony while still rubbing their eyes, women clad in only

wrappers around their breasts washing heavy lather from the heads of

their children close to the gutter, the privileged shop owners spraying

holy water with incantations round their business premises, and many

other people being supremely busy within the compound while people

continued to stream in and out of the building.

I had since given up hope of knowing all my neighbors. Even with the

endless throng of occupants and all the in and out movements all year

long, there were still rooms that were secured with large shiny

padlocks that were never opened for months. The owners were said to

either be out chasing goods or visiting the village for the planting

season or ensconced in some bush for religious reasons or even running

from the police. There are however many with steady lives with whom I

interact everyday and whom I will be telling you about.

My name is Ndifreke. I am a university graduate just arrived Lagos to

hustle. I share a room with my thirty year old cousin named

Mkpoikanna-Abasi, the pronunciation of which has set up many

wrestling bouts down the years, due to his insistence that it be said to

perfection, something people of other tribes cannot just wrap their

tongues around. Someone had suggested that they simply called himMkpo. That also drove him mad. So they just call him Calabar boy. He is

a wharf rat and proudly so. His only passion in life is Manchester

United.

You‟ll hear him say “This season we will win the league. Mourinho wins

the league in his second season wherever he goes.”

For actual neighbors, I‟ll start with my favourites. There is Irikefe,

nineteen and timid looking but every mother‟s nightmare as he is said

to be the biggest threat to virginity this side of the equator. He is the

son of the caretaker and an apprentice carpenter who everyone knows

cannot handle a saw. You will always hear Irikefe say things like “Bros,

I will be rich. Whether the devil likes it or not, my time will come.”

Recently he has been saying “When I grow up, I want to be like Evans. I

supported the free Evans hashtag on twitter. Why would they touch

him when bigger criminals are roaming free in the Senate? Free Evans

joor!” Then there is Mr Zubi, middle aged, impossibly dark with a knife

scar one side of his face. He occupies one of the two self contained in

the compound with his large family and we respect him because he does

not have to share a bathroom with anyone. One day, his precocious ten

year old son Willy-Willy came up to him and said “Daddy, is it true what

bro Irikefe said that some of the Chibok girls refused to be rescued

because of the rod of Moses they were receiving in the bush?”

“Gerraway from here! Ewu Gambia!” he retorted with blazing eyes. The

boy was lucky to duck in time as three menacing knuckles flew past his

forehead”. The six sons of Mr Zubi always gave him cause to bellow

“Ewu Gambia” about one hundred times a day.

His wife is Mama Willy-Willy. You will hear her say things like “You see

what I always say about those actors?! They are all promiscuous! I hear

those two from The Wedding Party are getting married! How can they

convince me it did not start on the set of the movie? Someone will now tell me all that kissing and touching and holding mean nothing. That it is

just acting. Is a kiss no longer a kiss irrespective of the circumstance

of administration? They started enjoying themselves from the movie

set o jare! Today, they are husband and wife and nobody is talking

about the poor boyfriend and girlfriend who were at home supporting

their dreams while they were away fornicating on a ready-made excuse.

Now those ones are brokenhearted and getting no sympathy.” She

threw her right arm around her head in a wide circle and swore that

thunder will fire any woman who would near her man in the guise of

acting.

Mr Zubi shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was regularly bedecked

as a monkey in NTA‟s Tales by Moonlight in the 80‟s and once landed a

20 seconds cameo as a cripple in a 90‟s drama series. He swears that it

was he who should have been casted in the lead role with Omotola

Jalade in Mortal Inheritance in „96 and not Fred Amata.

“He got there through nepotism! The Amatas controlled the industry

back then.” He secretly dreams of a lead romantic role with Mercy

Johnson. “Thunder will fire you before it happens” his wife had said

when he mistakenly said it in his sleep one night. If you like, don‟t get

up and go to your civil service work.”

There is also the neighbor Akunna. You will hear him say things like

“this is a calamity of a democracy. Wastefulness, imbalance in every

facet, and a mechanism for corruption humanity will see no greater. I

don‟t blame President Buhari. If I were him, I will not return from that

London. Even the messiah cannot fix this nation. Light skinned and

freckled in the face and in his forties, his only other problem is his

wife. Recently he said to her: “Serena Williams won a grand slam with

eight months pregnancy! But two weeks after you have conceived

another bastard I will not be able to enter my own house because of

your nonsense squirming.” His four children were all dreadlocked and bore more than a passing

semblance to Talabi the tailor who was dreadlocked since birth. Akunna

did not hide the fact that he had been saving up for DNA tests

sometime in the future. He also likes Arsenal. Perhaps losing was in his

DNA.

And then there is Talabi. He is regarded as a hero in the neighborhood.

When Alhaji Sirika would not give any of his resident tenants

occupancy of the shops as he did not trust them with rent payment,

Talabi led the cry of injustice for many years. When the Alhaji would

not budge, he planted faeces in front of the four shops every night for

one month until all the occupants of the shops fled. He took the best

one for his tailoring business. The other three were occupied by

Lukman the one eyed barber, Josiah the carpenter and the oni rice

they called Mama Cowbell, all of whom were also resident at number

225. Other than Akunna‟s wife, Talabi loved Chelsea FC, and being

reigning champions, his feet barely touched the ground since the close

season.

The last neighbor I must mention at this point is Mr Cosmas. He

occupies the second self contained and also does not share a bathroom

and would naturally have our respect. But he is weird and says very

uncomfortable things. Whenever a discussion veered towards religion,

he always had something different to say. He famously said that Jesus

did not die for our sins but was murdered for the truth he preached.

He said we would all pay for everything we do as God cannot carry the

sins of one child and put on the head of another. The less I say about

Mr Cosmas the better. It‟s just that he is not one to ignore.