Kareem-Bello The Street Hawker's Apprentice

1. Auflage 2020
ISBN: 978-1-913090-43-2
Verlag: Jacaranda Books
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 408 Seiten

Reihe: Twenty in 2020

A Dickensian tale of two young boys from opposite sides of the track who form a bond of brotherhood and friendship as they survive the streets of Lagos. Temilola is a kind-hearted boy from the upper echelons of Nigerian society who wakes up alone in the middle of Lagos and discovers that he has lost his memory. He soon finds that this is the least of his problems, as he must now attempt to survive the dangerous streets of Lagos. Vipaar, who has been making a living as a hawker of random necessities on the streets of Lagos, finds Temilola and, after a violent first encounter, reluctantly takes him under his wing. They form a strong bond as they strive to make a meagre living selling mobile phone chargers to passing motorists on the dangerous highways of Lagos. The boys navigate the ruthless underbelly of Lagos and learn just how far they will go to protect themselves and each other. When tragedy strikes, their bond is broken and they are forced to separate from each other. Will the two friends find each other again after they both face increasing brutality, pain and sorrow? Or will their destinies have diverged enough to tear them apart forever?

Kabir Kareem-Bello was born in Ibadan, Nigeria, and moved to the UK with his family in 1992. His self-published book, Memoirs of Young African is based on his experiences as a young African migrant in the UK. He has spoken about identity and migration at a number of public events, most notably at the University of Edinburgh and Portsmouth University . He has also written about the quest for identity on his blog www.kilonshele-kkb.com. The Street Hawker's Apprentice is his first fiction novel. He is currently writing his second fiction novel and developing a documentary looking at the migration of Africans to the United Kingdom in between 1980's and 2000. He plans to launch his podcast in 2021. He graduated from Middlesex University with Business and Marketing Degree. He currently lives in Buckinghamshire with his wife and two daughters.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Kareem-Bello, Kabir

Leseproben

CHAPTER 1

“Oya, oya, get up, get up my friend, you are blocking my shop!”

The boy opens his eyes, awoken abruptly by three rapid slaps on his back, to see an unfamiliar woman staring back at him, shouting angrily. He lifts his head so that he can properly see the woman staring at him, squinting as he adjusts to the bright, shining sun. His eyes scour her light, pudgy, stocky face and he struggles to compose his thoughts. As she comes into focus he sees, spread sporadically across her skin, dark pigmented spots, still visible despite her heavy makeup.

“What…” He puts his palm on his forehead as he sits upright. Grunting he asks, “Where am I?”

She kisses her teeth. “My friend, you are wasting my time.” She grabs him by his right arm, yanking him up. “Does my shop look like your father’s parlour? Oya, cummutt!” He is too startled and disorientated to resist as she propels him out of the doorway and into the street, where he lands on his buttocks.

“If I see you here again, I will call police for you, stupid boy,” she scowls at him. As she waddles back into the building through a red steel door, his eyes land on her humongous buttocks, undulating with each step, and he wonders what he had done to warrant such anger. The unpainted, single storey building has a fading sign above the doorway that reads ‘Comfort Travel Agents’. Even in his confused state, he can not help but acknowledge the irony of the situation; the proprietor had certainly not made him feel comfortable. The two pillars leading to the doorway are completely covered with multi-coloured posters, umbrella and broom logos and words such as ‘PDP’, ‘APC’, ‘Senate’, ‘Vote’, ‘Trust’, ‘Governor’ that clutter the flyers, and are accompanied by images of smiling or stern looking men.

He stands up slowly, wipes the dirt from his hands and takes a long deep breath. “Oh my goodness,” he says, heaving and coughing at the pungent smell—a combination of raw sewage, diesel engine and exhaust fumes. He covers his nose and mouth with his right hand and looks around. He squints and tilts his head to the left, then widens his eyes and tilts his head to the right. He turns around full circle as his brain attempts to identify a familiar entity and his eyes dart from one thing to another in desperation.

“What… the… bloody…” his mouth moves but no words come out. He closes his eyes and shakes his head hard. He wipes the sweat that has begun to accumulate on his forehead, bites his bottom lip and spins around four times with his arms flailing. His chest muscles tense up when he realises he is in a foreign and possibly hostile environment. His mouth dries up, his breathing becomes shallow and his legs begin to wobble. The people and objects become a blur and it’s only through sheer willpower that he is able to stay upright. It’s as if time stands still and he becomes frozen in the moment as he attempts to compose his thoughts. This is impossible due to the ear splitting noise bellowing from the horns of cars, minibuses, motorcycles and trailers. He closes his eyes for a few moments, in the desperate hope that when he opens them, he will awaken from what is surely a nightmare. The only thing he is certain of at this moment is the blue sky. He takes another deep breath.

“Uhhgg, God help me, whooo…” He screws up his face and sticks out his tongue as he gasps for air. He takes a pair of tepid steps to the right, stops, turns around, takes four steps in the other direction and stops again. Desperate, he walks towards the only place that is familiar to him, the spot from where he had just been unceremoniously ejected a few moments prior. With great caution he sits down on the stoop and again attempts to compose his thoughts.

His head begins to throb, the pain hammering inside. He slowly rubs a large bump on the right side of his head. Every single part of his body, from his hair follicles to the tip of his toes, aches. He looks down at his feet and realises that he is not wearing any shoes. It becomes harder to breathe with each passing second, he can feel the speed at which his heart is pounding in his chest, and he is failing miserably in his attempt to compose himself. He brings his knees to his chest, wraps his arms around them and begins rocking back and forth. The volume and intensity of questions coursing through his mind only intensifies the throbbing in his head.

“Where am I? What am I doing here?”

He flinches when he hears creaking from the opening of the steel door behind him.

“Ehhh, you are still here?”

He turns around just in time to see the woman bending down to take off a leather slipper from her right foot. His eyes widen as she lifts it in the air and hits him on his head and back. “Gerrout of here you, you thief, you want to rob my shop abi?”

Up until the moment he feels the pain of the flat sole of the shoe on his back, he does not believe that she would dare hit him. He stands up quickly, turning to look at her with righteous indignation, his mouth gaping open.

He does not flinch as she rushes towards him with the slipper in the air. Instead he clenches his fists and declares, “Hooooow daarrreeee yooou!” He looks her up and down. She stops midway through her swing, her scowl disappearing as her eyes widen and she drops her hand to her side.

“Do you know who I am?” the boy continues. He clenches his jaw and puffs out his chest.

“Ehhh, and who are you?” she enquires.

The boy opens his mouth with the explicit intention of letting this obviously uneducated woman know that she had crossed the line and this would surely result in serious consequences for her, not him.

His eyes narrow as he takes a long deep breath. “I am…” he pauses for a moment, tilts his head slightly to the left, and then clamps his mouth shut.

He looks back at the woman who is staring at him with a look of nervous anticipation. His mouth feels dry and his chest tightens. He licks his dry lips and takes shallow breaths. Why is he struggling to utter the words? His name is at the tip of his tongue, but it seems to fade further away with each passing moment. The blaring horn sweeps it away everytime he thinks it is within his grasp.

He takes another deep breath and tries again “I AM…” the silence in his head is deafening. He puts his hand back to the bump on his head and then wipes the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. His eyes dart from right to left rapidly in a desperate search for answers. They finally rest on his adversary almost in ironic desperation that she would have the answers.

“I bu onye iberibe,” the woman jeers and kisses her teeth. “Stupid boy, talking as if you are somebody!” He is too slow to react as she continues her assault with the slipper. He raises his arms to protect his face and back of his head, while the leather sole she swings at him stings the skin on his arms, back and legs. “Oww, oww, what… are… you… doing?” he yelps as he tries to block the blows. The pain forces him to scurry away like a rodent. She continues hurling insults at him even when he is a good distance away from her establishment. He feels humiliated, something he instinctively knows he has never felt before. He walks about in a daze, eventually resting on an abandoned car tyre where he puts his head in his hands in despair. “Think, think, think,” he mumbles as he fights to hold back the tears.

He takes a few short and shallow breaths, gradually increasing them in length and depth. As he focuses on each breath, his senses slowly begin to shut out the world, the noises and the smells. The thumping of his heartbeat begins to slow down. He falls into a trance-like state as the jumble of thoughts and images flooding his mind begin to dissipate and he is able to focus on just one. He opens his eyes and whispers, “Temilola, my name is Temilola.”

Emboldened by this revelation he attempts to complete the exercise again. Closing his eyes, he whispers, “Focus, focus, focus.”

This time he is unable to conjure any images, and is only able to focus on the pain emanating from his empty stomach. He knows any further attempts will be futile until he sedates his hunger; he has to find food quickly. He stands up and it’s not until he feels the sharp pains on the soles of his feet that he remembers he is not wearing any shoes. He does not dwell for long on this and begins walking back in the direction he had just come from. With his mind a little clearer, he studies the environment in astonishment.

, he thinks. He deduces that he is in some sort of transportation hub based on the dozens of rows of minibuses and station wagons, parked with their boots and doors open. Several young men are shouting different destinations and trying to coax people towards their vehicles. The place is a kaleidoscope of activities, people, colours, smell and sound. As one vehicle full of passengers leaves through the gates, another enters to drop passengers. He quickly understands that pressing on the horn upon entry and exit was a requirement. There are formal men in suits with ties carrying briefcases, distinguished men wearing traditional outfits, and young men either topless or in string vests. Most of the women are in traditional outfits, though some wear chic...