ALL RIGHTS RESERVED...NO PART OF THIS STORY MAY BE REPRODUCED WITHOUT PRIOR CONSENT OF THE AUTHOR

(C) 2016 http://madamsabisabi..com.ng/



I stood at the bus stop that Saturday evening, dressed in my usual stare-stealing fashion, hoping to steal more than just stares from any man who fits into the specification of the catch I was after. It was 4pm, that time on Saturdays when any popular bus-stop in Lagos is more active than an anthill sprayed with sugar. But unlike the hordes of people around me, rushing about from weddings, visits or to and fro their businesses, I was directionless. I was not going anywhere, I was there to make a killing. And because of this, I stood as far apart from the crowd as possible to announce myself and my intentions to potential clientele.

In case you haven’t guessed yet, I am what most Lagos folk refer to as ‘runs girl’. Ugh, how I hate that term; very derogatory. What exactly are we ‘runsing’? It made one sound like some kind of fraudster. I am simply a girl ‘surviving’ In Nigeria’s harsh economic situation, and doing so with what God has blessed me with. If you ask me what my occupation is, I would simply respond ‘student’. You can call me that, not runs-girl.

My name is Kira, actually Shakirat but it had been cool when I was a teen to shorten it down to Kira; that was before Shakira made the name ‘Behind’. Yes, I am no longer a fresh young thing, I was already a teenager before Shakira blew.

So there I was at the bus-stop awaiting my latest catch, trying hard not to let my face scrunch up in depression as I did. It was getting more and more difficult for me to find new catches these days, and even my regular blokes seemed to be getting stingier by the day. Blame it on ‘change’. The country’s worsened economy was hitting everyone hard, and I was not left out. You ask, how? See ehn, it’s only natural that if the men who take care of me are affected by the economy, I will be affected too.
I have been standing at this bus-stop for almost an hour now, and not even one of the fancy cars that had passed by had faltered in front of me, not to even talk of stopping. And to make matters worse, there was nothing to shield me from the still harsh rays of the sun where I stood and the heels of my imitation Louboutins were killing the soles of my feet.

O God, is it that the naira devaluation has affected the brains of men now that they no longer think of sex? I moaned to myself.

Naira devaluation, naira devaluation. It was on everyone’s lips everywhere I turned; the boutique owner on my street, the taxi driver, the meat seller, even the shoemaker I had called this money to spray the tiny peeling part of my shoe. Dollar don cost, dollar don cost, was all they kept saying. Even my oil company boyfriend, actually one of my magas (I know he’s married even though he would never admit it) had given me just N25,000 the last time I went to PH to see him. ‘Baby, you know the dollar has gone up, and fuel prices have come down. Things are really tough for us in the Oil sector now,” had been his excuse. He hadn’t even paid for my flight back; I had to take a bus!

And now here I am, roasting here, trying to…

“Kai, mata…ina uni?” A thickly accented Hausa voice broke into my thoughts, I turned round to view a short man standing behind me. His countenance, clothes and speech clearly identified him as a Northerner. I knew he must be one of those bureau-de-change mallams that had their post not far from the bus-stop and always scouted for people who wanted to change currencies. ‘I no change dollar,” I dismissed him and turned back.

But he did not go away. “Kai, mata…you fine well well…Walahi…I like you”

My pursed lips let out a pissed hiss and I made to put some yards between his person and mine. Shey iru e lon so? I thought to myself in Yoruba. How much could he possibly earn from his dollar-changing business to think he could talk to a posh babe like me…? I stopped in my tracks. Dollar?! But that is in the in thing in town. I spun back to the mallam and my hitherto foul expression transformed to smiles.

“How you dey?”

The smile gave him the green light to come closer. “Kai mata, you yallow well well, kai, just like my mama,” he gushed. “I like am.”

A quick look around reassured me that no one was paying us any attention, so I turned on the pidgin-speaking of myself. “Me too I like you, but you go fit take care of me?”

“Yowa! Me I go take care of you well well. Me and you like this…” he joined the forefingers of his hands together, expressing intimacy. “…me give you money fala-fala.”

“You go give me dollar?”

“Ah walahi, no froblem. For here dem dey call am for me Alhaji Dollar-Dollar. Me get am for dollar plenty penty. I go give you.”

That sealed it. I let him lead me away from the bus stop. He almost looked like a midget beside my tall and heeled frame. This Alhaji Dollar-Dollar, as he addressed himself was no time-waster. He led me to a place that turned out to be a ‘codedly’ hidden brothel. Apparently these bureau-de-change mallams patronized the place to ease their lust whenever the need arose. I was faintly disgusted, I was not a girl to come to this kind of a place on a good day. All my runs are clean runs, I don’t do this kind of dirty parole, but the thought of the dollar the Alhaji had promised me suppressed my disgust. A girl had to get her hands dirty once in a while if necessary.


Alhaji Dollar-Dollar disrobed. I was shocked to see the size and look of the instrument on the midget, and shuddered and at the ugly thought of that going into me…but again, a girl has to do what a girl has to do…

InformedLola:
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED...NO PART OF THIS STORY MAY BE REPRODUCED WITHOUT PRIOR CONSENT OF THE AUTHOR

(C) 2016 http://madamsabisabi..com.ng/



I stood at the bus stop that Saturday evening, dressed in my usual stare-stealing fashion, hoping to steal more than just stares from any man who fits into the specification of the catch I was after. It was 4pm, that time on Saturdays when any popular bus-stop in Lagos is more active than an anthill sprayed with sugar. But unlike the hordes of people around me, rushing about from weddings, visits or to and fro their businesses, I was directionless. I was not going anywhere, I was there to make a killing. And because of this, I stood as far apart from the crowd as possible to announce myself and my intentions to potential clientele.

In case you haven’t guessed yet, I am what most Lagos folk refer to as ‘runs girl’. Ugh, how I hate that term; very derogatory. What exactly are we ‘runsing’? It made one sound like some kind of fraudster. I am simply a girl ‘surviving’ In Nigeria’s harsh economic situation, and doing so with what God has blessed me with. If you ask me what my occupation is, I would simply respond ‘student’. You can call me that, not runs-girl.

My name is Kira, actually Shakirat but it had been cool when I was a teen to shorten it down to Kira; that was before Shakira made the name ‘Behind’. Yes, I am no longer a fresh young thing, I was already a teenager before Shakira blew.

So there I was at the bus-stop awaiting my latest catch, trying hard not to let my face scrunch up in depression as I did. It was getting more and more difficult for me to find new catches these days, and even my regular blokes seemed to be getting stingier by the day. Blame it on ‘change’. The country’s worsened economy was hitting everyone hard, and I was not left out. You ask, how? See ehn, it’s only natural that if the men who take care of me are affected by the economy, I will be affected too.
I have been standing at this bus-stop for almost an hour now, and not even one of the fancy cars that had passed by had faltered in front of me, not to even talk of stopping. And to make matters worse, there was nothing to shield me from the still harsh rays of the sun where I stood and the heels of my imitation Louboutins were killing the soles of my feet.

O God, is it that the naira devaluation has affected the brains of men now that they no longer think of sex? I moaned to myself.

Naira devaluation, naira devaluation. It was on everyone’s lips everywhere I turned; the boutique owner on my street, the taxi driver, the meat seller, even the shoemaker I had called this money to spray the tiny peeling part of my shoe. Dollar don cost, dollar don cost, was all they kept saying. Even my oil company boyfriend, actually one of my magas (I know he’s married even though he would never admit it) had given me just N25,000 the last time I went to PH to see him. ‘Baby, you know the dollar has gone up, and fuel prices have come down. Things are really tough for us in the Oil sector now,” had been his excuse. He hadn’t even paid for my flight back; I had to take a bus!

And now here I am, roasting here, trying to…

“Kai, mata…ina uni?” A thickly accented Hausa voice broke into my thoughts, I turned round to view a short man standing behind me. His countenance, clothes and speech clearly identified him as a Northerner. I knew he must be one of those bureau-de-change mallams that had their post not far from the bus-stop and always scouted for people who wanted to change currencies. ‘I no change dollar,” I dismissed him and turned back.

But he did not go away. “Kai, mata…you fine well well…Walahi…I like you”

My pursed lips let out a pissed hiss and I made to put some yards between his person and mine. Shey iru e lon so? I thought to myself in Yoruba. How much could he possibly earn from his dollar-changing business to think he could talk to a posh babe like me…? I stopped in my tracks. Dollar?! But that is in the in thing in town. I spun back to the mallam and my hitherto foul expression transformed to smiles.

“How you dey?”

The smile gave him the green light to come closer. “Kai mata, you yallow well well, kai, just like my mama,” he gushed. “I like am.”

A quick look around reassured me that no one was paying us any attention, so I turned on the pidgin-speaking of myself. “Me too I like you, but you go fit take care of me?”

“Yowa! Me I go take care of you well well. Me and you like this…” he joined the forefingers of his hands together, expressing intimacy. “…me give you money fala-fala.”

“You go give me dollar?”

“Ah walahi, no froblem. For here dem dey call am for me Alhaji Dollar-Dollar. Me get am for dollar plenty penty. I go give you.”

That sealed it. I let him lead me away from the bus stop. He almost looked like a midget beside my tall and heeled frame. This Alhaji Dollar-Dollar, as he addressed himself was no time-waster. He led me to a place that turned out to be a ‘codedly’ hidden brothel. Apparently these bureau-de-change mallams patronized the place to ease their lust whenever the need arose. I was faintly disgusted, I was not a girl to come to this kind of a place on a good day. All my runs are clean runs, I don’t do this kind of dirty parole, but the thought of the dollar the Alhaji had promised me suppressed my disgust. A girl had to get her hands dirty once in a while if necessary.


Alhaji Dollar-Dollar disrobed. I was shocked to see the size and look of the instrument on the midget, and shuddered and at the ugly thought of that going into me…but again, a girl has to do what a girl has to do…

I can publish you, and get your book on all major platforms in 5 days. You dont have to give me a dime..lets talk. mention me.

alpontif:


I can publish you, and get your book on all major platforms in 5 days. You dont have to give me a dime..lets talk. mention me.

Hi alpontif, I'm interested in knowing how

Concluding part...


It was almost seven when the man woke me up. After 4 rounds of sex in quick succession, I had passed into oblivion. I swear the man almost killed me.

“You just dey sleep, sleep, sleep like tolotolo,” he playfully chided, baring gworo-stained teeth, with yellowish eyes twinkling like a kid that had just finished a whole box of candy. “Night done come, make we dey go.”

“Where my dollars,” I promptly requested, mentally scolding myself for having slept off like that. What if the man had disappeared without paying me the promised largesse? I would have just fainted, after going through all that in his hands?

“No wahala. Me go give you dollar, no froblem. Wia your cloth.” As he spoke, he began to dress. I did the same. Once done, I picked up my hand bag and repeated. “Oya, the dollars...”

He dug his hand into the pocket of his sokoto, and brought out a small pile of green notes. My heart quickened at the sight. That was dollars all right. O boy! My eyes followed his fingers to and fro as he counted twenty crisp notes and handed them to me. I grabbed the eagerly and dunked the immediately into my handbag. “Thank you, Alhaji.”

“Yowa…you sweet well well…”

We both exited the brothel amidst stares and hisses from the girls that infested the place. I ignored them, not being in the same class as they.

Alhaji Dollar-Dollar hailed me a cab and we exchanged numbers. I would definitely respond sharp sharp whenever he called me, I promised him. I was now a proud earner of dollars.

Once home, the first thing I did was to pull out the dollar notes from their safe haven to drool over them. I had been itching to do that even in the cab but fear of being robbed would not let me.
All through the ride, I had done quick mathematics of how much I would change the money to, and had even done a fast research on my i-phone to see how much the black market exchange rate was now. The 2,000 dollars would fetch me N600,000 at worst. Choi! I was really thankful to God for a very productive day.

I started counting the notes, 1,2,3,4,..19 then stopped short. I stared at the last one and stared again. Then I spread them all on the bed and checked them one after the other. They were 1 dollar notes, all twenty of them, one one dollar, twenty dollars in total. Not 100 dollars each like I had thought when Alhaji Dollar Dollar was counting the money.

I screamed and shot off my bed, took a couple of the notes closer to where the fluorescent light shone brightest. My eyes were not deceiving me. What had looked like 100 dollar notes in the light of the brothel room were actually one dollar notes.

“Mogbe!”

A total of six thousand. Me, six thousand, big girl like me, six thousand naira after four rounds of sex?! Alhaji had scammed me.

I quickly picked up my phone and called his number.

He picked on the second ring. “Yellow faw-faw, you don reach am for house?”

“Come, no ask me silly question, wetin be the meaning of this nonsense dollars wey you give me?”

“Walahi no be fake, na original dollars…

“Who dey follow you talk fake or no fake dollars? Wetin be the meaning of this rubbish twenty dollars you carry give me? Na the plenty dollars me and you agree be that?”

“Mata, e flenty walahi. You change am for N6,500. Flenty money.”

“You dey craze. I resemble ashawo kobo-kobo for your eyes? You give me that nonsense money after four rounds, God go punish you. I come dey thank you again, dey think say na 2,000 dollar dey there.”

“Allahu! 2,000 dollars? I dey craze? You na armed robber, walahi. 2,000 dollars? N1,500 sef I suppose give you. I give you 20 dollars you dey talk…dollar na paper?”

I cut the phone on the fool after raining more curses on him. Imagine the idiot! But could I blame him? If not for the fact that my greed to get my hands on some hot dollars had been so high, would I not have checked the money properly before throwing it into my bag? In fact, I would have told him exactly how much I expected him to give me right at the start.

“20 dollars? Chai Kira, you have suffered.”

Hehehehehehe. Good for her. Nice story, writer.

InformedLola:


Hi alpontif, I'm interested in knowing how

Hello,

Please Send a mail to alpontif@gmail.com

Sorry for the late response.

Its not complicated at all.

You will write based on your unique style

It all has to be very Interesting like your earlier writeups on Nairaland.

And most Importantly, except for previews, you must NEVER put or post them on Nairaland or in the Public Domain.

Once you have completed a Manuscript,You will send it to me.

My company will then handle everything..editing, publishing, marketing, sales.

The Profit Sharing will be 50:50 after we remove associated Costs.

Your Novel will most likely be live on Amazon, Google play, Apply, Barnes and Nobles and Kobo within 5 days after we receive your Manuscript.