Please read on.

Why would anyone call him Big Daddy?! Even though I was only 10 years old when I met Big Daddy Jake, I was smart enough to know he doesn’t deserve the name. A tiny, kind of shrunken slightly disheveled man, Big Daddy looked liked he was in his 50s even though I later got to know he was only in his late 30s. Big Daddy Jake can’t be more than 5ft 5. Very small for a man called Big Daddy I must emphasise again. As the weeks went bye however, I clearly understood why Aunty Debbie fondly called him that name. That understanding came at around 1am one very cold night.

I slept early that night maybe because I ate the popular Nigerian fufu and egusi soup, it was quite tasty. Even when everybody was in the sitting room chatting and laughing away their time, I sneaked into my room, but I noticed that Big daddy winked at me – I never knew he had a nocturnal intention.

So that night, I woke up to take a pee and I heard the squeaking of a door, or was it a door opening and closing? I just heard the sound of a door. I ignored it and went back to bed. After a little while, I noticed something was scanning my arm.

“Oooooooooooooooo, all these mosquitoes would start again, I cannot afford to light another mosquito coil, No!” I thought.

The tickling by the mosquitoes moved up my breast and I knew there was not going to be sleep again, as these mosquitoes were hell bent on giving me ‘unwanted’ sensations. But I was not interested in lighting a mosquito coil that night. The last time I did, it caused a catarrh.

It seems the mosquitoes understood my thoughts and, left me for a while. But they came back more determined. This time it was inside my skirt, and I too was determined to get the catarrh than lose sleep this very sweet night.

So I turned on a candle and as I turned to get the coil where it was kept I saw a figure before me and as I attempted to scream, my mouth was closed.

“Don’t shout joor! I heard your rumblings about the mosquitoes and I decided to come help you”.

I was dumbfounded. I just glared at him. Didn’t know what to say or how to say it.

“Don’t worry about the mosquitoes, let’s just go to your bed, there is something I want to show you”.

In my astounded-ness, he took me to my bed and started saying things I can’t even remember because I was still trying to understand what was going on.

When he noticed that I was not quite listening, he shook me then started explaining why he loved me. At this point, I spoke.

“Big Daddy, how did you get…?”

“Don’t worry about that, I would tell you later”.

He then started playing with my lap, moved up my chest, came back down my skirt. It was at this point I felt the same mosquito sensation but I just thought it was not right, so I resisted. He removed his hands but replaced them almost immediately. When I resisted again, he told me I would love it and should stop struggling.

Read the concluding part here: https://www.nairaland.com/3114733/how-started-life-street-hustling

How I met Big Daddy Jake

Last week, I gave some background information about where I’m from and how the journey to my sorry present started. (You can read that here: https://www.nairaland.com/3101296/how-started-life-street-hustling ) Today, I’ll talk about the most painful episode of my childhood. Please read on.

Why would anyone call him Big Daddy?! Even though I was only 10 years old when I met Big Daddy Jake, I was smart enough to know he doesn’t deserve the name. A tiny, kind of shrunken slightly disheveled man, Big Daddy looked liked he was in his 50s even though I later got to know he was only in his late 30s. Big Daddy Jake can’t be more than 5ft 5. Very small for a man called Big Daddy I must emphasise again. As the weeks went bye however, I clearly understood why Aunty Debbie fondly called him that name. That understanding came at around 1am one very cold night.

I slept early that night maybe because I ate the popular Nigerian fufu and egusi soup, it was quite tasty. Even when everybody was in the sitting room chatting and laughing away their time, I sneaked into my room, but I noticed that Big daddy winked at me – I never knew he had a nocturnal intention.

So that night, I woke up to take a pee and I heard the squeaking of a door, or was it a door opening and closing? I just heard the sound of a door. I ignored it and went back to bed. After a little while, I noticed something was scanning my arm.

“Oooooooooooooooo, all these mosquitoes would start again, I cannot afford to light another mosquito coil, No!” I thought.

The tickling by the mosquitoes moved up my breast and I knew there was not going to be sleep again, as these mosquitoes were hell bent on giving me ‘unwanted’ sensations. But I was not interested in lighting a mosquito coil that night. The last time I did, it caused a catarrh.

It seems the mosquitoes understood my thoughts and, left me for a while. But they came back more determined. This time it was inside my skirt, and I too was determined to get the catarrh than lose sleep this very sweet night.

So I turned on a candle and as I turned to get the coil where it was kept I saw a figure before me and as I attempted to scream, my mouth was closed.

“Don’t shout joor! I heard your rumblings about the mosquitoes and I decided to come help you”.

I was dumbfounded. I just glared at him. Didn’t know what to say or how to say it.

“Don’t worry about the mosquitoes, let’s just go to your bed, there is something I want to show you”.

In my astounded-ness, he took me to my bed and started saying things I can’t even remember because I was still trying to understand what was going on.

When he noticed that I was not quite listening, he shook me then started explaining why he loved me. At this point, I spoke.

“Big Daddy, how did you get…?”

“Don’t worry about that, I would tell you later”.

He then started playing with my lap, moved up my chest, came back down my skirt. It was at this point I felt the same mosquito sensation but I just thought it was not right, so I resisted. He removed his hands but replaced them almost immediately. When I resisted again, he told me I would love it and should stop struggling.

I tried to cry out but he advised me not to alert other people especially my aunt, who does not sleep too well at times. It was then I remembered how she dealt with me the last time I went to school without washing the plates.

When he noticed I was now restful, he put his hands inside my skirt, the other hand he used to rub my chest. It was an interesting sensation; I did not like it but couldn’t shout for fear that my aunt was going to use odo (pestle) on my head.

He continued this for a while, then in a swift move, removed his worn out boxers and asked that I remove mine too. He eventually did it himself as I was motionless. Now, I was both dumbfounded and scared.

“What was happening?” I thought.

He started licking my body, his finger back in my skirt. After less than two minutes, I noticed he was trying to insert something bigger than his fingers, I resisted again, he reminded me of my aunty. I again remembered her ‘wicked’ ways of dealing with me, and freed my body.

Continue Here: http://vibes.ng/diary-hustling-single-girl-episode-2/

The Diary of A Hustling Single Girl – In the Beginning

My name is Janet. Janet Solomon. I’m sure the first thing that will come to the mind of many is here come’s another girl with the stereotypical combination of English names. Many will think once a girl hides away her native names she probably has something else to hide. You are probably right, but may be not. From the part of the world I come from we bear very different names, some people consider funny in some other parts of the country or even the world.

While celebrating my birthday, my 21st birthday for the 5th time, someone suggested I need to start writing about my experiences and that’s exactly what I hope to achieve with this. In this hustle things that I survive on, you have to remain as young as your benefactors want you to be. Some call them customers but I call them benefactors. There guys are the reason why people like us haven’t been declared internally displaced persons. In a country where social security is non-existent, they are our social security. Those dudes are also in their own way contributing to the nation’s GDP *wink*.

I was born into a family of 12 in a very remote area of Nigeria’s Niger-Delta area. Very close to those areas where nights never fall, not because the sun never gets tired of shinning but because the oil companies obviously don’t know what to do with the gas which oozes out of the ground as a byproduct of fat they steal from our communities. A community where there’s little hope of making anything good out of life. I was born in a place literally flowing with gold, the black gold, but where want and poverty seems to be in inverse proportion to the level of wealth being taken out by people who can hardly have water from their own soil eve if they did for a hundred years. You can therefore imagine my joy when my father’s younger sister, Aunty Debby, who lived on the very popular Okumagba Avenue in Warri came to the village to ask that she be allowed to take me to the city. I was just a little over 10 years old and that was the beginning of what I expected to be a happy growing up. Or so I thought. To the contrary however, it turned out to be the beginning of my initiation into a life on the streets. Of long walks in dark alleys. Of hustles in the city. Of seductions and the other raunchy ‘S’ word. Of romps and wild ride. And of drugs, drugs and more drugs.

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Next on The Diary: I met Big Daddy Jake

Why would anyone call him Big Daddy?! Even though I was only 10 years old when I met Big Daddy Jake, I was smart enough to know he doesn’t deserve the name. A tiny, kind of shrunken slightly disheveled man, Big Daddy looked liked he was in his 50s even though I later got to know he was only in his late 30s. Big Daddy Jake can’t be more than 5ft 5. Very small for a man called Big Daddy I must emphasise again. As the weeks went bye however, I clearly understood why Aunty Debbie fondly called him that name. That understanding came at around 1am one very cold night…. (To be Continued)