I never planned to live this long the night I ran from home, I didn't think I'd make it past 17 i thought someone would find me in a gutter or worse, I thought someone wouldn't.
But Lagos has its own twisted way of keeping people alive and the first time I met Debby Okonkwo, nicknamed "psycho" I was holding a stolen gala and bleeding from my leg.
Flashback - Two Years Ago, under Ojuelegba Bridge
The world was loud rain was louder but my stomach was the loudest.
I hadn't eaten in two days. The last thing I swallowed was holy water my mother sprinkled over me while screaming in tongues. It did nothing except burn when it touched the cuts.
So when I saw the street vendor's tray wobble, I didn't think twice.
I snatched the gala and ran. Barefoot and weak
He chased me, shouting, "Thief! Omo ale!" But the world just watched until I turned the wrong corner and collapsed that's when I heard her voice.
"You be fool, abi?"
I looked up, she was chewing gum and staring at me like I was a dead cat.
"Gala? For real? You no even thief coke join?"
She was younger than me, maybe by a year or two, but her eyes were old dead girls recognize each other.
She tossed a bottle of water at me. I caught it. Just barely.
"Drink. Then follow me. Before they beat you like goat."
I should've been scared but my body moved anyway.
Later That Night – Her Hideout
She lived under the back stairs of a mechanic shop in Mushin three other girls were curled up on torn mattresses. A broken fan spun with no power.
She had a torchlight and a small Bluetooth speaker.
"Name?"
"Rhema." I answered
"Hmm. Sound like angel name. You don't look like an angel."
"You?"
"Deborah. But everyone calls me Psycho."
I blinked.
"You don't look psycho."
She smirked. "Wait till someone touches me the wrong way."
She played Burna Boy softly from her speaker and handed me a piece of bread.
"If you want to stay alive in this city, you go need two things madness and memory. Be mad enough to survive, and remember enough not to forgive."
Present Day – Back in the Studio
Debby lights a joint and leans back, her boots on the table.
"So what now? You going to release the verse that calls out Pastor Daniel directly?"
I stay quiet.
"Rhema…"
"Let them come. Let the whole country hear his name in my mouth."
"You go fit handle the wahala?"
"I am the wahala."
She laughs like thunder we both know what's coming.
But we've both made peace with dying as long as we die loud.
Back to the past -
The hideout was cramped and smelled of rust and sweat, but somehow, it felt safer than anywhere I had been in weeks. Debby - or Psycho as everyone called her - was sitting across from me, her boots propped up on a broken crate debby took a drag from her joint and studied me with those sharp, dead eyes of hers. I was still wary of her, but there was something about her blunt honesty that made me feel less alone in this strange, terrifying city.
"How old are you?" she asked suddenly.
I hesitate for a moment, wondering how much to reveal. But something in her gaze made me feel compelled to answer honestly.
"Seventeen." I said softly
Debby raised an eyebrow and took another drag from her joint. "You look younger"
The silence in the hideout was broken only by the sound of the fan blades scraping against each other. Debby took a long puff from her joint and blew a ring of smoke into the air. She leaned back on the broken crate and looked at me through half-lidded eyes.
"What made you run away from home?" she asked suddenly.
I flinched at the question. I had been trying to avoid thinking about home and what had driven me to leave in the first place. But Debby's bluntness seemed to strip away all pretenses, forcing me to confront my past face-to-face.
"Family trouble," I muttered, unable to meet her gaze.
Well mind sharing your story with me friend ? Debby said, with an happy face
Friends ? So easy ?
Sure friends we're in this together from now on
Well you won't blame me I haven't had any friends so I just hugged her and started crying hugging her she feel so warm. That night I started narrating my story to her
At 14, my life was a constant hustle. Every day began before the sun rose, as I helped my mother cook and clean our small home. The sounds of the busy street below, the hum of generators fighting the ever-present power outages, were my morning soundtrack.
After helping my mother, I would join my friends in the alleys and streets, playing games, laughing, and dreaming about a better life. But as quickly as the laughter would ring out, the harsh reality of our surroundings would creep back in.
My days were a cycle of struggle and survival. Every morning, I'd wake up to the sound of the generator sputtering to life, knowing it was my cue to get up and get ready for the day.
I'd put on my tattered school uniform, one of the few items of clothing I owned. Then, I'd head out into the chaos of the streets, dodging the piles of trash, the stray dogs, and the groups of street kids playing in the open sewers.
Living in Ajegunle wasn't easy, even for a girl as young as I was. Every day was a fight for survival - a fight for food, for safety, for respect. The streets of the slum were like a battle field, littered with danger at every corner. From the gangs that controlled the territories, to the police who were just as brutal as the criminals, I learned quick to keep my head low and my eyes wide.
Despite the dangers, life in Ajegunle wasn't entirely bleak. In the midst of the hardship, there were moments of joy. Like when the sun would dip below the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of orange and purple, or the sound of laughter that would echo from the makeshift market, filled with families trading and selling their wares. Still, I knew these moments were fleeting, and life in the slum could be brutal and unforgiving.
*1 Omo ale – Pidgin Yoruba insult meaning "bastard" or "child with no home training." Commonly used to insult or shame.
*2 Ajegunle – A street in Lagos Nigeria
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