I reminisce a lot about my boyhood days. Those were times when life was free and somewhat fair. Sometimes, I use to think I lived my best life when I was a boy.
I grew up in the streets of Dopemu, Agege area of Lagos. Olowo street was one of those streets that always bubble with activities. I particularly use to enjoy the mini carnival during Christmas season, and those nights carpenters would gather a mountain of sawdust and set a kind of camp fire. Young men and boys would drum and play and round the burning ash, while the women and girls some selling fruits and other items by the road side, others just chit chatting — would watch and laugh at the display. These are memories that have remain evergreen in my mind.
Howbeit, it wasn't always fun. I had a canny habit of causing mischief every now and then. I had two siblings —my brother and my sister, and our Dad did everything he could to give us the best education. We were the most outstanding children in our compound. We were always neatly dressed and speaking in English Language much to the admiration of neighbors. Parents always wanted us make friends with their children.
But I was a naughty boy, and nobody could understand why. I was an adventurous boy who was always at the forefront of most of the juvenile mischiefs in the neighborhood, but would frame other children who were not smart enough to defend themselves. There was one time we played in a carpenter's workshop and I suggested to the other children that we make fire using the sawdust. They all agreed, and gathered the sawdust while I went to get a lighter. We lit the sawdust and it burned rapidly into a huge fire. We became afraid and tried to put it off. One boy took a rag and threw it over the fire and we all stepped on the rag until the fire was put out, but the rag caught fire instead. Out of fear, everyone ran away. I took the rag and threw it into a nearby gutter so the gutter water can put out the fire. I brought out the rag and threw it in one corner of the workshop where chairs were stacked and went out, unbeknownst to me that the rag was still on fire.
Moments later, there was pandemonium everywhere. Some men were running with water and others were throwing sand. I went to see what was going on. Behold, it was the workshop on fire! Fortunately, they were able to put out the fire but some of the wooden chairs were charred. Someone reported seeing us at the workshop earlier and we were all paraded for questioning. I framed the boy who threw the rag over the fire, that it was him that caused the fire incident. We were all received the same punishment, nonetheless. But the boy was punished again by his parents.
Apart from mischief, I had the habit of sneaking in on adults making out. Adults in that neighborhood were quite immoral and indiscreet with their genitals. I would sneak in to watch some making out either at the backyard of a deserted compound, or in the corridors of the building when there is no much lighting or in an abandoned vehicle parked in a deserted place.
On one occasion, I was caught and made to watch till the show was over. After that, I was reported to my Dad who didn't take it lightly on me. That was how I stopped. My Dad made me promise not to cause him much headache again.
I didn't stop immediately though. I still snuck in on people but when I remembered my promise to my Dad I would turn back and leave. I think my Dad making me promise is what killed that habit in me.
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