Dejection is too little an adjective to qualify how Deji felt the day he was stolen from in broad daylight.
One minute, he was bouncing through the streets of Ikorodu, Lagos state with his phone and wallet in the pocket of his two thousand naira okrika jeans (thrift jeans), and the next minute, he was staring at his empty pockets, upturned numerous times with nothing to show.
“Omo, guy I'm just weak! Thirty thousand naira that I won at sporty bet (a sports betting platform), and planned to use and guide and hold my body this week, just went like that,” he says, narrating his ordeal to me and our group of friends.
We are at our favourite joint, the Liquorose bar where we meet most Saturday evenings to down a bottle or ten and forget the hardship in the country a little, when Deji comes in to join us.
At first glance, plus the fact that he hadn't picked any of our calls in the past hour, one can tell that something is wrong.
Our prediction isn't wrong as the moment Yusuf asks him what is wrong, he goes on to narrate to us his ordeal in the hands of pickpockets earlier in the day.
Kola takes a swig of his beer, licks his lips and replies in a thick baritone “My gee, no be small thing these people dey do these days. They are very serious with their stealing these days. The thing is even worse than before.”
“Nwanne m, I remember when they did this thing to me, it felt like correct season film,” Ifeanyi says, pronouncing the “r” in remember and correct as “l”.
Yusuf nods his head in agreement “Walahi, talahi! that thing dey pain quo!”
Taking another swing, Kola asks “Bro, is it not that iPhone 16 you just bought that they stole?”
“It’s it o,” Deji replies, his voice shaky yet stable. It is clear that he is trying to stay strong despite the pain he was feeling.
“Chai! I feel for you, bro.” Ifeanyi says, shaking his head in pity.
Kola pats Deji’s shoulder in sympathy. “No shaking, you will bounce back, bro.”
Deji nods tentatively. “I will, bro. Thanks,” He replies with a forced smile before signalling the waiter to get him a fresh bottle of beer.
“It's not even the phone that is hurting me, it's my sim card. How will I get all my contacts back?” He adds, making us burst into laughter.
As if previously rehearsed, there is a moment of silence at our table. Only the sound of liquor being drunk can be heard as each man ruminates on whatever is on their minds.
“But omo, they can't do that thing to me o.” I break the silence. Four pairs of eyes turn to look at me before Kola says “Dey play, bro. There's no one these pickpockets cannot pickpocket.”
“Forget, guy. They cannot, like them no fit!” I counter him.
“These people are smart o, Paul. Some are so good that even if you wear six layers of trousers and bury your valuables in the first layer, they'll still find a way to steal it.” Ifeanyi adds, getting an affirmative nod from the others around the table.
“Leave that thing, I’m smarter than them, jare!” I boast. “I've been in Lagos for ten years now and not once has my property been stolen.”
“That's what I used to think too. But here we are.” Deji says.
“Forget that thing. I'm not you, bro.” I say.
Before the argument becomes heated, Kola interjects, “Abeg, that one is not my concern. Plus, that's not what brought us here. We're here to forget our sorrows, not discuss them.” He signals to a waiter “Abeg, bring 5 more bottles, bills on me.”
I feel my heart stop beating for 5 solid seconds as I reach into the right pocket of my trouser to pull out my wallet and pay the waiting bus conductor, but my hand hits empty space.
In a frenzy, I stick my hand into the left pocket where I kept my phone, and meet the same empty void.
My heartbeat quickens, beating hard against my ribcage like one pounding fufu in a mortar and pestle.
I lock eyes with the red-eyed impatient-looking conductor and quickly draw my gaze away on seeing the death glare on his face, focusing on searching and researching my pockets, not believing that I was a victim of pickpockets.
“Abi I didn't leave the house with it ni?” I wonder, as the conductor says “Oga, no dey waste my time, where my money? I gats load another set of passengers so.” (Bro, don't waste my time. Where is my money? I have to load another set of passengers)
“Boss, abeg no vex. Don't be angry. They have stolen my wallet and phone.” I say, my voice wobbling like the legs of a baby learning how to walk.
“Na so una dey always talk! You think say I never know una style?” He grabs the collar of my shirt tightly and pulls me closer to him. (That's how you people always talk. You think I don't know your style?)
“Common, give me my money before I wozz you better dirty slap.”
Hot liquid flows down my legs and with a quivering voice, I say “Boss, I’m not lying, please I…”
Pain engulfs my entire face, my eyesight blurs for a moment, and a ringing sound fills my ear as the conductor’s palm hits my cheek.
In seconds, I find myself on the ground with punches, kicks and slaps hitting me all at once. Unable to bear it, I blank out.
I regain consciousness and find myself on a hospital bed.
I hear Deji’s voice say “He's awake.” On prying my eyes open through the pain, I see the entire squad around my bed.
“Chai, sorry bro. These people did you strong thing o.” Kola says.
“Walahi! If no be say person tell person wey tell person wey tell me say them dey beat you, who know wetin for happen?” Yusuf adds.
(Honestly, If it wasn't for the fact that someone had told someone who told me that they are beating you, who knows what would have happened?”)
“Omo, it is well o. Just get well soon, my very smart bro.” Deji says.
My face grows hot, not from the pain of the beating, as the rest of the guys try so hard to hold in their laughter but fail woefully.
Through his laughter, Kola says “Yes, our very smart bro, get well soon o.”