Once

Walking hurriedly to the aboki's shop, a stone throw from our house, the errand was simple. I was to buy a pack of matches for my aunt mercy who was in a rush to prepare dinner for her husband.

She'd just returned from school, a food and nut. teacher (this should tell that her dishes are class; world best we call her)

In a flash she remembered she'd forgot to call blessing, her daughter, to remind her to take out the soup from the freezer, tasks she listed for us before vanishing till sunset. Taking out the soup bowl she put it in a basin of water to unfreeze.

That wasn't going as fast as expected so she attempted to use boiling water. Alas, no match stick...

At that time of the evening their shops and kiosks were always filled with faithfuls and friends of the lighted stick. All buying their favorites, Benson, Rothmans, etc or for the stronger heads, the coneshaped, well loved igbó (marijuana)...

Not in a rush to exchange my 20 Naira, I stayed put, allowing the red eyed customers have their desires. Over the aboki's radio (surprisingly it was tuned to a known dial) I could hear the ever discernable voice of Michael, picking apart his song "Billie Jean". Thursday evenings on soundcity was throwback music time. The devotees continued to pop smoke, the moon was out but the earth wasn't ready for the moonlight yet. "Two kiss and one circle abeg" requested the guy in front of me before handing over cash to the seller. Some triple x business he had in heart.