Smoke filled the air outside, as noise from the car horns blared angrily trying to compete with the noise we were generating outside like group of touts telling their stories at Ojuelegba.
Knives were bared someone even brought a cutlass, by now the noise was dying down as if the motorists and passers by, knew something serious and grave was about to go down.
These boys were hardened species who feared nothing, even the women in their midst were dressed for the occasion. With their shorts and camouflage tops, they had their own weapons in handy awaiting the ritual that was common in this part of Lagos, it was common around these parts, even kids were no longer scared and disgusted by the sight, it was normal to them, they revelled in it and waited for their own turn to brandish their weapons and cut to spill blood.
You could see them playing and running around with wooden sticks as knives, play acting while their parents gathered around and watched in anticipation, waiting for the first blood to draw and drop.
I walked in majestically, I have been doing this since time immemorial, I was never fazed by the presence of intimidating looking muscles and fat, so I walked up to the object of interest and without looking back, I signalled to my guys to stand guard and hold the hands and legs of my prey.
"Wait! wait!" "Never cut am," my younger sister shouted, and then she ran and brought out a bowl, placing it under the cows neck and with my friends and brothers holding the cow down despite it being tied to a tree, I sliced the throat and kept cutting, while the blood spilled inside the bowl.
As soon as it was dead, like flies they surrounded me, family and friends all coming to cut a slice of the cow my uncle had bought to celebrate the new car he just bought from Japan.
This is Lagos.
Kingdavid Chinaeke Ofunne
Authorpreneur
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