KONGI V (He Was More)

HOW WE CONTINUED AND GLUED? 

After the ordeal and how Kongi’s effort was under-appreciated by my mother, I decided to visit and thank him properly, courtesy demanded that at least, I walked into the street, filled with idle folks and a hardworking few, Kongi was not hard to find, a beggar by the road pointed his very spot to me, on getting there, I met Kongi perusing a newspaper, it’s one of the numerous ones on his table, seeing me; he jumped up in awe, I saw him in the light of day; he is a fox!


A cute trouble, his dark and well trimmed Afro blended well with his polished light skin, he sat me down on a shaky bench, he advised that I grip myself well and don’t fall off, he organized a chilled Malt and some biscuits for me, quite funny but his effort was romantic, he was glad to see me, we delve into talks, he appreciated my gesture and surprisingly was not offended by my mother’s behavior, it was cool talking to him, he did well to speak English, although broken but it kept a classy communication between us. You can call it our first date, I was with him the whole day, he pointed the mischievous guys from the other day, they were walking freely, he said it is so because I didn’t pass my judgement that night, it is a street code, I thought to myself that, the touts will be walking free still if Kongi had not come, I thanked him repeatedly! He appreciated my visit, in fact, I left there with a nickname, ‘KemiFendi’ - it stuck ever since, I also got a taste of the hood life, we dropped by a buka to eat some sweet home made Amala, an African delight meal with a complimentary soup with a lot of adventure in it, goat meats as big as my fist were served to match, crown it all was a chilled pack of fruit juice, this in the ghetto is hospital at its apogee, I enjoyed every morsel, it brought joy to my heart, the big eateries where I’m used to is a modern day scam, I never would have gotten a taste of this side if not for Kongi. I devoured my meal leaving no stone unturned, took me 15mins of rest to wash my hands and another 30mins to be on my way;  I and Kongi strolled through the streets to the bus stop, this few minutes of strolling made me a known face in the hood, he ordered a bike to take me to my destination. It was a well spent day. 

Over time, I became a regular visitor of the hood, irony of life, time ticked and three months passed, I was scared no more, I get hailed and excessively flattered with words from Kongi’s loyalists, bike men wanted to offer their services to me for free, I was becoming a celebrity, “kemifendi eyan Kongi” - this was the usual hail, I began to know these folks by their names, I could pass through even in the dead of nights, I was living a dream I never had. My mother’s nightmare. Kongi gave me reasons to always come back to visit, he had an unusual seriousness to him, usually in a meditative mood, was with few words and try to be conscious with his words, not many hood boys do that; his unique person paved way for strong rapport, healthy discourse and more exploration to depths of our pains. It’s new discoveries whenever we meet and converse, he had a gift in mathematics that this account cannot capture. I argued with myself that I’m not falling for him until I began to visit time after time, he took me through nooks and crannies of the hood, thought me some traditional medications and some other interesting things I won’t tell you. All of these were romantic in its own right. 

We mixed our worlds, Kongi demanded that we go to places I am used to prior to meeting him, quite sensitive of him, isn’t it? 

I took him to some good chill spots on the island, than most fresh internet boys; Kongi to my surprise had some monies, I seized thereon to undermined the financial strength of the hood, he fit in well, he brushed himself fresh, got on some dope wears and kept the gentleman attitude, I was swept off my feet. He genuinely have the gentlemanliness within, we had a good dinner time though he had problem eating the food, if he said no word; it’s safe to call him a slay king; his blue corduroy suit and white shirt, buttoned halfway thus exposing his fair hairless chest, bedazzled with a shiny dangling chain.. His appearance stirred a sensation in my pants, I stole glances of him and had thoughts of him pouncing on me like a hungry lion on a zebra (if that make any sense) — the only hood left in him in that moment was his accent and use of words which he kept on a low to not draw needless attention to himself or our table. He blended well and had a night he tagged as ‘sweet’.