15 past 9 and street food.

There’s music playing from huge speakers everywhere, but the woman selling moi-moi at the bus stop is singing a melodious tune about moi-moi and eko, banging a spoon against a stainless plate.

moi-moi tó jìnà, ékó lò n wà,

moi-moi tó jìnà, ékó lò n wà.

I left my colleagues at work because I want to buy suya. We have closed already, but they are still dilly-dallying and I really want to eat suya. Just thinking about it is making my mouth water badly. I’m walking toward the bus stop, taking in sounds, sights and smell. The man selling spare parts in the shop adjacent to ours greets me fondly.

I’m now at the supermarket near the bus stop. They close an hour after us and loud music is blasting from their speakers as well. A few people are crowded around their shawarma stand, lovers fondling and the likes. Na wa. Relationship people want to kill us everywhere; on Twitter, Instagram and even on the street.

The tall supermarket security guard wags a finger at me. “You people are enjoying in your place. You people are enjoying too much.”

He’s not wrong sha, we are enjoying. I get to the bus stop and stop to withdraw some money at the POS stand I usually patronize.

“Sweetie, how’re you?” The owner, Aremu greets me. I mumble a response. His employee, Tobi; a cheery, buxom lady greets me cheerfully in bad English. She always makes me smile. I collect my money and card and move toward the suya stand that is three feet away.

I frown and pause. It’s not the usual suya guy. Abi I should buy pork meat instead?

“wey your brother?” I ask, eyeing the suya. It doesn’t look as enticing as the other guy’s, it doesn’t even look hot. There’s barely fire underneath. I am informed that he travelled.

“how much own you want?” He asks, sharpening one blade with the other.

“you no dey give testing?” I ask instead, referring to the small piece of meat they usually offer before you buy suya. I’m really skeptical about this suya, yet I have been dreaming about it since past 3 p.m.

“just give me 200 naira own sha.” I say grudgingly. He sells the suya and I pay. My colleagues are still nowhere to be found. I sit down in front of the puff-puff vendors and dig into my suya. The person frying the puff-puff is scooping the mixture up from a large, large bowl and putting it inside the hot oil. People absolutely love their puff-puff.

I love this moment. I love where I am now, sitting down at the bus stop where my phone or bag can be snatched, talking to the stranger that is eating moi-moi beside me and nodding my head to the moi-moi seller’s noisy but melodious song. I love that the breeze is gentle, I love that I can see and notice the little things even with the noise and chaos. Area boys are shouting, bike men are revving their bikes and calling out to people passing by, wanting to quickly leave and come back so they can make enough money before they retire for the night. Are humans ever satisfied with how much money they make?

I love this moment, as ordinary as it is. I am not where I want to be, but I love that I can still revel in this small, seemingly insignificant but beautiful moment.

On the other side, there is Cameroon food, fried fish and peppered pork meat. Opposite the road, there is fried potatoes and fried chicken and shawarma.

Street food is not nearly appreciated enough. Street food is a lifesaver. Oh, how I love street food. I can use all my money to buy street food, even though I will start feeling guilty about it seconds after I do so. Street food, especially night street food should be one of the seven wonders of the world.👍

There is a uniqueness that night street food has, that the day own doesn’t have. Don’t argue, I have tasted both and I am testifying.

Anyway, I’m writing this because I’m all about the little things, because I pride myself in being able to observe and see what other people are too busy or too shortsighted to see. I am grateful for moments like these, moments that make me stop and see and observe. It is like being frozen in time, like in the movies when everyone else is frozen but a character is alive and can see everything happening.

My colleagues are here, time to go home.

I hope you enjoyed this! I started writing it early in March on a night when I felt really good and comfortable. It was like I had no care in the world. I had a handful of such nights and I really appreciated them.

Nighttime is my favorite time of the day and having a job that allowed me to be outside as late as possible was fulfilling. Before getting this job, I was rarely outside after seven and sometimes I wouldn’t leave my house for days on end. It was a wholesome experience, one that made me more appreciative and daring. I still wish I was braver, brave enough to explore beyond the borders of my way home.

P.S; I’m sorry about how it ended. I didn’t finish it on that particular night and having to recount the experience in my head was not nearly as fulfilling as writing it as I experienced it.

❤️, Precious.