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Compound Meeting of Shame part 3
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1 day ago
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1 day agoBy Monday morning, the gist wey grow leg had walked all the way to the landlord’s ear. Baba Alabi, the landlord, was a tall, strict man who believed that “respect is the foundation of rent payment.” He didn’t live in the compound, but when he heard that tenants were fighting over “customer” visitors, he decided enough was enough.
Around 7:00 p.m., he arrived unannounced, wearing his brown kaftan and carrying his famous wooden cane—not for beating, but for dramatic effect. The moment he stepped into the corridor, the whole place went silent like NEPA just took light.
> “Everybody, come out now-now! We must do meeting!” Baba Alabi barked.
Tenants appeared one by one, some pretending to still be busy with chores. Mama Peace tied her headscarf tighter, Kemi stood with her arms folded, and Mama Bisi came out fanning herself aggressively.
Baba Alabi cleared his throat.
> “This compound used to be a peaceful place. Now I hear say na gossip and accusation full here. You people now be like Nollywood actors—every day, new episode. If you want to do drama, go and join Africa Magic!”
Everyone chuckled nervously, but he wasn’t smiling.
> “Kemi, you—explain this story of strange man.”
Kemi sighed. “He’s my cousin from Abuja. He came to drop something for me. That’s all.”
Baba Alabi turned to Mama Peace. “And you, why is your mouth longer than Lagos traffic?”
> “Landlord, me I was just protecting the compound integrity…” she began.
> “Integrity fire you there! Since when is integrity equal to carrying gist from one room to another?” he cut in.
Then, just when things were cooling down, Mama Iyabo muttered under her breath, “At least she’s not the one bringing men when husband travels.”
The place erupted again—
> “Who you dey talk to?!” Mama Bisi shouted, stepping forward.
“If shoe size you, wear am!” Mama Iyabo fired back.
Children were peeking from behind their mothers’ wrappers, enjoying free entertainment. Baba Alabi slammed his cane on the floor.
> “Enough! From today, any tenant I catch spreading gist will pay ₦5,000 fine. If the gist turns out to be lie, you pay ₦10,000. And if your mouth is still itching you, I will personally help you pack out. This is a compound, not gossip headquarters!”
Everyone nodded like obedient school children, but deep down, they were already wondering who the next gist victim would be.
As Baba Alabi left, Mama Peace whispered to Mama Iyabo,
> “Abeg, call me
later… I get one fresh tori wey I no fit say here.”