By zerah on Skatehive
Balogun market was already in full swing by the time Mama Chinedu parked her car at the lot. I checked my time; it was 8:00 a.m. Even though we were very early, voices were already rising over each other, sharp and urgent. The air smelled of foodstuffs and sweat. The heat from the market that morning was already the strong kind that settles on your skin and refuses to move. A woman somewhere behind us was shouting the price of her wares like her life depended on it. Mama Chinedu stepped out with her usual aura and headed straight into the market as if she owned it. In her hands was her list. I followed behind her, carrying our empty bags like I always did, trying not to lose pace with her. Soon, we were moving from stall to stall, buying things without stress. Greeting people as we knew them before. If there was one thing I noticed about the Yorubas in my years in Lagos, it was that they valued respect a lot. It was their culture. Like is a master in the game. Mama Chinedu swerved thro