Chapter 5: Heat Crawls Lagos Streets
Morning broke hot like freshly baked Agege bread on Herbert Macaulay Avenue; I knew trouble simmered for Danella like uncontrolled akara oil in a brazier left too long in Ajegunle's narrow alleys where scavengers rummage past midnight. The POS store's air conditioning fought valiantly but Lagos heat seeped in like persistent sweat on a Surulere traffic jam afternoon when okadas weave reckless as maddened mosquitoes. I glanced at Danella's boutique off Ojuelegba through my phone's WhatsApp – she'd messaged me _"Confidence, Lily just burst in here"_ like announcing harmattan harm before anyone coughs Ajah.
Lily burst into Danella's boutique like a sudden gust off the Lagoon carrying smells of Victoria Island's posh restaurants mingling with street suya vendors' smoke; wrappers swished like celebrant's agbada as customers blinked startled like goats caught mid-feed in a Balogun market stall corner. Ankara prints fluttered like wounded birds amid chiffon scarves piled like offerings to an impatient goddess Danella seemed to appease with careful smiles. I pictured it vividly – Ojuelegba's chaotic rhythms, people buying bubbling gari mixes for eba like they'd die without tomorrow's swallow.
"Danella, I can't fake it," Lily said, voice dropping low like nightclub bass vibrating past shanties on Bar Beach's fringes where homeless sleep fitfully near wealthy folks' beach parties. Her eyes burned like kerosene lanterns old Ikorodu women light for night markets; Danella deflected soft like adding cool water to boiling plantain pot on a Victoria Island mansion stove where stewards serve amala to ogas.
"Lily, Ella's my girl…" Danella said like balancing words on tightrope spanning Third Mainland Bridge's crazy Lagos traffic.
Lily cut sharp like broken bottle shards on Surulere's reckless okada paths where young men gamble lives daily: "Ella had Zubi. You're mine." Air sliced; boutique patrons gasped like evangelicals catching altar call fervor at a Redeemed Church Lagos service where Pastor Enoch Adeboye preaches fiery salvation. Boutique workers froze like tenants hearing landlord's midnight knock in dodgy Ikorodu estates notorious for area boys extortion.
Danella pushed back gentle but firm like a Mushin mama separating fighting toddlers over broken kiddies' plate at bukka joints serving cheap jollof rice to hungry Apapa port workers: "Lily, don't burn bridges."
Then – slap! Sound cracked like motorpark whip; Ankara prints danced like leaves in Ikoyi harmattan as boutique mirrors shook subtle like okada handlebars riders clutch hard dodging Agege potholes. Customers scattered brief like seeing police SARS van screech Alaba market – saw Lily storm out like mad March rain downpouring Apapa streets chaotic with importers' trucks.
"Bessy Danella, you okay?" I asked rushing mental support like sending naira airtime to strugglers in distant Ajah estates via my POS phone – eyes wide like witnessing road crash on Third Mainland Bridge where Lagos drivers play kamikaze.
"I'm fine… but drama's rising," Danella said like counting dangerous beats between breaths in shallow Lekki Phase 1 flats where expats drink imported gin discussing Boko Haram quiet.
Fallout unfolds like torn wrappers Balogun market style. Ella heard – she texted Danella "What happened???" – curious like cat peeking Lekki market stalls amid posh flats selling dadawa spice like gold dust rich homes. Ojuelegba boutique workers whispered like palm wine tapers clustering Yaba night joints infamous yahoo boys cyber scams; Danella's name swirled like pepper soup ingredients vendors hawk Oshodi. Zubi called Danella: "Tell Ella… I still care." Words landed mysterious like harmattan fog creeping Lekki rooftops silent past ogogoro brewers' shacks Apapa. Lily threatened dark: "If you don't pick me, Danella… I break everyone." Promise hung like loaded pistol in Alaba market thug's waistband near piles pirated DVDs; fear crawled Lagos streets subtle.
I warned Danella low like praying quietly past eavesdropping neighbors in Mushin tenements crammed like sardines Agege bakeries: "Bessy, Lagos deceptions cut deep like rusty cutlasses old farmers hide."
Confrontation blazes Tastee Fried Chicken Agege Road. Later at Tastee Fried Chicken on Agege Road – jollof rice steam fought rising anger like rival smells in Balogun chaotic market selling everything contraband; plastic chairs creaked like okada brakes bad Ikorodu roads.
Ella confronted Lily sharp: "You hit her?!" Voice shattered like dropped enamel plate on cold Surulere tile kitchens; patrons froze eating suya like seeing agberos tokunbo car touts fight.
Chairs crashed; they tangled like fighting wrappers scrap Balogun traders' brawl over fake Ankara bales. "Wetin dey happen?!" patrons shouted anxious like witnessing Magodo land riots thugs burn; Danella pulled them apart like calming wawa wood fire lest whole Ajah neighborhood burn Lagos petrol bomb chaos.
"You losing me, Lily," Danella said firm like oga sacking lazy houseboy Ikoyi; Lily snarled like cornered agbado rat Idumota gutters dark.
Zubi messaged again: "Danella, meet me Eko Hotel tomorrow. Secrets." Like Lagos Island CMS ghosts whisper colonial past Brazilian Quarters.
Night falls Lagos deception web. Lagos night swallowed streets like egusi soup darkness; Danella messaged: "Confidence, fear grabbing me like Yaba okada riders seeing police checkpoints." I replied: "Bessy hold tight. Lagos night dangerous." Phones buzzed like pos machines bad networks Surulere; shadows danced Bar Beach like Festac Town '77 Fela rhythms distant.
Drama swirls Danella like Lagos traffic vortex Lagos Island Bridge; who'll crack next in this tightening web of Deception Lagos-style where love hurts like broken shoes Ajegunle ghetto paths?
Characters breathe Lagos air thick like pepper soup; endings loom like harmattan haze Ajah creeks – unclear, cutting.
End of Chapter 5