I packed a weekend bag and travelled to Old Street in Hackney. Kenny Sowunmi welcomed me warmly. We headed for Lubis Club in Shoreditch to dance away the Friday night. Kenny’s girlfriend Oriade was with us. She looked sexy in a chiffon blouse and tight-fitting leggings. Kenny is in his forties and Ori in her 30s. They are both warm, hustlers, music lovers, entertainers and serious about the future. I broached the issue of Balikis Ramon. They were not surprised. They have seen too many Balikis species in London they have lost count.
I spent the Saturday morning with Kenny and Ori in Old Street. The day was cold and foreboding. I had a cup of coffee, egg and sardine sandwich and a muscular avocado. Ori left us and went to work. She is a bus driver in London plying central London to Mile End. My phone rang. “Baba Ibadan mo wa ni Dalston lodo K Buka,” Balikis said. “Balikis, bawo ni o. No problem. I go see you soon,” I responded. “Emape o”. I changed into a track suit and an old trainer. I looked bouncy, youthful and street smart. The cap on my head gave me my street cred as a Hackney hard man.
“You are welcome sir. Bawo ni week yin,” Balikis said flashing a wide grin at me. I took my seat and suddenly my phone rang. It was Kenny, detailing all the cooking stuffs I must buy from Dalston on my way back to his flat. Ori too called to say hi during her break from her shift. She too requested some stuffs from Dalston.
From where I sat, a known Rasta hawker in the market came over to show me a winter hat and some gold neck chain. He placed the cap on my head. “Yo, the cap fits ya……gimme some change for that”. “Me no have any change man,” I responded. He blew a kiss at me and wandered away. There was a small commotion nearby. I hated all the little distractions in the busy market, but they kept coming. I saw this Nigerian bloke having a go with a Sri Lankan seller. The guy bought some plantain and yam. He gave out a twenty-pound note. In return the Sri Lankan seller gave out change in pound coins.
Minutes later the Nigerian guy returned to buy a bag of Poundo Iyan. He emptied all the pound coins in his pocket. One of the coins was a Scottish pound. The Sri Lankan man rejected the Scottish pound and demanded for a British pound. The Nigerian man protested and explained that it was the Sri Lankan man who gave him the money in the first instance.
“You gave me this money when I bought yam and plantain”. “No, I didn’t”. “You did”. “Why didn’t you check the money I gave you?” queried the Sri Lankan man. “Well, I never expected you to give me Scottish money”, the Nigerian guy responded. “Just go away, you bastard…fuck off,” the Nigerian guy became abusive. The Sri Lankan guy gave him a dirty look and returned to his shop.
Dalston market can never bore you. There is no dull moment in its foundation. You will find down and out beggars standing in front of the famous Dalston McDonald’s asking you for spare change. Yes, you will find young hookers teasing and luring you to dark alleys for a quickie. There you will find sex-starved Nigerian women whose husbands are in Nigeria looking for takeaways among equally sex-starved Nigerian men sent packing by their wives looking for a hook up.
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“Are you a Christian?” Balikis asked throwing a free Awake magazine given to her by the Jehovah Witness people across the Dalston Station. I answered in the affirmative and accepted the magazine with disinterest. She brought out her phone and showed me the pictures of her three kids in Nigeria. “Olorun, nitori awon omo yi ni mo fi ngba gbogbo egbin ni London yi o,” Balikis held her head and went into a pensive mood. She became emotional and dabbed her teary eyes. All the insults being hurled at her in London was because of survival and the need to provide for her kids.
“Mr T, remember that I promised I will tell you about an attempted sexual assault on me last week? Ok. There was a particular day when this old resident flashed her penis at me. He said that he was an army veteran and had fought war in Africa and Middle East. He asked if I had ever gone to bed with a white man. He ran in and flashed a wad of notes at me asking if I would oblige and give him a blow job. That day I was about to serve dinner to the residents. I was shocked and I did not know what to do”.
I adjusted my chair and looked straight at Balikis. She pursed her lips in disgust and shook her head sideways. She looked at me one more time for assurance. I nodded my head to show understanding.
“This man pulled me to his room and shut the door. He is big and had tattoo all over his body. He grabbed my breasts and pushed me to a settee nearby. I fell but got up fast and put up a fight for my life. He was saying that he will not hurt me and all that kind talk. I ran to his kitchen and got a furniture spray cleaner. I held it and sprayed it on his eyes. He was momentarily blinded, and I made my way out – fast”.
“I reported the whole incident in the office incident report book. When my line manager read it, she called me into his office. She said that she received a phone call last night that I was caught in Mr James Collins, the attempted rapist room, trying to steal his money and that when I was challenged, I then became defensive and violent”.
“I nearly fainted. I was lied against by James Collins. When I relayed what happened, my line manager was sceptical and felt that I was making things up. Infact Mr James Collin’s children when they heard about the incident wanted to press charges of stealing from a vulnerable pensioner under my care against me. We had an internal investigation, and the matter was dismissed”. READ ALSO:
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“Three weeks after the incident, I was transferred to another home. I had heard stories about this home. I was told there were many racists there who openly abuse black carers and called them monkeys and smelly”.
Balikis watcher her time piece. “To ba dose to nbo, a tun ma soro sir,” Balikis said as she disappeared with her shopping trolley. “No problem. Olorun a showa jugba na lo”.
I melted into the maddening crowd of Dalston market picking and dropping stuffs and haggling over all the costs of foodstuffs burden placed on me by Kenny and Ori.
