Title: STREET PRINCE [Chapter 1] || Written by Aooms

Chapter 1:  A price is born….


Life in Lagos is crazy but life on the island is crazier, mainland land street boys are no match for the islanders.  We are the definition of street.  I was born in a clinic on island.  The street is in my blood but before I start going into details, let me notify you that in the street we have 3 kinds of thugs, we have the Boasters, the Doers and the Thinkers.

The Boasters are the lousiest, they make a lot of noise boasting they can do everything, the virtually use their mouth to create good reputation for themselves, they make a lot of trouble also…

The Doers are usually the head of a various groups of thugs and cults, they hardly boast, they do more of fighting, they don’t look for trouble like “the boasters” but if you go and find their wahala, your generation won’t be able to appease them until they satisfy their anger.

And the Thinkers usually end up being the errand boy for both “the Boasters” and “the Doers”.  Only a few usually end up being a leader of any thug gang, any thinker who is a leader of a gang, naturally has a high IQ but probably unfortunate not go to school or maybe he just chooses the way of the streets…

Well, unfortunately for me, that’s where I fall, “The Thinkers”. But thank God for the kind of parents I have, I was opportune to go to school.  At age 5, I had already started fingering my classmates whenever they force us to sleep, I was also used to taking alcohol, most of my street aunties had started giving me different kind of kisses, I was handsome, intelligent and smart, I was also prayerful, but way too honest.  That was my problem I always ended up, telling my father, all the things I have done for the day.  It drove some big aunties away from me because my mother had to warn them.


At age seven, my father felt if right to protect me spiritually.  One evening he just took me to one Hut that was located in the middle of an incinerator, well l as a small boy, All I could do was obey father.  As we entered the Hut, the Hut was all covered with white cloth, in few minutes an elderly man came in, he had no shirts on, just a white wrapper tied around his waist.  He sat down and had lengthy discussion with my dad mostly, while mum paid attention to every detail of their gist, as for me my parents never allowed me to speak Yoruba, so there was a limit to which I could hear what they were saying and I was terrible at speaking the language.

In after what seems like hours of gisting, my dad was now quite, and it was the man that was doing all the talking, it was later on I came to realize he was speaking incantations, by then he told me to kneel down and took off my shirt, he used razor blade to mark my forehead three times, he repeated the same process to the back of both of my palms, then my foot.  [well Yoruba tradition, it’s called “sin-gbere” which means fortification].  But that was not all, I also had to eat from a small black pot, what was in the black pot looked like sacrifice herbalist do offer to spiritual beings, believe me this was way bitter than licking a madman’s skin.  I was also made to swallow a black egg; the things I was eating were getting too much that I almost wanted to throw up.


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Kai, ewoo!!  The old man scolded me, it was forbidden for me to throw up.  I had restricted myself from throwing up. Thank God though, it seems I was through with swallowing things because he just kept reciting his incantations as he kept hitting my chest with his hands.  You can go, he finally said.  I went back to sit with my parents, not long after a young girl of around my age, came in with big with calabash, the Calabash had this Irresistible saint, behold when she dropped the Calabash, it was filled with boiled goat meat but even after the girl dropped the Calabash and headed outside, my eyes were all over her, I could sense a strange aura oozing out of her. My dad had tap to me to stop looking, the old man just laughed, leave you son alone, he said, he now recognizes his own, as from today he can tell the difference between good and evil ogbanje.  By the way that’s my daughter, a blessing from the gods themselves.  You never can tell you two might meet yourself again, he gave wild grin towards me as turned towards my dad.  We ate and drank, before my parents and I left for home.

Well, I don’t know what my father was afraid of, but 2 months after my spiritual baptism, my dad did not seem to be satisfied, so he took me to celestial church, where I was baptized, I even became visionary, I could not only see spiritual beings, now I could also see visions, I became an elder in church, I was youngest elder of the church.  Towards December of the same certain year that I clocked 7years, my mum decides I should focus more on being a Catholic, that she does not like the caliber of people she was seeing at the celestial church, hooligans, thugs and too many conductors and Okada riders.  My dad agreed that I should stick to Catholic, since they noticed that children of rich men that are educated mostly go to Catholic Church.  That’s I how I became strong Catholic member, I was baptized, my baptismal name was Constantine, the celestial church also gave me baptismal name which was Michael while the old man I was taken to earlier by parents said he is ok with my real name which was Jason.


So now you know who I’m, I’m Jason michael.

My baptismal name is Michael Constantine.

Now that you know my whole background, let the story begin……









9ja Story: All stories written by Aooms #Aooms