Kidnapping Father Christmas: Chapter 2 – Nigerian Christmas Story, Funny, Kidnap Santa Clause, Adventure, Children and Mischief, Free Web Novel, Fabling, Pam
“Oyinbo!” The voice of a short, stout woman sliced through the morning air, erupting from a tiny roadside bungalow in the grittiest part of Isheri. Clad in a worn wrapper, she stormed out onto the narrow, dusty street. “How many times have I told you to stop using my water? USELESS man!”
Oyinbo quickened his pace, muttering under his breath, “This woman and her wahala, I swear.”
“Your mates are out there working, bringing money for their mothers, and my own son is here doing nothing, acting like some stupid king!” she continued, her voice shrill with frustration. “One day, I will shock you! I’ll put magun in that water, just wait and see! Idiot! Ọ̀dẹ́Oshi!” Her tirade carried on long after he had disappeared around the corner.
“Iya Oyinbo, it’s okay now, just ignore him,” a concerned neighbour called out, trying to calm her down.
She turned, shooting a venomous glare at the spectator and her companion. With a hiss of annoyance, she retreated into her house, slamming the door behind her.
As soon as she was out of sight, the spectator turned to her friend, chuckling. “Look at her! When we told her to train her son well, she said we should mind our business. God don catch am.”
Meanwhile, Oyinbo casually strolled into an uncompleted building down a suspiciously quiet alley. The place reeked of neglect, the shadows clinging to the walls like a bad memory. “Ọ̀gbeni! Why you send that bomboy make hin call me this early morning? I resemble your mate?” Oyinbo’s voice was laced with irritation as he approached.
Ọ̀gbeni, a lanky figure with the sharp features of a man who had seen too much, was seated on a crumbling block, puffing on a thick roll of weed. Beside him, Atutu Poyoyo, a hefty man with a perpetual scowl, inhaled deeply from a shisha pipe, the smoke curling around him like a ghostly shroud.
Ọ̀gbeni exhaled a cloud of smoke, his eyes narrowing as he regarded Oyinbo. “Person see you as you dey come here?”
Oyinbo scoffed, his tone defiant. “Your Fada, like say everybody no know say na una den be this.”
Atutu, with a voice as rough as gravel, leaned forward, his massive frame casting a shadow over Oyinbo. “See this fat Ọ̀dẹ́, e bi like say we don dey show you too much face, abi? You don dey forget who you dey talk to?” His words were a threat, and his body language promised violence.
For a moment, fear flickered in Oyinbo’s eyes, but he quickly masked it, trying to hold onto whatever scraps of bravado he had left.
“Atutu, calm down,” Ọ̀gbeni said, his tone measured but firm. “Make hin no run. Oyinbo, we just dey play.” Then his voice dropped, turning serious. “Anyhow sha, we just wan remind you of the plan. Sheybi you don do am ni?”
Oyinbo nodded, trying to sound nonchalant. “Me, I’m calm. I went there yesterday. They don employ me as Father Christmas.”
Atutu barked out a laugh, the sound harsh and guttural. “Good. Make sure you open gate for us, oh. If we carry Baalẹ́’s pikin, you know how much hin go pay? No eff things up, o!”
The weight of their words hung heavy in the air, a reminder that there was no turning back now.
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