I went out to buy fuel after work today. My white ten-litre keg in a ‘bagco’ sack held tightly with one hand to the right handlebar of my bicycle as I rode out.
My hair was braided ‘all-back’ and I wore an orange polo, black cap and faded gray chinos – my father said I looked like a Jumia delivery agent.
No earrings. I had abandoned them in my drawer long ago.
I heard people whisper questions as I rode my bike to the station. It is variations of a familiar question: “Óbinrin abi ọ́kunrin ló nlọ́ yén?; Na geh be dat, abi na boy?; It’s a boy, no it’s a girl”.
Children lightly argued with each other about the answer and adults asked their companions to validate their answers.
I kept riding the the station.
Some children made requests, “Aunty let me ride your bicycle”, they pled and one of them complimented my bicycle, “Aunty your bicycle is fine oh”. That one made me smile and I kept riding to the station.