Am I a yahoo boy?

Friday. I get back home from work. My face wears the demeanour of a typical 9-to-5 worker in the horrid, dry January weather of sub-Saharan Africa—weak, tired, and famished. I meet Flow, one of my flatmates, outside. He's too dressed for someone who's home in this harsh weather condition we're experiencing. He sits on the pavement attached to the three-bedroom bungalow we're sharing with another young man. A laptop is in its natural position—on his lap. And beside him is a beautiful young woman I'm only getting to meet for the first time. The girl's sober look suggests that they're having some deep conversations.

"Welcome. How's work?" Flow asks.
"I have been used again." I said, spreading my lips to form a dry smile.

"Hi." I turn to the girl, extending my hand for a handshake.
"I'm Mfoniso. What's the name?"
She gave me an Ibibio name. Since the question was more of a social nicety than one borne out of a genuine interest, the name fizzled out of my brain as soon as it entered.

"Nice to meet you." We speak in unison.
"Is Godswill home?" I asked, making my way towards the metallic burglary proof that encased our veranda.
"No," Flow replies.

I open the door. A new look greets me. A large plasma television used by Flow to extend his laptop screen is now in the workspace we set in a space that extends from the living room. If we are regular people, the space should be used for dining. Not just that, his work chair and another of his laptops are in the living room's workspace as well. All these things used to be in the workspace, which he set up in his room.

Also, there's a curtain on the living room window. We've always had curtains on the living room window, but after renewing the paintings in the apartment, we saw the curtains as a minus to the parlour's graceful ambience. So, we took them out, pending when we'll get one that perfectly fits the paintings on the wall.

Overall, the living room looks neater. It's surprising because Flow is more of a silicon nerd. He hardly engages in home chores.
"Could it be because of the girl?" I waved out the thought and went about my routine.

After a good number of minutes, Flow comes in.
"That's Ak's babe." He says.

Ak is Flow's childhood friend. They were in the maritime academy together. While Flow changed his career path and taught himself computer programming, his friend, AK, is still in the sea, working on ships. He met the girl on Instagram. Meanwhile, AK has been in the sea for over a year, so he's never met his girlfriend. He, however, asked her to come meet his childhood friend, Flow.

"I want to drop her off. I will be back shortly." Flow says, dropping his laptop on the work table.

Flow comes back. He explains to me that the temperature in his room became unbearable, and there is a chance that the gadgets contributed to the heat.

"I can't help but move them out here." He said.

Godswill and Flow, my flatmates, are both software developers, which means they spend a lot of time on their laptops. I, on the other hand, want to be at the cutting edge of knowledge. So, I also work and research with my computer as well.
Peeping through our parlour at night is an interesting sight. It's a mini-cyber cafe. You'll see three young men scattered in every corner, punching their laptop keys with so much ferocity.

We perfectly fit into the stereotypes of cyber criminals in Nigeria, popularly known as yahoo boys on Nigerian streets. Suave young men, sporting luxurious beards, braids, and dreads, who have no conventional jobs but are mostly seen punching their laptop's keys.

Software development experts are alien to many Nigerians. People who do such work shouldn't be their next-door neighbours; they should be in space or somewhere close to the moon. That's their thinking.

Our music hasn't helped. Yahoo boys are celebrated in our music lyrics and hyped in clubs. So many yuppie men with laptops are seen as Internet fraudster. In fact, a neighbour who was so sure that we were cyber criminals and was so concerned for our safety advised us to always cover our windows with blinds because neighbours have been nosing around, spreading rumours that we're yahoo boys. He even said that a police officer, who's our neighbour as well, planned to come pick us up on suspicion of internet fraud.

We laughed it off and assured him vehemently that we have no skeletons in our closets. We went further to disclose to him that we've anchored a lot of training on software technology and digitalization for our state government, so we have absolutely nothing to be scared of. After the warning, we continued our lives with no urge to get curtains for our living room window.

Saturday. The brightness of the day is fast disappearing. The signs are clear. The earth is about to be swallowed by darkness. I'm lounging on a couch in the living room, fiddling on my phone. Flow is sitting on the floor, reclining his back against the same couch I'm on. He's got a laptop on his lap.

In the hazy room, I feel a presence in front of me. I raise my head. Godswill is facing me. He speaks in a hushed tone. I look at his lips through the dusk to pick up what he is trying to pass on.

"SARS are arresting one of our neighbours."

SARS is an acronym for the Special Anti-Robbery Squad, a special unit in the Nigerian police force. A few years ago, Nigerian youth massively protested against their existence, owing to their brutal, ruthless, inhumane, and unethical mode of operation. They were said to have been disbarred by the federal government of Nigeria, but that isn't the case.

Coincidentally, the same neighbour who advised us so as to avoid being arrested is the one being picked by the police. His apartment is close to Godswill's room. We all tiptoe to Godswill's room to spy on the situation.

Interestingly, if those SARS operatives had come when we had no curtain over our window and a lightbulb was switched on either in our parlour or our verandah, there's absolutely no way they wouldn't have pried into our apartment. Since we fit into the stereotypes of cyber criminals in Nigeria, they'll either bust into our apartment that very evening or keep us on the radar pending an eventual arrest.

Even though we would've gotten out of the police net after arrest, time and resources would've been wasted, and our names would've been soiled. The best thing that happened is that the cops came just a day after our window was covered and lights were switched off both outside and inside our apartment.

I can't help but think, Was it just a coincidence that Flow decided to cover the window that very day, or did he have some sort of premonition about that?

I mean, even after the advice we got, we've lived without the curtains for weeks without caring.

Whatever the case is, I'm glad to have stayed out of trouble and hope to remain trouble-free for the rest of the year.

PS: The photos are originally mine.