I was a bad influence

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Calling my childhood difficult would be a gross understatement. Unbearable is a better word—starvation, homelessness, molestations, among other things—I faced them all.

Somehow, I survived. It wouldn't be fair to attribute my survival to my individual bravery. I was brave; maybe I wasn't.

You see, I can't speak on this matter with certainty, but what I do remember is that the street provided solace. I wined, dined, and wilded with strangers in the hood, who later became blood. We call ourselves "blodas."

As early as 7, I mingled with people whom I knew nothing of other than the fact that their kindness tamed the worms that were threatening to pierce through the walls of my stomach.

One of the boys, Tukur, a hunky, fearful-looking dude in his mid-twenties, took a special liking to me. I remember my first Nike sneakers. It was a gift from him. Such gifts became frequent—trousers, shorts, shirts, and other accessories were now mine, courtesy of his kindness. I will wear them to my neighbourhood and have eyes turning and tongues wagging.

Parents and boys in the neighbourhood stared with different expressions. Some looked with admiration, while others looked with indignation, making one think I was an accursed being. Maybe I was.

My dress sense changed. Misery ceased to be my only company. Boys and girls were added to my list of companions. But there were mothers who warned their kids not to come close to me. I couldn't understand why they did. I wasn't violent or known for any vices, at least not yet. I was only a poor little boy who'd been fortunate to be loved by the big boys in the neighbourhood, so I thought.

As my bromance with Tukur heightened, I moved in with him. For the first time in my life, a three-square meal was assured. Life couldn't have been better.

I watched Tukur and his older friends hustle hard in the streets. I knew that it was only a matter of time before I started fishing instead of being given fish.

My integration into Tukur's business line came naturally. In fact, I requested that I be allowed to join him in selling juice. 'Juice,' that's what we called it.

The cops didn't quite like our products, but that was fair because we didn't like them either.

For years, my moves were smooth, and I was never caught. I was good in the game. No one taught me how to push the merchandise without being caught. I grew up in the system, and I saw how it was being done. I might've been only a kid but I was a master of the game.

However, I lost my guard once. A fellow bought a product worth about five hundred thousand naira and consumed it with his friends before me. He paid me and ordered more. I was glad. "Business has never been that good." I muttered to myself.

He ended up consuming products worth a million naira. Then he started complaining about his bank app not responding; he asked that I follow him to the nearest ATM spot, which I did.

Unknown to me, he has messaged our enemies—the cops. While I was waiting to get my money, three men came close. I tried moving a bit further, only to be held by two other men who were coming in the opposite direction.

At that moment, I remembered the commandments I lived by. I had gone against one.

My second commandment says, "With your credit, you get it."

How on earth did I allow someone to get it without his credit?

Anyway, I was in the police net. I wasn't seven at the point of arrest, but I was still a minor.

The truth is, I knew nothing about hard drugs and their danger. I didn't know that what I was selling was called that, nor did I know that I was a dealer in illicit substances. All I knew was that the government and the police hated us for trying to survive in the only way we knew.

It was while at the police station that Inspector Abigail, a young, beautiful lady with an enchanting smile, was sent to educate me and other boys my age on the dangers of drugs.

I was further told that I was a gang member and that my older, kind friends were only grooming me to become one of their gang members. The free things I was getting weren't free after all.

Realisation hit me: "Oh! So, I'm not only a drug leader, but a gang member?"

I see these things on movies but I couldn't imagine being a character in it, in real life.

I now understood the disdainful look I got from some parents.

Truly, they were right to warn their kids against coming to me. I was a bad influence.