Certain places are designated as enclaves of commercial activities, exclusively for business concerns in many commercial cities around the world. These hubs usually house big corporate organisations that help drive the economy. In this first post of a series, Ibemesi John paints a picture of ‘Broad Street’, the good, the bad, the hagglers, the heart pacing hustle for goods and services in the commercial nerve centre in the former capital city of Nigeria, Lagos.

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The sun was at its brightest, crowd of people breezing down the street, buses blowing their horns, traders hawking, different kinds of music bursting through the street, containers in numbers arriving simultaneously, it was Monday morning, a new week, a fresh start for the rookies and continuation of business for the veterans. Monday’s meant a bright start, many believed if sales on this day is good, the rest of the week will be overflowed with success.

A beautiful jeweler, light skinned female with a beautiful smile, always had her own style of fashion and gave the other women on “Abia line” something to ponder about and a perfect distraction for the men. Her shop always had people clustering, making their way in just to buy with hope of re-selling while others came to take close looks at her with in pretext of buying. Her charm fetched her loads of customers, daily business for her was good. She was rumored to have properties all over the state.

Another glance across the street, had groups of people quickly packing up their merchandise, the little they could gather, running in different directions screaming “awon fashola ti de o”, (Fashola’s men have arrived) while scampering and disappearing into shops and narrow path ways . The task force always came unannounced, they impound goods of traders that are oblivious of their arrival. It is illegal to sell standing on the streets, yet must still pay for any good standing spot you find. The touts called this “security money”, yet are always the first to run off upon the arrival of the men from the Task force.

On this day, the inspector was in no mood for jokes, with his tribal marks fiercely drawn on his face, looking more like a scar from a street fight. His complexion was very dark and mean, eyes blood shot, belly big and formed like a pot. He instructed that the goods be taken to the office, while shouting a big warning to other sellers before taking a sip from the bottle of Alomo bitters he carried with affinity like a purse on himself. After he entered his truck and zoomed off, an air of mystery blossomed on the street.

Before task force men came, I was about purchasing a mobile phone pouch from a teenage boy who sold his wares from a wheel barrow. We weren’t done with the bargain, I still had the pouch in hand and sighting the young boy who stood arms folded and watched his goods as they were carted away he was in shock, I could he was in shock. I approached him as he still stood motionless in awe and gently handed over the phone poach back to him and then he walked helplessly towards the task force office, disappearing in the crowd .

In this time of constant labour and hustle, I can recall very few particular incidents that separate themselves from the surrounding that made this street, this was a deeply disturbing moment ,one that collapsed a dream .The good, the bad ,the “pitiful”.Not everyday is a good day but everyday remains a healthy opportunity. The struggle continues.

Read more: http://thebusinessaim.com.ng/the-mug-on-broad-street-the-day-fasholas-men-came/