SE.
Panting heavily as he flattened his back against the wall, he waited for the mob to run pass. As their noise faded with distance, he took a reroute and sped with heavy thuds. His cross-bag seemed to be a resistance to motion, he pulled the adjuster and tightened it around his body.
He ran into one of his pursuers, a fat man dabbing his jaw with a red hankie, catching air. The man wound his fat hands around him, grinning, his breath fouled with alcohol.
Easier than he had taught, just a body twist, and the fatso's butt was kissing the earth. Quickly before moving on, he looked back. He saw the approaching crowd; hands raised, some with stick, some without. Their roar was like a mighty ocean. He spoke with his legs, they heeded the call!
He ran through buildings; one man's frontage being another's backyard, through toilets and dunghills along leg constructed routes and pathways. As he raced through, he said with brief breaths, "Lagos nawa, Ajegunle, nawa wa!" Each time his head turned back to calculate the physics within him and them, it was impossible. It was as though the mob and himself had magnets on their heels. Speed needs focus. Being the fastest on his team, he wondered how boys from the street were able to close in reducing distance. Perhaps no chance. Maybe there are people better than he is, but the cloud only needed a drop of rain for them to sprout.
Soon, he ran into a yard, a dead end. There was a net fence. But beyond, he could see a field. He looked back, the pursuers had halved. A good thing, perhaps tiredness weaned them out.
He pulled his body behind his legs for an abrupt stop. He took two steps backward and ran towards the fence. Clawing the wires, he climbed and landed on the other side with his legs bent at the knees, to avoid shock. He ran through the field and went into the football court. Looking for a favorable spot for his run, he saw the mob coming from the either side of the field. He took a sharp turn backward. Few meters behind him was the other half of the mob, coming for him. About three were still scaling the fence.
Oh God. His life flashed before him in milliseconds. His team, what would become of them? He taught of his dead father, his son was coming to meet him soon. He taught of Natalie, his girlfriend. He taught of coach. Coach had warned him not to coming to Lagos, but he had adamantly said Lagos was the real world he felt cool to be a part of. The money and the engagement ring in his cross-bag too. He blinked to reality.
The crowed cheered. He knelt on his two immediately. "Please, you must be mistaken. My name is Shegs."
"Shut up." A guy with the same dread as his said. "Na why you con worry us like that?"
"I am sorry. I was scared, so I ran. My name is Shegs Okoro, a player of the Supa Strikas FC, in Strikaland."
"Shoo, we know na." A guy with a feminine voice replies. He is standing in front of Shegs. "Na why we bin dey follow you na."
"We bin want make you show us some skill wey we dey see you perform for your club ni na." A short guy with a Newyork scarf tied around his neack said. "See ball for here. Stand up and play for us na, you con dey do like small pikin." He tossed the ball to him.
"You mean, you wanted me to show you some skills, that was why you pursued me?" Shegs stuttered as he gradually rose to his feet.
"We no pursue you, we run follow you ni. You no be thief na." The guy with the feminine voice spoke.
Another guy with a singlet and short replied, "And as e be like this, you no say no plenty food for Baba regime. So just do normal, after you play ball finish, just bless the boys dem some money to take high. Abi, the ogogoro for market no go drink esef na, shoo?" The crowd spoke with words overlapping, "Na so." "Sure." "Yes keh."
"That's all?" Shegs Okoro asked.
"Gaskia" a voice whose face he couldn't pick came through.
Shegs sighed.

Nice 1