THE ILLUSION OF PERFECTION 11

Tayo hesitated on the threshold of the compact, makeshift business center. The air inside was hot, tainted with gasoline fumes. A handful of rough-looking men dominated the space and their chatter was loud and sharp almost laced with agressive energy. They paused, their eyes briefly flicking over his expensive dark blue designer suit before returning to their intense conversation.

Area boys, he concluded, a disgusted frown creasing his brow. Since embracing fame, he had surgically extracted himself from this strata of society ensuring he had no reason to cross paths with these kinds of people. They were beneath his status.

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"But this is different", he rationalized internally, his gaze shifting to the dead iPhone in his hand, "all I need is Just a five-minute charge, enough to buy units online for my prepaid meter."

Keeping his head down, he stepped inside and placed his phone on the counter. The sense of prickling unease in his chest was immediate but he pushed it aside. Two customers were locked in a loud haggle with the woman behind the counter—a tough-looking lady with perceptive eyes. When they finally stormed out, hurling insults that she returned in kind, Tayo paid the fee displayed on a faded placard and earned a spot on the tangle of wires that served as a charging station. 

"It's just a brief wait," he muttered to himself, taking a seat on a wooden bench. The moment the red charging light glowed on his phone, relief loosened the knot in his stomach but it was tragically short-lived.

The already tense atmosphere in the shop suddenly tightened, pulsing with raw, uncontrolled tension as a sharp argument erupted on the far side of the room over something Tayo couldn't figure out. From shouted accusations, it escalated to chest-poking, then violent shoves. A plastic chair flew. It smashed against the wall—just inches from Tayo’s head and chaos exploded in a symphony of grunts, shouts, curses in Yoruba, and the crunch of cheap furniture. 

Tayo froze. His instincts warred between flight versus the desperate need to power the device that held his entire, constructed life. His status needed to be updated, plans for the next days shoots needed to be finalized and his fans would be disappointed—without them he was just another body in the crowd. 

He turned in time and ducked, narrowly missing a stray punch. That was when he scrambled for safety. Snatching his phone, he swore under his breath as the charging rack collapsed in a shower of wires and sparks. Tactfully dodgding flying broken chairs and swinging fists, he moved with surprising agility toward the exit. He frantically pressed the power button on his phone—still dead. Cursing his luck, Tayo decided to swallow his pride and go find Nadia. 

But the exit was blocked by scuffling men. Bracing to muscle his way out of the intense chaos, he decided it was time to ditch the gentleman facade.

Just then, sirens wailed and the men scattered. Tayo hastily moved to slip away, but the policemen pouring from a van blocked him. They stormed the small shop, dragging him inside while barking aggressive commands in a mix of English and Yoruba. 

“Duk e! T’enu m’ole!” They barked. "Face the floor!" Their voices sliced through the noise sending a paralyzing chill down Tayo's spine.

He tried to speak—to explain that he was just a customer, a celebrity, but a heavy calloused hand slapped him into silence, shoving him against the wall. No explanations, no distinctions. It was just a swift application of force as everyone was rounded up. 

The moment the cold clamp of handcuffs gripped his wrists, Tayo's heart lurched violently and his phone slipped from his numb fingers, crashing onto the hard, dirty floor of the shop. Within seconds, he was dragged out with the others and thrown into the cold, oppressive metal rear of the waiting police van. Tayo’s head spun as the crushing gravity of the situation he was in pressed down on him, suffocating his waning composure. 

"God Abeg!" he whispered as a single tear trailed down his cheek.

CONTINUE