𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 (𝐀 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧-𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥) ✔

- 1 -

__________________________________
Strapped
/strapt/
• Short of money. ________________________________

Being broke is a different world on its own. It could let you do a lot of things. Kill, steal, destroy. To cut it short, being broke meant being the devil and I'm not being overly dramatic.

Love of money they say is the root of all evil but trust me, poverty is the dogoyaro. I've been looking for someone to cut soap for me but na by soap? What if I run mad or worst, thunder to strike me.

No one knows me, hoping for them not to either. Poverty runs in my family and might continue if I don't stop it soon.

But first, a proper introduction should be done. Hi, I'm Hope Prince but officially changed my name to Cherry Jesus.

Sometimes, I wonder why my parents named me Hope. What was I hoping for? My parents, parents' relatives, ten siblings and whatever blood relation there was, were all poor and my Parents sat down in their own convenient time to name me Hope? So laughable.

Let me not get started with Prince. How my grandfather found such fine name was beyond me. Looking at my background, no one will close their eyes and dash us royalty.

These were the reasons I decided to change my name. Cherry was more modern-like and sophisticated for a girl like my taste and Jesus? Well we all do need that nigga in our lives.

"Who be that person wey carry my pant?!" I closed my eyes with a long sigh. This was the specs of living in a face me - I fight you compound. You don't need television in your room. Just come out of your house like me and enjoy the show in 4k.

"Christabelle, come out o. Them don steal Mary pant." My roommate Christy merged out of the room within seconds, breathing like she had just ran a marathon. She was putting on a spaghetti stripe tank top that showed so much cleverage as her nipple poked against her top. Won't forget about the washed Jean bumbshort she decided to match with the top, which barely covered her ass cheeks as she took the space beside me while popping gum from her mouth.

Christy loved revealing cloths. No one was complaining, knowing she had the perfect body for those outfits.

"Wahala no too much? Who come do this one?" Christy asked like I knew the answer to such question. "Mary go para sha o."

"She don even start." Christy like I said, was my roommate. How we met, was so funny. I was twenty-two while Christy, twenty-four. We were both graduates and matured hustlers. Christy being the potential ashawo she was, got her the expensive iPhone, Apple watch, Apple laptop, expensive cloths, jewelries, shoes and wigs.

I remembered when I wanted to be a part of her work, so I got up early the next morning with my wrapper and towel so I could have my bath in our infectious public toilet. All of a sudden, grandfather appeared and slapped me. I woke up from sleep sweating like a Christmas fowl, while scrapping the idea of ever being a harlot out of my head. But how on earth would I hustle when no white collar job was forth coming?

"I swear, anybody that stole my pant should better vomit it before I travel to ekpoma and come back with seven days charm." Christy and I looked at each other, then back at Mary.

Mary was a tenant at our compound. She had a pretty shape but I couldn't say the same for her face. She was also dark- sorry, I made her sound fair. She was also black, gaining the nick name ancient of days from Christy and I.

"Em.... Sorry o, Mary." Christy called, gaining Mary's attention. I knew right there and then she wanted to look for trouble. "Abeg describe your pants for us. No be say I dey laugh you o but you know, we fit see am and we no go know."