Diary of Femo sledge

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
The story of a street urchin compelled to the harsh realities of life.

Submitted: July 12, 2017

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Submitted: July 12, 2017



Diary of “Femo Sledge”

(Daily Life of a Hustler)

The only mentor I ever had were tough guys who made money from the streets. They were tough, intimidating and ruthless. That, they told me was the law of the street. There was always somebody waiting to knock you off in your moment of weakness so a lot of tough guys realized the need to be alert. Sometimes to kill is to live. You have to knock them off before they got to you or you will be swimming in the bottom of the ocean.

Like Machiavelli said in his book, “the end justifies the means”, the only way we made money was either through runs or doing some dirty jobs for politicians who were fed up with one another. Occasionally, we just ruffle them up to scare the hell out of them. Sometimes, we silence them forever. Nobody should be blamed for this – we just do the job because we had nothing else to do. If we didn’t have any, we simply smoked all day in our “Zanga”. Smoking made us high, lifted our spirits and after that, we visit whore brothels where we fucked the hell out of whores and crawl back into our beds to sleep – that is if we had no other operations.

Most of our friends were runs men – we were not armed robbers who looted people’s property, we simply are hustlers and in the call of our hustle, bad things sometimes happen.

A lot of us found life on the streets, it never looked for us. We were born into it. Our parents had done their best but it was not always enough. Some of us like me maneuvered our ways through Primary, Secondary and University but we never got jobs, so we simply took to the only life which can guarantee us succor. My name is Femi Makinde.  Friends call me “Femo Sledge”. Back then at LASU, I was a rugged frat man. We ruled campus and it was the laws of the streets of Onipanu that guided me through my sojourn in school. When I was in SS2, I almost killed a senior with a sledge hammer and thus earned me the nickname “Femo Sledge”.

I knew my only way out of poverty was for me to instill fear in people and earn their respect. Our mentors were mainly street lords who sent us errands when we were just climbing the ladder. They were uneducated but rich. Very easy money, they simply take over motor garages and control the territory until the street washed them away either through assassination or strange sickness. We are in Africa, so I guess you should understand. Lot of mysterious things happen – Like what happened to “Ajagbe bomboi” in Oshodi. Remember him, he was very popular in the 90s before we had strong men like MC Oluomo. He was both a prince and a role model to some of us.

I know a lot of you want to know why we were not always arrested – that is simple, we know almost every policeman in our vicinity. From the DPO to ordinary constables and we constantly settle them. Some of them smoked Indian hemp with us in the “zanga” so we were familiar with one another. Whenever we had troubles, our god fathers, the politicians once mentioned, simply come to our rescue by bailing us out. Sometimes we got into a complicatedmess and it might take months to get us out of jail but we always got out. It seemed so bad that some of the police officers got tired of seeing our faces in their dingy cells so they simply abandoned or release us.

I am about to introduce you to my world so simply read from this page every week.





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