We call them street hawker, I call them the Street Kings

IN nondescript or faded shirts and shorts, skin blackened by the raw impact of the unforgiving natural elements, they meandered in the busy traffic, adept at dancing back and forth the ubiquitous gridlock as they advertise their wares. They understand the streets, knew when to move so closely, and when to dodge the recklessness of a speeding vehicle. They know how to woo you to patronise them and would accept philosophically when you didn’t.

Their hustle is irrespective of gender: Old and young; male and female; relentless, tough and hopeful. They understand the name and the game of street hustle as they ply their trade. They are smart and also intelligent and at the sight of council men on the streets on sudden raids to seize their goods, they are nimble on their feet and would disappear in a flash.

When you decide to waste their time when they run relentlessly to catch up with you and, at the end, you return their goods to them, you would feel the sting of their lethal tongue as they yelled curses and abuses at you. Some are however innately good people that can show you some directions if you are lost.

Last week, on my way from court in company with a colleague, we watched them amidst the grid lock and in the relentlessly torrential rain as they negotiated the assemblage of slowly moving vehicles. They moved from car to car, hopefully displaying their wares and if they caught your eyes and you looked at them twice, they interpreted it as interest and tried to cajole you. They ran after your car trying to sell their wares. Sell they must because it is a quest for survival; it is daily hustle; it is earning a livelihood.

As we drove past the Dugbe side, just before the headquarters of the Ibadan Electric Distribution Company and close to the junction leading off to Eleyele, a young boy managed to drag his Yoghurt bicycle off the traffic. We slowed down to allow him his clumsy progress but an impatient driver moved closer and blasted his horn almost running him off to fall on the culvert. In that flash, I looked at my friend and I could see empathy and the fact that he understood.  In that instant, it made more meaning and oddly touched us in different ways.The everyday struggle and quest for survival of Nigerians that hustle for their daily living on the dangerous and unforgiving Nigerian roads.

ALSO READ: Children’s Day beyond mere celebration

We call them street hawkers. I call them the Street Kings. We are no stranger to them and, often time, we almost see them as nuisances or as unavoidable eyes sores trying to force on us what we do not really want. Their eyes plead with us and they are often ready to negotiate or bargain to the barest minimum anything to get some money in their pocket. So we take full advantage to bargain and bargain some more. They beg us to consider them, but we continue in our relentless bargain until stripped of all dignity most are forced to capitulate

Our journey continued and as we got to Oke-Ado. We were caught in the gridlock again. The rain fell in drizzles. The streets were flooded, but there were the street kings again, struggling valiantly to sell their wares. One moved close to our car. He carried a tray of oranges on his head; a very young boy who cannot be more than 12 years old. He advertised the sweetness. My friend rolled his glass down and gave him some money. Looking elated, he proceeded to pack the oranges. But my friend told him: “No don’t sell me anything. I don’t want to but any oranges. I just gave the money to you.”

The boy was speechless. Then he began to thank profusely but, as if on cue, the gridlock unsnarled and began to move. The young street king looked to the sky and thanked us. We watched from the mirror and still saw him looking back at our moving car and then up to the sky in gratitude. His shock that someone could show him a random act of kindness left him stunned and his show of gratitude moved us.

Before we begin to see these Nigerians as nuisances, (I am not excusing the lazy ones or those who mimic selling wares just to steal from unsuspecting drivers) we need to pause and consider that these hustlers are simply a reflection of the larger society.  They are a reflection of a society’s struggle and hustle to survive amidst poverty. A people whose will remain undaunted in spite of living in a society of bad leadership who is bent on crushing and destroying them. A people who have found many means to creatively meet the needs of its kind and provide it. A people who bring your needs directly to your nose saving you and me the hassle of looking for it everywhere.

We do not owe them. But our random acts of kindness could actually change their perspective to life and encourage them that there is sunshine after rainy days: That there is still some kindness in the world.