SUGAR BOY

The pain and love we both share

I was still in shock from seeing someone so excited to see me. The whole world is starving for energy. Seeing someone willingly use theirs to tell me he is happy to see me is beyond wild. I stopped and responded with my body language, saying, “I see you, my dear friend,” and a smile that told how much happier I was to see him.

Sugar Boy was not one of those mad, crazy people I knew. He was so much closer to my heart. He was a friend to me. He wasn’t like my everyday friends or a passerby from my street. He was a man with morals.

A mentally unstable man whose coping mechanisms are Coca-Cola and cigarettes, living a meaningful life—one as meaningful and important as everyone else’s.

He was in a dark place. To the rest of the world, he was lost beyond recovery. He was regarded as “half a madman,” a peaceful, going-mad man whose primary wants and needs are a bottle of Coca-Cola and cigarettes.

He had been deported from the States for many crimes and a cocaine addiction, and was now staying in Nigeria. He moved just blocks away from his mom for closure.

Whether he works or not, no one has a clue. All we know for sure is that every morning, Sugar Boy goes to collect his daily requirements from his mom.

He is always back home with a smile-filled face and a bottle of ice-frozen Coca-Cola in his hand. He leaves by 7 in the morning, waking up as if he has been thinking about the Coke he’s going to get the next day before going to bed.

At night, he sits quietly where he buys his cigarettes and smokes a couple of hours away, just watching people pass by—watching how people end their day just as he does his.

He’s just another weed in society—a weed with flowers. His beautiful smile tries to hide, but still shows how old he is. His unsteady walk shows how bent his back has become from the everyday walk to his mother’s place.

I wrote this story because he is a friend to me, and I want the reach of the world to see my brother from another mother—a simple man with morals.

His government name is Roy. He got the name Sugar Boy from his need for Coca-Cola and his attitude in the neighborhood. Like a child with sweets in his mouth, Roy was always happy. He is never sad, but too quick to anger.

He gets angry when people make a fool of him. He gets paranoid if he is ever delayed in getting his daily fixes. But besides all that, Roy is a sweet man-boy.

There is never a dull moment when he’s around. He is either the only one talking at the table or the talk of the table. People throw small, silly jokes—often about his looks or what he says. But he never really talks straight. His words are always hard for the regular ear to understand.

Lately, I myself have been in a bad place—a dark place. No sign of light, just the foul play of people making jokes about me. Just like Roy, I am the talk of the table.

Either it’s about my long, messy hair or my past that never seems to stay in the past.

Either way, I live.

Even with all the eyes of people pointing directly at me and their mouths making dirty pleasure for their hearts from my presence—

I live.

And more importantly, I saw Roy in the darkness. His presence was a light in my life. So whenever his mouth creates pleasure for his heart from my presence, I feel blissful to be alive.

Whenever his soft, watery eyes give my heart the sign to smile, I come alive.

I’m alive in this dark place because a friend of mine lives here.