Free Born on a Tuesday by Elnathan John

repelled by Hogan’s left hand. He tries again, and almost trips as Hogan dodges and gives way. The crowd sighs with relief. As Labo tries to regain his balance, Hogan leaps into the air and sinks his right fist into Labo’s jaw. Like a sack of beans he goes down, his eyes half shut. The audience screams and the drummers become even more animated as the match comes to a premature end. People applaud and chant: A-mi-nu! Ho-gan!
    Hogan chants, prancing about, waving his right hand in the air:
    Ba mu dogara ga laya
    Ba mu dogara ga tsafi . . .
    I need to pee before the next match. Outside the empty, fenced-in field, which is used for dambe, people are selling cigarettes, pure water and soft drinks. I go out behind the wall, away from the people chatting in groups. As I squat, I notice three Keke Napeps parked not far away to my right. The tricycle in the middle rocks gently. I move closer and hear the sound of a girl suppressing a scream. I listen again and realise her cries are not of pain. After a few seconds a man pokes his head out from the Keke and sees me. He hurries out adjusting his trousers and runs off, away from the fence. The girl follows after him a few seconds later.
    As I walk back to the dambe arena I pass by a ‘dan daudu leaning on the fence speaking to another man. I know he is a ‘dan daudu because of all the tozali around his eyes and his voice, which sounds like that of a woman, and the way he is clapping and twirling his hands like a woman and the scarf, which sits lazily on his head.
    â€˜Alhaji, I hear you are very demanding,’ the ‘dan daudu says to the man, ‘don’t worry I have your exact match. If you say yes I will send her to you later. But this one costs more fa. You know how sweet soup costs money.’
    The man laughs, dragging on his cigarette. ‘OK, send. Let her just not complain.’
    â€˜Yes, can I help you?’ the ‘dan daudu shouts to me when he notices I am staring. I walk away quickly.
    Sheikh’s voice keeps me from enjoying this dambe. Instead of going back in I walk past the gate in the direction of the main road that leads to the mosque. I hear his voice in my head calling the dambe ground the house of Shaitan, where all sorts of kufr and haram are enjoyed. This is the second time I have been here and I feel ashamed of myself, of allowing the cheering to attract me to this place we have all been warned about. I hope no one from the mosque saw me go in there. I do not like this guilt and hiding and feeling like a kafir. I will not come back.

Jibril
    Sheikh has a lot of books in his office. I have read them all except the ones in English and the unopened ones in the cartons. He gets a lot of books as gifts, many even from outside Nigeria. It’s a shame I can’t read the ones in English. Sometimes when I don’t understand the Arabic words or know their meaning I just memorise them and ask Sheikh later. I have a small Arabic to Hausa dictionary which I used until I memorised all the words in the dictionary and knew their meanings. Sheikh has a bigger dictionary but it is an Arabic to English dictionary. I want to learn English.
    Each time Malam Abdul-Nur or Sheikh speak on the phone in English, I get lost listening to them. It sounds soft and easy like one does not need to open one’s mouth a lot or use a lot of air or energy. With Arabic one uses everything, the neck, the jaws, the tongue. Especially the throat. I don’t think the words touch the throat when you speak English. It just comes out with the air.
    Sheikh must have many more books in his house. Many times I wonder how his house looks on the inside. Not many people I know have been there. Everyone claims they have been, but when I ask specific questions it becomes clear that they are lying. The rumours are that his first daughter, Aisha, who hardly ever leaves the house, is very beautiful. I have never seen her before so I cannot judge for myself.