Pink Jackets and White Socks: The Soft Side of a Nigerian Showboy, the Isoko Boy

I don’t do cute.

At least that’s what people think when they see me at Enerhe Junction at 2am.  

Leather. Dark jeans. Face that says “don’t try me.”  

That’s the uniform for work.

But this? 

This is me at 3pm on a Tuesday.  

Pink and brown jacket. Pearl necklaces. White socks pulled up to my knees.  

Sitting inside a claw machine like I’m the prize.  

Surrounded by Pikachu, Togepi, Spheal. All soft. All plush. All quiet.

Someone took this picture and asked me, “Why you look so serious?”  

Because I am.

The Soft Armor

People think being a showboy means you have to be hard 24/7.  

Like if you smile too much, someone will think you’re weak.  

Like if you wear pink, the streets will eat you alive.

So I built armor. 

By night, it’s black. It’s silence. It’s “how much” and “what time” and “don’t call me after.”  

By day, it’s this. 

The pink jacket my little cousin said made me look like a cartoon character.  

The pearls I bought because I was tired of chains that felt like handcuffs.  

The Pikachu tattoo on my leg that I got when I was 17 and still believed in heroes.

This is the me that existed before the club. Before the tele. Before I learned how to leave my heart at home so it wouldn’t get broken.

Two Versions of the Same Person

Here’s the truth no one tells you about this life:

You don’t stop being a person just because your job is to be wanted.  

At night I’m the fantasy. The one guys chase, pay for, and forget by morning.  

In the day I’m the kid who still wants to win something from a claw machine and keep it.

I sat in that machine for 10 minutes. Didn’t move.  

The attendant was confused. “Bros, you no wan grab toy?”  

I just shook my head.

For once I didn’t want to be the one doing the grabbing.  

For once I wanted to be the one someone was trying to win.

Not buy.

Not rent for the night.

Win.

Like I mattered enough to keep.

Why I Posted This

I almost deleted the photo. 

Thought people would laugh. “Showboy dey do soft life.”  

Thought the guys I see at night would see it and think I’m not serious.

Then I remembered something:

Once a good boy goes bad, people expect him to stay bad forever. 

They expect the leather. The cold face. The “I don’t care.”

But nobody asks what made him bad in the first place.

Nobody asks what he looked like before.

This is what I looked like before. 

And this is what I still look like when I’m not performing.

So Which One Is Real?

Both.

The guy at Enerhe Junction is real.  

He pays bills. He survives. He doesn’t get played twice.

And this guy in the claw machine is real too.  

He likes Pokemon. He likes bright colors.  

He still hopes someone will look at him and not see a price tag.

I used to think I had to pick one. 

That I had to kill the soft boy so the showboy could live.

But I’m tired of killing parts of myself to make other people comfortable.

So here I am.  

Pink jacket. White socks. Serious face.  

In a claw machine with Pikachu.

Take it or leave it.

Behind the nightlife and the money is a person. This is what I look like when I’m not working.

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P.S. Which version of me did you expect to see today?  

The one in the club, or the one with the plushies?  

Drop it in the comments. I’m reading.