CHAPTER FOUR: THE FAILED HEIST
983 Words
Oba Market, Benin City.
Two figures crouched behind a stack of holographic plantain crates, their faces obscured by solar-powered sunglasses, as a drone camera rotates the area, the kind of desperation that only comes from owing money to Ogbegbe, the most feared loan shark in Edo State, made them not observe the drone watching them.
"Osaro," hissed the first man, a lanky scarecrow with arms like twisted rope, "tell me again why we’re stealing yams like common criminals?".
Because, Ogie," Osaro snapped, adjusting his smart-glasses which were, inexplicably, set to "X-ray vision" mode and currently showing him the skeleton of a passing chicken, "Oba Erediauwa’s great-granddaughter’s wedding is tomorrow, and the palace promised ten million naira for the biggest yam!"
Ogie blinked. "So… we’re robbing Mama Eghosa’s yam stall… for love?"
"For profit, you i***t!" Osaro groaned, slapping his own forehead and accidentally activating his glasses’ voice recorder. "And also, maybe love. I heard the Oba’s great-granddaughter is fine-fine with Ghanaian hips!".
Mama Eghosa’s yam stall wasn’t just a stall, it was a technological marvel. The woman herself, a broad-shouldered Edo matriarch who could husk a coconut with one glare, sat on a floating stool, monitoring her wares via wrist-projector. Around her stall, laser grids humming at knee-height to deter goats and thieves.
A Holographic Barrier displaying "THIEVES, NO WARNING. JUST TRY AND SEE!" in flashing Edo language.
A Security Robot named "Obaseki-300", programmed by her tech-savvy grandson to tase first, ask questions later.
Plan B," Osaro whispered.
"We never had a Plan A!" Ogie whimpered, his smart-agbada malfunctioning and inflating at the sleeves like a startled pufferfish.
"Exactly! Improvisation is our heritage!"
What followed was the worst attempted heist in Benin history.
Osaro tried to hack the holographic barrier by yelling "PASSWORD: EDOLITE!" It responded by projecting a laughing emoji and playing an ancient Benin song at full volume.
That didn’t work…
Ogie grinned and slid the bottle of ogogoro to Obaseki-300, "Try this, Oga Robot. Premium fuel."
The robot analyzed the liquid with a suspicious whirr, then downed it in one mechanical gulp.
Three seconds of silence.
Then…
KPOOOM!
The robot's optics flickered like a bad neon sign as its voice box glitched.
“EHHHHH! WHEN I WAS A YOUNG ROBO IN MY FATHER’S COMPOUND, BRRRAP
I USED TO CHARGE MY BATTERY WITH PALM WIIIIINE, GLITCH, OYINBO PEOPLE CALL IT ‘ERROR 4-0-4’ HIC!”
Osaro panicked and activated his glasses’ "emergency distraction" feature a hologram of a dancing Olokun goddess. The entire market stopped to watch, including Mama Eghosa, who clapped once and said, "My granddaughter does it better."
Then the lasers turned red.
With a long stick, they tried to carefully drag one plump yam toward freedom.
ZZZT!
The laser sliced the stick in half like bread under a hungry man’s teeth.
Desperately, they climbed through the window like agile bush rats.
They were halfway in when…
WHIR-CLUNK!
Obaseki-300 rebooted with the rage of a generator on a Monday morning.
Before they could move an inch, the security bot tased and grabbed them by their collars like misbehaving puppies and marched them straight to Mama Eghosa, the one woman whose slap could cure stubbornness.
Mama Eghosa dragged them to the Okaegbee market square, where justice was served with advanced tech-flair, her grip tighter than Lagos traffic.
“I’ve watched you two from my cameras since you crept into my yam stall. But I let it play out, my grandson’s tech never fails.”
The whole market square is now crowded with passerby and robot drones.
“You want my yams?" she thundered, her voice amplified by a drone hovering overhead. "Then you’ll entertain for them!"
And that was how two grown men found themselves. Wearing "Smart-Aso Ebi", glow-in-the-dark agbadas, a sharp electric jolt the moment their dancing slowed to a soundtrack of shame mocking their failed heist.
They were also forced to perform Ikpoba-Okha dance moves while drones pelted them with rotten banga fruits and tomatoes.
Lastly, they connected them to a "Shame Stream" their faces broadcast live on Benin City’s most popular hologram channel,
"Gbege TV"
The crowd roared as Obaseki-300, DJ’d the spectacle, mixing Edo folk songs with Afrobeats. Even Chief Iyamu, the sternest elder in the market, was caught on camera doing the "leg work dance" between sips of palm wine.
As the "Gbege TV" host announced "50,000 VIEWS IN 5 MINUTES!". Small Osa, the four foot tall fish seller leaned over and muttered, "You two are the worst thieves I’ve ever seen. Why do you think you would steal from Mama Eghosa and not get caught?.”
Ogie, picking banga pulp out of his dreadlocks, sighed. "We know. We were just desperate,” he muttered, exchanging a glance with Osaro.
“Well, thank your creator I was able to plead for your pardon, if not, your desperation nearly got you cooked like stockfish! Even my tilapia knows stealing from Mama Eghosa is suicidal”. Small Osa muttered back.
Ogie plucked another banga pulp from his hair, this one hitting Osaro's forehead with a wet plop. "Next time," he grumbled, "we’ll rob your fish stall instead."
Small Osa’s grin showed three gold teeth and zero sympathy. "Try me. My catfish bite back."
As dusk fell, the two disgraced thieves sat outside the market, their smart-agbadas finally deactivated.
"Next time," Ogie muttered, "we steal cowbell instead. At least it doesn’t have lasers."
Osaro burst out laughing. "You thought ogogoro would get a robot drunk? Absolute fool!".
"At least I tried something," Ogie shot back. "Your empty skull couldn’t even plan a proper yam getaway."
They traded insults, laughing at their own stupidity.
Just then, Osaro’s malfunctioning glasses beeped. A holographic message flickered to life:
>> UNKNOWN SENDER: "NICE TRY. WANT REAL MONEY? MEET AT UGIE-ERHA SHRINE. COME ALONE. BRING PEPPER SOUP."
Ogie squinted. "Is this a scam?"
Osaro grinned. "Only one way to find out.”
- Writer
