Your heart's throbbing amplifies like a sound engineer testing microphones by tapping it, as you inch closer to your target.
You saw him-your target, a white guy-answer a call earlier and casually slid the phone into his back pocket afterwards. That was all the invitation you needed.
You've been pilfering since you were 7; from picking some sweets when you came to buy Lipton from mama Amaka to tucking one or two cloths under your shirt whenever you accompanied a friend to a boutique as you grew older, but just like the first time, your heart always threatens to explode.
Close enough to your target in the ever busy Ramat park, but you needed a distraction; Something to divert his attention.
The Zebra crossing and traffic light ahead, combined to halt movement long enough bring you to the closest proximity to his back pocket. As the light turned green, so was his phone taking residence in your palm.
"Oboy, you don obtain person again abi?"
"Baba, you know everything na," you let out without gazing at the person talking, as you struggled to fathom the high level of tech in this new phone. Its nothing like you've ever seen.
Something was off.
How does a white guy with a phone of such alien technology not have as much as a password security? You ask.
The phone was an embodiment of science, alien tech and witchcraft!
Your curiosity leads you to probe further.
With each click and swipe, you get sucked into it's world. A world where you get to learn that the phone is a pathway, a sort of dark hole to an ancient white confraternity.
And there's no way back.
