Stories from a G Boy

Pro 3:31: Envy thou not the oppressor, and choose none of his ways.
Pro 3:32: For the froward is abomination to the LORD: but his secret is with the righteous.


Money is an awesome thing. It opens doors that may otherwise have remained shut, buys respect that normally should have been earned, makes short guys taller and ugly guys “fresher”, camouflages any rough edges a tough underprivileged upbringing may have created, makes a crazy girl that should have been avoided upgraded to “unique” because she’s the daughter of a billionaire, scrambles all sense of logic and propriety, takes a front seat to morality and spirituality when necessary, resurrects or amplifies any latent personalities that otherwise might have remained dormant, you get the point.

So it makes sense that people lose their shit to make money, and make shitloads of it. As usual there are those who go about doing that the right way, usually taking their time and making sure it doesn’t turn their heads in the process; then there are those who want it and want it now and will do anything to get it immediately and in the truckloads.
This second category of people is home to a variety of characters, from politicians to Ponzi scheme geniuses. Somewhere in the middle are the con artists, hustlers, or in Nigerian parlance, the “yahoo boys”. Up until last year, my knowledge about yahoo or g boys was limited. But in the last few months, in fact the last 3 days, it’s been an avalanche of information. Some of the information here I’d heard before, but they took on a new light hearing them from the mouth of somebody who’s in the business so to speak.

About 3 nights ago I was in my neighbor’s apartment charging my retinue of devices since Nepa had not deemed it fit to loan us light for 2 days, there were about four of us in the room, 3 guys and a lady and the gist was plenty, generally it centered on celebrities and money, especially the wealthy female celebrities and the kinds of guys they’d go for et cetera, et cetera.
One way or the other it got around to the fact that a lot of these so called “yahoo boys” weren’t even genuine “yahoo boys” but made their money through rituals and where using “yahoo” to cover it. In case you didn’t get that, let me rephrase it; these guys make money from rituals but since that is apparently viewed with more distaste and revulsion than basic scamming, they hide under the guise of being con artists. In my compound there’s 3 of them, and the guy telling me this was a yahoo guy and you could feel the pain in his voice, like they were giving his profession a bad name. It was fascinating.
Situations like these, I tend to keep quiet or make the appropriate encouraging noises to get the people I’m talking with to continue because invariably the information flows out and I get to have my fill. So that’s what I did and he fed me a lot of stories; I’ll just pick a few and tell here.

First off, when you listen to these guys talk, if you’re not in the know, you’d think they’re business men especially as they call their marks “clients”. So if I mention “clients”, please understand I’m referring to their mugus and magas. Also, since white people have grown wise to the antics of these young men, it’s difficult to hustle the large amounts of money they used to years ago, so like good businessmen, the boys have adapted; it’s either they pool together and construct very elaborate cons or (more commonly) they upgrade to what is called “yahoo plus”.
“Yahoo plus” is where it gets very interesting because the sheer volume and variety of jazz or juju available for them to use is mind boggling. The young man telling me these stories prefers to remain a regular g boy, but when the hustle wasn’t paying he did consider the upgrade so he and a friend visited an alfa. Now the alfa asks them “how much do want to spend in a week? 40m, 30m?” they decide. Then he tells them when he’s done with the “process” the money will be delivered to them every week in a bag by – in the boy’s own words – a monster in human form, I shit you not. It will knock on the door and tell them it has been told to deliver that bag to the occupants of the house. He and his friend didn’t have to kill anybody or anything like that. But he didn’t take the deal, I asked him why, he said every week that thing delivers money to them easy-peasy, no problems, what happens the day it returns to ask for its money back? I didn’t have an answer to that.

He told me of boys who ate random human shit (I refused to use the word faeces because I don’t have to be sensitive to your sensibilities). They’ll drive down the road in their posh cars with loaves of bread and a bottle of hot local dry gin, when they locate a place that looks like where people do their business, they park, enter with their bread and gin, scoop some shit (it doesn’t have to be the whole lump, just a small dollop will do), butter the bread and down the thing, washed down properly with the dry gin. Whatever you believe, this works for them, evident in the kinds of cars they drive and the houses they live in.
Then there were those whose own jazz necessitated a proper beating by – again in his own words, monsters – every night, all night, without uttering even a whimper. If they were able to get through the night without whimpering, crying out or shedding tears, then crap loads of money was delivered to them. He laughed when he told me this because he could see the incredulity on my face. Imagine getting whipped by demons every night, all night without uttering a sound or shedding a tear. I imagine those things won’t be particularly motivated to get you your money so they would put in supernatural effort into the beating to get you to renege on your own end of the deal, they don’t get tired so the beating has a supernatural consistency to it (if the beating was rated at a 10 when it started, it remains at that level all through. No drops, no breaks), they’re never late so if your beating is scheduled for 8 pm, your designated flogger is there to flog your brains out all through the night till 8 am the next morning. That’s 12 hours of supernatural beating, 7 nights a week. I mean, if anybody worked for their money, these guys definitely did.

But by far the most common and sadly, the easiest were the ones that made use of girls. Here the lady in the room contributed, she told me some boys date oloshos/runs girls/prostitutes on purpose because the juju they use requires a steady influx of men. Once the guy has slept with the girl and taken what he needs, every other fellow who sleeps with her contributes to his own “success” spiritually. It didn’t just apply to prostitutes, the guy could do it to any girl he had sex with. It made the whole idea of one night stands significantly more dangerous than they already where.

This post has gone on long enough, I’ll leave some of the other stories for the next post. Those tales are particularly nasty and in some cases gruesome.
Some of the things I said here may be hard to believe especially for those of us who are too educated and too 21st century to believe in the supernatural. But the beauty of it is that whether you believe it or not is absolutely irrelevant. These things happen, they are real and your believing them or not has absolutely no effect whatsoever.
I decided to share these stories because frankly they scared me, and sometimes we need a healthy dose of fear to move us in the right direction.
Cheers, and as my mama always says, keep your eyes open.
Ariel Ugorji


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