The Zobo Incident
by @darab
If there was one thing Zainab Aminu hated more than waking up at 5:30 AM for morning devotion, it was Lagos heat.
The afternoon sun over Crestview International College, Lekki Phase 1, was not the kind that just warmed your body—it was the type that sat on your chest like an overzealous usher in a Pentecostal church.
Zainab stood under the covered walkway outside the SS3 block, adjusting the collar of her starch-stiff Crestview uniform. Navy blue pleated skirt, white shirt, and a gold-and-blue tie that felt like a tiny noose.
"I still don't understand why your dad made you leave Abuja in SS3," Simi said, fanning herself aggressively with a glossy copy of Genevieve Magazine. Simi was Zainab’s assigned roommate and an heiress to a real estate empire, complete with acrylic nails that defied the school’s handbook and a hair weave that smelled like expensive vanilla. "Abuja is so calm, zero traffic, nice roads. Lagos is just chaos and bad vibes."
"My dad says I was getting too comfortable," Zainab replied dryly, slinging her leather backpack over one shoulder. "He wants me to 'experience real-world competition' before university. So he sent me to a boarding school where people wear Gucci loafers under school trousers."
"Hey, don't shade us oh!" Simi laughed, nudging her. "Crestview is top-tier. But come on, let’s hit the dining hall before the junior boys finish all the cold drinks. If I don't get zobo today, somebody will collect drop-kick."
The Crestview Refectory looked less like a school dining hall and more like an airport lounge in Dubai. Air conditioning blasted from every corner, marble tiles gleamed beneath yellow drop-lights, and long glass counters held everything from jollof rice to grilled croaker fish.
Zainab bought a large plastic cup of icy, dark-red zobo, condensed milk swirling at the bottom. She took a sip, letting the sweet ginger taste cut through the heat.
"Omo, this zobo actually hits," Zainab admitted, walking alongside Simi toward an empty table near the window.
"Told you," Simi bragged, checking her phone. "Crestview catering does not play with—"
BAM.
The collision happened in a fraction of a second.
Zainab felt like she had walked straight into a concrete pillar wrapped in expensive designer cologne. The plastic cup slipped from her fingers, flipping in mid-air like a stunt in a Nollywood blockbuster, before exploding right onto the footwear of the guy she had just slammed into.
A collective hush descended over the dining hall. It was as if someone had hit the master mute button for the entire SS3 class.
Zainab blinked, stepping back.
Standing in front of her was a tall guy with dark skin, low-cut waves that looked like they were carved by an architect, and an unbuttoned blazer revealing a customized gold chain. But right now, his eyes weren't on her. They were fixed on his feet.
Saturated in thick, dark-red zobo juice were a pair of pristine, blindingly white Off-White x Air Jordan 1s. The red liquid was soaking right into the suede tongue.
"Omo..." someone whispered nearby. "Tari's Off-Whites..."
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," Simi muttered beside Zainab, taking two slow steps backward. "It's finished."
Tari Lawson slowly raised his head. His eyes were dark, sharp, and entirely unaccustomed to being inconvenienced. Behind him, his best friend Koa—a guy whose face was permanently locked in a smirk—was already holding his phone up like a seasoned paparazzi.
"You," Tari said, his voice deep, low, and smooth like palm oil, but laced with pure venom. "Do you know what these are?"
Zainab looked at the shoes. Then she looked up at his face. She recognized him—Tari Lawson, basketball captain, oil tycoon heir, and the undisputed king boy of Crestview. Everyone in the school walked on eggshells around him.
"Shoes," Zainab said flatly.
Koa let out an audible gasp. A few girls at the counter covered their mouths.
"Shoes?" Tari stepped closer, his chest rising as he tried to contain his shock. "These are deadstock. Four hundred thousand Naira, imported from London last week. And you just bathed them in cheap zobo."
"First of all, it's not cheap zobo, it's five hundred Naira," Zainab snapped back, her Abuja accent giving her words a sharp, crisp edge. "Second of all, you were backing into the walkway like a trailer without brake lights. You stepped into my space."
"Your space?" Tari laughed—a cold, disbelieving sound. He gestured around the hall. "New girl, this entire school is my space. You're supposed to look where you're going, apologize, and ask me how much you owe."
Zainab crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. She didn't flinch. She had grown up around loud politicians and arrogant uncles; a eighteen-year-old boy in a high school blazer was not going to intimidate her.
"I owe you nothing, Lawson," she said, leaning in slightly so only he could hear her clearly. "Next time, use your eyes instead of your arrogance. Excuse me."
She stepped around him, her heels clicking sharply against the floor as she walked straight out of the refectory, leaving a trail of zobo-stained footprints in her wake.
Silence lingered in the hall for three full seconds before Koa broke it, clapping his hands together with wild delight.
"Omo! Tari!" Koa howled, slapping Tari's shoulder. "She just dragged you! She dragged you like small generator! In front of the whole SS3 block!"
Tari didn't laugh. He stood perfectly still, his eyes fixed on the doors Zainab had just walked through. His ruined four-hundred-thousand-Naira sneakers were cold against his socks, but his face was burning.
"Who is that girl?" Tari asked, his voice deathly quiet.
"Zainab Aminu," Koa wheezed, wiping a tear of laughter from his eye. "Transfer from Abuja. Her dad is that big tech founder guy. Bro, she didn't even give a single dim about your shoes!"
Tari slowly bent down, looked at the red stain ruined forever on his leather, and then stood up straight. A small, dangerous smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Zainab," he murmured under his breath, adjusting his wrist cuffs. "Okay oh. No p. Let's see how long that big mouth lasts in this Lekki."