Chapter Seven: Kano Shadows

Kano Motor Park – March 10, 2026, 3:47 p.m.

The sun beat down like it had a personal grudge. Dust kicked up thick every time a danfo or trailer rolled in or out, stinging eyes and sticking to sweat. The park smelled like burnt engine oil, roasted corn, and the sharp, nervous sweat of hundreds of people moving fast some running to something, most running from. Chino and Wale sat on a low concrete bench near the edge, hoods pulled low, faces half-hidden behind cheap sunglasses they’d bought from a street vendor for 500 naira each. Their bags sat between their feet like anchors holding them down.

The Abuja to Kano bus had dropped them at dawn after a night of tense checkpoints soldiers waving flashlights, demanding “papers,” taking “small something” from the driver so the bus could roll on. Nobody got pulled off. Yet.

Wale’s knee bounced restless. “How long till the next move?”

Chino checked the burner Signal chat with the lawyer still open. “Appointment March 15. Five days. We need to stay low here till then. Mama T say a contact in Sabon Gari can hide us small hotel, queer friendly owner. Cash only, no register.”

Wale nodded, but his eyes kept scanning the crowd. “Hisbah dey patrol this side sometimes. If dem see two men too close…”

Chino put a hand on Wale’s thigh quick, hidden by the bench angle. “We no go touch outside. But inside? Different story.”

A spark of heat passed between them anyway, cutting through the fear. Wale’s fingers brushed Chino’s knuckles back.

They paid a bike man 1,200 naira to take them to Sabon Gari the Christian quarter, louder, more mixed, a bit safer for people who didn’t fit the mold. The hotel was called Peace Lodge: peeling blue paint, iron bars on the windows, generator humming in the yard. The owner, middle aged Uncle Dan, took one look at them, sighed deep, and said, “Upstairs, room 12. No noise after 10. No visitors. 8,000 per night. Pay upfront.”

Room 12 was narrow: double bed with a sagging mattress, standing fan, bucket toilet behind a curtain, single bulb hanging. No street window just a small air vent high on the wall.

Door locked, Wale pushed Chino against it. Mouths crashed hungry, angry, alive. Tongues fought. Hands tore at shirts, buttons popping. Chino lifted Wale, legs wrapping around his waist, carried him to the bed.

They fell together rough, urgent. Wale yanked Chino’s jeans down, cock springing free, already leaking. He took him deep in one go throat working, eyes watering but fierce. Chino groaned, fingers in curls, hips shallow thrusting.

“Fuck… Wale… slow or I go come quick.”

Wale pulled off, grinning wicked. “Come quick. Then come again. We no get time for slow.”

He flipped, ass up, jeans shoved to knees. Chino spat into his palm, slicked himself, pressed in slow at first, then deep, bottoming out with a shared hiss. Wale pushed back, meeting every thrust. Bed creaked loud; they didn’t care.

Chino pounded hard, possessive. One hand around Wale’s throat not tight, just holding. The other stroked Wale’s cock rough. “This body na mine,” Chino growled, Igbo Pidgin thick. “No pastor fit take am. No uncle. No law.”

Wale moaned, voice cracking. “Yours… always… come inside… fill me…”

Chino snapped faster skin slapping, sweat flying. Wale came first spilling over sheets, body clenching tight. Chino followed burying deep, pulsing hot inside, groaning into Wale’s shoulder.

They collapsed, panting. Cum leaked slow as Chino pulled out. Wale turned, kissed him deep tasting salt, tasting them.

“Again later,” Wale whispered. “Till we forget say outside dey hunt us.”

They cleaned with water from the bucket. Lay naked under the thin sheet, fan stirring warm air over skin. Bodies still humming.

At 7:12 p.m., the burner buzzed Chioma.

Pastor Victor dey do crusade in Kano tomorrow. ‘Youth Deliverance Night.’ Him post flyer your photos blurred but names clear. Say ‘two lost sons from Lagos wey run to north.’ Police dey work with am now. Tip money involved. Adanna message me Papa dey with Victor. Him beg forgiveness but say ‘only prayer fit save una.’ She no fit talk more. Embassy people say bring extra proof maybe audio from family threats if you get. Stay hidden. No go out.

Chino read it aloud. Wale’s face went dark.

“My uncle dey Kano too. Him business here. If him see me…”

Chino pulled him close. “We stay inside till appointment. Order food in. No street.”

Night fell heavy. They ate indomie and sardines delivered by bike. Then, in the dim bulb light, they touched again slower this time. Wale on his back, legs wide. Chino between them mouth on cock, fingers inside, curling slow. Wale’s hands fisted sheets, back arching, whispering Yoruba filth.

When Chino entered him again face to face, legs hooked over shoulders it was almost gentle. Deep rolls, eyes locked. Every thrust whispered promises: Canada, safety, open streets, no more hiding.

They came together quiet gasps swallowed in kisses.

After, tangled and spent, Chino traced Wale’s spine. “If we get asylum… first night in Toronto, we go find rooftop. Fuck under stars. No curtain. No fear.”

Wale smiled against his neck. “Then adopt dog. Name am Freedom. Walk am hand-in-hand.”

Small dreams in a locked room.

At 2:03 a.m., another buzz Mama T.

Crusade tomorrow draw crowd. Police presence heavy. But embassy confirm slot March 15, 9 a.m. Bring passport copies, affidavits, screenshots, messages. They go ask hard questions: ‘Why not safe in another state?’ Answer with facts SSMPA nationwide, Hisbah in north, recent raids. No lie. Truth only. You fit make am.

Hope: interview locked. Canada still approving 65% Nigerians in 2025, LGBTQ claims winning when persecution clear. Evidence mounting family betrayal, public hunt, viral video.

Devastation: Crusade in the city. Pastor Victor + Papa closing the net. Police tipped. Uncle nearby. Hisbah patrols. No safe corner left.

Ambiguous: Survive three days inside? Get to embassy without arrest? Interview success or “not credible” rejection? Cross to Niger if denied? Or get dragged to deliverance stage prayers, beatings, headlines?

Chino kissed Wale’s forehead. “We go wake early. Plan route to embassy. No bus, bike or keke. Hood up. No talk.”

Wale nodded, hand over Chino’s heart. “Together. Always.”

Outside, Kano murmured azan echoing, generators coughing, crusade posters flapping in the wind. A city ready to pray two men out of existence.

Inside, two bodies stayed pressed close.

Still breathing. Still burning. Still counting hours till judgment.