Victim of Greed

Tony Chuks Modungwo Genre: Contemporary Romance
Federal Department of Fisheries, Word count: 102,000

P.M.B. 1060, Benin City, Edo State.Nigeria.
tonymodus@gmail.com
VICTIM OF GREED
by
Tony Chuks Modungwo

Modungwo / VICTIM OF GREED 2
GREED
Greed, the soul of fox
You have in which the light
Of God has been put off.
Your tongue traffics in deceit
And leads men astray.
Your treachery is exhuming
Sordid events long buried
In peoples’ subconscious minds.
Arrogant and unheeding you’re,
You’ve hygienic habits of a pig
And regard gracelessness
As a great virtue.
You’re a tyrant that
Holds commonsense
By the throat
And swear to thrust her
Down to unfathomable depths of agony.
Greed, I’ve seen through
Your mask of warmth
You’ll only change when the
River flows backwards.
Men, watch galloping greed,
Because the cat always eats
The mouse it plays with.

TO: MY WIFE
The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation
to any real person or actual happening.

CHAPTER ONE
As, I lay in the hospital fatally wounded, unable to neither go backward nor forward,
I wonder how it had ever happened that I had come to find myself in this pathetic situation.
I was born into misery, bred in a ghetto called Ajegunle. Most of Ajegunle was
unglamorous, noisy, crowded and dirty. We lived in the area that was an eyesore and could
sicken any man of considerable decent standards to the point of regurgitation. Any person
with a decent standard of living would shudder at our living conditions. In my early years I
ran errands for all sorts of people in our area when I returned from school with the hope of
tips. My clothes were always tattered and my shirts rarely had buttons. Scattered around our
neighborhood were emaciated children with bulging stomachs, sunken eyes and big heads
akin to what one would see in the famine-stricken Ethiopia due to inadequate intake of
protein. Every year many children died in the area from malnutrition and related disorders.
Many of them suffered from mental and physical retardation because eating a well-balanced
diet was a luxury not many families could afford. Due to the environment I was brought up, I
grew up tough. Hardship characterized my youth. Many times, I went to school without
breakfast and had no hope of having lunch on my return.
However, I was endowed with an incredible retentive memory. This was why I was
able to attend the university through the help of some philanthropists. Because of my family’s
dire financial circumstances, I was determined to be rich the means notwithstanding. I was
inordinately ambitious.
My father, apart from being abjectly poor, was a religious fanatic. He believed that
God’s time was the best. We were two different people because I never agreed much with
him. To my mind, to be old and poor was unpardonable. What then was achieved with all the
years spent on earth? He’d worked as a laborer for twenty years without promotion. He
refused to complain. He deliberately refused to attend the adult education classes organized in
our area. He said he was too old to learn anything. Instead he spent all his spare time reading
the Bible in our native language. When I explained to him that education had no age limit, he
simply told me to leave him alone.
Whenever I told him to do something about his poverty, he would quote a verse in the
Bible for me. “What does it profit a man if he gains the whole world, but loses his soul.”
“If you want to live a standard life in a dishonest and corrupt society you have to be
dishonest and corrupt,” I told him several times. He always waved me off.
“My greatest dream is for you to become a pastor. There is nothing like serving God
all your life,” he said righteously. Unfortunately, his fondest dreams didn’t coincide with
mine.
I laughed uncontrollably at the absurdity of the proposal. My father looked
malignantly at me. I’d vowed to myself that nothing would be allowed to destroy or in
anyway interfere with my decision to get rich at all costs.
“Dad, you’ve been poor because when people were thinking and hatching plans on
how to get rich, you were in the church praying. It’s good you’ve surrendered your life to
God unreservedly. I’m not going to try to change your fanatic belief in the power of prayer
and of God Almighty, but I’m going to take my destiny in my hands. I want to be the master
of my fate. I’m going to do something to change the sordid condition we are living in.”
“My son, it’s not wise to measure one’s success in life by one’s worldly possessions.
In Luke 12:15 Christ said: ‘Beware of covetousness; for a man’s life consists not in the
abundance of the things which he possesses.’ Money is not to be sought by all means.”
“I’ve heard enough of pontificating, sermonizing and moralizing. If you’re not going
to do something about yourself, I’m surely going to do something about myself. James
Hadley Chase wrote a novel, “What is better than money,” I reminded my father.
He stared unbelievingly at me.
“I’d an empty childhood riddled with unfulfilled basic needs. I hate poverty,” I said.
“What irks me most is that many poor people like you have no ambition, but indolent faith in
the hope that God shall provide or such nonsense as my poverty is the wish of God. The
argument that a man must be humble and poor to reach the epoch of spirituality is baseless.”
“There have been proofs by the lives of the wealthy and politically powerful people in
the past that wealth is incompatible with spiritual development. That was why Jesus told the
rich, young man who came to him: ‘Go thy way, sell whatever thou hast, and give to the poor
and thou shall have treasure in heaven; and come, take up the cross and follow me.’ You have
to choose between wealth and serving God,” he said defensively. He was a fanatic who
believed anything worldly was sinful.
“To my mind, to seek material comfort, some luxuries and sufficient financial means
to assure health and happiness is not inconsistent with spirituality,” I replied. “Dad, many
Nigerians spend too much time in churches and mosques praying to be allowed a place in
Heaven, while they’ve not been able to avail themselves of the chances of surviving first on
earth. Don’t you think that our people should concern themselves about surviving here first,
before talking of some paradise somewhere beyond the blue?”

“Chika, you’ve been too daring for your own good, too bold and careless. Headstrong.
When you get a thought in your head, nobody can dig it out. So stubborn. You’ve been like
this since childhood.”
“Dad, you don’t seem to understand. If you believe in something, you’ve to follow it
all the way, with all your heart.”
“You don’t want to take it now, but time will come when you’ll remember what I’ve
said.”
My father had not only been cheated in his office but also in his church. I tried to
make him change to another church if he must attend a church but he refused. We had
another heated argument one day.
“Your pastor is a rogue,” I told him.
Jeremiah Adebayo was the General Overseer of Miracle and Peace Ministries
International Incorporated in Ajegunle. He swindled his flock of millions of naira; collected
from those who were hungry for greener pastures in America. He collected five hundred
thousand naira from each of his victims to help them obtain an American visa. In Nigeria, the
acquisition of an American visa was a do-or-die affair, so fraudsters cashed in on such
desperation. He forged documents, including bank accounts, for those he promised to help
travel out of the country, but none of them succeeded.
He’d lied that he’d made arrangements with his international branch in the U.S. to
provide jobs and accommodations for them. Some of the victims had sold everything they
had; while others borrowed the money with interest. Six months after the money was paid,
and no success was showing in the planned trip, some of them stopped going to the church.
The number of people attending the church declined, but my father continued to attend. Some
of the victims reported the matter to the police. Pastor Jeremiah Adebayo went into hiding
and his assistant pastor Owens took over the affairs of the church, telling members that Pastor
Jeremiah went for a missionary job outside Lagos.
“Stop blaspheming!” he warned. “Our Pastor is good. Pastors help people.”
I grinned. “That’s what they’re supposed to do, but your pastor does the opposite. He
steals from people, instead.”
He went mad. “You’re just an ignorant fool. He can’t steal; our pastor is a chosen
messenger of God. How do you know he’s a rogue when you’re not a member of our
church?” His eyes glared accusingly.
“I keep my eyes and ears open. Can you explain to me how he came about the money
he used to buy a Nissan Patrol in this period of austerity? He spent the daily contribution the
poor followers made in the church, of course.”
“So what? Have you forgotten that it was written in the bible that the rich shall have
more riches bestowed on him and the poor shall have the little he has taken away?” he
reminded me sharply. “What our pastor is doing is written in the bible.”
“You’re enslaved to the doctrine your pastor preaches. In fact, you’ve been
brainwashed.”
“May God forgive you for you know not what you’re saying,” he declared
righteously.
“I know what I’m saying. Your pastor is using religion to conceal his sinister and
undisputable intention to get rich quick. He has turned your church into a commercial house.
He’s an incredible liar endowed with an alarming ability to manipulate people. He preaches
morality and practices immorality.”
“You’re lying. Do you know that he has supernatural healing powers?” he parried.
“He is a charlatan. Physically sound or fairly sick members are the people that always
come forward to claim that they have been healed. We’ve so many disabled and lunatics in
the streets, how many has he healed? If he has supernatural healing power, let him help us rid
our streets of physically handicapped people. Can you remember the number of married
women he made pregnant in the name of special prayers, let alone single, young girls?”
“Pastor Jeremiah is a reincarnation of God, so it’s a privilege for him and supreme
honor for any woman he sleeps with, not only for the woman, but also for her husband, if
she’s married. Sleeping with Pastor Jeremiah is a form of purification.”
“In your church, the congregation worships Pastor Jeremiah not God. Let me tell you
dad, the truth is not in the scriptures, but man’s own heart. Your pastor is a wolf under
sheep’s clothing. Why the leadership tussles in your church? Why does Owens want to
displace your pastor? Willingness, to serve God?”
“May God open your eyes to the truth,” was his final statement that day.
***
I’d loved only a few girls in my life. And each time something usually went wrong
somehow.
In the University, I fell in love with Ekaette. She was full at the bust and hips. She
was from a very rich home. She paid my expenses for the session we were lovers. Things fell
apart when she wanted to turn me into an errand boy. She was a faithful member of the
women’s liberation movement. She held the belief that “What a man can do a woman can
also do and even better.” She sent me on stupid errands and tried to control my movements.
So I revolted. “A man is the master of the house and should control the woman, not
the reverse, is my strong belief.”
Ekaette’s unflinching belief that men and women were equal had been the cause of
our quarrels.
“Are you not aware of some women’s contribution to the socio-economic, political,
cultural, educational and industrial development of their respective countries?” she asked me
one day.
“I am. That a few women are able to do what many men are doing doesn’t make them
equal,” I replied.
“You’re timid and parochial. Men have no right to claim superiority.”
“Preaching equality is religiously and culturally blasphemous and sacrilegious. Read
Genesis Chapter 2 verses 21 and 22 and you’ll understand that God created men to be
superior to women, if not mentally but physically. This explains the better performance of
men in jobs requiring tremendous strength and stamina. The inspired people who wrote the
Koran recognized the supremacy of men and allowed them to marry four wives.
“Culturally, polygamy is our practice. Polyandry has no place in our society.
Physiologically, we differ to a reasonable extent. I never heard of a man having menses and
women’s psychological and emotional responses to situations are never the same as that of an
average man. Take the case of bereavement for example. Most women will break down into
tears but men will usually take things more calmly. These Utopian ideas contribute to men
not wanting to marry highly educated ladies.”
At the mention of this, she went wild. “Who wants to marry after all? Most men aren’t
worth staying under the same roof with.”
“Two captains cannot be in the same ship,” I told her. “The claim of equality is one of
the things contributing to the alarming rate of divorce in his country. ‘All animals are equal
but some are more equal than other’, apologies to George Orwell.”
“Let it be.” If ever there had been a chance for any real feelings to blossom between
us, it was ruined now. Our love never gained momentum again before it finally ended.
After this I concluded that I was simply one of those men destined to have disastrous
taste in women so I decided that I wasn’t going to allow any other woman mess around with
my heart. I was from an abjectly poor family but I’d a charisma, which most girls found
irresistible. I was undoubtedly handsome. My affairs with women afterwards became mainly
physical without any emotional involvement.
I met Amina during my National Youth Service Corps. She was serving too. The
former Head of State, General Yakubu Gowon (rtd) in 1973, introduced the National Youth
Service Corps (NYSC) scheme. “The objectives of this scheme are among other things: to
inculcate discipline in Nigerian youths by instilling in them a tradition of industry at work,
and of patriotic and loyal service to Nigeria in any situation they may find themselves. It is
also meant to remove prejudices, eliminate ignorance and confirm at first hand the many
similarities among Nigerians of all ethnic groups,” the director of NYSC told us during the
orientation.
Corpers were made to serve in states other than their own state of origin. Amina and I
served in Cross River State in South - South geopolitical zone of Nigeria. Her father was a
senior staff in the Ministry of Education. Her mother was a secretary in the Ministry of
External Affairs. She was the first child of four children and the only girl. We taught in the
same school. She was an embodiment of love, patience and perseverance. But because of my
earlier resolution, I resisted falling in love with her. She wasn’t discouraged by my
unresponsiveness. She continued to visit and help me in domestic chores. She occasionally
met my others girls but she never complained. I was surprised. I’d never met a girl who
wasn’t jealous. She always looked confident. She was a fulani from northern Nigeria.
The relationship between Amina and I gradually became serious and we believed it
would end in matrimony.
“Will you marry me?” Amina asked when the service year was coming to an end.
I cupped her face with my hands. “Amina, I love you, I love you very much, but I
can’t ask you to marry me, not right now.”
“If you love me, why not?” she asked in a voice that I could barely hear. “I thought
that when two people are in love they eventually get married to seal the love.”
“Yes. They do. And we will. But I can’t marry you right now. I will not enter into a
marriage when I’ve got no job.”
The pain in her face chilled my blood. “I can’t bear to think of a life without you, not
after what we have shared during this service year.”
“Let us wait till we are employed.”
After the passing out parade to end our one-year service to our country, we were
issued certificates of participation. Amina left for Kano while I left for Lagos promising to
keep in touch. We never met again until several years later.
***
One sunny afternoon, I walked into Chemical and Allied Products Plc in Jefferson
Street. It was a chemical company that imported huge quantities of chemicals and distributed
them to other smaller companies for the manufacture of different products such as cosmetics,
soaps, paints, plastics and polish. It was the biggest chemical marketing company in Lagos. I
approached the receptionist and asked for the personnel manager. With a wave of her hand
she indicated the direction to the office. I knocked on the door and waited.
“Come in,” a feminine voice said.
In all companies I had earlier visited, I met men as the personnel managers. I was
unprepared for what I saw.
Seated in a padded revolving chair behind an immense desk was this compellingly
beautiful lady. I greeted her and she invited me to sit down.

“Can I help you?” She asked with a well-modulated voice. Her brown eyes surveyed
my suit with approval.
“I want a job. I am a graduate of industrial chemistry from the University of Benin”
She smiled regretfully. “It is unfortunate my company can’t increase its staff strength
now due to the economic recession. We’ve just received five million naira import license
instead of twenty five million licenses we applied for. We’re not sure of receiving additional
approval soon. We’ve even decided to retrench some of our workers till business improves.
While this company doesn’t like to lose our skilled workers who we’ve spent so much to
train, we’ve no alternative under the present situation.”
Even with the present high rate of unemployment in the country, you still want to
retrench workers?”
“I am afraid we must, if we’re to remain in business. Though, we’ll try to recall some
of them immediately the condition improves. The list of the retrenched staff, in fact, shall be
placed on all the notice boards this afternoon. Blame the nation’s present state of economy
for our action.”
All the time she spoke my eyes were fixed on her. I was staring at her with avid
curiosity. I’d forgotten my problem temporarily. Her white blouse was crisply immaculate,
with a low-cut neck showing what she obviously considered her best assets. Her complexion
was flawless. She wore a red lipstick to match her red skirt and rouge on her cheeks. I hadn’t
a job but I knew a beauty when I saw one.
I was leaving when she called me back and offered to buy me lunch. As I waited for
her to retouch her face with powder my imagination ran wild. Why had this lady invited a
complete stranger (me) to lunch? Was it out of pity for my joblessness? Had she fallen for my
charm? You must be crazy, I told myself. How could a personnel manager fall in love with a
nonentity like you?

A few minutes later, we were driving in her posh Honda Prelude car to where I knew
not. I didn’t care to ask. I could afford to get lost with such a lady. She exuded a strong
perfume imported from Paris. She finally parked in the lot of a plush hotel in Dantel Street,
known as Royal Majestic Hotel. We were welcomed into the restaurant by a well-dressed
waiter, who handed us two menu cards. I ordered rice with chicken casserole. She ordered for
the same. We ordered a pre-luncheon drink. We chatted amiably while we waited for the food
to be served.
“I read business administration in U.S. Both my bachelor and master degrees were
obtained from Harvard University Business School. It was my father’s idea. He told me that
going to Harvard was a prelude to a life of fame and fortune,” Biola told me.
“Is it not a very expensive university?” I asked.
“Yes. It is. But my father could afford it. My name is Biola. Biola Harrison.”
“Harrison, the Senator?” I asked incredulously.
“Yes. He is my father. In fact, I’m his only child.” She glanced up from her plate and
found me studying her with my eyes hooded in intense stare that made her feel
uncomfortable. She smiled. “Are you surprised?”
“Yes. How did you cope? Being the only child, it must be lonely for you while
growing up.”
“Yes. I had a younger brother but he died at very tender age. This brought me closer
to my mother. My father was a very busy man and still is. He is rarely at home.”
“I’m sorry. But why are you working here? With the number of companies your
father has, I wonder why you are not working in one of them.”
“I didn’t want to work in any of my father’s companies. I wanted to work hard to earn
my own money and not depend on his help to survive. I just wanted to be myself; I wanted
people to deal with me personally as Biola and not as Senator Harrison’s daughter. Since
birth I’d been constantly embarrassed and frustrated by my parents’ attempts to shelter me.
When I came back from U.S. after my studies, nobody wanted to employ me. They always
asked me why I should be looking for job when my father had so many companies. Being
that this is an American company and I studied in the U.S., I found it easier to be employed
here. They think differently.”
“I was enjoying the conservation. Biola was easy to talk to. “Nigeria must have
seemed strange to you after your years in America!”
“It was okay. Home is home. There is nothing like home.”
“Can you tell me something about your parents?”
“My mother was a lecturer in the English Department of University of Lagos before
she retired two years ago. She was a perfectionist. It was her responsibility to teach me
manners, to discipline me when I err and make me read my books. She is practical-minded
and down-to-earth. ‘Money is not everything,’ she constantly reminded me. My father is a
politician and businessman. Though, he was rarely at home, but whenever he was around, he
indulged me. He took me to the zoo and to boutiques for clothes and jewelry. He bought me
whatever I wanted.”
What were the chances of a laborer with the only daughter of an influential
billionaire? I asked myself. After she told me about her background, I felt I had to tell her
about mine. “I am the first son of a family of ten. My father is a laborer in one of the
government ministries. My mother is a petty trader. My younger ones are in the secondary
school. I studied Industrial Chemistry. My name is Okafor,Chika Okafor.” Biola kind of
sophistication came from growing up in U.S., attending the best schools and taking frequent
vacations abroad. It was acquired over the years.
When we finished eating we stood up to go. She dropped me at the bus stop. She gave
me her card and two hundred naira for my transport fare.

“I’ll help you find a job. Call on me from time to time in the office or at home. The
addresses are on my complimentary card.” I thanked her for her uncommon act of kindness.
Her generosity was astounding. She gave me a little goodbye wave and on encouraging smile.
When she drove off, I took a bus home. It was cheaper.
***
Two weeks later, I visited her in the office; she gave me a hearty welcome.
“I have contacted my friends to help you find a job. They promised to inform me
immediately they find something suitable. Check me at home on Sunday to check if there is
any news.”
She gave me five hundred naira as I was leaving. I chuckled to myself and thanked
God for directing me to a gold mine. Every word, every action of hers spoke of her
aristocratic upbringing. I liked being greedy. But I didn’t realize what I was walking into.
***
“How did your search of job go today?” My mother asked immediately she returned
from the market.
“All the offices I visited claimed to have no vacancy. I am really tired of the
situation.”
“Don’t be discouraged. God will give you a job at the right time.”
***
On Sunday morning, I tried to make the difficult decision as to what to wear to make
the most impact on her. I later settled for my only suit. When I was fully dressed, I walked
over to the long mirror at the corner of our one room apartment and studied the effect of the
suit. I was satisfied with the reflection I saw. I walked to the street and hailed a taxi. When
the cab stopped by me, I gave the driver Biola’s address at Victoria Island. Buses were not
allowed to ply the streets of Victoria Island. It was the home of the rich. V. I. as it’s popularly
called, is an expensive area of Lagos. It housed quite a large member of the diplomatic
community, along with some prominent Nigerians who had made it.
The taxi dropped me off at the gate of the house. I paid and walked to the gate and
dug my finger into the bell push on the outside and waited. The bell was answered by a
security man in uniform, “What do you want?” he asked.
“I want to see Biola,”I replied.
“Are you Mr. Okafor please?”
"Yes.”
"She’s expecting you.”
The home was a massive out-of-ordinary architectural edifice in a large compound
surrounded by huge fence. It was even more imposing than I had imagined. It was a splendor
of splendors. The compound was decorated with assorted flowers, planted in unique patterns.
I looked around and was awestruck at the grandeur of the compound. Parked in front of the
house were several expensive automobiles – Mercedes, Lexus Jeep, Biola’s Honda prelude,
BMW and Land Cruiser. All spelled one word – money. They were people of substance
accustomed to wealth. I followed him to Biola’s room. On our way we met Mrs. Harrison.
"Who’s this man?” she asked the security man, as her eyes assessed me
appreciatively.
"He is Biola’s visitor ma’am.’’
"Good afternoon ma’am,” I greeted.
"You’re welcome. I hope Biola is in her room. Jack takes him to her room. If she is
not there, wait for her she is around.”
"Thank you ma’am,” I said.
“You’re welcome,” she said tenderly and flashed me a dazzling smile.

Mrs. Harrison was a soft-spoken woman. She was spectacularly beautiful. She’d a
physique and beauty that were hard to ignore. She’d a cute gap between her front teeth.
Quiet, in her tastes, although they owned the best of everything. She was about 1.8 meters tall
and slim. Her age I guessed to be about sixty years.
Biola’s room was in the first floor of the three-story building. When I stepped into
Biola’s room, enthralled, I gasped in wonderment. Biola’s room was tastefully decorated and
fully air-conditioned. The room was spacious. She’d assorted sorts of live size posters of
American musicians like Michael Jackson and Barry White on the walls. On her reading table
were ultra-modern stereo set, and a twenty-four inches colored television connected to DSTV
satellite. A giant fridge stood at the corner of the room. The bed was so big it could
accommodate four people. A red rug thick enough to swallow up shoes covered the floor
wall-to-wall. The room had three sybaritic upholstery chairs. A gold chandelier adorned with
marquise-shaped pendant reflected the many colors of the brilliant murals painted on the
ceiling.
“Come in please,” she said. To my astonishment she was gazing at me with
undisguised affection.
Unaware what I was thinking she continued. “I fell in love with you immediately I
saw you. I was attracted by your look – tall, dark and handsome. I was fascinated by the way
you carry yourself – your full understanding of who you are. I appreciated your dressing,” her
voice sank to barely a whisper.
I was still feeling delighted when she gave me a gold wristwatch studded with
diamond. “Take this as a token of my love,” she said affectionately.
“Thank you very much.” This was my golden opportunity to take advantage of the love
of not only the daughter of a billionaire but a Personnel Manager of a rich multinational
company. She was older than me but that wasn’t a problem as far as I was concerned. After
all young girls ran after men of their father’s age. It was even said that older ladies were
better to fall in love with because they appreciated it more. Like wine, they got better with
age. But she wasn’t that old. The difference between our ages wasn’t more than ten years.
This was how my love affair with Biola that led to our marriage started, but there were
numerous battles along the way.

CHAPTER TWO
Since I’d been going to see Biola at home, I’d never met her father. He was always
abroad for holidays or on business trips. I wondered when he’d time to attend the senate.
Senator Harrison didn’t share Biola’s rapture for me. I’d made a bad impression during my
first encounter with him.
As I walked through the gate one Saturday, on early visit, I saw a tall, fair-
complexioned man with rosy cheeks and protruding stomach. His youthful face belied his
sixty-five years. He was graying at the temples.
He was coming from the swimming pool, where he’d gone for a swim. He wore white
drawers and had a small towel round his neck, his chest covered with a mass of hair as thick
as the African jungle. I greeted him when I got to him.
“Yes gentleman? Are you looking for somebody?” he asked, with his rich baritone
voice. I could sniff power and affluence around him.
“Yes, sir. I’m a friend of Biola,” I said with elaborate politeness.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Okafor. Chika Okafor,” I stated audaciously.
“Which Okafor? The Minister?”
“No, sir.”
“Are you a member of the distinguished Okafor family of Onitsha?”

“No, sir.”
“Which Okafor is your father then? And where does he work?” he asked sharply.
“He’s a laborer in one of the ministries,” I replied, feeling highly embarrassed.
“Laborer? You mean you’re a son of a laborer? Where do you live?”
I swallowed, shifting my weight from foot to foot as I faced his searching gaze.
"Ajegunle,” I said, avoiding his quizzical look.
“My God, that slum!” he said in a surly snarl. The rich didn’t have any respect for
people raised in squalor. Luckily, I saw Biola running towards us. I needed her help.
"Popsy, he’s my guest. I hope you’re not embarrassing him.”
He was staring at me with an intensity that totally unnerved me, as if I were some
monster animal from the zoo.
“Biola, dear, why did you invite this hooligan from Ajegunle to this house? I won’t
like to see him around this house again.” He shot me another unsettling look.
“Daddy, he is not a hooligan. He’s a graduate of Industrial Chemistry.”
“And therefore? I want you to associate with children of decent people. The truth is
that if you raise a child in a decent environment, he’ll ultimately comport himself decently.
Imagine you befriending the son of a laborer? Incredible! You should mix with children of
commissioners, senators, ministers, governors and the like. Not children of laborers,
messengers, cleaners, what have you?” Senator Harrison was angling for a bigger catch for
his daughter.
“Daddy, this is not a way to talk.” Tears of hopelessness and rage filled her eyes.
“You’re being too class-conscious. I’m already an adult. I’ve the right to choose my friends.
Money is just not everything.” Her lips curved into a determined pout.
“But the lack of it could make life exceedingly difficult for you,” he reminded her
sternly. “Darling girl, this type of boy is not good for you. His university education
notwithstanding, he’ll still be crude due to the environment where he was brought up.”
“Daddy, don’t be a bigot,” she said defiantly. “And if I get hurt – well, I’m the one
who’ll have to bear that hurt.”
“Are you thinking a man doesn’t hurt when his child is hurt?”
Throughout the hot debate between father and daughter I kept quiet. I knew I had
Biola on my side, but I watched the whole encounter with a sinking heart. Although Senator
Harrison’s English, French and German were excellent; he preferred to speak Yoruba to
Biola.
Senator Harrison had his own ideas about what was best for Biola. And from what I’d
seen, anyone from a poor background was not eligible. How could I’ve been such a naive
fool as to believe I could have a serious affair with Biola. Our lives were worlds apart. But
I’d never given up easily before.
Senator Harrison’s insult made me make a resolution. I decided I must get rich at all
cost. I was determined to prove to Senator Harrison that wealth wasn’t a peculiar
characteristic of one family.
“You son-of-a-bitch, listen to me, get the hell out of my compound,” he snarled,
“now!” His tone was stern and unyielding. He was very authoritative.
Senator Harrison, like a thousand other fathers, had only meant the best for his
daughter perhaps and really had nothing personal against me. It was simply the way things
were in Nigeria, and anywhere else. Birds of the same feathers flock together.
At this point, I found the humiliation unbearable. I’d never undergone such
humiliation all my life. I felt tears of anger and frustration clouds my eyes. I turned back
crestfallen, and left the compound. “Arrogant, rich bastard,” I snorted as I left. I was
provoked so I took a taxi to a hotel in Surulere to drown my anger with beer.
***
I woke up the next day with an awful headache. I sent one of my younger brothers for
some pain killer tablets. I tried to recollect how I got home from the hotel to no avail. I’d
been blindly drunk.
I sat up to discover that I’d slept in my only suit. The coat I wore was torn, one of my
shoes was missing and my pants were very dirty. I guessed I must have fought or had an
encounter with thieves. Feeling disgusted I swung my legs over the bed, and then clutched
my throbbing head. After a while, I checked my pockets. All the money I went out with was
gone, also was the gold wristwatch Biola had bought for me. I concluded I was robbed.
My mother came in and looked at me with angry eyes. “Where did you go yesterday?
Imagine how you look? Is this the kind of example you are supposed to show to your younger
ones? Imagine going out to get drunk and losing self-control? Your father was very angry. He
wanted to push you outside if not for my pleading. Chika, you better change. You’re no
longer a small boy,” she said reproachfully. I listened to my mother’s chastisement, still
holding my head. Drinking alcohol was against the doctrines of my father’s church. When my
father came back that evening from work, he refused to respond to my greetings. He just
walked past me.
***
The next day, after I’d my bath and changed my clothes, I went to Kola’s house. I
knew nothing about Senator Harrison other than what Biola initially told me. Kola was an
honest, truthful and loyal friend so I decided to learn more about Senator Harrison to enable
me make a decision on whether to continue or beat a retreat. He was from the same town
with Senator Harrison. He was someone whom one could share one’s innermost secrets
without fear of betrayal.
He was a Sales Manager in a big pharmaceutical company. He read bachelor of
pharmacy degree in University of Lagos and master of business administration degree
(marketing) in University of Ibadan. He was lucky to have graduated when graduates had
many jobs to choose from. He was imposingly handsome. He was tall, dark-complexioned
and slim. He knew how to dress. He was a reformed womanizer.
He’d a two-bedroom flat in Spring Street. A Street strictly meant for the wealthy. He
lavishly furnished the flat. He’d all it took to be a playboy. And this was what he was, before
he married Toyin and retired. Before then, he was crazy about beautiful, sophisticated ladies.
Because he’d what it took, he attracted them the way stale meat attracted flies. Wishful girls
sought after the handsome and wealthy bachelor.
They were dying to go to bed with him. Unfortunately he maintained interest in a girl
only if she didn’t succumb for sex. But ultimately they all succumbed. He met the girls in
frequent night parties he held in his flat, or at nightclubs, restaurants, bars, and friends’
parties.
It didn’t matter to him their social status or where they came from whether they were
single or married, rich or poor. Some of his girls belonged to renowned families with lots of
prestige, money and connections. Others were less socially eminent, and less wealthy. By and
large they were all the same to him.
His parents looked on with growing apprehension as he went around creating
emotional havoc among Lagos young and beautiful women.
Many girls usually met in his flat but none of them ever asked who the other girls
were or what they wanted. This proved the extent girls could throw away their fastidiousness
and their sense of decency in order to capture a man of their dream. Kola compensated them
with generous cash gifts, sporadic shopping and social outings. If anybody wanted to be a
playboy, he must be loaded with money. At a point his carefree life started to bother his
parents so they pleaded with him to marry. They believed his association with women would
reduce if he got married. He always obeyed his father, so he accepted.
“I’m confused who to marry. I know that not all that glitter is gold. I know many of
my girlfriends are not better than professional whores. I believe, however, that there must be
a good girl among them,” he told me. So he decided to find out.
He started his annual leave, but didn’t tell any of them. He stayed at home from
morning till night. When the girls came on their usual visits, he told them one after the other,
“I’ve lost my job and unfortunately I’ve no savings.”
Many of them were shocked. Their regular source of finance was gone. He didn’t take
them out as usual. Some of the girls never returned again. “Who wants to befriend a
liquidated guy?” one of them had said.
“If you hadn’t lost your job we should have gone to the Shalamar Concert,” another
told him, on a different day.
The number of his female visitors dwindled. And, whenever, some of the remaining
ones came they stayed for a short time saying they had appointments. Kola kept mental
record of the way each girl behaved.
He’d an accumulated annual leave for two years. It amounted to two months. At the
end of a month, he drove his car to a gasoline station and packed it. He paid the manager of
the station to get the car watched. He covered it with tarpaulin to avoid easy detection.
When the manager wanted to know why he wanted to pack the car there, he told him,
“I’m traveling abroad and I’m afraid to leave it in my compound because of thieves.”
He told his remaining girlfriends, “I’d an accident with my car on the expressway
when I was going to attend an interview, and the car was damaged beyond repairs.” They
sympathized with him. Others absconded remaining three.
Omosola came for another one week and stopped. This left Helen and Toyin.
Helen was breathtakingly beautiful but she’d ungovernable temper. Her long,
beautiful legs were the focal point of every male eye anywhere she went. She once destroyed
Kola’s stereo when they had a misunderstanding.
Toyin couldn’t be described as beautiful, but she was attractive. She’d a superb figure.
She was slim, tall and fair complexioned. She dressed in cheap but well-fitting clothes. She
was about twenty-one years old.
Helen’s visits towards the end of his leave became more irregular, but Toyin made
hers daily. She spent her meager salary buying gifts for Kola. Kola told her to stop but she
refused. She was a clerk in one of the oil companies. She knew Kola liked drinking, so she
always bought him bottles of brandy. She always cooked for him and washed his clothes
before she left. She begged Kola to take life easy because with his qualification he would
secure another good job.
Kola gave her a lift one day and that was how they met. He gave her his
complimentary card and she promised to visit him; and she did.
At the end of his leave, Toyin had distinguished herself. Kola made up his mind to
marry her. A day to his resumption, he went to the gasoline station and collected his car. The
following day, he resumed in his office.
Some of the girls saw his car plying the streets, but couldn’t believe their eyes. “Is this
not Kola’s car?” they asked themselves. If not for the registration number, they would have
thought it was some other person’s car. If there was anything girls knew how to do very well,
it was to memorize their boyfriends’ car numbers.

They later learnt he’d resumed in the office, where he told them he’d been sacked.
They couldn’t understand what was happening. Some went to Kola for explanation. It was
then he told them, “It’s a test of your sincerity and the love you’ve for me. I was never sacked
and I never had any accident.”
They wept and begged to be given another chance but Kola declined. He engaged
Toyin. Plans for their wedding started immediately. He sent invitation cards to even his
former girlfriends.
I was, however, afraid if the wedding wouldn’t be interrupted by one of his jealous
former girlfriends. I’d once attended a wedding, which was brought to abrupt end by a former
mistress of the bridegroom.
***
I was going through the book section of King’s Supermarket one sunny afternoon
when I ran into Christie. She was the first to see me. I was eight months old in Lagos.
"Hi Chika! So you’re in Lagos?” she asked.
"Sure. This is where the action is and I like being where the action is,” I replied,
smiling. “How are you?”
“Fine, thank you. Have you got a job now?”
“No,” I replied. “I am still searching for job, how about you?”
“I started working the following month I finished my service.”
“‘It’s understandable. Any man who wouldn’t give you a job wouldn’t give anyone
else. With your exceedingly beautiful face, charming voice, superb physique and disarming
smile, any man who could resist your charm must be made of stone.”
She smiled, revealing her snow white, good set of teeth. Blood rushed to my head and
made me dizzy. And my heart increased its pulsation.

Christie had been making me feel this way since our days in the university. We
attended the same university. She also read industrial chemistry. There was no doubt that she
was a Monday creation, when God was fully rested after the Sunday break, because she was a
combination of beauty and brain, a rare combination. She gained a lot of attention from the
male sector of the school. Unfortunately, Christie snubbed all of us. She refused being my
lover, but accepted being my friend. I was happy, however.
She was addicted to expensive clothes and cosmetics. She was from a poor family so
she depended mainly on wealthy, older lovers to maintain her exorbitant taste. This was the
major reason why she rejected us. We had no money to lavish on her.
“If you’re not in a hurry, let’s go and eat some snacks,” I suggested.
She accepted. I led the way to the snacks bar. I bought a meat pie and doughnut for
her, one sausage roll and a meat pie for myself. I also bought two bottles of Fanta. I carried
them to meet her where she’d already taken her seat and reserved one for me.
As we ate, I was continuously looking at Christie. She caught me a number of times
gazing at her. “Christie don’t you think you should reconsider your decision about having an
affair with me?” I finally asked.
“I’m sorry. It’s too late,” she replied.
"Why?”
"I shall be wedding soon,” she said, “Arrangements are already at advanced stage.”
And a smile of satisfaction touched Christie’s mouth.
I felt depressed. “Who is the lucky man?”
“He’s not someone you know. He is the Executive Officer of House of Furniture and
Design Limited in Sule Street, Lagos. He has bachelor of in civil engineering and master of
business administration degree. He schooled in London. When he returned to Nigeria, he
went into interior decoration business. The furniture his company designs and exports had
been world-acclaimed masterpieces. He sourced all his materials locally because Nigeria has
the best wood in the world. Furniture making and interior decoration is a real money spinner
in the country today.”
“Am I invited to the wedding?”
“Oh yes. If I know your address, I shall send you a card.”
I quickly gave her my house’s address. It looked God created some people to be lucky
all their life, I said to myself.
"I must be going. I want to go to the salon this afternoon. I’ve a date with Ken this
evening.”
“Is that his name?”
"Yes.”
We stood up and left the supermarket. I followed her to the bus stop; where she
boarded a taxi for Independence Avenue.
Two weeks later, the long expected invitation card arrived. The quality of the card
convinced me that Christie had caught a big fish. It wouldn’t be advisable to miss the
wedding, I told myself. The D-day was just a week away according to the card.
I sent my suit that day to the dry cleaner and paid for express service. When I
collected it four days to the wedding, it was looking great.
Hence I was closer to Christie than Ken; I attended the Spinster’s eve. I’d attended
parties in my life, but this one would ever remain evergreen in my memory. I left the party at
five thirty.
I slept only for a few hours, before I woke to prepare for the wedding scheduled for
ten o’clock. I arrived in the church before the bride and bridegroom. I went to the front row
pew and sat down; I wanted to take photographs as the service progressed.
About thirty minutes after my arrival, the bridegroom arrived in a convoy of
expensive cars. Few minutes later, the bride arrived dressed in fascinating wedding gown.
I found it difficult to decide who was more beautiful between Christie and her Chief
Bride’s maid. Everything about the wedding was marvelous.
The church service was soon in session. People were singing happily as if calling God
to come down. Indeed, it was as if God Himself were there. I looked around the church. It
radiated with different colors. There were hundreds of guests and throng of reporters. Creams
of the society were there. That day I’d wished my wedding should be like that and it was. But
mine was even more colorful.
At a point, the Bishop conducting the service asked, “Does anybody have any reason,
why these two should not be wedded? Speak up now or forever remain silent.” This was the
point I dreaded most in weddings. One nut could just end a beautiful day.
A young lady stood up. She was carrying a small child by her side. My heart missed a
beat, did a somersault and increased its beating rate.
“I am his wife, my lordship,” the lady said. “I’ll not allow this husband snatcher to
take my husband from me.”
“By Jove!’ I exclaimed. “Oh why should this lady ruin such a beautiful day like this,”
I shouted aloud.
I saw Christie faint. Ken lost color. Many people started to leave the church. I stood
up and dashed out of the church with my camera hanging on my shoulder.
Christie was a daughter of a poor family. Her parents lived in the village in the south
eastern Nigeria. The general ethical decadence of the society had not left the women
unaffected. They shared with the men a consuming passion for wealth. Christie’s desire like
most women of her ilk was boundless and incapable of complete satisfaction.
I later learnt that Ken met the lady two years before. Though the lady was madly in
love with Ken, he’d no intention of marrying her. The lady got pregnant thinking this could
change Ken’s mind, but it did not. Actually, before Ken met Christie, he wasn’t capable of
loving any woman for long. Grapevine had it that Ken’s weakness was that he hunted for
girls, the way cat hunted for mice.
However, Kola was lucky. None of his former girlfriends messed up his wedding. It
was one in town.
***
Kola and Toyin had just returned from the church, when I arrived at their apartment.
It was surprising how some guys changed their ways of life after marriage. He was no longer
prone neither to wild partying nor gross indiscretion. He would return from his office in time
for dinner except when on tour. Knowing what a womanizer he was, I didn’t think he’d make
a good husband.
Kola and Biola were such a nice couple, but still childless, despite all their efforts.
Kola was closer than a brother to me, and I felt he deserved a better luck. And Toyin, well,
she was just an angel in all ramifications.
Toyin went in to prepare lunch, while I sat with Kola in the sitting room discussing
and sipping Remy, his choice brandy. I lit a cigarette.
“Chika you haven’t changed? Most countries in the world have banned smoking in
public places such as offices, bus stations, airports, sports venue et cetera to reduce tobacco-
related deaths. Professor Olukoye Ransome-Kuti, our former Minister of Health, encouraged
the government to ban smoking in public places but people like you never allowed it to work.
Our policemen lacked the will power to enforce the ban. Cuba is the world’s best-known
cigar producing country, but the country has banned smoking in public places. Castro the
President even gave up cigar smoking in 1986. Chika quit this bad habit before cancer kills
you.”
“Cancer is not for me.”
“Apart from cancer, cigarette smoking has been implicated in a range of diseases like
coronary heart diseases, bronchitis and emphysema. Smoking is dangerous to your health,
give it up,” he advised.
“I’ve almost forgotten you’re a pharmacist. I’ll think about it. You know, bad habits
are hard to break.”
After these preambles, I told him why I’d come to visit him.
“Kola, I had the disgrace of my life yesterday.”
“What happened?” he asked anxiously.
“I went to visit Biola at home and I ran into her father. When he learnt of my humble
background, he warned Biola, he wouldn’t like to see me around his house again?”
“You mean you went to Senator Harrison’s house? My God!” Kola exclaimed. “He is
an egocentric man. He has gone mad with accumulated arrogance. “He has no regard for the
poor. I don’t know why God usually give money to punks,” he said indignantly. He set his
drink down on a side stool, evaluating his position.
“Under which party’s platform did he become a senator?”
“People National Party (PNP). The party is a conglomeration of dubious individuals,
people who have been discredited and disowned publicly for their multifarious misdeeds and
crimes against humanity.”
“How did he get elected? Your people must be crazy to have voted for such an
egoistic man as your representative to the Senate.”

“Who voted him in? He rigged himself into the Senate. Many people were of the
opinion he’ll lose his deposit but he simply laughed at them. ‘I don’t need your votes to win,’
he told them.” He took another sip of his drink.
“Only two parties were active in my area. The others were non-existent. Chief Duro
was the candidate of the Conscience Peoples Party (CPP). Though, Chief Duro was rich his
party was made up mainly of peasants. They’d no money to sponsor massive rigging. Chief
Duro was a man of high moral standards and cherubic innocence. He contributed immensely
to the uplifting of the standard of life of our people. He was a successful businessman and
philanthropist. He studied law in the University of Nsukka, in south eastern Nigeria. He
always donated generously in development launching ceremonies of all the villages in our
area. He’d given scholarship to a number of indigent students in higher institutions.”
“How about Harrison?” I stubbed out my cigarette. The way I picked up bad habits
surprised me. The problem was that I always found them difficult to break. I’d tried several
times to stop smoking without success. The same with alcohol, anytime, I got drunk, I swore
I would never drink again, only to get drunk soon after.
“Nonsense, he only came home after many years when he wanted to contest for the
senatorial seat. He couldn’t even recognize his father’s compound. He was shown his father’s
house by a Good Samaritan. Being that the house wasn’t befitting, he quickly built a story
building in less than three months. He left home when he was a small boy to live with one of
his uncles in Lagos. Till he grew up and got married, he never came home. He didn’t even
come when his father died.”
"How did he become rich?”
“He was one of Nigeria’s first set of 419ers (The advance fee fraudsters). He deceived
many foreigners who had interest to do business in Nigeria and duped them of their money.
He usually promised to help them establish in Nigeria but always abandoned them after
collecting some money to process the document of registration of the business. I learnt he
even duped a prominent bank in Brazil. He became a billionaire by the time; he converted the
millions of dollars he collected under false pretense from these unsuspecting foreigners to
naira. He employed telephone, email and internet to carry out his nefarious act. He arrived in
Lagos in 1940 with nothing in his pocket. He’s worth a fortune today, of course.”
“But those foreigners must be big fools. Why should they fall for such a scam?”
“Senate Harrison is an experienced con man and like all of them, he always zeroed in
on people’s vulnerable areas, he pressed the buttons of their weaknesses, and he had them
running in circles. And greatest of the weaknesses is greed. You don’t understand the extent
these fraudsters could go to deceive their victims. I will give you an example. In 1980,
Senator Harrison and his cohorts invited a fifty-year-old Briton to Nigeria. He was
enthusiastic because he’d come to seal a multi-million naira oil deal.”
“Was Senator Harrison working in an oil company?”
“He never worked anywhere. He has been self-employed. Let me go back to the story.
As the aircraft from London touched down at the Murtala Mohammed International Airport,
Cameron was a happy man. He felt he would soon have a stake in the nation’s lucrative oil
business, unknown to him that he was walking into the dangerous embrace of Nigerian scam
artists, headed by Senator Harrison.”
“The Briton must be very ignorant. Oil business is handled by Nigeria National
Petroleum Company, so why did he have to go to individuals who were not staff of NNPC?”
“The bureaucracy there is too much. And these foreigners are always in a hurry. To
make sure the Briton was properly trapped in the game, Senator Harrison and his team of
fraudsters met Mr. John Cameron at the airport. He was driven to a hotel in Ikoyi in a tinted
Prado Jeep in convoy of other expensive cars for a grand reception. He was booked into the
V.I.P. suite of the very expensive hotel. Mr. Cameron was highly impressed. He was
convinced he was about to clinch a deal that would change his life completely.
“The next day, they drove him to a well-furnished office, where they held a crucial
meeting. After, the meeting, Mr. Cameron handed over to Senator Harrison, nine hundred
thousand dollars to process the contract documents and company registration. That was the
last time; he saw Senator Harrison and his accomplices.”
“What did he do?”
“He waited for a week in the hotel suite for them to return. He thought they’d bring
the Contract Agreement for his signature. He made several calls in an attempt to get in
contact with them, but the calls never went through. They had disconnected the phones.”
“But this is wicked.”
“He became anxious. He trusted them and never knew he could be abandoned. With
the cost of living in an expensive hotel, he soon ran out of money after one month. With his
bills mounting and no money to pay, the hotel management kicked him out of the hotel.”
“How did you know all this?” I asked incredulously.
“I met Mr. Cameron about a year ago and he told me the story himself.”
“Where? Have you been to London?”
“No. Here in Lagos.”
“You mean he’s still in Lagos, since 1980?”
“No. He came back in 1981.”
“He must be a lunatic. He came back to Lagos, after what he went through?”
“He explained that fraudsters were in every country in the world, that it wasn’t unique
to Nigeria.”
“How did he leave this country in his first visit?”
“The British Embassy took care of his return journey.”

“He was lucky. But how did you know that Senator Harrison was involved in the
scam?”
“Mr. Cameron described him vividly and I’ve long known he was into the advance
fee fraud business.”
“Why is Mr. Cameron back to Lagos?”
“He’s now a link for other Europeans who want to establish business in Nigeria. He
has also registered a company that is involved in the importation and sales and servicing of
computers.”
“What have your people benefited from Senator Harrison being in the Senate?”
"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. But he isn’t representing anybody. He is only
representing himself. Since he rigged himself into the Senate, he only went home once, when
a chieftaincy title was to be conferred on him.”
“But, why?”
"For being able to buy our mercenary Clan Head, he was described as an illustrious
son. Some of these old people have outlived their usefulness. They are only interested in
feathering their own nests at the expense of our communal interest.
“On the day the chieftaincy title was conferred on him, the village was thrown into
festivity but the whole affair ended in tragedy. Senator Harrison had built a five million naira
palace for our village king for finding him worthy of the title. The furniture for the palace
was imported from Italy. He hired ten luxurious buses to convey guests from Lagos to the
village, because there was no airport near our village. I didn’t want to be told the story of
what happened, so I was in the ceremony.
“The traditional rites were performed before the entertainment. By tradition, Senator
Harrison went into retreat a day before, fasting and praying for a peaceful conferment of the
title, which at times could be marred by violence. Two prominent musicians featured in the
ceremony. One plays highlife music and the other was a juju musician. An entertainment
company was paid to make all the arrangement, provide the drinks and the food.”
“It looks Senator Harrison is extravagant,” I said. “The ceremony must have cost a
fortune.”
“Why won’t he be? He didn’t work hard for his money. After the very important
guests were seated at the high table, the highlife musician started to play his evergreen tones
arousing nostalgic feeling among the guests. Many of them couldn’t resist the urge to dance,
so they trooped to the floor to dance.”
“Was Biola at the ceremony?”
“Yes. She was there. The juju musician soon took over. He sang in praise of Senator
Harrison. He came with his wife to the dancing floor, followed by Biola. Some of his guests
joined him. As they danced, his distinguished guests tried to out-do themselves in lavish
spraying of money on Senator Harrison and his family, in the presence of the hungry, the
homeless and the unemployed, who came to watch the ceremony of ceremonies.”
“Before Senator Harrison went to his seat, he walked to the platform, deepened hand
into his flowing garment and threw handful of money on the performing musicians. People
watched with their mouth hanging open,” Kola said.
“Were the poor people entertained?”
“Yes. And this was when the tragedy occurred. In an attempt to get served many of
the poor villagers were knocked down in the mass of rushing and pushing when it was time to
serve them. Some tripped and stumbled into the ditches. Some others fell on the ground and
felt feet on their backs and heads; their noses and mouths were ground into the dirt. Over the
mutilated, suffocating bodies, hundreds of feet relentlessly trampled.
“By the time police arrived at the scene to restore order, four children, two women
and a man were dead. The village hospital was jammed with the wounded. Many people who
witnessed the incident were stunned. ‘The hunger in this country has reached alarming
proportion, see how people trample their fellow human beings to death because of food,’ one
man complained.” Kola face looked sad.
“The dancing and feasting went on as if nothing had happened. Political opponents
took the disaster as an omen that God was against the wastage of funds, when the populace
was hungry. Some other people used the tragedy to underscore the heartlessness of Senator
Harrison and the contemptible shallowness of his mind.
“The next day, all the newspapers reported the big ceremony.” He stood up and
brought an old copy of People’s Voice and The Nation.”
Chief Duro, one of the leaders of the Conscience Peoples Party, owned the People’s
Voice while The Nation was a government owned newspaper.
The Nation carried a whole page of pictures showing highlights of Senator Harrison’s
chieftaincy ceremony and another page carried full story of the occasion. Almost all the other
pages carried congratulatory messages from well-wishers and political colleagues.
The People’s Voice carried a short story of the ceremony and decried the unnecessary
extravagant display of wealth by Senator Harrison and his guests who attended the occasion
and the lost of lives of the poor villagers. And on the same page, it carried a story that the
country was seeking for IMF loan.
“Do you support the move?” Kola asked me, when I finished reading the newspapers.
“How can I? IMF and World Bank were established to serve imperialist purpose. If
we get the loan, they will soon be governing this country. They will tell us things we should
or shouldn’t do.”
“I am worried the rate our politicians are squandering the riches of this country.
Imagine the amount wasted on the day of Senator Harrison’s chieftaincy title conferment,”
Kola said.
“There is no doubt that the capricious practices of the politicians worry me. If they
have not looted the treasury and made the nation insolvent, the rate of unemployment would
have been less,” I said.
“Senator Harrison and his ilk are the problem of this nation,” Kola said. He was tense
with indignation.
“His ambition was unmistakable, but it was an ambition totally devoid of any purpose
for the country. The objective of being in the senate is selfish.”
“But how did you know Senator Harrison rigged?”
“Ah! That was obvious. I’ve not heard anybody claiming to have voted for him. Chief
Duro, his opponent was kidnapped a week to the election and was released a month after. By
then, the time to file election petitions had expired.”
“But why didn’t Chief Duro’s party do something?”
“What could they do?” What can a collection of peasants do when the case involved a
billionaire backed by a powerful party? They lodged a complaint with the police.”
“That’s right! What did the police do?”
“What do you expect them to do, when the police boss was appointed by the
government in power-PNP. They told the complainants to go home because they had no
evidence.”
“Didn’t they investigate?”
“Investigate what? It seems you’re deaf.”
“What did Chief Duro do when he was eventually released?” I lighted another
cigarette.
“It was too late. He only promised to revenge.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. “Kola sat back and took a seep of his brandy.
“What is Senator Harrison’s qualification?” I asked.
“He has LLM in Law. He first went to University of Ibadan, but was quickly expelled
for taking part in student demonstration. He later gained admission into University of Lagos,
where he studied Law. He was an excellent student. Despite his academic brilliance, he failed
in his brief attempt to practice law. He took some cases in Lagos on behalf of some poor
workers accused of minor crimes, all were found guilty. After this dismal performance, he
became an advance fee fraudster, which made him rich. During the early period, he began to
study French and German in evening classes. These languages helped him gain the
confidence of his victims.”
“Was it because Chief Duro was kidnapped that made you conclude Senator Harrison
rigged the election?”
“Of course no, he even started rigging right from the time of the registration of voters.
He bribed the officials and got many illegal aliens registered. Otherwise how could one
explain our senatorial district alone having thirty million eligible voters? Last year our
population was estimated to be fifteen million. On the day of the election his trained thugs
disappeared with many of the ballot boxes of the areas he wasn’t popular. Agents of CPP
were driven away from the polling booths by his thugs and forced voters to cast their votes
for their master, while the police looked the other way.
“In other places, he bribed electoral officers to alter election figures. Figure like 21
was easily changed to 121 or 221 depending on the disposition of the officer. This was
discovered because in some areas the number of votes recorded exceeded the number of
registered voters.” Kola walked to the bar to pour himself another drink.
“I hope you have not allowed unsubstantiated rumor prejudice your judgment,
because I learnt from Biola that her father did extensive campaigning and that was why he
won?”
Kola erupted in laughter, “Unsubstantiated, indeed!’ He laughed with absolute
abandonment, throwing his head back, opening his mouth to the fullest possible extent,
shaking his whole body and often stamping with one foot.
“Rubbish. What would she have said? Have you ever seen a person accepting that his
mother is a witch? One of Senator Harrison’s friends actually helped him write a carefully
worded fable designed to deceive our people, but it didn’t work. In fact his late father was a
notorious thief in our area. Something in the gene, a hibiscus plant cannot produce a rose
flower.” I gave a nod to acknowledge the important fact.
He stood up, went to his shelves, opened one and brought out a file. He gave me some
typewritten sheets of paper. The brandy didn’t impede his memory a jot, I noted. It was the
full text of Senator Harrison’s manifesto. It read thus:
Good day my good people of Chroma. Standing before you today is your humble son,
Babatunde Harrison. I am seeking your mandate to represent you in the Senate. I’m an
indefatigable fighter of human rights. My major aim is the betterment of the life of my
people, who I love so much.
My detractors might tell you many false and malicious stories about me. Pay deaf ears
to them because they are embittered and nefarious people anxious to dent my public image.
Service to my people is my ambition. I promise to make farming easier and more
profitable by soliciting for inputs from the government for you. I shall ensure that a
government secondary school is built in this senatorial district. And also a standard hospital
will be built to take care of the sick people and treatment shall be free. The Rural
Electrification Board shall electrify more villages. Those enjoying REB now shall be
connected to National Electric Power Authority (NEPA). All our roads will be tarred. Those
tarred already, will be regularly maintained. Dry pipes shall be a thing of the past. Clean pipe
borne water is not a luxury in this modern life. I shall make sure that government sinks
boreholes in most villages.
My good people vote for Harrison for action, vote for PNP for progress.
“But this is a fine manifesto,” I confessed.
“There’s no doubt about that. But which of the promises has he fulfilled. He just liked
the privileges not the responsibilities. Our politicians know how to lie to the populace. He is
amassing more wealth, and engaging in all type of businesses in this world. He’s a man who
places self ahead of national gains. I wonder why God has not perished all the wicked
people.”
“He’s giving them a long time to repent,” I replied. “Most of our politicians tell
sweets lies, knowing that sugar catches more flies than vinegar.”
“Senator Harrison will never repent. Since he became a senator he’d taken his
legislative functions as part time, while he spent most of his time transacting his own
businesses, which varied from seeking all sort of contracts to smuggling. I’ve never seen such
a greedy man all my life. He has no respect for the oath he took. To discharge his duty to the
best of his ability, to protect and defend the constitution of this country, and also, that he will
not allow his personal interest to influence his official conduct or any official decision and to
abide by the code of conduct as contained in the constitution,” he said in disgust.
“But how many people have ever respected that oath?” I asked. “It’s just for
formality,” I said, sipping my brandy and staring at Kola.
“He deliberately refused to declare his asset. In place of his duty, which is to monitor
that the laws of the land weren’t unnecessarily abused, he preoccupied himself with making
money and seducing innocent girls. A man formerly slim and with narrow chest changed as
though by magic, into a robust man with sagging stomach and kwashiorkor-like cheeks.
People like him and his cohorts hold our country back from true democracy. In other parts of
the world, elections have rules, but in Africa, especially in Nigeria, they don’t.”
“You seem to hate him so much, Kola?”
“No. This isn’t a matter of hatred. I’m only telling you the truth, so that you’ll know
the type of man you’re gambling with his only child. He is thoughtless, self-centered, corrupt
and insincere. He has no conscience at all.” He set his drink down on the side stool near his
chair, lamenting my involvement with Biola.
“You call my affair with Biola gambling?” I leaned back and lit a cigarette. I was the
only person allowed to smoke in Kola’s flat.
“I’m sorry. But that’s what it is. Gambling. Even Biola has a voracious sexual
appetite and pay men to take her to bed. You better be careful that she doesn’t capture your
heart.”
In my quest for wealth it pleased me to be acquainted with important people. This
bothered Kola. He saw it as a sign of weakness, and he didn’t want to see weakness in his
best friend.
“I believe in pleasure! I believe in love and pleasure. They both go together. We are in
this world for such a short time, and I want to get as much as I can out of my time. It’s as
simple as that. Doesn’t it make sense to you?”
“No. It doesn’t.”
In Africa’s macho society, the traditional role of a man was the paying of family’s
bills. When the woman was richer than her husband, and paid the bills, the man was regarded
as a weakling even though the woman didn’t mind. I knew the difference in our backgrounds
made Kola conclude that I was gambling.
Toyin, called us to the table and that ended our long discussion. “Any time two of you
sit down, you just continue to argue. I don’t know what you see to argue about every time,”
Toyin observed with a glint of amusement in her eyes. “Please come and eat your lunch.” We
drained our drinks and moved over to the dinning table.
“Your husband and I have our differences, as you’ve observed. But I like to think they
keep our friendship more interesting.”
After the meal, I thanked Toyin for the well-prepared dish and Kola for his
information and left. Kola escorted me to the door; he shook my hand vigorously, saying, “I
wish you luck in your current mission.”
I turned over in my mind the information I just received, I decided Senator Harrison
was not the kind of father-in-law I would like to have neither did I want a nymphomaniac as
wife my love for money notwithstanding. I decided not to visit Biola again either at home or
in the office. Kola was smart, upright and dependable so I believed all he told me to be true.
Though it was frustrating to see that the money for which I lusted had become an illusion,
after all.
CHAPTER THREE
Surprisingly the next day, I received a letter from the Federal Civil Service
Commission inviting me for an interview regarding the post of industrial officer. To be
invited for interview by the commission was no mean feat because many applicants apply.
Usually such a letter of interview was only obtained by connections to powerful people in
government or politicians.
On the day of the interview, I wore my only suit; I was told appearance mattered in
interviews. It had its own mark. Unfortunately the interview was postponed to the next day,
due to logistics problems.
“This is not surprising with what I have heard about the civil service in this country,”
one of the applicants said on our way home. “They’re very inefficient.”
I went back the following day and luckily the interview held.
“Check for your results in two weeks time,” the Chairman for the interview, an
official from Federal Civil Service Commission, told us after the interview.
Two weeks later, I went to check the result of my performance in the interview. When
I got to the office, I was directed to where to check the result. I met the secretary, who was to
help me check the result, retouching her face with cosmetics, displayed on her table as if she
was in a beauty salon.

“Good morning,” I said. “Please I’ve come to check the result of the interview held
two weeks ago,”
She pretended as if she didn’t hear me.
“Please I’m talking to you,” I said.
“The messenger who can help you check the result is not in. Come back tomorrow,”
She said with a note of finality in her voice.
“Please help me check it. I live very far from this place,” I pleaded.
“Are you blind? Can’t you see I’m busy?” she retorted.
“You can continue after, it can’t take you a long time,” I insisted.
“I’ve a lunch date. I don’t want to keep the man waiting.”
“Please help.”
“Why are you so excited about this job? Even if you’re successful, salary is irregular
and all benefits and allowances have been suspended,” she said, as she returned the cosmetics
to her drawer. “Please go away, I have no time to check anything.”
When I returned the following day, I met the messenger.
“Please I’ve come to check the result of the interview held two weeks ago. I was here
yesterday, but the secretary told me to come back today because you had gone out,” I
explained.
“Why didn’t she check the result for you? That woman is useless. She would have
done better in a brothel. She has numerous boyfriends and always abandons her job to attend
to them. She’s just being paid for doing nothing,” the messenger complained.
“But why have her boss not queried her?” I asked.
“Her boss can’t try that. The Permanent Secretary is one of her lovers that is why; she
doesn’t have respect for anybody in this office. She does whatever she likes.”
“That is unfortunate. Please help me check the result.”

“Our boss hasn’t come to the office yet, the file is in his office.”
“Your boss hasn’t come to work by ten thirty, when he is supposed to resume by eight
o’clock?” I asked.
“Wait. He might come before twelve or he might not come at all.”
The secretary arrived by eleven o’clock, her face heavily painted like a masquerade.
“Come Paul; is the boss in the office?” She asked the messenger.
“No. I’m waiting for him to come, so that I can collect the file to check this man’s
result. Why did you not help him check the result yesterday?”
“I was hurrying to keep a date.”
“And you couldn’t do your official duty first.”
“Shh! You better watch your mouth, before you talk yourself out of job,” she warned.
At this point, their boss arrived at eleven fifteen.
“Good morning, sir,” the messenger greeted and collected his briefcase. The man
opened his office and walked in.
“Have anybody asked of me?” I heard him ask the messenger.
“No, sir. That man sitting in the secretary’s office is waiting to check his result of the
interview held two week ago.”
“That’s alright. Open the file cabinet and collect the file.”
“Yes, sir.”
The messenger came out with the file.
“What is your name?”
“Okafor. Chika Okafor.”
“You’re successful,” he said after checking the list of successful applicants.
“Thank God,” I shouted.

“You’re lucky,” the messenger said. “The only problem is that the salary is irregular.
The messenger took the file to the Senior Administrative Officer, when he came out, he said,
“Agnes, the SAO says you should type this man’s appointment letter.”
“Leave the file on the table. I shall type it later,” she said, as she filed her nail.
“Please help me type the letter, I have somewhere to go when I leave here,” I pleaded.
“Please don’t disturb me.”
“Do you realize that you are a civil servant?” I asked venomously.
“And therefore?” she retorted.
“You’re supposed to render your service with civility,” I said.
“I’m no longer going to type the letter, go and report to whoever you like.”
I was so annoyed, I colleted the file and went in to see the SAO. Agnes, I perceived,
was someone that enjoyed life and disliked work.
“Excuse me sir, your secretary has refused to type my appointment letter,” I
complained.
“Cool down, young man. Go and pet her. She will type it for you.”
“Pet her to do her job?” I asked baffled.
“Young man, you’ll understand, when you join us, how the civil servants do their
jobs.”
I was highly disappointed. I’d heard of civil servants lackadaisical attitude to work,
but never believed it could be this bad. I took the file back to the secretary.
“Please help me type the letter,” I pleaded.
“Go and buy me snacks, if you want me to type the letter.”
“Okay. I’ll buy you snacks.”
She started to type the letter, while I went to buy her snacks. The SAO signed
afterwards and I collected the appointment letter.

***
On Monday morning, when I got to the bus stop, it was overcrowded. The
composition of people at the bus stop revealed marked stratification. Present were people of
various shapes and forms. The well off among them wore smart attires and some wore faded
and others tattered clothes with rubber slippers. Lagos was a home for all.
Among the people at the bus stop was Christie. I moved over to her. “How are you?” I
asked.
“I’m fine. Where are you going?”
“I am going to the office. I’ve recently rescued a job.”
“Congratulations. I learnt Amina now works in the Cadbury branch in Kano.”
“I’ll come to visit you in the office soon so that we’ll have time to discuss. I am
already getting late to the office.”
“I’ll be expecting you. Have a nice day.”
Whenever a bus arrived, there was a great rush. People trampled on others. It was a
known fact that this was the best time for pickpockets to operate. Some managed to enter the
rickety buses called “molue”, while they were still in motion at a speed that would’ve worn
them gold medals in the Olympics. They moved fast in Lagos.
“Life in Lagos is like a war. Everything is rushed because of its inadequacy,” a man
next to me complained.
I glanced at my watch once more. There was no doubt about it, I was going to be
unforgivably late for work. It was just my luck that this had to happen on my second day in
office.
When I realized that I was already late to the office, I removed my wallet from my
pocket and held it in my hand, folded the sleeves of my shirt in readiness for the next bus. I
couldn’t enter the bus because it was overflowing with commuters when it arrived. I was,
however, able to force my way into the next one. I bent my neck because my head was
touching the roof of the bus.
“Comfort isn’t in the dictionary of the builders of this bus,” I complained to the
conductor, as he collected my fare.
“Marina,” the conductor shouted, when the bus got to the area my office was situated.
“Owa,” I shouted, meaning in Yoruba language that I’d arrived at my destination.
When the bus stopped, I jumped down and hurried to the office. When I got to the
office, I was informed that the man deputizing for, my boss had asked for me. I went into his
office.
“Why are you late to the office?” he asked.
“I was held up at the bus-stop, sir,” I replied.
“You must endeavor to be punctual to the office,” he advised.
“Yes, sir.”
***
When I got to the office the following day, there were two telephone messages on my
table. One was from Biola, the other from Amina. They both said I should call them, anytime,
I got to the office. I tore the papers and threw them into the waste-paper basket. I was
surprised how they found out where I work, let alone my phone number.
I was arranging my table when the phone started ringing. I hesitated before I picked it
up. It was Amina.
“Good morning, dear. I have phoned before. Why did you come so late to the office?”
“Why should I come early to the office, where late coming, is the norm?”
The lackadaisical attitude of civil servants to work baffled me. Loitering, gossiping,
absenteeism, truancy, and malingering were their characteristics. For two months I’d no
schedule of duty. The man who was supposed to be my boss, who would have assigned me
with my duty, had been abroad for three months. He was on “Operation see the world’. He
was neither on leave nor official duty.
I stayed three months before I received my first salary. Before I was paid the salary, I
had to give tips to the Accounts clerks. My file which earlier had been declared missing
surfaced almost by miracle after I gave the tips. It took that long to process the salary of a
new employee.
“I just want to congratulate you about your new job, “her voice bubbled with joy.
“Thank you. Who told you? And how did you get my number?” Christie told of the
job. I found your telephone number in the directory. I hope we can now start planning for our
marriage.”
“Don’t be in too much hurry. We’ve our whole lives ahead of us and we have to put
off our plans a bit.”
“But you promised we can marry when you’ve got a job?”
“Yes. But my salary right now is too small to support a family.”
“If lack of money is all you’re worried about, I don’t need material things. All I need
is you.”
“Amina, just be patient.”
Amina was madly in love with me, sincerely in love. She had a mad passion for me.
We got along well before Biola came on and had planned to marry as soon as I was gainfully
employed. But how could I spend the rest of my life with Amina after meeting Biola? I had
decided to marry Biola. I needed money. Climbing the social ladder, acquiring money,
attaining a measure of respectability, getting out of the Ajegunle slum were the conditions
that motivated me. I knew Amina will be so disappointed, so profoundly hurt. She had hoped
for more than a fling.
***
As soon as the phone was back in its cradle, it rang again. “Who is this again?” I
complained.
“Chika, is that you?” Biola asked when I picked up the receiver.
“Yes.”
“I’m happy to hear your voice, dear. I’ve been very worried since Saturday you
walked out of our house. I’m awfully sorry for my father’s behavior. I’ll like to see you. I’ve
not slept since that day. Please don’t be offended, love. You know it wasn’t my fault. Chika,
I’m dying to see your handsome face again. I love you.”
I didn’t like to admit to myself that I missed Biola for more than I’d ever thought
possible. It was a pity that Senator Harrison was a great drawback, because I missed Biola’s
generosity. I found going to work difficult due to delay in paying my salary, which was why I
missed her so much … more than she missed me, I suspected.
Before I could say a word, she dropped the phone. As I dropped mine, Sally walked
into my office carrying a tray with a cup of coffee and some biscuits. She was a newly
employed clerk. The sight of her always made me feel weak at the knee. I’d worked out a
strategy, how I would take her out someday. The problem with me was that anything I
wanted, I wanted excess of it.
“Sally, you’re welcome. How is today?” I asked.
“I’m fine.” She turned to look me squarely in the eye. “Chika, you have to be careful
of Josephine. She is a bit flirtatious. In this era of HIV/AIDS pandemic, it is dangerous
associating with her.”
Josephine was the confidential secretary to the permanent secretary. She was
outrageously captivating with seductive eyes; she knew how to dress in a way that made a
man took twice. She had shown a lot of interest in me since I resumed in the office.
“How did you come to that conclusion,” I asked.

“It means you’re not aware she is a divorcee?”
“Divorcee? Was she married?”
“Yes. Her husband was a salesman, who traveled extensively. During the period he
was away, Josephine slept with different men, even her husband’s friends in their
matrimonial bed.”
“That is serious!” I exclaimed.
“One day, her husband returned a week earlier than expected to find his best friend
with his wife stack naked making love on their matrimonial bed.”
“What did he do?”
“He apologized for disturbing them, closed the door and went out to a hotel to drink.
Before he returned, Josephine and his friend had disappeared. He was happy that Josephine
had taken a wise decision.”
“How do you know so much?”
“We lived in the same street and my parents were among those Josephine approached
to beg her husband, but the man refused to forgive. Instead, he instituted a divorce suit.
Josephine couldn’t marry her husband’s friend because he already had four wives and his
religion didn’t give room for the fifth.”
“Josephine wanted to eat her cake and have it back,” I commented.
“Her husband’s sexy friend was so ashamed of his betrayal; he sought for transfer to
Ibadan. He was returning to Lagos every weekend to visit his family. Two months later, he
died in an accident. Josephine is a slut, be very careful with her, so that she doesn’t inflict
you with AIDS.”
We were still chatting when Biola walked in. She shot Sally a frosty look, but quickly
took control of herself. Biola was looking breathtakingly beautiful in a skirt suit. I tried to
steady my quickened heart.

“Oh Chika darling, are your alright? You’re not looking bright.”
“I’m fine. I only had a rough weekend.”
“Have you seen a doctor?”
“No. It’s not as bad as that. I’ve taken some pills. By, the way, here you meet Sally, a
new employee; and Sally meet Biola, a friend.”
They exchanged greetings, though it was very shallow. Biola looked particularly
pretty, but extremely sad. Sally left us alone.
“Chika I’m going. Biola bye,” Sally said and walked out of the room.
“Is she your new girlfriend?” Biola asked.
“Ehh! Stop that, she is a co-worker. How do you know I work here?”
“You were invited for the interview through the influence of my friend. Julie. Julie is
a girlfriend to one of the commissioners of the Federal Civil Service Commission. She
monitored the whole event until you resumed here.”
“Is that so?”
“Chika, why did you run away from me? I guess I owe you an apology for the way
my father treated you. He has no right to tell me whom to befriend at my age. I’m matured
enough to direct my own affairs. If he doesn’t like my choice of friend, it’s only unfortunate.
He cannot force his taste on me.”
“Please Biola, I’ll not like to get between you and your father. We better break up this
affair.”
“Break what? Please don’t ever suggest that again. You mean more to me than the
whole world put together. I love you and nobody can change that. Not even my father.”
“Biola, the truth is that I’m scared to death of your father.”
“Don’t bother your head about my father. He is just like that. A snob. I’m sorry that
your first meeting with him was so unpleasant.”

“Your father is so arrogant and self-assured.”
She tried to kiss me but I pushed her away.
“Biola stop it, we are in the office.”
“Please don’t treat me like this. It isn’t my fault that my father refuses to understand
that I love you.” She was looking so entrancingly lovely.
Did she really love me or was the attraction she felt nothing but a physical longing?
“Ok, I agree with you. But let us give time for things to cool down.”
“There is no need. I shall drive you home today, so that I can visit you at home.”
“Biola, like your father said, Ajegunle is a slum. It’s a slum created by the inhabitants
due to their disregard for all rules of decency. The facilities in the area are overstretched
because what is meant for a limited number of people is used by millions of people. The
gutters are stagnant and stink. The area is always flooded whenever it rained,” I explained.
“No matter the state of squalor, I’ll follow you there,” she said, her eyes were alight
with determination. I was amazed at how thoughtful and humble she was.
“If you insist I shall take you there, but you’ll be highly disappointed.”
“I will not be disappointed. I’m ready to go anyway because of you,” she said
soothingly. She smiled and squeezed my hand. “I understand, Chika.”
Poor Biola, she had been such a marvelous help. It would be like a slap in the face
after all her assistance if I continued to be unfriendly.
“I love you but I didn’t like the way your father humiliated me. Because of you, I’ve
decided to forget the ugly incident.”
She smiled. “Let’s go somewhere to eat. I’m ravenously hungry. I drained my coffee
and we drove to Beach Restaurant. They were specialist in cooking fresh fish. And Biola
loved fresh fish. I was sitting with Biola in the restaurant when Josephine entered with a
friend. I waved at her, but she sailed by without as much as a nod.

After we ate, I drank three bottles of beer. Biola took a bottle of soft drink. On our
way back to my office, Biola said, “I’m going to drive you home. I want to know your
house.” It was a place I wasn’t proud of. A room occupied by ten people. I tried to discourage
her but she remained adamant.
“If my father prevents you from coming to our house then I shall come to your
house.”
“Biola the gold wrist-watch you bought for me has been stolen.”
“There is no problem; I shall replace it with a better one.”
I smiled inwardly. Biola dropped me off in the office, “I shall be back to pick you up
when the office closes,” she said, smiled reassuringly, and was gone.
***
After the office closed, Biola didn’t come. I decided to wait. More likely something
had come up unexpectedly and it simply hadn’t occurred to her to tell me that she would be
late. We would both have to learn to make compromises and to adjust to each other’s ways. I
was confident that as long as we love each other, we could do it. I would do anything
necessary to secure my happiness. I left for home after waiting for one and half hours feeling
the knot of panic tightening in my chest.
Three hundred meters from the office, I saw Biola’s charred car upside down by the
roadside. I ordered the taxi to stop. I paid the fare and walked to the car. The roof was dented,
and the windscreen was smashed. I crossed the road to a house opposite the scene of accident
to ask if anybody witnessed what happened.
“I saw the car somersaulting. I don’t really know what happened. I ran to the scene
and pulled the lady driving the car to safety before the car went up in flames. I hailed a taxi
and carried her to the nearest hospital,” a man I met in front of the house explained.
I felt panicky. “Was she badly injured?”

“No. Luckily she had no broken bones – just bruises and a lump on her head. But she
was unconscious.”
“My God! She might have sustained some internal injuries.”
“That I don’t know. After taking her to the hospital, I reported the accident to the
police.”
“Thank you. Please which hospital is she?”
“She is in Lagos General Hospital.”
When I got to the hospital, she was still unconscious. After about an hour, she
gradually opened her eyes.
“Where am I?” she asked.
I gave a great sigh of relief. “Hospital, I’m glad you’ve regained consciousness. I was
very worried about you.”
“What am I doing here?”
“You had an accident.”
“Accident?”
“Yes. Are you in pain?”
“Yes. My head aches. ”
I went to call the doctor. He quickly followed me and attended to her and she slept
off.
I was still sitting by her bedside, when Senator Harrison walked in followed by two
policemen.
“Get out of here, quick. If I ever find you near my daughter again, I will do something
to you that will make you curse the day you were born.” I turned swiftly and fled from the
room, very angry that he should still think he had the right to add salt to injury after the cruel
way he had treated me a few days ago. Outside the hospital, photographers and reporters had
thronged the hospital. The Harrison family made more news than any other family around.
Something was always happening.
***
Biola’s came to visit me in the office the next day after she was discharged. In two
weeks, her bruises had healed and fading and the lump on her head had disappeared. From
the office we drove to our house in Ajegunle.
She packed her car about hundred meters to our house. Houses in our area were
compacted and a garbage heap covered half of the small road that existed. There was no
enough space for a car to pass because it was rainy season; we waded through terribly muddy
road and pools of water to our house. Her beautiful shoes were badly soiled. I’d to wash them
when we got in. When she was going I gave her my mother’s rain boot to wear to her car
before putting on her shoes. This was one of the slums in Lagos, called Ajegunle.
This incident reminded me of a poem, I wrote sometime ago about Lagos.
In Lagos life flows
Like Atlantic Ocean
Its neighbor;
And its inhabitants
Move with the lightness
And buoyancy of a
Flock of plumy birds.
Lagos is a working
Man’s city;
People drawn by
Glaring tales of
Fortune easily made.

But squalor and splendor
Are in such embrace
As no other place
I know.
Though we stayed in one room my mother always kept it immaculately clean. My
mother had gone to the market but my father was at home.
“Who is that girl?” my father asked when she had gone.
“She is Senator Harrison’s daughter,” I replied.
“Come Chika, you’re playing with fire.”
“Why daddy?” I asked eagerly.
“You’re messing around with the daughter of that wicked, arrogant and wealthy
politician. I’m sorry for you.” I thought about how precious Biola had become to me in such
a short time. “But she loves me, daddy.”
He shook his head sadly. “Love? Did I hear you say love? It’s better for you to retrace
your steps before it is too late.”
“But why?”
“If her wicked father gets to know about this affair, you might not like what he’ll do
to you. Her father is a very violent man. Better leave the girl alone. The man is evil. Didn’t
you hear what he did to Chief Duro, his opponent in the last election? Keep away from his
daughter. The man is ungodly. He likes making a show of his power and money. Apart from
his father, how do you think you can cope with that girl that has been spoilt with money? Do
not say I didn’t warn you.” By the African culture, I was supposed to provide for Biola not
the reverse.
Up to this moment, my whole life has been a struggle for survival, and I knew
instinctively that survival for me now lay only in Biola’s hands. And I was tired of self-
denial. I wanted Biola and the pleasure she could provide. Pride, self-respect and African
culture be damned, I concluded.
***
I didn’t heed my father’s advice that was why I was in Senator Harrison’s house for
Biola’s birthday party. One thing was for sure; I’d her tied up in knots. She still nurtured the
hope that someday she would marry me. “If I’m denied marrying you,” she stated one day,
“I’ll never marry.”
When I got to Senator Harrison’s house for the party I straightened my shoulders.
Regardless of what shame and humiliation I faced in the past, I decided to stand tall, and face
Senator Harrison defiantly, with matchless dignity and poise. I would not be defeated. I
would preserve through stubbornness if nothing else. Before my courage and determination
failed, I moved boldly to the gate.
The party was in full swing when I walked into the ballroom. There were many
children of the rich. I could recognize them anywhere, anytime because of their well-
groomed appearance. The number of the girls outnumbered the boys.
Immediately I entered the room, all eyes were trained on me. I was wearing a cream
colored suit that was quite fitting.
Kemi, one of Biola’s friends was the first to see me, so she went to inform Biola I was
around. I deliberately went late. I wanted the party to be crowded before I got there to prevent
my easy detection by her father in case he didn’t travel.
Later, I saw Biola and Kemi maneuvering their way through dancing couples towards
me. I kissed her when she reached me. “You look elegant.” Biola smiled approvingly.
I presented her the gift I brought saying: “Happy birthday and many happy returns.”
The gift cost me a fortune. But I felt she was worth the sacrifice.
She found me a seat and detailed her friend to attend to my needs and disappeared.
When she reappeared, she was wearing the gold chain with a diamond pendant; I bought for
her as gift.
“Chika, this is very beautiful. I love it. It must have cost you a fortune,” she said, as
she caught sight of the multicolored sparkle reflected by the diamond nestling between her
breasts. I stood back to admire the effect of my gift critically assessing the beauty.
“You’re worth it, darling. I was confused of what to give to a lady who seemed to
have everything.”
“You really shouldn’t have spent so much,” she protested even as a pleased smile
tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Chika, I love surprises and whatever you give to me is
special to me.”
She beamed. I danced with her most part of the night but I noticed that one man was
particularly disturbing her. At a time, I couldn’t help enquiring who the man was.
“Who is this guy, always hovering around you?”
“He’s envious.”
“Envious? What does that mean?”
“He’s envious because I’m in your arms. He doesn’t know when he is not wanted.”
“Who is he?”
“He’s the son of Dr. Williams, the Legislator. He came back from U.S. two months
ago, where he obtained PhD in chemical engineering. Since he came back, he’d been
pestering me to marry him. Unfortunately, my father is encouraging him. He is impressed
that he’s the son of a legislator. I’ll be forced to disgrace him soon if he doesn’t leave me
alone. I’ve told him repeatedly that I’ve got a fiancé. But it seems he is deaf. I can’t imagine
anything worse than being in love with someone and being forced to marry someone else.
Can you? I’ll rather become a nun than marry him.”

I gave her a questioning glance and she smiled.
“But you never told me?”
“Told you what?”
“That you’ve got a fiancé.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s you of course. Who else? Or won’t you marry me? I’ve
considered marriage for some time, but until I met you, I hadn’t given it serious thought.”
“Have you forgotten what your father said?”
“Forget about him. I’m old enough to know what is good for me. My mom likes you.
There is no pomposity in her and we are very close.”
I looked at her and saw in her eyes a look of grim, unrelenting determination.
“Why me, Biola? You’re beautiful and rich. You’ve a rich man’s son dying to have
you. Why me?”
“Come to think of it, you men are not all alike. I’ve met a few who were horrible, and
didn’t know how to treat a woman. All they wanted was to satisfy themselves and not the
woman. Selfish lots. But you’ve courage, intelligence and fortitude. I wanted you from the
first moment I saw you. You’re handsome, gentle and sensitive. Darling, you know we are
good together. What’s so wrong with being in love?”
“What is so wrong? You really don’t know, what is wrong, do you? Nothing , I’m
from a wrong social class.”
“Nonsense. What has social class got to do with love? Look around, you’re the
handsomest man around.”
“So, that’s the reason you invited me to this party – for the satisfaction of showing me
off to your friends.”
“I won’t deny that, but I love you. I enjoy your company. And I derive a great deal of
pleasure, from your lovemaking. You make my heart smile. What else will a woman want
from a man? Chika, do you know what love means to a woman? To feel truly loved, by a
man? No, I guess you wouldn’t know. If you did, you would understand how I feel.”
When the D. J. began to play music, “Shall we,” Biola asked. So we went to dance. I
was unaware that her father was watching us as we danced. I later learnt it was Bolaji who
went to call him when he saw I was dominating Biola.
“Bolaji had to go abroad to complete his education because he slapped a lecturer in
his former university in the country. He met the lecturer with his girlfriend in a party. He
accosted the girl, but the lecturer intervened, so he slapped him. While the Senate of the
university was meeting trying to decide the disciplinary action to be taken against him, his
father sent him abroad to continue his studies,” Biola said. An arrogant man, Bolaji possessed
the self-assurance, which came from generations of wealth.
As we danced I felt someone tapping me at the back. I thought it was Bolaji so I
shouted: “Will you leave me alone?” But instead of complying, whoever, it was pulled
roughly on my shirt.
Senator Harrison felt he was entitled to choose mate for his daughter. His choice was
Bolaji Williams, a thirty-year-old chemical engineer. His mother was the daughter of the
national chairman of PNP. His father was a legislator. A marriage between Biola and Bolaji
would unite three powerful political families in Nigeria. However Senator Harrison’s choice
held little appeal for Biola.
I turned round angrily to face Senator Harrison. I felt like melting. I wondered why
God didn’t make man to melt and condense at will.
My elation vanished and a stab of pain shot through me, cooling my ardor. Senator
Harrison was looking at me as though I had crawled out of some hole and had struck with
poisonous fangs at the heel of his darling daughter.

“Come you pauper so you’ve the temerity to set your dirty feet on this compound
after my warning?” he asked, his eyes glinting with anger. The room became quiet.
Everybody was looking at me. “And who the hell let you in?”
I had nothing to say, so I said nothing.
“Daddy I invited him to the party,” Biola begged with some sort of genuflection.
“Why did you come here after I’ve warned you never to come into this compound
again?” he snarled, ignoring Biola’s explanation. “You must be a fortune hunter. Well, you’re
mistaken if you think you’ll get a dime from me.”
Before I could think of what to say he slapped me on the face.
His face curled into a vicious snarl. “Security guards,” he shouted. Two heavily built
men appeared with the speed of lightning. “Throw this bastard out of this compound.”
“Yes, sir,” they said in unison.
“Don’t touch him,” Biola protested, tears of indignant rage slid down her cheeks. But
the two hefty men hoisted me above the heads of the surprised guests.
“It’s Chika I love. Is it a sin to love someone? I’ll not marry Bolaji. I’ll rather die,” I
heard Biola crying.
“Hold your tongue,” Senator Harrison barked. “How dare you utter such outrage in
front of this crowd? You don’t know what is good for you.”
“It is late. How do you expect him to get a taxi home by this hour,” Biola continued
her protest.
The arrogant Senator Harrison wasn’t in the habit of allowing his instructions to be
disobeyed by anyone – especially, a man who he considered a pauper.
I was dropped outside the gate and the gate was locked. I felt as if I had been stripped
naked for the entire world to see. There were no more taxis. I looked at my wristwatch and it
was two thirty. I decided to trek till I could get a lift, though it wasn’t likely. Who would give
a stranger a lift when armed robbers were everywhere? I started to walk briskly down the
street.
I hadn’t walked far when I heard: “Hey you! Where are you going and where are you
coming from?”
My heart lurched wildly within me. My throat went dry and the blood sang in my
ears. I thought it was an armed robber. I moved closer and saw it was a policeman on night
patrol.
Imagine, no policeman came near our area except to make arrest. But what did we
have to be protected anyway? I said to myself.
“I went to a party, sir,” I replied.
“Where do you live?”
“Ajegunle”
He was not impressed with the place of my abode.
“Ajegunle? Who invited you to a party in this island?”
“A friend, sir.”
“Where do you work?”
“In the Ministry of Industries.”
“Where is your identity card?”
“I have none. It isn’t quite long I started working there, it’s being processed.”
“Before then what were you doing?”
“I was in the university and later an applicant.”
“Where is your university identity card?”
“I submitted it to the university when I graduated.”
“That is a lie. Graduates don’t submit their identity cards when leaving the
university.”
“We do in mine.”
“You’re a robber, keep moving,” he ordered. He kicked me from behind. I staggered,
but didn’t fall. “I’m taking you to the police station and if you resist I’ll shoot you.” Some
unemployed graduates had turned armed robbers, after waiting indefinitely for jobs that were
unavailable.
I’ve heard of policemen shooting innocent citizens as armed robbers, so I was
cautious.
“I’m not a robber. I have people who can identify me at 5 Modus Close. That’s where
the party is taking place.”
You’re talking rubbish. I’m going to charge you for robbery.”
When we got to the station, he threw me into a small, filthy cell and locked it.
Immediately I entered the cell, my nose was assaulted by an unbelievable stink. If Senator
Harrison thought he could continue treating me this way and getting away with it, he’s got a
surprise coming to him, I said, as I sat on the floor of the dirty cell.
When I got tired of sitting, I tried to lie down but the small cell could not take my full
length. I’d to fold myself. I tried in vain to sleep. My mind continued wandering.
Then I remembered my encounter with a big man some years ago in Jos. I was on
relief duty. I booked myself into a hotel on my arrival to the city one Sunday morning.
The officer I went to take over from came to see me in my hotel that night. We ate
and went to the bar to drink. The door to the toilet of my chalet was faced outside. So it was
always locked to prevent non-lodgers from using it. I wondered the crazy architect who
designed the hotel.
When I wanted to urinate, I asked one of the stewards to get me the key. He accepted
and left. I waited for thirty minutes without seeing him. I then went in search of him. I met
him talking to one man and excused him.

"Where is the key of the toilet you promised me?” I asked.
“I’m sorry, sir. I’ve been busy. I’ll bring it to you immediately I finish with the
director.”
I agreed. I’d started walking away when the director called me back.
“Do you know who he is talking to?”
“Why?”
“You don’t have to disturb when I’m talking to one of my employees.”
I was annoyed. “Go to hell,” I said.
He became furious. “I’ll order my security men to beat you up.”
“You dare not. You’ll be unable to pay the damages I’ll claim from you.”
“Imagine this rascal talking to me.” He called his manageress ordered her to return
my money. “I don’t want to see him in this my hotel again,” he barked.
The manageress refunded my money. After issuing the order, he drove to the police
station.
“Some nuts are loose in this bastard’s head; he needs someone to help him screw
them tight. I’ll order the police to lock you up and tell them when to release you,” he boasted,
before he left.
I pocketed my money and returned to the bar and continued drinking. The manageress
wept and begged me to check out otherwise she would lose her job hence she booked me in. I
was sorry for her. She was a slave to the so-called director. I decided to check out.
I was in my chalet packing my belongings when the director arrived with a police
constable.
“Hello, you’re invited to the station,” the constable said.
“With all pleasure,” I answered.

I looked at the director and smiled. “Mr. big man, I’ve no fear of toothless bulldogs
like you. You can’t do anything. I know my rights. If any police officer conspires with you to
lock me up, I shall not rest until he has been stripped of his uniform, sewn for him with my
tax. I’ve not committed any crime by asking for the key to my toilet.”
“We shall see. I shall tell you that we own this city.”
When I completed my packing, the police constable told him that we were ready.
“He can’t enter my car. I can’t allow this scoundrel to enter my car.”
“Shut up,” I roared. “Is it that ramshackle metal box on four wheels that you call a
car? I don’t enter a metal cage in the name of car. Constable, take this two hundred naira and
hire me a taxi,” I ordered.
This surprised the director. When the taxi came he refused to go the police station. I
was mad with rage. My friend begged me to leave him.
“I’m happy you’ve humiliated him in the presence of his multitude,” he said. “He is
fond of disgracing people. It is a crime to be poor in this country.”
I booked into another hotel that night and we continued our drinking spree.
At about five thirty the officer came back to the cell. I searched my pocket and found
five hundred naira. I folded the notes and threw them to the officer. He picked them up and
smiled.
“Why did you wait so long? Don’t let me find you loitering around this area again.”
Money, I thought, with our police it was always money. It was remarkable how money can
make them do anything.
He opened the cell and I walked to freedom.
***
The next day before ten o’clock, Biola had arrived in our house. I was surprised. My
parents have gone to the church with some of my younger ones. It was a Sunday.
“Chika, I couldn’t sleep throughout the night. I’ve come to confirm that you got home
safely.”
“I was arrested by the police not quite far from your house.”
“For what offence?”
“The police officer couldn’t understand what a poor man’s son should be doing in the
aristocratic area at that hour of the night. In fact, he wanted to charge me with robbery.”
“Jesus! What was his evidence that you were a robber?”
“Our police don’t need any evidence to charge you with any offence. Once you’re
charged, you’re charged.”
“How did you regain your freedom?”
“I gave him bribe, after spending three hours in the cell.”
“What? Cell? So he locked you up in the cell?”
“Of course, and he took my money.”
“Money!’ Biola shouted. “With our police it is always money. He’s fully aware
you’re not a robber; he just wanted to extort money from you. I think after the normal
training, they are then trained on how to receive bribe.”
“Yes. These are the people who are supposed to fight corruption but they are more
corrupt than anybody else,” I lamented.
“I’m very sorry for the traumatic experience. This explains why my mom and Kemi
didn’t see you along the road.”
“What do you mean?”
“After those stupid security guards carried you away, the party came to
unceremonious end. Most of the guests who came with their cars left for their homes. Kemi
rushed upstairs to wake my mom and informed her of what happened. She followed her down
immediately.
“This repeated embarrassment is why I want to call it quits. Your father is not ready
to relent.”
“Chika, please don’t talk that way. Don’t you see, I’ve never met anyone like you
before? The men I’ve ever known were nothing like you. You’ve shown more love to me in
this short period than I’ve known in the past years. I can’t ---” Her voice broke. She
swallowed hard, stalling for time to regain control of her emotions.
I felt vulnerable; afraid to embrace happiness too openly for fear something would
happen to destroy it. I’d awaken to find that the joy I felt was only a dream. Perhaps my
nightmares would return within a short time.
***
My pride was much like a huge block of ice, pecked at by Senator Harrison until only
a few scattered chips remained.
I was eating dinner that evening, when two police officers made an unwelcome and
totally unexpected visit to our house. My parents were around.
“Are you Chika Okafor?” the corporal asked me.
“Yes. I am Chika. Any problem?”
“Come with us to the station. You are under arrest,” the constable said.
“What have I done?” I asked.
“You’ll be told in the station,” the corporal said.
“Which station?” I replied, eating my meal’
“Victoria Island Police Station,” constable replied.
“But it is Ajegunle Police Station that covers this area.”
“You’re not in any position to determine that. Stand up and let us go before we apply
force,” the corporal warned.
“Please allow him finish his food,” my mother pleaded.

“We’ve no time to waste. He must follow us immediately,” the corporal said.
“What offence has he committed?” my father asked.
“That is not your business. But if you want to know, then come with us to the
station,” the corporal told my father.
“It’s my business to know why police want to arrest my son. Has it come to that in
this country?”
“You better watch your utterances, before we charge you for obstruction of duty,” the
constable warned.
“Young man, stand up or we’ll force you up,” the corporal threatened.
The constable kicked the small table in front of me and the tray containing my food
with the plates fell down. The plates broke and the food scattered all over the room. The two
police officers forcedly dragged me to the police van waiting outside and the driver drove off.
“Yes. That is he. That’s the nonentity that trespassed into my compound yesterday.
I’d previously warned him never to step his dirty feet on my compound, but he defied me.”
“Constable, take him to the cell,” the desk sergeant ordered. “We will charge him for
criminal trespass.”
He was dragging me to the cell, when my parents entered. When my parents saw
Senator Harrison, they knew immediately why I was arrested. My father became
uninterested.
“That bastard you call your son, better keep him off my daughter or all of you will
regret it. Birds of the same feather flock together.”
I heard my mother crying. “Keep quiet. Let us go home,” I heard my father tell her.
“Take that woman out of this station quick,” the desk sergeant ordered my father.
I was in the cell for three days before Mrs. Harrison came to bail me.
Initially, the officer-in-charge refused, claiming a woman could not bail a suspect, but
when Mrs Harrison insisted, he succumbed.
Biola told her, I’d been detained on the orders of her father. “Perhaps I’ve hurt you
most by loving you,” Biola said.
***
Senator Harrison was unlike his wife. She was a kind, gentle and compassionate
woman. He talked only business and politics. He talked money. Even when he didn’t
pronounce the word, money was what he was talking about.
I always wondered whether I imagined sorrow on Mrs. Harrison’s face, when she
came to bail me from the police cells. Sometimes, it seemed as though a gray veil had been
drawn across her face.
“Why did I marry Senator Harrison? Why?” she whispered, as she drove me home
from the police station. “It is a total mistake. There’s not one way that we belong together
again. Not one way! I don’t mean, it’s anyone’s fault, it just happened.” She was in a state of
despair. “All I want is for Biola to be happy. Do you understand?”
I thought perhaps, I did. “Yes, I do.”
“When I newly married Senator Harrison, I was very happy. But the more we lived
together, the more I discovered, I’d made a mistake. His only concern in life is himself; the
fulfillment of his own drives and needs. He turned out to be opposite of what I thought he
was. I’ll do anything to make sure that Biola does not fall into the same problem. I hope you
love Biola for what she is not because she is from a wealthy home?”
“I love her, ma’am.”
Senator Harrison was exceptionally powerful man who didn’t treat women with kid’s
gloves
***
I came back from the police station to meet our whole area in total darkness.
“N.E.P.A again!”I hissed. “How long is the outage?” I asked Austin, who was lying
on a mat outside, with a traditional fan in his hand.
“The National Electric Power Authority has removed our transformer,” he said.
A heavy weight fell on my heart. “What!” I shouted. “Why?”
“I learnt they’ve removed our transformer to replace the one in Victoria Island. The
one serving the legislature’s quarters has blown.”
“So they’ve taken our transformer to replace it?” I asked incredulously.
“Yes. The National Assembly members living in 1004 have threatened to write the
President to remove N.E.P.A.’s managing director from office, for inefficiency.”
“This is injustice. They mean we are not entitled to light. Can’t the N.E.P.A.
engineers repair the blown transformer?” I asked angrily.
“Repair transformer?” Austin gave an exuberant laugh. “They can’t even replace
fuse.”
“But why should our transformer be the one to be removed to serve another area?”
“It’s big men that reside in Victoria Island. The residents had given N.E.P.A’s
managing director twenty-four hours to restore light in the area or lose his job. I learnt
Senator Harrison is leading the action.” Austin was a very smart boy. Brains had never been
in short supply in our family.
“Why did they not buy a new one for them?”
“It’ll take six months for a new one to be imported from overseas.”
“So it means we are going to be in darkness for six months.”
“Oh yes! That’s if we are lucky. They may not bring the new transformer here.”
“My God! What do we do, with the prices of candles prohibitive and that of lanterns
skyhigh?”
“Stay in darkness,” Austin said derisively.
I was still discussing with Austin, when the next house to ours went up in flames. We
rushed to help put out the fire before it extended to our house. Sympathizers fetched water
from a well in front of the house to quench the fire.
A student who was reading with a candlestick left it on to tell stories with his friends.
It burnt down and some of his books on the table caught fire and fire spread to other items in
the house.
“Thank you. God will bless all of you,” the father of the boy greeted us after we put
out the fire. But the fire had destroyed most of the books on top of the table.
In the early hours of the morning, I heard a piercing scream. I stood up from the foam
I was lying on, on the floor and opened the door.
“Where are you going?” my father asked.
“Can’t you hear people screaming? I want to check what is happening.”
“Since when have you become the security man for this area? Better come back,
armed robbers will be having a field’s day now the area is in darkness.”
The next day, I learnt armed robbers attacked a newly wedded couple, killed the man,
raped the wife and looted the entire gift they were given on their wedding day.
“Jesus!” I shouted. “I’ve always warned against reckless display of wealth in
ceremonies in the presence of the retrenched and unemployed. But this couldn’t have
happened, if not for the blackout. All things evil happen in the cloak of darkness.”
“That is no longer true,” Austin observed. “Armed robbers even rob these days in
broad daylight. It’s surprising that armed robbers still operate with the restoration of firing
squad,” Austin said.
“No amount of shooting can stop them, unless the wealth of this country is distributed
to accommodate everybody.”
“The defenseless poor are mostly their victims. Ikoyi and Victoria Island are there for
them to operate, but they’ll not go there because most of the big men are armed. These
robbers are cowards.”
“Don’t forget that it’s the prevailing socio-economic situation in our society that
forced many youths to robbery. Assuming I’m not strong-minded, I would have been stealing
by now.”
“The tremendous energy they expend in robbing people of their hard-earned
properties and money should be utilized gainfully in farming,” Austin said.
“Do you think that people who have lived all their lives in the city can farm?” I asked
with sign of skepticism on my face.
“Why not? At least, if they go home to farm, they’ll be able to feed their families,
instead of robbing. United Nations Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO) has warned
that the food crisis in Africa is one of the world’s biggest development problems. Africa’s
food crisis can only be solved by intensive farming,” Austin said.
“On top of nature-made difficulties, Africa’s poor agricultural performance lies in the
increasing population pressure, neglect and corresponding disintegration of rural agriculture
with the drift of youths to the cities. With aging rural population, with more of their children
in schools and working in the cities, there is often a serious labor shortage at critical farming
periods, such as land clearing, weeding, and bird scaring at the ripening stage of cereals. Low
technology also contributes. I believe that a long term program is needed to put Nigeria and
other African countries’ agriculture on sound footing, and a lot of resources is needed also.”
“The resources are available. It’s wasted on huge military budget in some African
countries; in others like Nigeria, it’s simply stolen by those in authorities. Most African
countries spend much money in purchasing arms to destroy themselves, making their soldiers
happy, instead of planning for their social development, which is a better investment on
security.”
“Our country could have been African’s Thailand if the operation this and operation
that, every government launched, ever worked. Instead the money that could be used to
develop agriculture is wasted in importation of food.”
“Agriculture has hardly received any innovation in this country except on paper.
Research findings never get to the practicing farmers. Funds meant for massive production of
food are embezzled by those entrusted with them. The publicity that is directed at making the
public aware of massive production is urban-oriented. The government officials don’t
monitor the farmers to ensure that the loans given are properly utilized.”
“Even foreign trawlers enter our territorial waters and steal our fish.”
“Navy, Marine Police, Federal Department of Fisheries and Air Force should be used
for wider field vision. Any offending vessel should be dealt with ruthlessly.”
Robberies continued in our area unabated. The same week, a woman was lighting her
stove to cook, in our house, it exploded. She was engulfed in flame. She cried out and her
husband went to her rescue. Both of them were burnt to death, leaving behind four small
children.
“This is horrible,” I said, after Austin told me the story when I returned from the
office. “The kerosene must have been contaminated with other highly inflammable petroleum
products,” I said.
“That’s what everybody said, but Nigeria National Petroleum Company has refused to
accept responsibility.”
“How can they? If they do, they’ll be required to pay compensation.”
***
“After the incident during my birthday party, Bolaji went home and reported to his
father. His father, Dr. Williams and my father are bosom friends and political associates.
Both Bolaji and his father came to meet my father the second day to discuss the incident.
Immediately, I saw them park their car, I went and hid my mobile phone in the sitting room
and switched the voice recording on where it could record their conversation with assured
clarity.”
“Have you checked if the recording is clear?”
“Yes. I brought it so that you can listen to it.” She pressed play.
“What’s this thing I’m hearing about your daughter?” Dr Williams asked.
“Don’t mind that stupid girl. She has been going about with one nonentity, claiming
she is in love,” Senator Harrison replied.
“I hope you won’t allow that to happen? That will be a slur on your social status in
this society.”
I’ve already vowed I shall do all things within my power to discourage the
relationship.”
“I know you’re equal to the task.”
“Trust me. But the boy is really ambitious. Imagine the motherfucker, believing he
can marry my daughter.”
“Are you sure, he hasn’t charmed her. Some of these boys can be so desperate; they
are capable of doing anything. She might be under a spell.”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to put a stop to this unwanted relationship.”
“What is her mother saying about it?”
“She supports the relationship. She has been persuading me to leave Biola and the boy
alone.”
“Impossible! I know you can’t allow that?”

“How can I!”
“In Africa, it’s the traditional right of a father to give a daughter’s hand in marriage
and her mother has no right to question whom her daughter will marry.”
“It is obvious, she prefers that boy,” Bolaji said.
“Nonsense,” Senator Harrison said. “You must woo her, that’s all. You must show her
you’re a better person than that pauper. Convince her she shall get the best of the bargain in
the long run. That is what everyman does,” Senator Harrison said.
“When I retrieved my phone, and listened to it, I was palpitating with fury. I learned
my forehead against the cool metal doorknob and inhaled long, even breaths to calm myself.
Chika, you brought much light into my life, I can’t bear the thought of Bolaji touching me,”
Biola whispered softly, tears running down her eyes. I knew the sentiment was true. “Is it a
sin to love someone? Why should I displease myself in order to fit into what the society or
my father wants?”
“Where was your mother during the discussion?”
“She was in her room. At night my bedroom walls were vibrating with the hammering
of my parents’ quarrel, their angry words reverberating through the house.”
‘“I hope you’ve seen the son of a pauper, your daughter calls her boyfriend?’”
‘“Yes”’
‘“Oh! You gave Biola the permission to bring that son-of-a-bitch to this house?”’ I
heard my father ask her angrily.”
‘“I don’t think because the boy is from a poor home, then Biola should not befriend
him, if she loves him. The important thing is that she’s happy.”’
‘“Nonsense.”’
“’You should realize that the era of forcing boys on girls has passed.”’
‘“I don’t care. I want the best for my daughter, and I’ll make sure she gets it.”’
‘“Even, if your best is not hers?”’
‘“Yes. That wretched boy is only taking advantage of her. I know she’ll be spending a
lot of money on the bastard.”’
‘“Leave them alone. If Biola loves him, you’ll break her heart, if you try to force her
to leave him,”’ my mother said.”
‘‘‘Never,’” my father vowed.”
***
After several attempts, Biola made for her father to see reason failed; we decided to
rent a flat at Palm Avenue. After a week, I left Ajegunle and my home without a backward
glance. Her mother stood by us all these period. “Marry any man you believe can give you
happiness,” she told Biola.
My parents objected to my living with Biola, but that didn’t stop me. I was bored stiff
of staying with them in the one room apartment. I didn’t care to seek the advice of my friends
because I knew they might discourage me, especially Kola.
One day, I visited home to collect my remaining loads. My father called me and asked
whether I understood that Biola could never marry me.
“Chika, you want to marry Senator Harrison’s daughter without his consent? Just be
ready to spend the rest of your life in jail. That’s if you’re lucky to be alive. If you want to
commit suicide, why not find an easier and less painful means. It’s a terrible thing to want
something you know you will never have. The bible described people like Senator Harrison
in Psalms 73 verses 6 – 8. ‘Therefore pride serves as their necklace; violence covers them
like a garment. Their eyes bulge with abundance; they have more than heart could wish. They
scoff and speak wickedly concerning oppression; they speak loftily,’ he quoted. ”
“She loves me. Her father has no right to tell her whom to marry. She’s an adult and
knows what’s good for her.”

“Imagine the nonsense you’re talking. Many of you so-called educated children of
today have no respect for our culture. Our culture demands that the father of a girl should
give his daughter to the man he believes can take good care of her. If he doesn’t want to give
his daughter to you, you better leave her alone.”
“Impossible.”
“Come son, a girl is not worth dying for. There are so many of them to choose from,”
he said impatiently
“Biola is worth dying for.”
My father crossed his arms, his eyes sparked with irritation. “Okay. Go ahead and
die.” His voice cut the air like the crack of a horsewhip.
“Dad, you don’t understand, Biola is a gem.”
“What do you mean by that? What is special about her?”
“She is considerate, well behaved, intelligent and humble. She knows I am from a
poor home, but she refused to leave me for another man from a richer family. I love her
because she’s an epitome of womanhood.”
“Do you know you’re risking your life by your continuous association with that girl
against her father’s wish?”
“Yes, I know.”
“He is a child, he has only infantile judgment,” my mother said. “Nevertheless, if we
don’t explain things to him now, he’ll never understand them.”
I carried my loads and took a taxi to Palm Avenue, leaving my poor mother looking
bewildered. We started to live as husband and wife. We ate at a restaurant near our flat. Our
happiness was however short-lived. I came back from work one afternoon to meet three
heavily built men waiting in the flat. I froze. “Damn!” I muttered beneath my breath. I felt
paralyzed and benumbed, but I soon recovered.

I could understand night robbery, but broad day robbery was more than I could
comprehend. But if they were robbers, they would’ve collected what they wanted and left, I
reasoned.
“Come gentlemen, what do you think you’re doing here? In the first place, how did
you gain entrance into the house? In your own interest disappear before I raise alarm.”
“Shut your trap, motherfucker,” the shortest one snorted. “If you talk to us that way
again I’ll knock out your teeth. We’ll do the talking and you’re to listen. And listen well. This
isn’t a social visit.”
A shiver rode through my body. My bluff didn’t work.
“We’ve come to return Biola to her father. In your own interest desist from seeing her
again,” the short man continued. “If you don’t heed this advice, we shall pay you another
visit. Then we shall tear your arm from its socket and beat you to death with it. Henceforth
your movement shall be monitored. You’re warned.”
Our gazes locked in animosity. “So Biola’s father hired you?”
“Shut up. Who hired us is none of your business. Just do as you’re told if you want to
remain in one piece,” the one with a disfigured nose said.
Demoralized by the unexpected turn of events, I felt deep anger and frustration.
“You’re raving mad. Has anybody ever suggested to you to see a psychiatrist?”
He crossed over to me and slammed his fist into my face with the force of a mule’s
kick. I saw stars and was temporarily blind.
We sat in silence while the thugs smoked marijuana. When the hands of the wall
clock stood at five thirty, Biola entered. I heard the sound of her car, but there was no way I
could warn her. Immediately she saw them her eyes popped out.
“Darling, it looks you’ve got company?”
“They’re not my friends,” I managed to say. “They’re thugs.”

“Please take away anything you want but spare our lives,” she said thinking they were
armed robbers.
“It’s you we want babe,” the short one said.
Biola changed color. “What for?” She replied, surprising herself with the sharpness of
her tone.
“Your father wants you back home.”
“I don’t want to go.”
“How dare you!” the short man continued. “How dare you betray in tawdry fashion
your father who truly care for you and follow this bastard? Forget this bastard, he is only after
your family’s wealth? For you,” he pointed at me, “You’ll pay a high price for your greed,”
he warned. My relationship seemed objectionable because of my poor background.
“What does my father want to do with me? Marry me?” Biola asked sarcastically.
The men stood up and moved towards Biola. She tried to run, but where would she
run. They surrounded her.
“Chika, please don’t let them take me away,” she begged, staring at me with a
pleading look. I threw my hands upward and outward in a gesture of hopelessness. She began
to sob hysterically. They carried her out to her car. Two of them sat with her at the back
while the other sat behind the wheels. They gagged her. I stood at the door like a dummy.
“If you don’t stop messing around her, you shall soon meet with an accident,” the
short man warned before they drove away, with the tires squealing. I sighed, wondering why
there always had to be complications.
***
About thirty minutes, the hired thugs left with Biola, Kola entered.
“Chika, how are you? I came to meet a customer around here and decided to check if
you had return from the office,” Kola said.

“I came back more than an hour ago.”
“What’s wrong with you? You look unhappy, are you bereaved?”
“No. Senator Harrison has just sent thugs to return Biola home,” I said, feeling a flash
of shame.
“What? I told you that man is crazy. The tragedy in Nigeria is that she cannot adapt to
changing times. The rich still resort to arm-twisting to induce subservience. Opposing views
are demoralized or forcibly suppressed. The people with power operate a “dog-eat-dog’
system. They are power crazy.”
“You are right. Power is the fundamental concept of physics. To those who have but
little power, it seems to them that a little more will satisfy them, but sooner, they discover
that their desires are insatiable and infinite. And like it has been said, ‘Power corrupts and
absolute power corrupts absolutely.’ That is the case of Senator Harrison.”
“Human desires are essentially boundless and incapable of complete satisfaction.
Wicked people always end badly. Benito Mussolini was hanged head down at villa Belmont
in Italy, Hitler died a mysterious death and his body was never found. Don’t count a man
lucky, till you see his end. Senator Harrison may end up badly, except he mends his ways,”
Kola said. He was out of breath with indignation.
“Ours is a nation where mediocre persons and sycophants are at the helm of affairs,
cheap popularity is traded for honesty and fair play. Indiscipline is cuddled like a newborn
baby. Nothing works in this society because of hypocrisy. People like Senator Harrison are
the beneficiaries of the system.”
“Yes. That is true. But the present catastrophic suffering of the masses is as a result of
extreme malfeasance of our leaders, their irresponsible exercise of political power and their
astonishingly high stealing propensity.”

“Another thing that baffles me is the craze among these groups of Nigerians to buy
expensive houses overseas.”
“That will show you how unashamedly avaricious they are. When the masses live in
sub-standard, poorly ventilated houses, without electricity and other basic amenities like pipe
borne water, et cetera, the sadistic kleptomaniacs buy gigantic houses abroad with money
looted from the nation’s treasury,” Kola said.
“Our society and economic situation is such that day-to-day sufferings grow and life
become an ordeal for the living and death a better alternative for the masses, but our
politicians still live in abundant luxury,” I said.
“Senator Harrison’s company, Harrison Holdings, top civil servants, and cooperative
managers, are known to collude and divert essential commodities meant for the masses to the
company’s warehouses, from where they’re sold to middlemen, so as to make huge gains.”
“The corruption in this country is suffocating. All categories of jobs now have price
tags. Meet the right person with the right amount and you are the proud owner of a job,
despite the fact that there could be other better qualified candidates.”
“The journalists who could have exposed all these corruptions are not saints. Brown
envelopes have seized their pens from flowing. Journalism characterized by carelessness,
indiscipline, unfounded rumors, character assassination and sensationalism is being practiced
by some sections of the press, because some of them lack dignity, and discipline to do a good
job.”
“The future of this country is too important to be left to be decided by a group of
professional thieves, no matter how privileged. This country belongs to all of us; we
shouldn’t allow these men ruin it. Something must be done to change our corrupt society.”
“Yes. This is a country, where intellectuals, traditional rulers, top government
functionaries, and journalists turn out in large numbers to opening ceremony of a block of
flats built by a clerk. Nothing goes for nothing has become our national slogan.”
“To change our political leaders is a Herculean task. Ceding great power to another or
others is rarely an occasion for delight on the part of those who do the ceding. It’s hard to
recall an occasion when an incumbent was defeated in an election in Africa, except in Sierra-
Leone in March, 1967, when the opposition party defeated the incumbent.”
“J. F. Kennedy had said that, ‘those who make peaceful change impossible makes
violent change inevitable.’ Some day, this corrupt system must change.”
“How serious did it get between you and Amina? I thought you were engaged.”
“We were partially engaged.”
Kola chuckled and shook his head. “How do you partially engage to a woman?”
“Well, I never really proposed to her. She kept pressuring me, and I thought the
easiest way out of it was to tell her I couldn’t make any definite commitments until I got a
Job.”
“I only hope you are not making a dreadful mistake. Don’t let your attention for Biola
cloud your judgment. This is a fling, that’s all. In a few months it will be over and you’ll need
someone to marry.”
“Why do you feel so?”
“Biola’s sexual prowess is her fatal character flaw. She cannot resist the sight of
macho man. I heard she couldn’t make it with a man unless she was bombed. She is far
casual about men. She never throws herself into any relationship body and soul; she takes
them as they come. She can date a powerful politician, a rich businessman, civil servant,
repairmen and delivery boys; to her they are all men and men are all the same. Some of the
men had been serious, she never was. She is a flirt.”

“I don’t care much about Biola’s morals. Most important to me than morality is that
she is a source of enormous wealth.”
Immoral or not, Biola obviously possessed certain qualities that appealed to me:
looks, charms, charisma. Biola was for the above-mentioned reasons exceptionally eligible.
“Chika, surely you don’t think there’s anything wrong in a man marrying for money,
do you? A sensible man will not want to be married to someone more powerful than himself.
You are one of few men I had met who want to experience life parasitically; through a
woman. I hope you will not mind being addressed as Mr. Biola Harrison?”
***
I was in a depressed mood the following day in the office. Josephine telephoned as
usual inviting me out for lunch. I told her I was sick and had no appetite. She banged the
phone.
I didn’t hear from Biola throughout the next week. I phoned her office several times
but there was no reply.
My father had laughed at me when I went home with my swollen face.
“Didn’t I warn you? Next time you might not be as lucky. Lay off this girl and look
for another girl,” he snickered.
My mother cried and begged me to leave Biola. I accepted but I knew it was
impossible. She was in my blood. It was surprising how people came to love that they didn’t
want to get involved with initially, I thought. She was unlike any woman I’d ever known, and
I couldn’t imagine a day’s passing without her being a part of it.
I was surprised when she came into my office on the eighth day. “Chika, are you
alright?” she asked soothingly.
“I’m fine. How about you?”

“My father has employed a private detective to watch me. I am warning you because
the thugs are ready to hurt you. Please be careful. The only way we can ever have peace again
is for us to elope,” she said worriedly.
I was shocked. Biola was really desperate.
“Your father will slit my throat if I elope with you.”
“We’ll go to where we can not be found.”
“Your father could disinherit you if we elope. You’re his only child. And make no
mistake, that’s precisely what will happen, if we follow through with this solution to our
predicament.”
What Biola didn’t know was that the degree of my affection for her was in direct
proportion to the amount of money I received in return. And if her father disinherited her
there was the likelihood our affair would crash.
“You underestimate my love for you. I don’t consider my father disowning me as a
problem. I don’t give a damn about my father’s selfish plan. I’ve my own life to live,” she
said in a wounded tone. She couldn’t seem to stifle tears that were now streaming down her
face.
“Why are you willing to give up everything and leave?”
“This is to show you how much I love you. I shall risk my father’s wrath! I’ll risk
anything to be with you.”
“Why Biola, in this life, I have nothing. Hence you’re ready to risk it all for me, well;
I’ll risk the little I have as well.Myself.”
She smiled. “Chika,thank you.”
“If we abandon our jobs and elope, how do we survive?”
“I have a lot of money saved, more than enough until we leave the shores of Nigeria
to U.S.”
She looked at me helplessly, wishing to find words to thank me for my reckless
decision.
“Now,that we’ve agreed to elope, where do we elope to? “I asked.
“Anywhere. I don’t care where. Anywhere I can be with you and enjoy some peace. I
care more about my feelings for a man than for his bank account. I’ve reached a point where I
can’t imagine being without you.”
“Do you mean that?”
“You bet.”
“Okay. I shall think about it.”
“Please do. I shall phone you tomorrow. I’ll always think of you.”
When she left my mind was clouded. “Where could we elope to? How, about if
Senator Harrison’s thugs discovered us?” I whispered.
Before Biola phoned the next day, I’d decided I would risk it. I went to the airways
booking office and bought two tickets in the names of Mr. and Mrs. Harold to Garden City.
Port Harcourt, the political capital of South-South geopolitical zone in Nigeria was known as
the Garden City. I bought a Brazilian outfit for Biola, and cowboy’s dress and hat for myself.
When she rang the next day, I told her the plan I’d made.
“How do we meet at the airport?” she asked.
“I shall check into Chics Hotel located at Ikoyi, this evening. I shall place your
disguise outfit in the wardrobe. I shall leave the hotel day after tomorrow in the morning to
the airport. I’ll leave the door open. I’ll phone you first thing in the morning tomorrow to let
you know the room number. Next tomorrow’s morning go to the hotel, change into your
outfit and meet me in the airport. Take the back door to Fabulous Street and take a taxi to the
airport. That way, you’ll shake off the detective. The flight is by eleven thirty. Please don’t be
late.”
“I shall make it.” Though there was other distressing episodes.A drunken policeman
shot the taxi driver taking me to the airport for refusing to give him twenty naira bribe that
was compulsory for all commercial drivers in Nigeria. When Lagosians seething with anger,
started to gather to attack the policemen in their checkpoint, I slipped before I was
recognized.
At the airport, the flight was taking an awfully long time to take off. Biola had
arrived on time. Most of the passengers were nonchalant but I was panicky. Delay of flights
was nothing new but I was afraid that Biola’s disappearance would be discovered and a
search team sent out. The first place they were likely to check was the airport, I felt.
We, however, left one hour behind schedule without being recognized. Though, I
wasn’t aware that our togetherness wasn’t going to last for long.
CHAPTER FOUR
When we arrived at Garden City we booked into a hotel. When I went the third day of
our arrival to buy newspapers, I was shocked. On the front page of most newspapers were my
picture and that of Biola. The police had declared me wanted and Senator Harrison had
offered to pay five million naira to anybody who could disclose Biola’s whereabouts and my
hideout.
I suddenly felt that my mind was spiraling out of control. My forehead felt clammy
and my hands began to shake. I found it difficult to swallow. My heart was thumping so
loudly that I wondered for a fleeting second whether it would burst. I also felt a sudden,
massive drop in the pit of my stomach, the place where my self-confidence dwelled.
I rushed back to the hotel and showed Biola the papers. “Take a look at these
newspapers.”
“Christ!” she said, awed by the development. “What do we do?” The news made her
extremely nervous set her on edge. She bit her fingernails and wrung her hands.
I sat down dejectedly on a chair and wracked my brain for a solution.
“You seem to be a million miles away,” Biola soft voice broke into my thought.
“No. I am right here with you.” My hand tightened on hers.

I stood up and walked to the window still thinking. For every problem, there had to be
a solution. It was just a matter of finding it. I continued to pace back and forth across the
suite. Suddenly I stopped. A relieved smile brightened my face and I snapped my fingers.
“We’ve to check out of the hotel and look for an accommodation in the interior of the
city,” I said, as I scratched my ear meditatively.
Biola had a lot of money on her so money was not our problem. Two day later, I
found a mud house. I preferred it because people would not think of looking for us in such a
place. The house had a pit toilet and no water. We fetched water from a well near the house. I
was surprised the way Biola adjusted. Women could do anything when they are in love. We’d
decided we would travel abroad once the dust settled.
I tried to swallow my fear, but it rose uncontrollably. A deadly cold fear gripped me. I
forced myself to think rationally. You could be arrested by the police for absconding with
Senator Harrison’s daughter. Trying to shake off those dreadful thought, I scolded myself.
Those bad feelings were nothing more than my own imagination. After all Biola
followed on her own volition. But in my heart I knew there was something else – something
dark and frightful. It was unrelenting fear that Senator Harrison and his thugs might find us
before the police and I knew, without any shadow of doubt that they were searching.
The past few days we had stayed in the slum of Garden City hadn’t helped. I felt that
someone was constantly watching our movements. What if Senator Harrison did find us?
How could I continue to live with this menacing fear? As much as I loved Biola, how could I
ever find complete happiness with this terrible threat constantly looming over us? I shivered,
though the evening was warm.
The fear of Senator Harrison was threatening our happiness now just as much as it
had while we had been living in Lagos. I had been miserable there and I was making myself
miserable here. Why? I had a right to happiness! I had done nothing wrong.
Why live each day in fear over what might happen tomorrow? If I continue to be
afraid of my own shadow, afraid to reach out for happiness, we might as well return to Lagos
and end the love affair. No. We are not going to do that, but reach out and take the happiness
that is right within our reach. I told Biola to dress up. Sooner we were in our former hotel for
dinner.
***
Our co-tenants were surprised we were always indoors. But they didn’t ask. They
were illiterates. They didn’t read newspapers and rarely listened to news on the radio. So they
could not recognize us.
The one week we stayed in the house before Biola was kidnapped, gave me a good
opportunity to see what she looked like, when she was weary and careless of her appearance.
“Being with someone one likes and trust is far more comfortable, than loving
someone, one is not quite sure of, because he is a son of a wealthy man. I enjoy your
company, - someone I can talk to and discuss things with, someone, moreover, who’ll
understand how I feel,” Biola said.
She looked up and caught my eyes looking at her so intently.
I kissed her lingeringly. “That’s why I love you. You’re so gentle and understanding,
loyal and forgiving. I pray never to lose the unselfish love you have given me.”
The minutes slowly passed into hours. Still holding Biola in my arms, I watched the
first stirrings of dawn through the slightly open window and the skylight above. During the
night I’d awakened several times, looked around, and then slept again. I could remember
only a few nights that I slept through without waking at least once or twice – regardless of
how tired I was.

One night Biola awake with a start and for just a brief moment her face registered
confusion. Then she saw me gazing intently at her and recognition flickered into her eyes.
Her fear dissolved. She stroked my face with loving concern.
We spent a lot of time reading and playing games like chess, monopoly and whot.
Sometimes we lay down all day doing absolutely nothing.
I did the washing because Biola was used to doing her washing with washing
machine. I also did the cooking. Biola had never cooked. Akpan was Senator Harrison’s chef.
He used to work in Nigerian Hotels Limited, before Senator Harrison enticed him away with
improved condition of service. He could prepare local, continental and oriental food. He
received a lot of compliments from guests to Senator Harrison’s frequent parties after they
were served delicious dishes prepared by him. He cooked the family food, so Biola had no
business in the kitchen.
We were eating our dinner one evening when we heard a knock on the door. We had
never received any visitor since we packed into the house, so we were alarmed.
“Who is at the door?” she asked.
I mentioned her to be quiet. I’d known fear in my life, quite a bit of it since I met
Biola, but never experienced anything like the bone-chilling terror that rushed through me
now. I’d a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. Could our neighbors want to talk to us?
Why? We’d only exchanging greetings and that was all?
I wanted to live, plain and simple, but not without Biola. She’d made the difference in
my life. She’d injected possibilities into a life hitherto filled with inadequacies.
I put my arm around her and drew her closer. “With your solid nearness, the warmth
and strength of your body, I feel so good,” she said. Events were catching up with me. My
head spun and my throat was painfully dry.
“It’s Okay,” I murmured gently. “We’re going to come out of this just fine.”
We thought it was the police. I was undecided what to do when the door was forced
open. We came face-to-face with four armed masked men.
My heart jumped into my mouth and the drought situation in my throat became worse.
Biola screamed.
They immediately rushed at Biola. I was annoyed that Senator Harrison had sent his
thugs after us again.I distracted the one nearest to me by a slight movement of my hand and
gave him an extended knuckle blow that flattened him out. I thought the rest would run but
instead they came on me like bees. I was so worried about Biola that I forgot all the basic
rules of self-preservation.
They kicked me and threw punches at me. I deflected as many as I could. I caught one
with a lung punch that drove the breath out of him. I gave him a back fist strike to his face
and he slipped to the floor. I went after the third man. I made up my mind to leave the mark
of my knuckles on his mouth. I was good at hitting people in the mouth. I was trying to do
him a physical damage when the fourth man struck me on the head with the butt of his gun.
Everything went black.
***
I regained consciousness two days later in the hospital. Luckily my skull was intact,
but I’d a splitting headache. When I tried to move my legs I found them chained to the bed. A
nurse came in ten minutes later. “Congratulations. So you’ve regained consciousness.”
“Congratulations for what? What do you mean by chaining my legs to the bed?”
“Oh! It’s the police.”
“Police? So Senator Harrison is not satisfied yet? He wants to jail me?”
“How can he be, when his daughter is still missing,” she regrettably informed me.
“What do you mean? I asked automatically.

“Your co-tenants carried you to the hospital when they found you unconscious. They
said they didn’t see Biola.”
“My God! It means Biola has been kidnapped.”
“By who?”
“We were attacked by four thugs. I thought it was Senator Harrison that sent them.
What do the police want to do with me?”
“They’re charging you for abduction.”
“What?”
“Take it easy. You’re not strong enough. You better rest,” the nurse advised and left. I
fell asleep.
I woke to find a police sergeant by my bedside. The nurse must have contacted him
that I’d regained consciousness.
“Hey guy, so you’re awake?”
“And therefore? What do you think you’re doing here instead of looking for the
kidnappers?” I said accusingly.
“We’re hoping you’ll give us a lead,” he said eagerly.
“What does that mean? Am I supposed to do your job for you? Go out of here and
find her. This is why you are paid.”
“We want the description of the kidnappers from you.”
“They wore masks. I didn’t see their faces.”
When I was fully recovered, I was placed in a police cell awaiting interrogation. I
couldn’t sleep all the days I spent there. I sweated profusely and mosquitoes gave me no
peace. The days seemed unnaturally long to me.
***
After two days in the cell eating poison called food, I was led into an interrogation
room to face two police officers. I heard the tread of determined footsteps against the floor
the moment, I sat down. I looked up, when Senator Harrison burst through the door. At the
sight of Senator Harrison storming into the room, I knew trouble would surely follow. I
braced my shoulders, lowered my head, and prepared for the worst.
“Sit down, Chika,” one of the officers told me waving to a seat. He was broad
shouldered. He had cop written all over his face. He was a Superintendent of Police (SP).
“Come you son-of-a-bitch, you better produce my daughter or start counting your
days,” Senator Harrison said, eyeing me with renewed dislike.
Senator Harrison was appalled by my relationship with Biola. He considered me an
interloper, a mercenary, who primary interest in his daughter was monetary gain.
“Take it easy, sir,” the other officer told him. He was handsome and smartly dressed.
He was an Assistant Superintendent of Police (ASP).
“Take what easy?” the Senator barked. “My only child has been kidnapped and you’re
telling me to take things easy? I’ve even paid those bastards, the ransom they demanded, and
still they didn’t release her. I’ll kill this pig and his entire family, if I don’t get my daughter
back.” It was later I learnt the kidnappers had asked for and received a ransom of five million
naira. At this moment, Senator Harrison’s hands looked as though they wanted to wrap
themselves around my throat. His anger rose with every word. I could feel the anger coming
off him in waves.
He was darting back and forth. He was in a state of near hysteria.
“Please sit down, sir,” the SP said.
“We’ll try our best to find her. But we need an accurate description of her kidnappers
first,” the ASP assured him. “Senator Harrison, you know that the police force, like every
other justice department in this country, is operating under some pretty serious budgetary
constraints. We just don’t have the manpower we’d like to have.”
“Chika can you tell us how the kidnappers look like?” the SP asked.
“I didn’t see their faces, sir. They wore masks. They were tall and heavily built.” The
ASP wrote down the proceedings as the interrogation progressed.
“How many were they?”
“Four.”
“Have you any idea who the kidnappers might be?”
“Not the slightest idea.”
“Or how they might have found out about your hide – out?”
“No.”
“What was the color of the mask?”
“Black.”
“Will you know it when you see it?”
“Yes.”
“Did they carry guns?”
“Only two of them.”
“How about the others?”
“One carried cutlass and the other a bow and arrow.”
“How long did you live in your hide-out before you were attacked?”
“A week.”
“Do you suspect any of your co-tenants, maybe they found out who you were and
decided to kidnap Biola so as to collect money from her father?”
“No. They were all illiterates. They neither read newspapers nor listened to radio.
They didn’t know who we were. And none of the kidnappers looked like any of them.”
“Have you committed any offence punishable by the laws of this land before?”
“No.”
“Do you know you’re guilty of abduction now?”
“I’m not guilty.”
Senator Harrison gave me a strange look, “You must be crazy. Maybe you prefer it to
be called kidnapping. Senator Harrison roared. He fidgeted in his seat. There was tiredness
around the eyes that Senator Harrison was unable to conceal.
I didn’t reply.
“Why did you elope with the girl?”
I hesitated. Slowly I said, “We were hopelessly in love and wanted to marry but her
father refused to give his consent because I am from a poor family. So Biola suggested we
elope.”
“Shut up, you asshole! Imagine this fortune hunter wanting to marry my daughter?
You’re inordinately ambitious. Such a marriage will never take place in my lifetime,” he
declared with sudden vehemence. “This bastard has charmed my daughter, and she is not
acting with her free will. She doesn’t know what she is doing. She’s under a spell. Allowing a
poor man like you to be in possession of a fortune will lead to disaster. You wouldn’t know
what to do with it.”
“Please sir, let’s go ahead with this interrogation,” the SP pleaded.
“You mean it was Biola’s idea that you should elope?”
With a great heaviness of heart, I replied: “Yes, sir.” I rubbed my unshaven face
thoughtfully.
“You’re a liar. You’re lying against her because she is not here,” Senator Harrison
thundered.
“Do you’ve any idea how we can find her?” the SP asked, ignoring Senator
Harrison’s interruption.
“No, sir.”
“Do you’ve anybody to bail you?”
“You don’t mean you want to release this bastard without finding my daughter?” he
demanded indignantly. “This bastard has thrown my daughter to the wolves.”
“Senator Harrison, we will do our job without undue interference from you,” the SP
warned. This prompted an even angrier outburst.
“You dare talk to me that way? You shall regret this. Need I remind you, I’m a very
wealthy man?” Like many Nigerian politicians, Senator Harrison made a great ceremony of
personal strength and power. Senator Harrison exit was as stormy as his arrival. He was used
to giving orders, barking at people, yelling.
“Yes? You don’t have anybody to bail you?” he repeated.
I thought for sometime and gave them Kola’s name and address. Although, Kola
wouldn’t be happy, I knew he would come when he was told, I was in trouble. He was as
dependable as the rock of Gibraltar and as constant as the Northern Star.
A police constable was told to return me to the cell. “If you remember anything you
want to tell me, ask to see me,” the Superintendent of Police said, as the constable led me
away. On our way he struck me with his baton on the right elbow.
“What does that mean?” I asked angrily.
“Keep quiet,” he ordered. “You’ll be very lucky if you see the sun in the next three
months. I’m going to teach you never to mess around with a big man’s daughter again in your
life.” He continued beating me with his baton until we got to the cell. He opened it and
shoved me inside with curses.

I was seething with fury, but there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t fight back. He
was one of the slaves of the aristocrats.
Kola came immediately he was told and bailed me. I was however told to be reporting
in the police station every morning.
I took a taxi to our house. My parents were at home. My mother ran to embrace me.
“I’m glad you’ve been released,” she cried. “We warned you that it wasn’t sensible
playing with a rich man’s daughter. You now see what we mean. Your father vowed he’d
never come to see you in the cell. He said it served you right. He even warned me not to
come to the police station.”
“You’re lucky you’re alive,” my father said. “Frankly, you got just what you
deserve.”
“Is that all you’ve to say?” my mother asked offensively.
“What else do you want me to say? No man in my family had ever been shoved
around by a woman before despite the fact that we’re poor. Chika is a disgrace.” The Delta
State Ibos had a culture rich in masculine pride.
“Leave the poor boy alone. See how emaciated he is and you’ve no sympathy,” my
mother said.
“What kind of sympathy? Did I send him to run after the daughter of that pompous
buffoon? Maybe this will be an eye-opener for him.”
***
The incident in the police station helped to stiffen my resolutions about Senator
Harrison and the disruptive effect that his treatment had on my emotions. I couldn’t prevent
him from protecting his daughter, of course but I knew that I would never again allow him to
trample my pride into the dust. I had regained my self-respect with difficulty and was
determined I would never surrender it again.

The following day I was released, I decided to go to Awka. A friend had told me
about the ingenuity of some of the blacksmiths in the place in making exquisite guns that
could favorably compete with imported ones. I needed a gun to go in search of Biola’s
kidnappers. I knew that possession of a gun without a license was a crime but how many of
those having firearms had license?
As I walked to the bus stop to take a bus to the park, I saw a mammoth crowd
gathered. “What is happening here again? Have thugs engaged in a “do-or-die” fight over
disagreement on how to share the money collected from their victims? They had caused
serious traffic jam. “Lagos life!” I hissed. It could be an accident, I thought. Most drivers
drove as if they had just escaped from hell. Some had no driving license. Most of them have
never gone for any driving test. They bought their license. Why wouldn’t accidents be
rampant?
As I approached the place, I saw something was burning. The robbers are at it again.
They’ve set yet another building on fire, I said to myself. Or was it a car burning? Some
people knew how to buy cars, but not how to maintain them. I moved forward to ascertain
what was actually burning.
Oh my God! There were human beings being roasted. It was incredible.
“What happened?” I asked a young girl I met there, my mouth dropping open with
incredulity.
“They are thieves,” she said.
“What did they steal?”
“Provisions from Alhaja’s shop.”
“Imagine! When the pen robbers are busy looting billions and gaining more respect
from the public, the same public is lynching people for stealing goods less than one thousand
naira. What a disorganized society,” I soliloquized.

Lynching of crime suspects had become rampant. Some innocent people had been so
killed by irate mob mistaking them for thieves. When I complained to Kola he simply said,
“It is a sign that the masses have no confidence in the police and the judiciary. If you report
any thief to the police you’ll be lucky, if you escape being locked up, instead. The thieves
know their way with the police.”
It had become a common sight to see a human being burning by the roadsides, as if he
was a heap of wood. All needed to condemn an individual to an untimely death was a shout
of the word, “Thief.” Once this word is heard, people would emerge from their houses, shops,
and cars carrying all sorts of deadly weapons ready to deliver instant justice. Some people
had succeeded in using this style to eliminate their enemies.
“But what type of sadistic entertainment is this in this modern time?” I asked myself.
As I stood there horrified, I saw some passers-by smiling, jubilating, some simply walked
passed unconcerned, the residents of the houses around were undisturbed, and children came
to peep.
I shook my head and returned to the bus stop to take a bus to the park. I’d my own
problem to solve.
I boarded a clouded bus. At the next bus- stop a man entered.
“King’s Avenue! Jungle! Market! Papa’s land! When you hear the name of your bus-
stop, please simply say “he dey,” the man shouted.
“Oh my God! These noisy medicine hawkers again,” I muttered to myself.
He went through the names of the bus- stops again. Those who were not used t o these
drug peddlers said “he dey”, when they heard their bus stops mentioned, while those who
were used to them simply kept quiet.
“Yes, that’s alright. I say good morning to you ladies and gentlemen. Blood is very
essential for the normal functioning of your body. Your blood is working when you’re
sleeping, sitting, walking or working in your offices. You all know that your body is an organ
and it needs nourishment, otherwise, the blood cannot work. After the day’s job, you come
home very tired. This is why you need the product I’m about to introduce to you now. The
best medicine manufacturers in the world manufacture it. Apart from revitalizing your blood,
this medicine cures stomach ache, chronic headache, rashes, pile, dysentery and many other
diseases. The name is Okumagin. In the medicine stores, it cost five hundred naira but for
advertisement purposes, I shall sell it two hundred and fifty naira in this bus. Remember that
cure is better than prevention. Take two tablets in the morning and two in the evening. If you
want, please call my attention, it is only two hundred and fifty naira.”
Some people bought the drug. An elderly woman sitting near me bought one. I
collected it from her and read the prescription. It was to be taken once a day or as prescribed
by a doctor.
People were obviously ignorant of the danger of self-medication. Some of the drugs
sold in buses have long expired. Most of the prescriptions given by the peddlers were over or
under dose. Many people had died by consuming these drugs; others have had their illnesses
worsened.
Almost immediately the drug peddler sat down after transacting his business, another
man stood up. “Good morning brothers and sisters, I’ve brought you good news. For Christ
asked his disciples, “What shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his
soul?”’ he quoted.
“These fanatics again,” I murmured.
“What I’ve for you is for your highest and best interest. It is about your souls - - -
Jesus is the only way. If you don’t believe in Jesus, you shall end up in hell fire.”
“The same old story, religious tolerance doesn’t mean anything to some people. If all
religion preaches to be the only way, there’ll surely be a holy war,” one man complained. I
quickly jump down when the bus got to the park to face another war with the touts.
Different groups dragged me to their own vehicle. I eventually, opted for the one I
thought was nearly filled up. It turned out to be a serious mistake. Most of the people in the
bus were touts as a passenger entered one of them dropped. I waited for over three hours,
before the bus moved.
Men of Customs and Excise stopped us on the way. They demanded for the trunk of
the bus to be opened. After about thirty minutes search, they asked for the owners of some
baggage and ordered them to open them. They did and they were arrested for carrying
smuggled goods.
“Who smuggled these goods into this country? Surely, it is not these poor traders.
Who allowed them in at the entry points? Everybody knows that the goods were smuggled
into the country by influential men and sold them to the traders. Why not arrest the influential
men?” one man in dark glasses complained bitterly.
“Please don’t allow them hear you, otherwise, they won’t release us in time,” one of
the passengers cautioned. “They should give them what they want and let’s go.”
“What do they want?” the man in dark glasses asked.
He shot him a sidelong glance, “Are you new in town? Bribe of course.” the same
man said.
“Nonsense. Nobody is going to give or receive bribe in my presence today,” he
threatened.
“Better don’t complicate the matter. They’ll just send these poor men to jail,” one
passenger explained to him.

He understood and kept quiet. Our driver was nothing but a mad man. When the bus
filled at the park, he was called from where he was smoking marijuana. We’d barely left the
park, when he opened a full bottle of gin and started to drink from the bottle as he drove. He
drove at excessive speed.
I challenged him. “You’re driving at excessive speed. It’s advisable you reduce your
speed before we get involved in an accident.”
“Go and sit down. I’ve been driving before you were born, and I’ve never been
involved in any accident.”
“There’s always a first time. Please just keep to the Federal Road Safety Corp’s speed
limit.”
“Ehh, young man, most of us in this bus are businessmen and we are in a hurry to get
to Onitsha. If you’ve no important reason for traveling, you can get down and I’ll refund your
transport fare,” one man said. His eyes glared accusingly.
“That’s a very good talk. Have your money and get down, so that you can wait for a
vehicle that will travel at twenty kilometers per hour. We’ve business to attend to,” another
man said, pointing my transport fare to me.
“Fire on,” many others encouraged the driver. “Don’t mind this idle man,” one of
them shouted.
The businessmen’s chastisement put a dent into my armor of determination. I couldn’t
do anything; so I settled down to pray to God to accept my soul because I doubted if we
would ever reach Awka alive. What pained me most was that I’d an important mission at
hand. The driver did many dangerous overtaking, driving away on-coming vehicles out of the
road.
I was surprised and grateful to God when we arrived at Awka without involving in a
fatal accident.
At Awka, I went to the man my friend gave me his address. He sold me a gun without
wanting to know what I wanted it for or my particulars. I liked how he transacted his
business. It was strictly for cash. I returned to Lagos that same day. I went to the police
station after I have dropped the gun at our Palm Avenue resident. They asked why I didn’t
report in the morning. I told them that I was sick.
On my way home, I branched to see Kola. He was panicking when I entered. He
thought I had absconded. The police had telephoned and given him twenty-four hours to
produce me.
When I got home, I took my bath and went to bed. I couldn’t sleep. I was confused as
to where to start the search for Biola. Lagos? Garden City? I had no idea. I lay still while my
brain went to work.
***
It was then I decided to join a group of gangsters. I believed the activities of the
underworld were well coordinated. Some of the groups knew what the other groups were
planning or were doing. Which group should I join? How was I, to get introduced became a
nagging problem. If I was to find any useful information I’d to join a big organization.
After much thought, I decided to go to Ajegunle. I knew some thugs there. That was
where I grew up. I knew many people and many people knew me. I lay awake for many long
hours before I was finally able to sleep.
“Locomotive, I’ve come to beg you for assistance,” I said, when I located him in a
hotel, where he was drinking.
“Yes? What kind of assistance?”
“Since I graduated one year ago, I’ve got no job. I’m tired of roaming the streets,
looking for nonexistent job. I want to join a gang, where I can make some money. I mean a
big and tough gang.”

“That’s no problem but you’ve got to have a lot of gut,” he explained. “The leader of
one of the toughest gang in Lagos is my pal.”
"I have gut,” I assured him.
He promised to speak to a friend of his and he did.
***
A week after he took me, for introduction to the leader of the gang.
“Gentleman, you’re welcome into my outfit. Locomotive spoke to me about you and I
told him to bring you so that I can assess you.”
“Thank you, I’m grateful.”
“I decided to form this outfit, because everyday happenings in this country continue to
show that the rich are getting richer, while the poor are getting poorer. Most of our people are
abjectly poor because some of our people have taken more than their fair share of the
bounties of our nation.”
“You’re right. Illiteracy helped to worsen the predicament of the poor, because
education is unattainable. The silences of our fathers have further helped this development.
They sat with legs crossed and arms folded, expecting that one day, a ship laden with all the
good things of life will dock in their harbor, while few people dominated everything,” I
contributed.
“But reason and experience have proved this kind of hope to be wishful thinking,”
Locomotive added.
“I’ve just seen, you’ll fit into my outfit because we feel the same way. We’ve been
championing the course of the liberation of the poor. We’ve been trying to redistribute the
wealth of this country in our own way. We have been making it impossible for the noveaux
riche to enjoy their stolen money in Lagos. If while the rich made their millions, and gave the
downtrodden the basic necessities of life, there would have been no need for this outfit.”
“Nothing is done to check the “pen robbers”, but when the downtrodden walks up to
these “emergency” rich men to demand part of the money they equally stole and maybe apply
some force, when they prove reluctant, he gets shot by our police. What is the justification?”
Locomotive asked.
“Look, I read psychology in the university. I learnt that criminals are not born; they’re
made by the society. Robert F. Kennedy equally said: ‘Every society gets the kind of
criminals it deserves.’ Some people have argued that stealing is a genetic factor. I disagree
with them vehemently. It’s the society that awakens the sleeping criminal propensity in
people,” Shagasha said.
“What does the nation expect from us, when we are barely clothed, left without roof
over our heads, without work, without food, but young?” I asked.
“It is unfortunate that the religions leaders that should have saved the poor, failed
woefully. Instead, they helped in exploiting them by collecting the little they have in the
name of gift to God,” Locomotive said.
“All the “pen robbers” in this country are Elders, Deacons, Deaconesses and Church
Leaders,” Shagasha added.
“Since the Pentecostal churches came into being, some years ago, their pastors have
been demanding blind and unquestioning obedience from their devotees. My own father is a
victim of one Pastor Jeremiah,” I told them.
“I’ve heard so much about that self-styled messiah. At the mention of his name, all his
flocks’ knees must bow. His name is considered sacred and forbidden to be pronounced
frivolously. It is believed that his name is the key to unravel all life’s mysteries and solve the
myriad of problems facing humanity. He claims to have a cure for HIV/AIDS. But many
people have claimed that his miracles are voodoo-inspired,” Shagasha said.
“I learnt he even flogs his members who have “sinned” according to his own
reasoning,” Locomotive said.
“Yes. He goes beyond that. Anyone who broke a rule like engaging in side-talk during
service, failing to pay obeisance anytime he arrived the church or coming late to the church is
required to pay heavy fine, determined by the pastor. That’s the reason, worshippers
scrambled to prostate before him, anytime he appeared,” I told them.
“Residents of the area where the church is located live in perpetual fear as they are
beaten mercilessly without provocation,” Locomotive added.
“His devotee will stop at nothing in dealing with whomever “sin” against their lord
and master. It’s an unpardonable iniquity for you to cross the road or drive and attempt to
overtake his convoy anytime “His holiness” was on the road. The persons who’d the audacity
or misfortune of attempting any of the above were beaten black and blue by his devotees.
Fierce-looking men, who enforced his orders, guard him. Women members whether married
or unmarried took turns to cook and do other domestic chores for him, which may extend to
the bedroom,” I said.
“Our society is rotten. We’ll pay that Pastor Jeremiah a visit one day,” Shagash
informed us.
“Our traditional rulers are not even better,” Locomotive said. “They protect only their
own interests and not that of their subjects. They easily sell out. Any time there is a violent
crime or robbery, you’ll hear them saying that in their own time crimes were not so
prevalent,” I said.
“Don’t mind those old men. They lie a lot. Dreadful crimes have existed before and at
all times and not only in this country, but the world over. And it’ll continue to occur for a
long time to come. The difference is that before, they didn’t receive so much publicity as
today. Early this century, Charles Lucky Luciano, “Boss of Bosses’ of the American mafia
made a fortune in criminal activities. Jesse Voodson James, Son of a Baptist Minister,
strolled into the Clay County Savings Bank, in Liberty, Missouri on February 13, 1866 and
relieved the cashier of $60,000. In the early sixties, some men in Britain robbed a train of
$2.6 million at Cheddington, Buckinghamshire, popularly known as THE GREAT TRAIN
ROBBERY. Criminal activities are as old as history, how about the Anini saga that held
Nigeria hostage in the nineties.” Shagasha concluded.
It was too late now to wonder if I’d done the right thing. Perhaps I hadn’t; I could be
killed before rescuing Biola.

CHAPTER FIVE
Immediately, I got to the BB’s den, I started gathering as much information as I could
get. Bone was the marksman of the gang. He’d started his criminal life as a political thug. He
was a professional killer. He always shot his target without missing. He was cadaverously
thin hence his name “Bone” He’d a military-style moustache. Human life didn’t worth more
than that of a fowl to him. He was addicted to vice and marijuana. He’d a girlfriend he loved
so much. Her name was Grace. His name was on the wanted list of four states in Nigeria. He
was about twenty-six years old.Rasta was a chronic womanizer. Making love to his numerous
women was his favorite hobby. He’d an impressive criminal career. He started stealing at the
age of nine. He’d participated in more than one hundred robberies as at the time I joined the
gang. He was muscular, iron-fisted and stone-faced. He rarely smiled. He always wore a dark
goggles to hide his fire-red eyes. When gun could not be easily used in an operation, in order
not to arouse attention, it was him that strangled the victim or beat him to death.
Komoko was the driver of the gang. He’d an exceptional talent for driving. He’d been
a taxi driver in Lagos for many years, so he knew the city of Lagos like the back of his palm.
He was a free spender and was always broke. He spent everything he realized from the
robberies in a good-time spree. He loved liquor and drugs especially the latter. You needed to
see him in action, and then you’ll know that the driving feats performed by James Bond in
most of his films were child’s play. All my life, I’d never met a wilder and more dangerous
driver.
He operated any vehicle with or without the key. He was an expert in destroying
security devices installed in cars, be it devices to demobilize vehicles, pedal lock, wheel lock.
Shagasha was the boss of the gang. He was a fierce-looking young man of thirty. He
was smart and tough as nail. He was always elegantly dressed. He moved in top social strata.
He owned a sleek Toyota Celica and a Nissan Patrol. He couldn’t be easily identified as a
robber. He lived on the fast lane, inflicting pains on people without qualms. He usually posed
as a managing director of a motor firm. This was where vehicles stolen by the gang were sold
and the dismantled ones sold as spare parts. He seldom participated in the real operations. He
was responsible for arranging all operations while the execution was led by Bone. He was
very rich. “I can’t leave crime, being a good citizen again will be boring. I know I may die
young, but I want every moment of the short time I’ll spend on earth to be exciting - lots of
women, drugs, booze, what have you,” he once said. He carried the best ladies in town and
lived in an executively furnished duplex. Shagasha, popularly known as “the boss” had
handed me over to Bone to tell me the norms of the gang.
He was the brain of the gang, and was a graduate of psychology. He was armed with
good education, but couldn’t find a gainful outlet to his alert and articulate mind. He formed
the Bloody Brothers gang to wage a social war against the society.
“Among our rules are: You’ll never refuse to carry out instructions given to you by
the leader of any operation. Losing of nerve during or before an operation could lead to
banishment from the gang. Mentioning of the name of any member of the gang, when caught
during an operation is a serious offence punishable by death.” I’d no alternative but to accept.
***
I’d participated in a number of robbery operations before Shagasha came with the
news of Biola’s kidnappers.
The first was along Lagos – Benin expressway. We blocked this very busy road by
mid-night and robbed travelers. We operated for three hours and made a lot of money. Bone
only stabbed a man. We killed nobody that day.
We stopped the man carrying his family in his Mercedes 190E and he stopped.
“Surrender all your valuables,” I ordered.
He obliged. But Bone wasn’t convinced, the man compiled fully.
“I want to search you,” he told the man.
He searched him and found five thousand naira on him. He was furious. “It is
dishonest people like you that have ruined this country. You can’t obey simple instruction.
You must be a thief, that is why you hid this money,” Bone said accusingly.
“I wanted to have something to transport my family to our destination, after you take
our car,” the man explained.
“Who told you we want to snatch your car?” Bone queried.
He pulled out his dagger and stabbed the man on his arm. “I would’ve killed you, but
because of your family, I’ve decided to spare your life. Try to be more honest in future,”
Bone, told him.
The following day, when we woke up, we assembled to celebrate our success the
previous night and to share our loot.
Shagasha came with cartons of beer and bottles of hot drinks. Everyone was free to
choose whatever he wanted to drink. Rasta went into his bedroom and returned with a heavy
reap of marijuana.
“I wanted to serve this nation, but I was denied the opportunity, so it isn’t my fault
that I rob to survive,” Shagasha said defensively. “The day I graduated I was mad with joy. I
felt my dream had come true. I had a dream to improve my poor family and the society at
large. Austerity measure of government notwithstanding, my father did his best to provide for
me, but it was grossly inadequate. I practically starved, trying to make ends meet and they
never met when I was in the university.”
“You’re very lucky, you went to the university. My father was a driver for a company
and he traveled extensively. My mother was a palm oil hawker. Most times, she was in the
streets, hawking. As a result, I spent most part of my youth roaming around the streets with
gangs of delinquents,” Komoko said.
“My situation and yours are similar to an extent,” Rasta said. “I started stealing at the
age of nine. Our neighborhood was filled with boys of my age, who were sent out of school
because our parents couldn’t pay our fees. With our parents struggling to raise money to pay
our fees, we were left roaming streets, with nothing concrete to do. Most of us drifted into
crime,” Rasta said, as he drew on the marijuana burning in his hand.
“My father believed that after my university education, I’ll become a “big man’, and
help train my younger ones. That was why he made a lot of sacrifices to see me through
school,” Shagasha said, with a look of undisguised hatred in his eyes. “After all my suffering,
I got no job for two years after graduation. I felt frustrated, humiliated and dehumanized. The
people my father borrowed money from for my education were always at our door
demanding for their money,” he said bitterly.
“Your father really tried,” Komoko contributed. “When my mother found it difficult
to control me, she sent me to live with her brother, who was a teacher. “Brother John will
help me impart some discipline on you,” my mother said. He was a known disciplinarian. He
believed that indiscipline could be eradicated by corporal punishment,” Komoko said.
What happened? Was your uncle able to bend you?” I asked.

“If he succeeded, I wouldn’t be here. At a point, I found my uncle’s disciplinary
measures too draconian. Anytime, I broke a rule, he thrashed me mercilessly. One day, I
revolted. As he pulled his belt to give me a good thrash, I snatched it from him. I decided to
give him a test of his own medicine. I flogged him with the belt until he ran into his bedroom
and locked the door. I packed my things and returned home.”
We busted out laughing, till tears ran down our cheeks.
“All of us had a difficult upbringing. My life has been an uphill task right from
youth,” Bone said. He drank all the beer in his glass at a gulf and wiped off the foam that had
settled on his moustache. “I am from a poor family and I grew up in the ghetto of Mushin.
Hardship characterized my youth,” Bone said.
He’d a face of someone who had known a lot of suffering.
“I started to smoke cigarette and drink alcohol early in life. I soon graduated into
smoking marijuana, which we nicknamed “stone”. Emboldened by alcohol and stone, I
started to steal with my other friends. We stole anything that was left loose,” Bone expatiated.
“In my own case, my father believed that proper upbringing was the greatest legacy
he could leave behind for me but he couldn’t afford it though he tried,” Rasta said.
“Everything went on smoothly, until my father caught me making love to one of our
neighbor’s daughter in the bathroom. I was thirteen then and the girl was ten. Hell was let
loose. The whole adults in our compound held emergency meeting. Disciplinary action to be
taken against us was the only item on the agenda. Many suggestions were made but my
father’s suggestion was the one accepted.”
“What was it?” I asked curiously.
“Grinded pepper was applied to our sexual organs.”
We busted out laughing again. Komoko had a paroxysm of coughing.

“I lack words to effectively describe my experience that day,” Rasta continued. “After
this incident, mothers locked up their daughters, whenever I was around. I wasn’t really the
type of boy any conscientious mother would like her daughter to associate with.”
“What did your mother do?” I asked.
“She supported my father’s action. When I was going to school the next day, she
refused to give me food. Inside the bus, I was standing near a woman in the overcrowded bus.
As the bus approached my school, I snatched her bag and jumped down from the moving
vehicle. The force with which I snatched the bag caused the woman to fall out of the bus. I
didn’t wait to know if she died or was only injured. I ran off with the speed of lightning.
Luckily I wasn’t wearing my school uniform, because it was torn. I couldn’t be traced. I
bought myself food with the money I got from the woman’s purse. I became a thief to escape
the humiliation of poverty,” Rasta said.
“Komoko, how did you become a driver?” I asked.
“When I returned home, my father took me to a friend of his to train me on how to
drive. I was once a driver for PNP, before I joined the Bloody Brothers. Those thieves
overused me and were not ready to pay me well, so I quit.”
“How about your father? Is he still alive?” Shagasha asked.
“No, he is dead. He was killed at a police checkpoint for refusing to give bribe.”
“It is very unfortunate, the way our police kill innocent citizens. Chuks, you have not
told us anything about your past,” Shagasha said.
I had told them that my name was Chuks.
“It is not different from the rest of you. My parents are poor. I grew up in Ajegunle.
Despite my parent’s financial inadequacy, I was able to attain the university, where I read
Industrial Chemistry.”
“My God! Then what are you doing here?” Komoko asked.
“Just like Shagasha said, I have been unemployed since I finished my national
service.”
“What kind of country is this?” Rasta asked.
“I am the first child of the family and I have nine younger ones,” I said.
“Jesus!” Shagasha shouted.
“I’ve had enough of everything. I want to go and see Grace,” Bone said, stretching as
he stood up.
“I better look for a beautiful girl to sleep with me tonight to conclude this
celebration,” Rasta said.
“I will join you, Rasta,” Komoko said.
“Alright gentlemen, I am calling it a day. Goodnight all,” Shagasha said, as he picked
his car key and stood up. “It has been a great night.” We were all casualties of poverty.
***
A week later, Bone invited us to accompany him to Grace’s father’s burial. Grace was
the daughter of the Chief of Badan. Badan was about one hundred kilometers from Lagos.
In order to fulfill the tradition of the Yoruba people, Bone spent money lavishly, like
a drunken sailor. Thanks to our successful operation along Lagos – Benin expressway. The
rest of us helped to boost his ego, by equally parting with our money freely. We became the
focus of attention in Badan.
During the night party, we’d great fun. Food and drinks were in abundance. Bone and
Grace made sure we were well taken care of. On the table next to us, a man was drinking
malt.
“Hey brother, are you just out of the hospital?” Shagasha asked.
“Why do you ask?” the man replied.
“Why the hell should a healthy man be drinking this stuff?” Shagasha inquired.
“Is it meant only for those who have just been discharged from hospital?”
“Yep! Or woman,” Shagasha said.
“Do you know that alcohol is a drug and is dangerous? Do you also know that
alcoholism is a sickness that can kill, if not arrested in time?” the man asked.
“Skip that. How about Spaniards who drink wine while eating instead of water? Some
Germans substitute beer for water. Are all of them alcoholics?”
Shagasha replied.
“If alcohol is that dangerous, why does the government allow the proliferation of
breweries in the country?” I asked.
He smiled benignly. “It’s unfortunate really. Too much alcohol always causes
avoidable destruction to the body. Alcoholism has physical, mental and social effects on its
victims. The physical effects include: blurred vision, impaired balance, liver disease known
as cirrhosis and its milder form known as hepatitis, extremely low fertility and reduction of
the ability to smell and to hear clearly. The mental effects manifest in the form of amnesia,
insomnia and disorganization of sense of judgment. The social effects are even more serious.
It leads to broken homes with its attendant social problems, absenteeism from work, general
inefficiency and eventual loss of jobs, increased crime waves, juvenile delinquency, death as
in the case of drunken drivers and negligence of responsibility,” he said judiciously.
“Who are you? A medical doctor or what?” Komoko asked.
“No, I am a member of A. A.”
“What does that mean?” Rasta asked.
“Alcoholic Anonymous,” the man replied.
“What are you supposed to do?” I asked.

“We’re supposed to help alcoholic victims. Alcoholic anonymous started in U.S.A. in
1935 by a New York drunk, who was a stockbroker and an Ohio surgeon, who was another
drunk. Luckily, we have a branch in Lagos, so I hope you’ll come and join us.”
“You’re joking,” Shagasha replied. “To some of us who can handle alcohol, it can be
a great fun. But those of you, who can’t, it is good you join Alcoholic Anonymous,”
Shagasha advised.
“It’s not easy for anybody to accept that he’s a drunk. But Alcoholic Anonymous has
a way you can do a personal diagnosis, by answering some questions.”
“Alright, let’s hear the questions,” Shagasha said, without noticeable enthusiasm.
Rasta and Komoko had lost interest in the discussion. They concentrated in drinking
their beer and smoking.
“Do you drink to escape from worry or troubles?” the man continued. “Do you get
into financial difficulties from drinking? Do you’ve drinks first thing in the morning to calm
your nerves? Have you tried to stop drinking on your own but couldn’t? Have you switched
from one kind of drink to another hoping that it’ll help you from getting drunk? Do you’ve
marital problems with your spouse? Do you wish people should mind their business and stop
telling you what to do?”
“And if the answers are yes, what happens?” I asked.
“If your answer is yes to three or more of these questions, then you need help. Poor
feeding makes the effect of alcohol more devastating on the malnourished citizens of the
developing countries. Even the World Health Organization (WHO), has condemned the
rapidly increasing consumption of alcohol in many third world countries,” the man said
dutifully.
“I think this talk has gone far enough. I don’t want to go any further. I am a man and I
take a man’s drink. I hate men who have feminine characteristics,” Shagasha said, his eyes
flashing with annoyance.
About ten kilometers to Lagos, Komoko ran into an iron bar that was in the middle of
the road. He didn’t see it because he was drunk and was on high speed. The iron bar damaged
the right rear tire seriously.
Shagasha, who was following closely behind, avoided running into the Mercedes
narrowly. We parked off the expressway. The ladies were asleep and were not aware of what
happened.
Komoko opened the trunk of the car and brought out tools to change the tire. At this
point, four men emerged from the bush. One was carrying a pistol; another carried a cutlass
and the remaining two carried clubs. The one with pistol released two shots into the air.
“Place your hands on your heads and remain still,” he ordered. “Boys search them,”
he told his men, covering us with his gun. My mouth hanged open, the wild beating of my
heart sounding overwhelming loud in my ears.
“We don’t have money on us. We have spent our money. We are just coming from a
party. However, I have some money in the trunk of my car, do I get it?” Shagasha asked.
“Go ahead and get the money. Don’t play any foul game or you’ll have yourself to
blame,” the man with the gun warned.
Shaghasha went to where he parked his car and returned with his gun blazing. The
leader and one other fell down dead and the remaining two jumped into the bush and
disappeared.
“I wish you a better luck in your next world,” Shagasha proclaimed, with a maniacal
gleam in his eyes. My chest was rising and falling with alarming rapidity.
We quickly changed the tire and drove off.When we entered Lagos, Shagasha drove
to his house, while Komoko drove to ours.
I knew I was romancing with danger if when I joined the BB gang. Wouldn’t it be
more sensible to cut my losses now, and run --- before it was too late, before I was killed? I
knew I ought to run, now, while I still had the chance. Senator Harrison had the money and
connections with which to find Biola. At a second thought I decided it was too late to run
away, of course, I shouldn’t have come here in the first place. I had to acknowledge the fact
that I must do whatever I could to find Biola to in order to get access to the family’s
accumulated wealth.
***
Lying lonely in my room, my thought wandered. Then I remembered the second
operation I participated after joining the Bloody Brothers. The operation was bloodier than
the first.
Our informant in Chiedu Company Limited rushed to our den on the evening of my
fourth day, to inform us that the Accountant of the company was going the next day to collect
the staff’s salary for the month.
“When do you expect him to be back from the bank?” Bone asked.
“Ten o’clock.”
“Fine. Do you know how much is involved,” Bone asked eagerly.
“Yes. Five million naira,” the informant replied.
“Are you very sure?” Rasta asked delightedly.
“Cocksure.”
We were at the company the next day exactly at ten o’clock. Bone shot the two
policemen, who escorted the Accountant to the bank. They slumped and died instantly. Bone
also shot the Accountant three times on the head. He slumped hopelessly to the ground like
the dry leaf of a banana plant.
Rasta and Komoko loaded the bags containing the money into our car, while I shot
sporadically into the air to scare the other workers away. After Rasta and Komoko had loaded
the bags into our car, we rushed into the car and Komoko took off with squealing tires.
When we counted the loot and it was exactly five million naira. Our informant was
very accurate.
All these operations have been disturbing me greatly, because I knew that if we were
arrested, my plan to locate Biola and rescue her would never materialize. I decided on this
personal risk, because our police couldn’t be depended upon to solve any complicated crime.
Many cases of missing persons and assassinations were still unsolved.
The third operation was even the boldest and the bloodiest. It was a bank robbery.
Komoko and Raska were detailed to investigate the bank’s operations and their security
strength. Three days before the operations, they dressed in suits and drove to the bank.
“We moved freely as if we were customers and took note of the bank’s system of
operations and their security strength,” Rasta reported, when they returned.
“The bank opens to customers at eight thirty in the morning and close to customers at
two o’clock. Between two o’clock and five o’clock, they balanced their books,” Komoko
reported.
“What is the security strength?” I asked.
“There are two policemen with old Mark IV rifles, two Alsatian dogs and three
security men armed with clubs at the gate, while seven security men maintained order in the
banking hall,” Rasta replied.
“Does the bank have burglary alarm?” Bone asked.
“No,” Komoko replied. “We specially watched out for it.”

“It won’t be difficult to rob the bank, then,” Bone said encouragingly. “Once we are
able to silent the policemen and the dogs, which I don’t think shall be difficult, the bank is
ours. What can the security men do with clubs?” Bone concluded.
“When do we carry out the operation?” Rasta asked.
“The day after tomorrow,” Bone said. “It will be a broad day operation. Breaking into
banks when they have been locked is not an easy thing. We shall strike exactly at ten
o’clock.”
Before the operation on the agreed day, everybody assembled in Bone’s flat.
Shagasha had arrived that morning with a big parcel of marijuana and bottles of hot drinks.
He was away to Italy while the plan was going on and only arrived the night before.
“Gentlemen, I have come with this stuff to keep you in the mood, so feel free to take
as much as you can.”
Everybody rolled a rap of marijuana and lit up. As we smoked, we flushed the smoke
down with whiskey.
We drove to the bank in Bone’s Concorde Mercedes bearing fake number, dressed in
black suits. Bone sat in the front passenger’s seat, while Komoko was at the wheel. Rasta and
I sat behind. Shagasha did not participate.
At the gate, Bone shot the two policemen before they could lift up their Mark IV. I
shot the dogs. The security men ran away with a speed that would make Carl Lewis an
amateur. I came down and collected the police rifles. When I entered the car, Komoko drove
into the bank premises at top speed. Immediately he stopped, we rushed into the bank hall
with our pistols drawn.
“Everybody on the floor,” Bone ordered.
One of the cashiers attempted to run.
“Make a move and get your head blown off,” I warned.

He froze.
The receiving and the paying cashiers had themselves locked up in small cages with
small windows at which they paid or received deposits from customers. Rasta, and Komoko
forced the doors open. We packed all the money in each of the cages into big bags each of us
carried. While we did this, Bone covered everybody in the bank with guns in both hands.
Sylvester Stallion would grind his teeth in envy.
One customer dived Bone attempting to disarm him. He shot him dead. Everybody
remained motionless. Some citizens who had been able to arrest robbers had been well
compensated by the police boss, so the bloody bastard thought Bone was the type an unarmed
citizen could arrest. He paid dearly for his folly.
In minutes, the bags of money were inside our car. As we tried to drive out, a car tried
to block us. Rasta pulled out his gun and fired at the driver. He slumped against the wheel.
The car crashed into an office near the bank injuring some people.
Komoko drove off at a great speed, executing some dangerous maneuvers. Just as he
got to the next junction, the traffic light turned red. He continued without stopping. A car that
had moved forward on seeing the light turn green was forced to stop abruptly. The car
following it clashed into its rear.
When we counted our haul, on getting to Shagasha’s house, it was ten million naira.
That evening, radio and television station announced that the bank manager claimed we made
away with fifteen million naira. The dishonest son-of-a-bitch had stolen five million naira for
him.
Lagos was in an uproar, at the audacity and brutality of the bank robbery. The police
were baffled.
“Thank you guys, the operation was well planned and beautifully executed,”
Shagasha congratulated us.

We decided to take some break and allow the dust to settle. Shagasha rushed in a
week after the bank robbery and asked everybody to assemble in Bone’s flat. After we were
seated and lighted our marijuana, Shagasha brought out a newspaper and I immediately
caught glance of Biola’s picture on the front page. I was anxious to know what had happened
to her. “The police are yet to find any clue to the kidnapping of Senator Harrison’s daughter.
The boyfriend who was released a few weeks ago from police custody has dropped out of
sight. The police have locked up his friend who bailed him. The police will be grateful if any
member of the public can give any useful information as to how to find the girl or the boy.
Senator Harrison has offered to pay five million naira to anybody who can give valuable
information on how his daughter can be found,” Shagasha read from the newspaper. My heart
had missed a beat when I heard that Kola had been locked up. It was unfortunate; I could not
do anything about it, because I’d to find Biola. Before Locomotive introduced me to
Shagasha, I’d disguised myself. I wore an artificial beard, moustache and side bonds. Not
even my parents could have recognized me then. I’d explained to Locomotive that I didn’t
want those that knew me to recognize me.
After he read us the news he folded the newspaper and dropped it on the rug. Every
one of us looked at him expectantly to know why he read us that piece of news. He reached
into his suit’s inner pocket and brought out a cigar, un-wrapped it, bit off the end, and lighted
it with gold lighter. When the cigar was glowing, he took a sip at a glass of beer on a stool by
his side. He could talk all night as long as his beer glass was kept full.
“Gentlemen, I’ve just read this piece of news to you because this is the kind of golden
opportunity I’ve been waiting for all my life. The idea occurred to me only yesterday, when I
came back from Italy. If we can carry out this operation successfully, we’ll spend the rest of
our life in luxury.”
“What are you talking about? Come straight,” Bone said impatiently.
Shagasha ignored him and took a mouthful of beer from his glass and emptied the
remaining beer in the bottle into the glass. He wiped the back of his hand across his lips.
Rasta coughed. The smoke of the marijuana had taken the wrong track.
“I know you’re eager to hear what the operation is all about,” he continued. He took a
long drag at his cigar and exhaled the smoke through his nostrils.
“Senator Harrison’s daughter is in the hands of the kidnappers and her father wants
her back badly. Her mother’s health has failed, because of Biola’s disappearance.”
This man must be crazy, I said in my mind. Everybody knew that.
“We are going to find her and return her to her father, if he can pay what I shall
demand.”
“Where are we going to find her? The police have been looking for her for the past
one month without any success,” I said breathlessly, trying to still the wild beating of my
heart.
“Forget about the police. If the police have a man with half my talent in organized
crime, they would have found the kidnappers. The problem with the police in this country is
that people join it as the last resort. There are few gangsters in this Nigeria that can handle a
five-million naira operation. And I know them. If it’s not the Red Devils, it’ll be the
Underworld Brothers or the Dangerous Buddies.”
“How do you know?” Komoko asked. He picked up his glass and quaffed the whiskey
as if it were water. He refilled his glass again and gulped it down.
Shagasha threw back his head and laughed. “I’ve not been in crime for years for fun.
It’s likely to be the Red Devils. They have a farm and I suspect that is where they’re keeping
the girl. However I shall confirm.”
“If you find out the group holding the girl, what shall we do?” Rasta interjected.
“Eliminate them and take over the girl. Then her father will have to pay twenty
million naira, if he wants to see his daughter again,” Shagasha said.
“Don’t be unrealistic,” I said. “Where will the man get twenty million naira from?”
“You don’t know anything? The man has been stealing from the national treasury, it
is time somebody steal some of it from him. Do you know how much he was paid for
building Domino Housing Estate? He even left most of the houses uncompleted. The man is
worth billions.”
“He might not be willing to part with so much money,” I said.
“I know how I’ll handle him. Let’s get the girl first. She’ll help to persuade her
father.”
“How’re you sure the girl is even alive?” I ask again.
“My instinct tells me she is alive, especially, if she was kidnapped by the Red Devils.
Mojo, their leader loves girl so much, he can’t kill such a beautiful girl. I won’t be surprised
if he has been abusing the girl sexually.” That was exactly what happened. When we rescued
Biola, she was pregnant.
I heaved a sigh of relief at the prospect that Biola might still be alive. I would think of
what to do when we have taken her over. Shagasha promised to come back later that week to
give us details of the operation.
“Don’t you think we could be fiddling with a time bomb by involving ourselves with
this senator’s daughter? You know the police are always at their best when matter concerns
an aristocrat,” Rasta said, his shoulders slumped as if he carried the weight of the world.
“Bullshit,” Shagasha shouted. “Why haven’t they found her? If the police get tough,
then we get tough too,” he scoffed. “You want to live forever? To convince you that I mean
business, I’m going to take part in this operation,” he said confidently.

“We have been having too many encounters with the police lately. And they are now
equipped with sophisticated weapons,” Rasta complained. He stared into his beer as if he
might be able to divine the future in its surface.
“Shut up! You yellow fool!’ Shagasha snorted with rage at the suggestion. Senator
Harrison will not involve the police in this. I’ll use his daughter to convince him to leave
them out of it. This is going to be our last operation. After this, we shall all retire from crime
and go into profitable clean business. There will no longer be any encounter with the police.”
Nobody retired to any business, because the operation was bloodier than any of us
anticipated.
***
The operation was very bloody. Shagasha returned that week with details of the
operation. The operation was planned for a week ahead. He distributed pistols to us, but I
refused to accept. I’d my homemade pistol from Awka. He was surprised I had a gun.
On the eve of the operation, I took my gun completely apart, and cleaned and oiled
each piece as the dealer showed me, before reassembling it. On the day of the operation,
Shagasha brought a black 504-saloon car with foreign number plate. He also handed each one
of us a black mask and hand gloves. He brought a roll of marijuana and four bottles of hot
drinks. They were meant to give us impetus before the time of the operation. The final
instruction was: “Shoot any living thing at sight, except any feminine figure, which might be
Biola.” he said “ He’d confirmed that it was the Red Devil that kidnapped Biola.
BB was really a bloody gang. Bone told me that they were the best-organized gang.
“A group was once trying to outclass us, so Shagasha had to send them a Christmas present.
On the eve of Christmas, he sent them a well-wrapped time bomb. The bomb was spring –
triggered to detonate when the package was opened. All the members of the gang were wiped
out, and their den severely damaged. For weeks, curiosity seekers drove slowly by the bomb-
damaged building, their mouths hanging open at the signs of raw violence.”
Casting a smirk of contempt at Bone, I shouted, “My God!”
As we waited for departure time, Bone asked what each one of us would do with our
share of the ransom. Everyone said what he hoped to spend his fortune on, ranging from the
practical to the unrealistic and the wasteful.
“I shall collect Grace and go abroad. I’ve been dying to see U.S., especially
Hollywood where I learnt that most of the world’s famous film actors live. I might settle
there and never come home again,” Bone told us. Komoko said he would pack into an
expensive hotel and live there till he died. Rasta said he would like to create a record by
making love to almost all the women in the country. “With that kind of money in my pocket
it won’t be difficult,” he added. I told them I had made no plans, but would do any thing that
appealed to me, when I receive the money. Shagasha had gone to collect something from his
duplex. A sense of unresolved business hung over me dampening my mood.
At eleven forty-five, we drove off in the black 504. We arrived at the farm by mid-
night. To our greatest surprise the lights in the farmhouse were on as if the Red Devils were
expecting us. Rasta suggested we plan the operation for another day, but Shagasha refused.
“It is today and no other day,” he affirmed.
We alighted from the car half a kilometer to the gate of the farm. Kokomo drove the
car some distance into the bush. We walked towards the farm with our pistols drawn. We
entered the farm by climbing over the fence because the gate, not unexpectedly, was locked.
“Spread out,” Shagasha ordered. Immediately we were inside the farm, we raced to the house.
I ran toward the rear and Komoko followed. As we were trying to force the back door open,
we heard a shot. Someone screamed.
“Bone is already in action,” Komoko said. “He is always trigger-happy.”

As if this shot ignited the members of the Red Devils they came out from all available
entrance to the house with their guns blazing. I ran back to take cover in a small bush near the
back of the house. Komoko ran away to where I knew not. From where I lay, I saw one of
the Red Devils shooting into the night, at nobody in particular. The shots were mainly to
scare than to kill. I took a good aim and squeezed my trigger. He gave a wild scream. His gun
fell out of his hand. He took a few tottering steps before he dropped face down.
I looked at my gun. It was smoking. Tears clouded my eyes. This was the first time
I’d ever killed a fellow human being. But for the sake of Biola I had killed, and was ready to
kill more. I loved her more than any other living thing. I wiped tears from my eyes with the
back of my hand. The night was alive with gunshots coupled with screams of the wounded
and the dying. Nobody appeared through the back door again. I lay in the bush listening to
the shooting inside the house. At the time, I thought I could join the rest inside the house; a
man appeared through the door dragging Biola. At the sight of Biola, confirming she was
alive, I felt an unexpected surge of pleasure. I quickly got hold of myself and ran after them. I
couldn’t shoot at the man for fear that I might get Biola instead. The man was moving very
fast and Biola was following like a zombie. I shouted her name, but she didn’t stop. The man
replied with some shots in my direction. Bullets zipped pass my face.
When I was near them, the \man opened fired on me again. Luckily, I saw him in
time, so I threw myself to the ground. When I stood up, I ran zigzag fashion towards them.
When I got reasonably close, I went for the man’s legs. He fell and his gun fell out of his
hand. He tried to get hold of it again, but I kicked it further away. A tough struggle ensued.
Biola continued running without looking back. The man was really strong. He nearly subdued
me but I wasn’t a black belt holder in karate for fun. My instructor had told me that hitting
was not important, but hitting and hurting was. Every hit must have a target, and every target
a reason. “For effective hit aim at best targets like groin, throat, solar plexus et cetera,”he
instructed. I hardened my fist and drove it into his groin. He became motionless. I bent down
and picked his gun.
As I was straightening up, Bone appeared. “Did you see Mojo and the girl? They have
escaped,” he said. His breathing was hurried. I pointed to the ground and he saw Mojo lying
still motionless.
“And where is the girl?” he asked.
“She ran away.”
“Let’s go in search of her,” Bone said, moving into the dark bush. I followed.
“How about the others?” I asked.
“Rasta has been wounded and Shagasha is dead. I haven’t seen Komoko,” he said
without any sign of sympathy. “The fewer we are when we get the girl, the richer we shall
be,” he said.
“If you think you’re getting a kobo by kidnapping this girl, you better think again,” I
said in my mind. We continued the search for over two hours without any sign of Biola. As
we made through the bush, thunder rumbled in the distance like the boom of cannon. I drew
my shirt around me when a chilling wind rifled through the trees. The weather had taken a
turn for the worse. The low-hanging gray clouds threatened to burst at any moment, releasing
their torrent upon the earth below. The wind picked up. Branches swayed in the trees.
I looked up. “Looks like, we’re in for a drenching.”
The bush became very dark and we’d no source of light. Soon the rain started to pour
down. We could find no escape from the relentless deluge. The rain continued to pour down
on us as we searched for Biola. Each hour’s passing seemed like a year to me.
We saw a crevice among the rocks; we headed for the opening at once, believing she
might have taken shelter there. Although the cave seemed small, it took my full height. I
shivered so much that my teeth chattered. I gathered up a meager supply of firewood and
found a few stones to try to strike them to make a spark.
After almost thirty minutes of rubbing the stone together, I became discouraged, about
to give up when at last the small pile of wood finally ignited. Unfortunately, we didn’t have
much dry wood to use for fuel, but the fire provided enough warmth to give us at least some
relief from the dampness.
When the fire began to glow, we saw Biola lying on the floor of the cave about three
meters from us. I guessed she got tired, fell down and went to sleep. Bone went to her quickly
but I was already down on my knees, checking if she was all right. I was careful so that Bone
didn’t detect I knew her.
“She looks all right,” Bone said.
I put my hand to her brow. Her skin felt hot. “She has fever,” I declared.
Waiting for the rain to subside, we curled up before the fire trying to draw warmth
from the small blaze.
“I’m so cold.” I murmured.
“Same as me,” Bone said.
When the rain subsided, I hoisted her over my shoulders in fireman’s carry and started
to walk out of the bush. I began to walk fast trying to get to the car as fast as I could. I didn’t
slow down when the path started steeply up a small hill. My breathing became labored and
my heart pounded with exertion, but still, I didn’t slacken my pace. It was a tedious walk.
Though Biola had lost a considerable weight since she was kidnapped, she was still heavy.
When we got to Mojo, he was just regaining consciousness. I told Bone to find a rope, tie his
hands together and bring him along. On our way to the car, Bone offered to help me but I
refused. I didn’t want the brute to touch my darling with his bloody hands. As we emerged
from the bush, Komoko walked towards us.

Bone hissed. “So this bastard is still alive?” he said tactlessly.
“Please get the car down here,” I told Komoko.
He saw the girl on my shoulder and ran off without asking any question. We arrived
at our den by four o’clock. In the car, Komoko told us that Rasta was dead. We carried Biola
to Rasta’s bed and left her to sleep. We locked the door. It was later; I understood she was
under the influence of drug. We handcuffed Mojo and chained his legs to Bone’s bed, before
we went to sleep.
In the night, I lay awake thinking of the iniquitous Mojo. I didn’t know when I slept
off. When I woke in the morning, I started to rise, but I drew back in pain. My muscles felt
stiff and sore from the fight with Mojo and carrying Biola out of the bush. After a few
minutes, I got up reluctantly and trudged to Rasta’s room.
I went to see if Biola was awake. I opened Rasta’s flat but she was not there. I was
shocked. A shiver ran through my body. I rushed to tell Bone. But he was gone also, but
Mojo was still there. To say that his bedroom was in disarray would be an understatement; it
looked as if a hurricane had struck it. It was a sign that Bone left in a hurry. Rage poured
through me like molten lava. I fought against it, knowing that now more than ever I needed
control of myself, for my sake and for Biola’s. I went to Komoko’s flat and found him still
sleeping. I shook him awake.
“Where is Bone?” I demanded, as my eyes widened with indignation.
“I don’t know. I’ve been sleeping since we came back. Is he not in his flat?”
“Don’t sit there and ask me stupid questions,” I barked. “Bone has disappeared with
the girl.”
Komoko jumped to his feet. “What? Disappeared?”
“No. Vanished,” I said angrily. “Motherfucker.” A lump of anger formed in my
throat. With enormous effort I swallowed it.

“How about Mojo?”
“He is still there. Of what use is he?”
“He could tell us when Bone left.”
We went to interrogate mojo. “I saw Bone packing in a hurry but I don’t know where
he has gone to.” I didn’t take kindly to having my loved one kidnapped right under my nose,
nor did I cherish the humiliation I underwent with the police and Senator Harrison.
“Do you know if he went with Biola,” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
I went to him and slapped his face with all my might. “You don’t know anything. If
you hadn’t kidnapped Biola, I wouldn’t be in this mess,” I told him. I realized that I could,
when truly pressed, be a very dangerous man.
“When did he leave?” Komoko asked.
Mojo coughed, clearing his throat nervously. “Almost immediately you went away.
He didn’t sleep.”
“Why did you kidnap Biola?” I asked wanting to do him more physical damage. He
might be the guy who knocked me out, on that fateful day, I thought.
“Chief Duro paid us to kidnap her.”
“Chief Duro? The politician?” I asked with utter disbelief.
“Yes.”
My blood felt near to boiling. “Did he say why?”
“He claimed her father ordered him to be kidnapped during the last election.”
“Why didn’t he kidnap her father? Is Biola a politician? Chief Duro must be an
idiot,” I fumed.
“Old boy, stop wasting time asking irrelevant questions, let’s go in search of Bone
and the girl,” Komoko said.

I cleared my throat before, I asked, “Where do we start?”
“Grace’s house, if we move fast, we’ll meet him there.”
“No. We won’t go there now. We’ll wait till dusk. Bone can’t escape before
tomorrow. He will try to get the ransom today. Do you know where Grace lives?”
“Yes.”
“I need a drink,” I said.
We walked across the street to a bar. Komoko asked for whiskey and I ordered
brandy. When it came, I drank it down in a single swallow. I sighed. I took a deep breath.
“Please another.”
For several moments, I forgot my pains as we sat drinking, watching and listening to
the awesome panorama of the bar.
Later that evening we gave Mojo a drugged food, before we left for yet another tough
operation.
CHAPTER SIX
On our way to Grace’s house, I telephoned Assistant Commissioner Ahmed.
“Get your men and meet me at 10 Campo Street,” I told him.
“Who are you?” ACP Ahmed asked curiously.
“Not important?” I responded curtly.
“What is happening at 10 Campo Street?”
“Come and find out.” I hung up.
Assistant commissioner Ahmed was a police officer I loved. He was diligent,
dedicated and intelligent. He’d a growing reputation in the police. He had worked in many
states doing what he loved: hunting down bad guys and making Nigeria a cleaner place.
Assistant Commissioner Ahmed’s most spectacular piece of work had been the arrest of a
very rich criminal who owned a three star hotel in Lagos. The man for several years had been
seducing young girls who he later kill, remove their private parts, breasts, tongues and eyes,
which he sold to his clients for rituals, either to acquire power or money. This had gone on
for several years, before ACP Ahmed, busted the racket.
After this incident, he became a hero and he’d many admirers, of which I was one.
When The Nation Newspaper interviewed him after the incident, he was quoted as saying, “It
is my endeavor to eradicate crime in Lagos State. I desire no personal gain. I am doing it
because that is the job I have signed for.”

I hated his boss because he was old, lazy and corrupt but refused to resign. He was a
heartless officer. The worst was that he was sympathetic to the ruling party. Due to his
political proclivity, he could no longer protect the interest of the populace, which was his
duty. Anybody who was opposed to the principles of the ruling party became automatically
his enemy. Some of PNP opponents were killed, maimed or jailed with his connivance. He
was fond of telling stories of his glorious past. “Those days when police force was police
force,” he was fond of saying. What he failed to realize was that people lived for the present
not the past.
The police commissioner’s inability to track down Biola’s kidnappers had seriously
threatened his continued stay in office. Senator Harrison was highly disappointed in him and
had made it a point of duty to blackmail him in high quarters. Although, Senator Harrison
was aware of his assistance to his party, his love for his daughter transcended party
chauvinism. The commissioner knew that the wrong word in the right ear would have his
career in ruins, but couldn’t do anything about it. Senator Harrison was very influential. I
telephoned him because I’m one of the people that prayed that the commissioner should lose
his job to Assistant Commissioner Ahmed that was why I wanted him to bask in whatever
limelight, he could get, as the police officer who found Biola.
Grace lived in a bungalow. What was her financial position, to maintain such a house,
I wondered, but Komoko told me that Bone was responsible for the rent. “She is a typist in a
company,” Komoko said.
We tiptoed to one of the windows of the sitting room and listened. Light was showing
in the house and we could hear some movements. After some few minutes of careful
listening, we heard Bone speaking to somebody on the phone.
“She even has a phone?” I said.
“Yes. Bone provided her everything that gives comfort,” Komoko replied.
“Why does Bone waste so much money on this girl?”
“She is very beautiful and Bone said she is sensational on bed,” Komoko answered.
“Yes. I’ve your daughter here with me,” we heard Bone saying.
“He’s phoning Senator Harrison,” Komoko said. I nodded my head.
“Go to Rainbow theatre at two o’clock and deposit ten millions naira in the big refuse
container in the front,” Bone continued.
“This bastard is very ambitious,” I said, a cynical smile curving my lips as I noted the
look of stunned surprise crossing Komoko’s face.
“Listen; don’t tell me that trash about going to the bank. It’s an open secret that you
sleep with millions under your pillow. Do as instructed or you’ll never see your daughter
again. And let me warn you. Keep the police out of this or your daughter will get hurt.”
“God! Bone really knows how to give orders,” Komoko said.
“Shut up,” I shouted angrily.
“No problem. Once you pay up, she will be with you for breakfast. You’ve heard
what I said. The day is not getting younger. Get started,” Bone said and dropped the phone.
“Darling, did he agree to pay?” Grace asked.
“Certainly,” he said triumphantly.
“By this time tomorrow, we shall be on our way to Hollywood. I’ll love the place.
Imagine living with those famous film actors and actresses. When are you going for the
money?”
“Two fifteen.”
“Before then, dear, come and rest. You’re such a darling.”
“Komoko, Let’s go,” I said gallantly.

I picked the lock of the sitting-room’s door. Grace was still moaning. The bedroom
door was ajar.I told Komoko to go and search for where Biola was kept. I opened the
bedroom’s door gently.
Bone quickly stood, and charged at me like a bull. “What the hell are you doing
here?” Grace quickly covered herself with a wrapper and jumped out of the window. Bone
threw a punch at my face. I shifted my head and his fist whistled passes my ear. I had seen
him in a couple of fights before and he kept them brief, but I wasn’t an amateur. I felt
confident attacking Bone without his gun. Though he was bigger, that didn’t worry me. My
karate instructor had taught me that strength was not the only prerequisite in fighting.
“Knowledge of where to hit and also when to hit are very important,” he said. I’d
specialized in head butt. I used to break bricks and tiles with my head. My forehead was as
strong as concrete. A touch of it on anybody’s forehead would make it crack.
I gave Bone a knife-hand strike to the neck and he struck out with his fist. It caught
me on the head and rocked my head back. I aimed a front kick at his knee but he blocked it.
He continued hitting out at me.
When I whimpered under his blows, the brute unleashed a maniacal laugh. He
punched me in the stomach with a blow that doubled me over. I fell to the floor. I picked
myself up.
“This is for you, bastard,” Bone growled, levying a firm blow on my jaw. Crashing
into the bed, I lay sprawled flat. Bone landed on top of me, we struggled and fell from the bed
onto the floor, rolling, as we pummeled each other.
“You’ll learn your lesson, when I’m done with you,” Bone boasted.
Blood was flowing down my cheeks from a cut in my right eye’s lid. Bone continued
to beat me mercilessly. I saw he was going to kill me if I didn’t do something urgent to safe
my live. He’d got a real killer instinct. I struck out wildly, then, came the golden opportunity.
Bloodied and exhausted, we waved back and forth, nearing collapsing. His head came near
mine mustering everything I’d left, I gave him a head butt that put the steam out of him. His
head cracked and he immediately collapsed and was unconscious. Sweat was oozing out of
me. I was looking down on Bone with angry eyes when Assistant Commissioner Ahmed
spoke behind me.
“What’s going on here?”
Before I could answer, Komoko appeared with Biola. He was shocked to see the
police. I didn’t tell him I called them.
Assistant Commissioner Ahmed looked at Bone lying in a pool of his blood and
ordered one of his men to phone for ambulance. My clothes were soaked with blood and the
wound was still bleeding.
“So this is what you invited me to come and see? Can you tell me what this is all
about?” the Assistant Commissioner asked eyeing Bone pityingly. He shook his head in
amazement.
I removed my false beard; moustache and side bonds and he quickly recognized me.
“Chika!’ he exclaimed disbelievingly.
In Biola’s weak condition, the events of the few hours took every bit of her strength.
Her knees buckled, and she collapsed in my arms. She hung limply in my arm. She looked
terrible. I had never seen her look worse. She had wide circles around her eyes and she
seemed dreadfully morose.
“Officer, before any chit-chat let’s get Biola to the hospital, she is very sick.” She
was looking into space and didn’t even recognize me.
“When you finish, take the other vehicle and come back to the station,” the Assistant
Commissioner told his men. They were doing the normal police protocol, taking photographs,
and dusting the place for fingerprints.

Neighbors and curiosity seekers jammed the street in front of Grace’s house to watch
the unfolding events.
Komoko, Biola and I followed the Assistant Commissioner to the police station. At
the police station, the Assistant Commissioner telephoned Senator Harrison. He was soon at
the police station. He broke down into tears, when he saw Biola and she couldn’t recognize
him. “Ahmed why are you keeping her here instead of the hospital?” he asked indignantly.
She looked like; she was drugged or had experienced some tremendous shock.
“I wanted you to see her before we send her to the hospital.”
When Harrison looked around and saw me, he went wild.
“You again? This mischief maker,” he said, as he rushed at me. Assistant
Commissioner Ahmed stepped in between us. He smashed his fist into his open palm,
“You!”
It looked Senator Harrison had lost some weight. I realized that the past months of
worry had taken its toll on his health.
“Take it easy Senator, he found your daughter. Can’t you see he has been wounded?”
Senator Harrison tried to hide his surprise at the revelation; it must have come as a shock to
him to discover that the nonentity saved his daughter.
As Biola was being taken to the hospital, myriads of reporters and photographers
arrived at the police station, with throng of curious spectators. Their camera flashed as Biola
was being led to the police car. The police surrounded her to protect her from the surging
crowd. Some of the reporters wanted an interview with Assistant Commissioner Ahmed, but
he told them to come back the next day. They then rushed on Senator Harrison, all yelling
questions at him at once as he walked toward his car. “How do you feel now that your
daughter has been found? We learnt it was her boyfriend who rescued her? Did they arrest
any of her kidnappers? Where is her mother? We learnt she has been very sick since her
daughter was kidnapped? Is it a nervous breakdown or what?” the pressmen asked, without
giving him chance to answer any of the previous questions.
“You’re all idiots and I don’t have time to talk to idiots. You want me to say
something, so that you can quote me out of context? Go to hell,” he told them, as he walked
through them pushing aside some of these pain-in-the-ass journalists.
He had surprising antipathy toward the press in general, and as time passed, his
bitterness increased. One reason for his mounting reserve was the constantly escalating
onslaught of attention heaped on him by the media since he became a senator. Reporters and
photographers were always chasing him from one end of town to another. The more he tried
to evade them the more determined their attempts to invade his privacy.
“I understand the lethal intent of the press. They will go to any length to pursue
anything they feel will produce exciting news. And If it’ll help sell their paper, they will even
misquote you,” Senator Harrison explained to ACP Ahmed.
The pressmen hissed, complained of Senator Harrison’s arrogance and walked away.
After Biola had been taken to the hospital, I asked Assistant Commissioner Ahmed to give
me one of his men to bring one of the kidnappers.
“Where?” he asked.
“In our den,” I said, muffling a tired yawn.
“Your den? What does that mean?”
“I shall explain later.”
He ordered Corporal Komo to follow me. “Take Chika first to the hospital to get
treated, and then go with him to bring one of the suspects.” Mojo was still drowsy from the
effect of the drug, when we got to our den. We carried him into the police van with the
handcuff still on. I went to check where I’d kept my share of some of the operations and
found it empty. Someone had stolen all I risked my life for. The money was about nine
hundred thousand naira by my last check. I felt depressed. “A thief is always a thief,” I said
out of disgust. Who said there was honor among thieves? At the station, Mojo was given
paper to write his statement.
“Please officer now that I’m here, can you release my friend?”
“Who is that?”
“Kola, the man that bailed me.”
Assistant Commissioner Ahmed then ordered for the immediate release of Kola.
To my uttermost surprise Kola was looking unruffled after one week in the cell. I’d
expected him to blow his lid on seeing me but instead he smiled. “You’re a very stubborn
guy,” was all he said. The constable who released him had told him I found Biola.
“I shall see you when I’m through with the police,” I told him as he walked away
from the station. “Kola, I’m sorry,” I said contritely. I suddenly realized that there was an
aspect of Kola I hadn’t even suspected. Kola was a tough man, really tough.
Kola was my closest friend. In spite of all differences of background, of temperament,
and often of conviction, the admiration and the trust between us remained, such that, each
truly cared what happened to the other. This closeness between us cannot be explained; any
more than one could explain the love between a man and a woman.
A doctor in Hilton’s Clinic confirmed that Biola was suffering from lost of memory
due to drug addiction. He diagnosed the drug to be Heroin. He advised her father to fly her
abroad because they had no facilities to treat her.
“But nothing works in this country?” Senator Harrison fumed. “When the hospitals
are not complaining of shortage of drugs, it’ll be lack of facilities or the doctors will simply
go on strike. Why do you open at all? To kill people?” he lamented.
The next day, he flew Biola abroad for treatment. All these didn’t worry me much till
the doctor said that Biola was one and half months pregnant. “So Shagasha was right. Mojo
sexually abused Biola,” I soliloquized. I regretted not killing the bastard. The pregnancy was
aborted before she was flown abroad.
***
Chief Duro was brought to the police station heavily guarded. On his arrival, he was
taken to Assistant Commissioner’s office, where he was told his offence. He tried to deny.
Mojo’s statement was given to him to read.
“How am I sure that Mojo wrote this?” he asked.
Mojo was brought out from his cell. Immediately, he saw him, he felt weak and
disappointed. “I thought you were tough,” he told Mojo disdainfully.
“So it’s true you ordered my daughter to be kidnapped?” Senator Harrison asked
offensively.
“Yes? I thought you enjoy kidnapping. Instead of thinking of policies, programs and
approaches that will reposition our area, as the best in the country, you engaged in political
killings, kidnapping, deceit, character assassination and rigging of election,” Chief Duro said
caustically.
Uncomfortable and embarrassed, Senator Harrison glanced at the police, then back at
Chief Duro, his anger beginning to flare.
“You’ll regret this. So when you found out you couldn’t do anything to me, you
descended on my beloved daughter. You just don’t know when you’re defeated. I’m going to
see to it that you’re put away for a long time,” Senator Harrison boasted.
Chief Duro was later prosecuted and found guilty. He was jailed for five years. Mojo
was jailed for ten years.
Bone died after two weeks in the hospital. He’d internal bleeding which wasn’t
detected in time. I’d told Assistant Commissioner of Police and Senator Harrison everything
that night when things cooled down. I was certain that ACP Ahmed would shed no tears over
the death of Bone. After all, Bone was just a criminal, not a class of individual for which
ACP Ahmed had great regard. The police also released Komoko and gave him a probation
period of six months, during which time his activities would be closely monitored. If he was
found not to have changed, he would be arrested and locked up, the Assistant Commissioner
told him. When I left the police station, I went to our flat in Palm Avenue. I was surprised
that I met our properties intact. The next day, I went to see Kola and my parents.
Kola and Toyin gave me a warm reception as if nothing happened. But when I got to
our house, opposite was the case. My father’s attitude towards me hadn’t changed one bit.
“So Chika you’ve decided to die because of a girl?” he asked.
“You don’t understand dad, I love her.”
“Understand what? Your mates are now employed. They help their parents in training
their younger ones. This period of high unemployment, when people guard their jobs
jealously, you threw yours away and ran away with a girl. You’re now telling me I don’t
understand. Understand what? You’re a bad influence in this house. This family will be
doomed if we’ve two people like you.”
“Please Chika leave this girl alone and do something with your life,” my mother
pleaded.
I left that day promising to leave Biola, but right inside me I knew I was lying. I
started to look for work. I bought newspapers daily and applied for all the vacancies I was
qualified for. I was called for a few interviews, but I never heard anything after the
interviews. My clothes started to tear. My shoes got worn out. I lived on the gifts from
friends, especially Kola, which was inadequate because Biola had exposed me to so much
money. The one-year rent advance Biola paid for the flat expired and the Landlord wanted
another one-year rent in advance. Life became a nightmare.

But why was Senator Harrison so vituperative about my relationship with Biola? I
wondered. After thinking for a while, I concluded that Senator Harrison’s poor background
must be the cause. He’d known poverty and hated it, just like I did. He’d succeeded in getting
rich and didn’t want anybody or anything that would remind him of his painful past.
My presence in Biola’s life had reminded him of the pains poverty could cause and
had turned him to a human dynamo. Why this bestial and awkward animosity? Why these
crippling incongruities and inanities? Why this untoward romance with bigotry? The
psychological pressures that drove him to such behavior were the need to prove his power -
the sense that societal rules didn’t apply to him. It wasn’t my fault that I was born into a poor
family. Neither, was it my fault that his darling daughter found me attractive.
The trick, I supposed, was to try my best, not to take Senator Harrison’s behavior too
personally and to stay out of his way as much as I could. I could, however, do my best to
understand the forces that had brought about my regular collision with him.
Despite the emotional blows I’d been dealt by Senator Harrison, I decided the only
way to go forward was to systemically recover the bits and pieces of myself that I’d given
away to the search for Biola. I must gather what is left of my life. I knew it was a daunting
task; this process of putting my life together; but I’d no alternative.
It was time, now, that I made some decisions concerning exactly how I wanted to live
in the future. And this brought me full circle to my joblessness.
***
I was lying on the rug in the sitting room one evening contemplating how to sell some
of the furniture, when the doorbell rang. Why couldn’t life ever be simple? I hesitated before
I went to open the door. A man in a blue uniform was at the door.
“Yes? Can I help you?” I asked unconvincingly, because if anybody needed help, it
was I.
“Are you Chika, sir?” he inquired courteously.
“Yes, why do you ask?”
“My boss told me to come with you,” he responded politely.
“Who is your boss?” I inquired
“Senator Harrison.”
“What for?” I asked unenthusiastically. I despised Senator Harrison. He was the last
person I wanted to see at any time, especially at this moment.
“I don’t know, sir.”
“Go and tell him I don’t want to come.”
“Please sir, he said I should come with you. He even told me to wait for you if you
were out.”
“What makes him believe I want to see him? I’ll rather die than to be ordered around
by your boss. Go and tell him I’m not coming.”
“He wants to go to the airport with you to receive Biola .My eyes changed from
anger, to incredulity, and finally, unrestrained joy.
“Why in hell didn’t you say so sooner?” I told him to come in and sit down while I
changed. I proudly donned my best black suit; Biola bought for me some months before. As I
dressed, I thought how much I’d missed Biola while she was away for the past three months.
I stole an admiring glance at my profile in the mirror, and strutted after the driver to the car,
proud as a peacock. The traffic was light so it didn’t take much time to get to Victoria Island.
Senator Harrison and Mrs. Harrison were at the door immediately the car stopped. He
smiled at me. “Welcome, Chika.” Senator Harrison’s enthusiasm was obviously unfeigned.
Such gesture on the part of Senator Harrison was uncharacteristic. He had been nasty to me
from the beginning. Or he didn’t know whom he was smiling at, I wondered. Was it possible
that this old bastard could be amiable?

“Chika, thank you, for saving my daughter, her kidnapping was the worst and most
fearful episode of my life,” Mrs. Harrison said. She was very economical in the use of words.
Mrs. Harrison was a humble person, so different from her husband. She was devoid of any
form of snobbery.
“I’m happy to see you. You’ve earned my respect. In fact, you’re worthy of my
daughter,” Senator Harrison said. “I’m grateful for all you did to rescue Biola. I’ve been in
the U.S. to see how she was responding to treatment. Luckily she is well again. She was to
come back by ten o’clock tonight and that was why I sent the driver to bring you so that we
can go to the airport to meet her but a few minutes the driver left she came in. She said she
couldn’t wait any longer to see you. She’s right now in her room. She arrived with the first
flight.”
I thanked him and went to Biola’s room. Biola was looking bright like a new coin.
She was impeccably dressed as ever. She rushed into my arms immediately I stepped into the
room.
“Chika dear, I’ve been longing to see you.”
“I missed you,” I said. “How do you feel?”
“I’m just fine, but the treatment was so painful. I wished you were by my side.”
“I’m grateful to God that you are back. Let’s forget the painful past.”
Her incredible beauty startled me. I wasn’t certain exactly how I’d expected her to
look, but after so harrowing a time, I wouldn’t have been surprised to find her a shadow of
her former self. Instead, she was breathtakingly beautiful. She’d always been a lovely lady,
but she now possessed a warmth and vibrancy, which was discernible.
We went and sat on her bed. “I have been longing for you for such a long time,” Biola
said, as she took my hand and guided it to her breast. Her nipple sprang into life and a shiver
rode through her body. I went to the door and turned the key and joined her on the bed again.
There was the comforting warmth of Biola body next to mine. She shivered when my
tongue licked against a hardening nipple and my hands gently cupped her breasts as I buried
my face against their softness. My hands caressed her waist, and then slid along the slight
curving of hip and across the tautness of her stomach. They moved slowly along her slender
thighs, exploring the delicate inner areas that were so sensitive to my touch.
“Biola’s eyelids closed as my thighs pressed against hers, parting them. And then I
was a part of her. My hips moved against hers, and her response joined mine. Biola cried out
with the exquisite pleasure, which always came with our lovemaking. It left her
breathtakingly weak and trembling, yet with a fulfillment that no other person could give her.
As we lay exhausted on the bed, Biola told me that her father had given his consent
for her to marry me. She gently caressed her forefinger along my handsome profile and said
softly, “I told him I would commit suicide rather than marry someone else,” she said. “My
mom equally told my dad, to allow me to marry the man of my choice.” There were tears of
happiness in her eyes.
For Biola, it was a great personal victory. After a long battle, she’d overcome every
obstacle, pushed aside all objections, defeated her overpowering father and had her way.
What a day! It’s a marvelous, unforgettable day. The day our mutual dreams came through,
after interminable struggle. Seeing Biola’s joy, I didn’t think the time was right to tell her that
my parents were against the marriage.
For me everything looked brighter than before; the environment, mankind, in fact,
everything. They all looked gay, good and lovable.
“But Biola I have no job?” I said, wishing as the words left my mouth that it had not.
She rose to lean on one elbow and stared searchingly into my face.
“What? All these time?” Her gaze sharpened with concern.
“Yes. The ministry terminated my appointment before I came back.”

“I shall talk to my father. He’ll find you something to do.”
“No, don’t tell him. I shall get a job soon.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You don’t need just a job but a well paying one. But whether
you are employed or not I want us to marry soon.”
“I’ve not sought the consent of my parents.”
“Then do that.” She smiled encouragement. She slowly, seductively, brushed the tips
of her naked breasts against my chest. A kind of despairing desire seized me as she lowered
her frame on top of me.
“However, you may deny it, Chika,” Biola said in a low voice, “you’d like me to
touch you like this always. You’ll never be able to forget my touch, nor I yours.”
She closed her eyes as she offered her lips for a kiss. I gave her a tender kiss and she
pressed her pelvis provocatively against mine.
“Biola you’re such a darling,” I murmured, my amusement tingling my voice.
“You’ve such an appetite, so have I.” I rolled her beneath me and kneed her legs apart.
As we lay on the bed, Biola turned to look at me with a serious look on her face. Her
gaze narrowed thoughtfully as if a sudden thought had struck her.
“What is the problem? You look disturbed,” I said.
“Out of excitement I’ve forgotten that there was a condition attached to the approval
for marriage.”
“And what is the condition?”
“You must go to the hospital to check your genotype,” Biola murmured.
Biola didn’t miss the slight start of surprise I was unable to suppress. “But why?”
“I am AS.”
“Biola, is that why your mother looks miserable?”
“Not quite.”
“Is there anything you can tell me about her that I should know?”
Biola considered for sometime whether to tell me or not, before she finally spoke.
“The death of my younger brother had a shattering effect on her.”
“What really killed him?”
“He died of sickle-cell anemia. After this tragedy, my mother began to seal herself
from other people. She sat quiet and withdrawn in her room most time weeping. She used to
be a vivacious lady. A hard shell of aloofness formed over her emotions, and her radiant
smile appeared infrequently. She grew to dislike unfamiliar places and equally avoided
unfamiliar people. It was only in cozy family gatherings, where she could count on the
warmth and understanding of familiar people did she unwind.”
“When did he die?”
“He died twenty years ago, but till today, my mother hasn’t got over it.”
“At what age did he die?”
“He was seven years old, when he died.”
“Is that the reason, your parents insisted I must check my genotype?”
“Yes. Sickle-sell anemia victims surround my father and mother. It has been a
harrowing experience. My mother’s sister died at thirty, my father’s two brother also died
very young because of the sickness.”
Most Nigerians never checked their genotype before marriage to determine their
chances of having children with sickle cells. Many considered the matter of who would be or
would not be afflicted, to be a matter in the hands of God. A few people did understand the
hereditary pattern of the disease, but many did not. Very few people stayed away from
prospective mates because there was a history of sickle cell in their family.
For over a year I had nothing more than to marry Biola, but now the reality of the
situation filled me with trepidation. I tried to decide whether or not to marry Biola. I knew
her father was a rugged character. As much as I loved money, I felt that I’d lose my
independence and separate identity to her family. Kola had warned me to be ready to become
Mr. Biola Harrison. It was a question of marrying Biola and being taken over by her family. I
need more time to think, which I didn’t have.
***
“Now, tell me, how did you find out where I was being held?”
For several minutes, I described the grisly details of my brush with hardened
criminals and with death in order to rescue her.
“Oh Chika, I was so frightened. I’ve never been so frightened before.” She shook her
head in torment. “One night I woke up to find Mojo trying to mount on me. I struggled up
and pushed him down.” Biola raised her eyelids, and tears welled up in her eyes. His eyes
flashed angrily. I was so frightened. He tore off my dress and we engaged in another struggle.
He overpowered and raped me. The bastard stripped me of my dignity.”
“Mojo is an unmitigated bastard. I regretted not killing him. However, it’s over and
done with. Mojo is in jail and the other members of his gang were killed, the night of your
rescue.”
“By who?”
“My gang.”
“Chika, do you think you’ll ever forgive me?”
“For doing what?”
“For succumbing to rape. Mojo kept me constantly drugged and sexually abused.”
“It wasn’t your fault. Let’s accept what we can’t change and don’t dwell on it. When
you love someone, you don’t love only those things that are good about her.”
“The two months I was kept in that farm seemed like eternity to me. Life with those
scoundrels had been difficult, and I feel relieved to be done with them. Mojo was so ghastly
and evil.”
“Let’s us go down to meet your father, I went to thank him for giving his consent to
our marriage.”
Senator Harrison glances up and put aside the newspaper he’d been reading when we
entered his living room. Senator Harrison had his picture with the president up to life-size on
the wall of his living room.
“Please seat down Chika. I know it had been a happy reunion.”
“Yes, sir. And I’m here to thank you for giving your consent to our marriage.”
He pressed a switch near him and a bell rang somewhere inside the house. A steward
in uniform appeared immediately.
“Ask Chika, what he’ll like to drink?”
“What do I offer you, sir?” the steward asked.
“Brandy.”
“You acted so courageously, to the point of risking your life for Biola’s sake. It
actually proved to me beyond reasonable doubt that you love her.”
Biola smiled with satisfaction. Our eyes transmitted a silent message of love.
“Sanusi, get me some whiskey,” he told the steward. “Apparently, you’re some kind
of a hero. This was what the police could not do.”
“Thank you, sir. I did it for love.”
Biola’s face beamed with pleasure.
“Forgive me dear,” he turned to Biola, “I did all I did, because I didn’t want to see
your life ruined. We love Biola and want her to have a happy and secure future. But I’ve
seen you’re very happy with this relationship and were equally ready to risk anything for it.
Hence all I only wanted was for you to be happy, I’d no option than to consent to your
marriage.”
“Thank you, dad, I’m very happy that at last you’ve given your consent for me to
marry the man I love.”
***
I left Senator Harrison’s house straight to the hospital. My genotype was checked and
I was AA. From the hospital, I went to see my parents. Not because they will give their
consent to my marrying Biola, but just for formality. Nothing, not even my parents, could
divert me from what I had come to believe was my manifest destiny.
“Please dad, I’ve come to see you,” I told my father as I entered.
“What for?” he asked suspiciously.
“I’ve come to seek your consent to marry Biola.”
He eyed me reproachfully. “You must be out of your mind. Did you seek my consent
before you eloped with her? Do what pleases you. But never bring her to this house,” he said
emphatically.
“But dad…” He left me, clinging bible shaking his head in disgust. I knew he was
going to the church. My mother begged me not to marry Biola. “Chika, please leave this girl
and look for another girl to marry.”
“Come mom; tell me your reason for your being against my marrying Biola?”
When she didn’t say anything, I continued. “Is it just because my father doesn’t want
me to? Has the girl done anything bad to you? Or simply because her father is rich?”
“No son, she isn’t from our tribe. She doesn’t understand our language or our
culture.”
“What? Tribe? So mom you show tribal royalty?”

“Who does not? Don’t be deceived, ours is a conglomeration of nations. Tribal loyalty
and ethnic antagonism will not allow for national unity.”
“Oh mom, forget about Biola being from another tribe. What she has done for me, no
woman from our tribe has ever done it. For our language and culture she’ll learn. I love Biola
and that is all that matters to me,” I explained earnestly.
“And no woman from our tribe has given you the troubles she has given you.”
“It wasn’t her own making, she is a fine girl.”
“Chika, don’t you think that the lady is older than you?”
“What is wrong with that, mom? You don’t stop loving someone because she’s older,
when her character is fine.”
“I know your mind is made up, but please be careful.”
“There is nothing to be careful about. Her father has even given his consent.” I
assured her, understandingly.
“I wish you luck.”
Despite, most convincing arguments against marrying Biola, an inner voice kept on
insisting more and more that I went ahead. So far, my conscience had not deceived me;
therefore in this case, I followed its dictates.
I went ahead to marry Biola. It was written in the bible, “Man shall leave his father
and mother and take a wife and they shall become one flesh. What God has put together let
no man put asunder?”
***
It was so strange to be able to come and go like this without the least restraint to
Senator Harrison’s house. What a sorrow, we even parted even at nights. Biola obsessed me.
She inhabited a permanent corner of my memory. Whenever, I knew we were to meet, I took
particular pains with my dress. Finally, after a week of bliss, time come for our engagement.
For the first time in her life, I put a ring on Biola’s finger. It made her feel funny. I was
brimming with pleasure. We were together, whenever, we could and she was remarkably
tender with me. The engagement ring was a emerald and diamond delivered by an exclusive
Lagos jewelry store.
Staring at this dazzling gem, her mother smilingly shook her head and said, “I hope
this union will bring you immense joy. I was very happy when Biola told me the result of
your genotype,” she said, after the guests had left.
“Ma’ am I sorry, Biola told me that you lost your son to sickle cell anemia.”
“Hmm! It was a terrible experience. After Biola was born, each time I was pregnant, I
prayed fervently for a boy. I’d three miscarriages. When I’d the last one, my husband went
abroad for a month to overcome the disappointment. He was anxious for a heir and it was my
desire to give him one.”
“But this preference of African men for male children is rather unfair,” Biola said.
“It is our culture for a man to take over from his father after the women have been
married. The birth of Tunji, therefore meant more to me than arrival of just another child. The
baby was the crowning of our marriage, the fruit of my hours of prayers, I felt. I was proud
and happy in the beauty of my child, one of the handsomest babies one could imagine, with
lovely face, dark hair, strikingly clear bright eyes, and light skin. When he smiled, there were
two little dimples in his chubby cheeks.”
“You must’ve been very happy,” I said.
“All who saw me with my infant son were struck with my happiness. The child
appeared to be glowing with health. The revelation that Tunji suffered from sickle cell
anemia struck me with savage force. For that moment, I lived in the particular sunless world
reserved for the mothers of sickle cell anemia patients. For me, there was no more exquisite
torture than watching helplessly as my beloved child suffered extreme pain. Tunji, like every
other child, looked to me for protection. When the crisis and the pain came, he always cried,
‘Mom help me, Mom help me.’ In the hospital, each time he cried out seemed like a sword
thrust into the bottom of my heart. One minute, Tunji could be playing happily and normally.
The next, the crisis has started, that would take him to the brink of death.”
“How about dad, didn’t he help?” Biola asked.
“He was a very busy person, so I was the one always in the hospital. When he saw
how stressful, it was, he hired a nurse to assist me. She usually gave first aid, when needed,
before we rushed Tunji to the hospital. The first time, Tunji was diagnosed to have sickle cell
anemia, my reaction was a vigorous resolve to fight; somehow, somewhere, there must be a
specialist who can help. One after the other, I consulted different specialists. One-by-one they
tried all they could. All failed. I discovered I was alone,” she said, cleaning tears from her
eyes.
“Trying to control the waves of anxiety and frustration that kept rolling over me, I
sought answers by throwing myself into the church. I was formerly a catholic; I left for the
Pentecostal church. Believers Chapel had strong belief in the healing power of faith and
prayer. Having realized that no doctor could cure my son, I decided to wrest from God the
miracle which medical science denied me. ‘God is just’, I decreed, and plunged into renewed
attempt to win his mercy by the fervent passion of my prayers.”
“But it is said that God doesn’t give to a person a cross, he cannot bear. Is that
statement true with your experience?” Biola asked.
“It is very difficult for me to answer. Hours after hours, I prayed, either in the house,
in the office, in the church. The periods, Tunji was well; I dared to hope that, ‘God has heard
me,’I cried. As years passed and one crisis followed another, I refused to believe that God
had abandoned me. Instead I decided that I must be unworthy of receiving a miracle. I felt
God had rejected my prayers, therefore I must find someone who was closer to God to
intercede on my behalf. I went to see Pastor James. Pastor James, who was claimed to have
tremendous hypnotic power tried and failed.
“The greatest support a woman in my situation needed was the love and
understanding of her husband and friends. My husband’s contribution, whenever, he was
around wasn’t much, but he was rarely around. I’d very few friends. I wasn’t good at making
friends. As one precarious year followed another, emotional stress took a terrible toll on my
health. The battle against Tunji’s sickness left me physically and emotionally drained. At
times of crises, I spared myself nothing, sitting up day and night beside Tunji’s bed. Constant
worries over Tunji’s health completely undermined mine. I developed hypertension. I’d
shortness of breath. My breath often came in quick, painful gasps. The doctor diagnosed that
I was suffering from hypertension brought on by my worry over the health of my son.”
“With all this problem of your own, how were you able to help other people?” I
asked.
“The compulsion to fight other people’s battle and help bear their crosses stemmed in
part from my own frustration. Nothing was more discouraging and debilitating than to be
permanently confronted with a situation which never changes and which cannot be changed,
no matter how hard one tried. Once God sends such a cross, it must be borne. Having realized
this, I threw myself into helping those who can be helped as a means of self-preservation.
Many of the problems in this country, unlike the sickle cell anemia, hold out some promise of
hope. By helping others, like the blind, orphans, I was actually trying to keep a grip on my
sanity.”
“I thought there’s a traditional medicine capable of curing the disease?” I asked.
“If there is any, I never came across it. The doctors kept their ministrations,
exhausting every means known to science to stop the crises. Two weeks to Tunji’s seventh
birthday, Tunji surrendered to death. I was devastated. I was so much devastated, that,
willingly I gave up any pleasure – they meant so little to me.
“How did you meet my father?” Biola asked.
“We met through a friend of mine. I went to a party in my friend’s flat in Surulere
when I newly returned from Britain where I went to obtain my doctorate degree in English.
He was handsome, bold and financially comfortable. After two years of courtship, we
wedded in St Patrick’s Catholic Church, Falomo.”
The truth was that she held Senator Harrison in disdain. She was aware of his going
out with other women and never forgave him for it. Her nonchalance of her husband’s
attitude was just window dressing.
Many Nigerians didn’t know Mrs. Harrison was sick; the few who’d some inkling had
only hazy ideas as to the nature of the ailment. When she missed a public function, Senator
Harrison always explained that she was out of the country or had a cold. Unaware of her
ordeal, journalists wrongly ascribed her remoteness to being an introvert.
The years of worry left a look of sadness settled permanently on her face; when she
spoke to people, she often appeared preoccupied and deep in gloom. As she devoted herself
to her philanthropic work, her social appearances reduced. When she did emerge, she was
silent, seemingly cold, and withdrawn.

CHAPTER SEVEN
The day Biola wedded me was one of the days I would never forget. My father-in-law
had bought me a tuxedo, a hat and walking stick. I’d never used a walking stick in all my life,
but he insisted I should use it on the wedding day. He’d objected to my wearing the suit I had
bought earlier. He claimed it was of poor quality. Left to me I wouldn’t have wedded. I
believed it was nothing but an ego-boosting ceremony, especially the way it was done in my
country.
I had been driven to the church in a cream Mercedes 500 SEL and Biola came in a
white one. It was a wedding with all of the trimmings. More than one thousand guests
thronged St Anthony Catholic Church for the wedding ceremony of 25-year old Chika
Okafor and his 35-year old bride, Biola Harrison. The Archbishop of Lagos conducted the
Nuptial high mass, assisted by other high-ranking clergymen.
The reception was held in Millionaire’s Inn in Victoria Island. Major General Hassan,
a former military Head of State, was the chairman of the occasion, assisted by senators,
ministers, business tycoons and a few government officials. I’d requested a special marching-
in song. It was Don William’s “Pressure Makes Diamond.” The part of it that usually sent me
crazy was:
“Pressure makes diamond
Much harder than stone

And they only get fine
As each day goes on
We’ve been through some bad times
But we made it somehow
Course if pressure makes diamonds
Our love’s a diamond by now.”
It told the story of my affair with Biola in a nutshell.
As we marched in, beautifully clad young girls threw confetti and bubbles on us. My
best man was Kola, and Kemi was the chief bridesmaid. Kola was my best friend. We grew
up in the same neighborhood in Ajegunle. His father was a businessman and his mother was a
secretary in the Federal Ministry of Health. The family lived in their own house built by
Kola’s father. I met Kemi for the first time at Biola’s thirty-fifth birthday party. She was
Biola’s childhood friend. She studied Economics in Tokyo University before returning to
Nigeria. She was a manager in one of the prominent banks in Lagos. Her father was a pilot
with Nigeria Airways and her mother was a London trained beautician.
Biola’s wedding gown was fantastic. She had purchased it from a bridal shop in
London. Kola proposed the toast, followed by the cutting of the cake. Video, photographers
and journalists from all the known newspapers and magazine publishers, radio and television
stations covered the whole event. When we went to the floor to do our nuptial dance, guests
covered us lavishly with dollars, pounds sterling, and others with naira in high
denominations. I became a pacesetter for all prospective grooms and Biola for hopeful brides
in Lagos. I made a brief speech as the head of the new family. I prepared the speech and
memorized it as the wedding drew near. Senator Harrison was impressed. He realized that I
could be poor but nonetheless had a good brain.

The hotel served all the drinks and food. All sorts of exotic drinks and delicious food
were in abundance. The gifts we received filled two Datsun E20 buses. Most of them came
from Biola’s family, her friends and their family friends. My parents attended after much
persuasion and pleading. I felt adequately compensated for the risk I had taken to rescue
Biola from her kidnappers.
Immediately Biola tossed to the bridesmaids her bouquet of pink and white spray
orchids, we left to change for our honeymoon. London and New York had been Biola’s idea.
She had spent so many years in London and New York and certain places had stuck in her
mind as the places she most wanted to spend her honeymoon. Her father quickly accepted to
sponsor the trip feeling the oversea honeymoon would help revitalize Biola after her
traumatic experience in the hands of the kidnappers. At exactly eight o’clock, we were driven
to Murtala Mohammed International Airport, Lagos where we boarded KLM for Amsterdam.
We traveled in the first-class compartment everywhere we visited.
Biola disappointed many of her friends, who felt she should have married a man from
the same social class. To have taken me as a lover was bad enough but to have married me, a
poor man from an unknown family they felt was unwise. They were more impressed with
people that had names.
***
I’d read and heard so much about the spectacular nightlife, canal cruise, discotheques
and shopping in Amsterdam that I was very happy the day we arrived there. All our flights
were booked with KLM.
The day after we arrived in Amsterdam, we went to see Rotterdam, the world’s
biggest seaport. We later did some shopping at the Amsterdam Airport Shopping Center and
ended the day in a disco. I wore my joy like a garment.

The next day, we went to a KLM transfer desk and checked in for our onward flight to
London. We received a new boarding card, which showed the boarding and departure time.
As departure announcements were not made over the loudspeaker system, we checked the
latest news about our flight on the TV-monitors and electronic displays. We didn’t wait long
for our flight. Before we knew it, we were at Heathrow Airport.
At immigration, everything was orderly. We queued up according to our status –
British citizens, Commonwealth subjects, European Economic Community citizens and
others to be checked. There was no shunting and no complaints. Our passports were checked
and stamped.
We chartered a taxi that took us to our hotel. I watched plain brick houses roll by as
the taxi drove through the streets of London. London, here I come, I said in my mind.
London was a beautiful city with some unbelievably antiquated architectural
buildings, many of them standing for over hundred years, still intact and comparing favorably
with most modern buildings.
“Biola, it’s wonderful that these old buildings are still standing while many modern
buildings in Lagos of less than ten years are collapsing, killing their inhabitants,” I told Biola
earnestly.
“These buildings were built with quality materials. The problem of collapsing
buildings in Lagos is the quality of the materials used in building them. The greedy
developers compromised the quality of the materials used,” Biola replied.
“This city is simply alluring and breathtaking,” I said enthusiastically.
“Our leaders have been unjust to us. They come here, buy houses and send their
children to school, but fail to replicate what they cherish and enjoy here in our country. It’s
sad,” Biola said.
“Our leaders are insensitive and wicked.”

Biola was familiar with London so she eagerly took me to places. At Trafalgar
Square, I was particularly fascinated by the Nelson’s column, which was surrounded by its
usual complement of pigeons.
“This place reminds Britons of the great admiral’s victory at the battle of Trafalgar in
1805,” Biola explained.
The pigeons took flight noisily as we approached, flopping their wings. We took
pictures at Big Ben, the most famous clock-bell in the world. We were also at Liberty & Co
in Regent Street where Biola bought some fabrics and also at Gerard where she bought
jewelry.
She had an obsession with expensive jewelry. She didn’t bother with prices.
Anywhere we went for shopping, she just pointed. She had bundle of credit cards given to her
by her father. When she was through she gave the sales clerks our hotel address and we
walked out.
That evening, she took me to a famous Nigerian eatery run by a Nigerian couple in
south east London. The place was jam-packed when we got there by six o’clock. Biola was
surrounded by her old friends, some of them men, each competing with the others for
attention, but nobody paid me a heed. Playing a second fiddle to Biola wasn’t easy. We
settled down and had a sumptuous Nigerian meal.
“The meal here is tasteful. It’s as if I’m in a Nigerian restaurant back home,” I said.
“We’ve many Nigerian restaurants in London, but I prefer this one. They cook well
and the service is impeccable,” Biola explained.
When we got to our suite, we had our bath together and went straight to the bedroom.
Soon Biola joined me on the bed. I fondled her breast till I got her aroused. We made love
and later collapsed into a deep sleep.

By the time we woke up the next morning, the sun was already up. Biola, always
concerned with sartorial matters, decided that I needed sprucing.
“Chika, you need some clothes. I’ll take you to Saville Row later today so that you
can order some suits to be made by Huntsman. He is the most celebrated tailor in London.
We’ll order the shirts from Turnbull and Asser.”
“I shall request them to have Chika embroidered on the breast pocket.”
“That will be classic,” Biola replied.
After we ordered my clothes, we ate lunch at Le Gavroche, the finest French
restaurant in London.
“This restaurant reminds me of my last visit to Paris. I stayed in L’Hotel Neopleon. I
ate at the famed La Tour d’Argent, and my suitcase, the one in the hotel, was bought from
Louis Vuitton. It’s a famous French luggage store noted for fine suitcases and handbags.
Even this dress I am wearing was bought from Saint Laurent boutique – a prestigious
boutique in Paris.”
“Biola, it seems you know U.S. and Europe more than Nigeria,” I accused her.
“Yes. I was able to watch the two miracles in sports in 1985. I was at Wimbledon,
where 17-year-old Borris Becker, unseeded, from West Germany came from obscurity to
defeat number one seed John McEnroe of U.S. in a hot, long tennis battle. I was also at the
ringside in Las Vegas, in the U.S., when Michael Spinks, the world light-heavyweight
champion, defeated the undefeated heavyweight champion Larry Holmes,” Biola informed
me.
“Biola, have you ever bothered to visit Apapa Amusement Park in Lagos?”
“No. To do what? It can’t be compared to Colorado Park or Central Park in New York
or Trafalgar Square, which we saw yesterday.”

“But at least it provides good food, drinks and relaxation badly needed by the people
of Lagos after undergoing the hectic life there,” I responded. “Have you been to the popular
Bar Beach at Victoria Island? It’s Nigeria’s own version of Miami Beach.”
“Chika, you’ve a poor sense of comparison of tourist sites. How dare you compare
any beach in Africa with Miami Beach? Miami Beach is fantastic and a popular leisure site
for the world’s rich men and their women.”
“It’s just that you’ve not bothered to visit any of the tourist sites in Nigeria. There are
many and nice spots. We have the Yankari Games Reserve, Ogbunike cave in Anambra,
Obudu Cattle Ranch in Cross River State, Ikogosi Warm Spring in Ekiti State, Assop Water
Fall in Plateau State and more.”
“I don’t know when Africa will develop. We are too backward.”
“Would Europe and America have developed to their present stage without the free
labor provided by able-bodied Africans carted away to these places like cargo — and the raw
materials they forcefully stole from Africa?” I asked. “Have you forgotten that the forefathers
of these people who advocate human rights violated the rights of our ancestors? Cruelty is
embedded in their suspicious minds.”
***
A week into our honeymoon, tension started to develop between Biola and me. The
air was heavy with tension. The tension created when trying to gain grudging acceptance into
a new company. I had only myself to blame for my present predicament, of course.
Biola lost no opportunity in criticizing my table manners. She complained I slurped
my soup, didn’t lift my elbow off the table when I ate and downed my food too fast. It
reached the point I refused to take meals with her.

She would go to dinner parties by herself because I preferred to stay back in our hotel.
I didn’t get along with most of Biola’s friends as well. Some of them never accepted me but
looked down on me. They felt I was a mercenary.
I was haunted by my father’s warning. “You’ll never got anywhere in this world,
being a weakling. You are supposed to be the head of your family. “Day by day, I became
afraid of my weakness and the vulnerability of allowing Biola to be in-charge.
Initially I wasn’t ill-at-ease exactly. But I was out of things, not really part of what
was going on. I would say that being married to the daughter of a rich and influential
politician wasn’t the easiest life to adjust to. But I thought about it and figured out the best
way to do things.
When Biola started going off on outings without me, I warmed to the challenge by
playing “hard to get”, not always being in the suite when she returned.
Consequently I spent my afternoons visiting the usual tourist spots in London,
snatching a quick cup of coffee in a snack bar before going to the early evening performance
at the cinema.
When I returned one day Biola walked toward me. “Chika how was your outing?”
“Fine,” I replied, with a deliberately casual tone that concealed my inner agitation. I
removed myself from her embrace and held her at arm length.
“I don’t understand you, Chika.” She raised her shoulders in a helpless gesture. “I
love you. I’ve never loved anyone else.” Her voice broke as she added, “I don’t seem to have
any pride where you’re concerned.”
Just how many men had been privileged to hear that little speech? I wondered.
“But not your friends, I’m sure that at this very moment I’m being efficiently
dissected by at least a dozen of your loquacious friends.”

“They’re just jealous, Chika - there won’t be another man here to touch you” she said
softly, her eyes lingering with warm appreciation on my face. “I’ve never told anyone else I
loved him. I do love you. ---. God knows I do.”
“I think I should have declined your very first generous offer. You are addictive,” I
said after a moment.
“Our love is so new, so fragile. We have so much to learn about each other, how to
understand each other’s moods, how to understand each other’s reasoning and how to
understand each other’s actions.” Her word came straight to my heart.
I stepped forward and slid my arms in one fierce movement around her body
gathering her close to me with demanding urgency. Biola felt a wild surge of happiness as I
kissed her. There could be no doubt about the intensity of her feeling for me and she
surrendered willingly to me, my doubts and unhappiness fading rapidly as she responded
avidly to my kisses, her mouth opening widely to the pressure of my lips.
The next day, we left London for Stratford-on-Avon, which was William
Shakespeare’s hometown. In souvenir shops, his image was on every item on sale – badges,
pamphlets, medals, postcards, trays, cups etc. We bought many souvenirs.
The Avon River from which the town picked its name was a small one.
“Shakespeare’s Birthplace Trust manages the Shakespeare’s Center and helps
preserve the Shakespeare memorabilia,” the guide explained.
We paid to see his mother’s house, his wife’s cottage, his father’s house, the room
where he was born and the desk on which he sat as a schoolboy.
We spent two days there before we returned to London. On the following day, we left
for New York.
***
On arrival in John F. Kennedy Airport, we were met by a chauffeured limousine,
which we hadn’t expected. We later found out that Senator Harrison arranged it. The
chauffeur had our names.
“Where do I take you to please?”
“Carlyle Hotel,” Biola said.
Recalling the unfortunate series of events that had taken place before this honeymoon
to Amsterdam, London and now New York, I looked across to Biola.
“Chika,” she turned imploringly to me, “do you feel that our marriage and this
oversea tours of Europe and now U.S. are enough compensation for the risk you took to save
my life? For me, I’m elated that my dearest dream has come true.”
It was easy to reassure her. “Even the marriage alone is enough without this expensive
honeymoon. I did it for love not for material reward.”
She grew reflective. “My father will never do anything that doesn’t befit his position
in the society. He loves doing things in a big way. He’s generous when he wants to be, even
extravagant. His main weakness is that he is too class-conscious and arrogant.”
“That was why he disapproved of our relationship and did everything he could to
frustrate it, because I come from a poor background. It’s unfortunate that our society has been
divided into privileged and non-privileged, blue blood and common blood. And the
privileged are doing everything possible to maintain the status quo,” I said.
“But this molestation of the poor by the rich will continue forever, unless the poor
wage a stubborn and desperate struggle against this abuse of power, deliberate oppression and
injustice by the rich, like you did.”
“It’s not easy to do. It is like rat challenging the cat. I thank God that I survived all
that happened. At certain point, it was quite scary. But someone needed to tell your rich and
pompous father that he can’t have it his way all the time. However, it would have been
impossible without your unflinching support.”
“Yes,” she said, nodding approvingly. “I gave my support because I truly love you.
All the wealth in the world can’t change that. However, I’m happy that at last, my father saw
reason.”
“He realized I went through hell to save you from the hoodlums. He saw me in the
police station bleeding profusely.”
She turned and looked directly at me. Her eyes were anxious, questioning and soft.
My hand went out to tentatively touch her hand, which lay on her lap. She smiled, enjoying
the warmth of my fingers as they encased her own. Her hands tightened on mine, the fingers
intertwined. She sighed.
“You do comfort me. Your touch comforts me.” She smiled contentedly.
“When I was with those hoodlums, the thought of you filled my mind every day. You
filled my mind. I was wondering where you were, whether you were safe, and if you were
safe what you’d do about my disappearance.”
“Do you know my parents and my friend, Kola, told me I was embarking on a mission
impossible in my attempt to achieve my impossible desire? But I refused to give in.”
“And you’ve been rewarded. Nothing good comes easy. You’re a fearless and
extraordinary soul, Chika.”
I resumed gazing out of the window of the taxi, to the beautiful streets of New York. I
was gaping and marveling at the fine buildings, fanciful cars and the crowded sidewalks.
With my poor background, how would I have been here today without the magnanimity of
Senator Harrison? For me, who’d never left Nigeria, this was miraculous. I loved the
wonderful architectural structures that lined the streets we drove past. My eyes were alert.
Nothing escaped me. I’d great expectations.

***
On arrival at the hotel, I marveled at the great architectural edifice. With my hand on
Biola’s elbow, I guided her into the lobby of our opulent hotel as a porter followed with our
baggage. Soon we were ensconced in a suite that offered not only a bedroom, but the added
luxury of a sitting room.
“I hope you like this hotel?” Biola asked.
“Very much, you’re a treasure – how would I have been in America, let alone, this
expensive hotel.” I drew a long breath. The suite was the loveliest environment I’d ever seen.
After we had unpacked and arranged our things in our suite, we went down to the
book and magazine stall. Biola bought some women’s magazines while I bought the map of
New York. I wanted to see enough of N.Y.
I dared not window-shop with Biola because whatever I admired, she would buy.
Countless cartons and boxes from couturiers and boutiques were already stacked in the suite.
Until she came along I took little interest in men’s fashion because I couldn’t afford it.
When I remarked on a shirt, displayed in one of the boutiques in the hotel, Biola
walked me into the shop and bought it for me.
“Thank you. But I think you’ve already bought more than enough shirts for me. I was
only admiring the shirt.”
“I’d like to buy you the world and lay it at your feet, if I can. Without you, I don’t
know where I would’ve been by now.”
We belonged in two different worlds. I was simply a poor man who had married a
generous woman from a very rich family.

We then returned to our suite to prepare for dinner. I took another look round the suite
and thanked God. This was exactly how I wanted to spend my days on earth, in absolute
luxury. Not in one congested room in a slum.
***
The next morning we arrived in New York, we hired a car with a chauffeur to take us
to some scenic and historic sights. He first drove us to Battery Park, where we left our car and
took a boat to Bedloe’s Island to see statue of liberty presented by France in 1884. Later, that
evening, we visited World Trade Center, where we dined at the window on the World
Restaurant and had a magnificent view of the city.
The following day we visited Rockefeller Center Complex. We were at the Famous
Radio Corporation of America (RCA), United Nation Permanent Headquarters at 1st Avenue,
48th Street, East River and 42nd Street with the eager eyes and rapt fascination of bona-fide
tourists. We ended the day’s outing at drove us Radio Music Hall, the world’s largest theatre.
When we returned to our hotel, I talked excitedly about all we’d seen. Each sight and sound
had been etched on my mind. The beauty of New York took me.
I was in the bar one evening drinking with Biola, when someone tapped me at the
shoulder. I turned swiftly to see Uche smiling down my face. I was astonished.
“Uche,” I shouted. “What are you doing here?”
“I should ask you the same question,” he replied. His eyes glowed with pleasure.
“I thought you were in Miami?”
“Yeah, buddy. But I’m here now. Life in N.Y. is exciting. Man has got to move
around.”
Uche was my classmate in the high school. He passed only two subjects in the West
African Examinations Council. But the next thing I heard was that he’d left to U.S. for further
studies. I was surprised. Uche’s father was a successful businessman. After five years, I heard
he’d obtained his PhD and was working in Miami.
“What are you doing here Chika,” he asked.
“Didn’t you just say that man has got to move around? I’m on honeymoon. Biola
meet an old friend, Uche,” I introduced.
“Happy to meet you,” they said almost at the same time.
“Where are you staying?” he asked.
“Here.”
“You lodge here?” he asked with disbelief. “Have you robbed a bank or what? This is
one of the most expensive hotels in this goddamn city.”
“I’m lucky to be married to the daughter of a wealthy man. Our business here is to
enjoy ourselves; the bill goes to my father-in-law’s bank.”
“He is having a bank account in New York?”
“You think I’m kidding? He is a wealthy politician. All our politicians have foreign
bank accounts.”
“You’re a lucky man. Is she the daughter of the President?”
“Not exactly, daughter of a wealthy senator,” I replied jubilantly.
He looked Biola up and down approvingly “I see. Some are born great, some achieve
greatness by themselves, and others become great by association. Why not let’s go over to
my table, so that you can meet my wife? I saw you from our table and I decided to confirm
that my eyes were not deceiving me.”
“Oh, I’ll be glad to meet her.” I carried my drink, Uche helped Biola with hers and we
went to meet his wife.
If Uche knew what happened before Senator Harrison sponsored our honeymoon, he
would’ve known I merited it.

***
Uche’s wife was an intriguingly beautiful white girl. That was the first time I saw a
black marrying a compellingly attractive white girl. She could win “Miss Leg’ anywhere in
the world. Her blond hair fell to her shoulders. She was really something to look at.
With all the talk of racial discrimination in U.S., I was surprised how Uche got such a
wife.
“Jayne here you meet Chika, an old classmate. He is on honeymoon with his wife,
Biola. Chika and Biola meet my darling wife, Jayne.”
As we shook hands, her exceedingly beautiful lips parted in a smile of welcome. As I
looked at Jayne, I wondered if inequality and discrimination in this world wasn’t the
handiwork of God. How could he create some people with everything in the wrong place and
some without any blemish? I warned myself not to be blasphemous and discarded the
thought.
After we sat down, Uche ordered for a chilled bottle of Champagne. “Let’s celebrate
with you,” he said. “We are happy to welcome you into the fold. I married Jayne three years
ago and we already have a son.”
As we drank, Biola and Jayne started talking about fashion, cosmetics and that kind of
women’s stuff. Women were just the same everywhere.
“Chika tell me about the last election at home. We heard much horrible news here,”
Uche said.
“What do you mean by horrible news?”
“I mean rigging.”
“As far as I’m concerned, there was no election. The whole thing was a big joke, a
stage-managed affair.”
“I heard that in some parts of the country private and public properties were damaged,
some burnt. Business was paralyzed and the streets were covered by human bodies at various
stages of decomposition and the air smelt of human blood after some of the results of the
election were released.”
“Yes. But it wasn’t as serious as the mass media over here made it look. The western
press is biased. The whole thing was rather unfortunate. As much as I believed the election
was rigged, I didn’t support the violence. Revolution is not necessarily achieved by blood
bath. The disturbances were however caused by some politicians who were desperate to seize
power or hang onto it. It wasn’t for their love to serve the masses, but out of sheer greed.”
“Nigeria is the most populous country in Africa and has the greatest number of blacks
in the whole world. What a shame?” Uche said.
The name Nigeria was given by Flora Shaw, who later married Sir Fredrick Lord
Luguard, who was the first Governor General in Nigeria. He came to Nigeria in 1912 and
amalgamated the Northern and Southern protectorates in 1914. On 1st October 1960, Nigeria
gained her independence from Britain and became a sovereign state and the 99th member of
the United Nations Organization.
“I learnt the country had modeled her constitution to that of America?” Uche said.
“Yes. Nigeria has a constitution, which states out the principles of government. It had
been amended several times. The last one was drawn up in 1999. It has three organs of
government; executive (the President), the legislature (National Assembly), and the judiciary
(the Courts) in such a way that each has a certain authority over the others. This is to ensure
checks and balances.”
“What consists of the National Assembly?”

“The National Assembly consists of two houses, the Senate (to which each state elects
three senators and one from the Federal Capital Territory) and the House of Representatives,
in which the number from a state depended on its population.”
“When I left Nigeria, there were nineteen states. How many states are there now?”
“Nigeria has thirty-six states.”
“How many tiers of government is in the country?”
The country has three tiers of government; Federal (headed by the President), States
(headed by Governors), and Local Government Areas (headed by Chairmen). The President
is the Head of State and Commander of the Armed Forces. Election for posts of President and
Governor are held every four years and no President or Governor should hold office for more
than two terms.”
“How long is the tenure of the Local Government chairman?”
“It’s three years.”
How are nominations for the positions made?”
“When a candidate has been chosen by his or her party, he or she will campaign to
win the election including the President. But in order to win elections at all cost, politicians
engage in all sorts of mischievous activities including rigging, assassination and arson,” I
explained.
“What necessitated the high scale fraud and burning of the country’s edifice?” Uche
asked.
“That’s the handiwork of some unpatriotic citizens, popularly known as pen robbers.
They see their high positions as an opportunity to loot the public treasury and set their offices
on fire, so as to destroy all evidence that might implicate them. Their actions have exposed
the masses to great suffering – agonizing austerity, inflation, unemployment et cetera. In an

attempt to survive, some of these depraved people have taken to stealing. Violent robbery in
the society is really the resultant effect of pen robbery.”
“It is very pathetic that after the pen robbers in high places have falsified accounts and
embezzled billions of naira, they are made chiefs, and described as illustrious sons and
patriots. Why won’t more people steal?” Uche lamented. “Our country is a place where the
brightest or the most hardworking people are not necessarily the most successful.”
I leaned back in my chair, stretching my long legs out and smiled faintly. “It is a poor
country full of very rich men; I’m seriously looking for a chance to make myself very rich
too.”
“Chika it is not advisable. It’s better to have a clean name and peace of mind.”
“What do I want to do with a clean name? What is in a name? My father kept a clean
name and all he got for it is suffering. I’ve nothing to do with a clean name. I have existed for
too long, I want to live. If not for the magnanimity of father-in-law, I’ll never have been here.
Imagine the surrounding? Who wouldn’t get a peace of mind here? Next time, I come to U.S.,
I want to sponsor the trip. I’ve been a parasite for too long.”
“Old boy, watch it. Is it more important to you to be rich or happy?”
“When I’ve money, I’ll be happy. With money everything is attainable.”
“It doesn’t naturally follow. I also learnt that the politicians are enjoying while those
who voted them into power live in abject poverty. Is it true?”
“Yes? But is it peculiar to our country? It is all over Africa. If I’d money I would’ve
joined politics. It is a sure source of making it quick in Nigeria.”
“How about all those violence associated with it?”
“I don’t care. No man owns monopoly to violence.”
“What is your opinion about this talk of high unemployment, high inflation and
soaring food prices?”

“That is due to global economic recession, worsened by an international conspiracy of
the so-called super power nations. The avarice of the people in power has also contributed in
making the situation unbearable. Come Uche, you’ve been asking all the questions let me ask
you one.”
“Yes? Go ahead.”
“When are you coming home?”
He grinned. “Coming where? Home! To do what? With all these stories you’ve been
telling me? I shall only come home when U.S., seizes to exist. Jayne can’t cope with
incessant power failure, dry taps, traffic jam and the filthy surroundings, not to mention the
poor state of the economy. Her welfare is highest in my mind.”
“Why not come home and contribute your quota to the development of your country?
If U.S. citizens, abandoned their country, who would developed it that made abandon your
own country?” I remarked jokingly.
“How about my colleagues that returned home? Were they not frustrated out of the
country? Most of them are back here. They complained they were inhumanly treated. Apart
that they were unemployed for months, they were paid less than a quarter of what they used
to receive here. How do they expect a guy to survive on such a pittance? As if that was not
enough punishment, their bosses wanted to eliminate them because they regarded them as a
threat, because of their little education they fear anybody who is well educated. Our country,
as it had done many times in the past, has always rewarded its geniuses by frustrating them.
Boy, I’m happy here. I am the president of my father-in-law’s group of companies. I’ve all
that give comfort – good home, lush cars, jet and a fat salary. If I ever come home again, it
will be on a visit.”
I shook my head sadly. Here was another lost son. I saw there was no point trying to
convince Uche to return home. “What line of business are you into?”
“We are in information technology business. We ship nine hundred million dollar
worth of computers throughout the world annually. The developed worlds have embraced
information technology and have been rewarded in extraordinary ways. If Nigeria join the
world of computer, she’ll know progress.”
“Computers are already in Nigeria, but only in banks and big companies.”
“Computer is the dynamo of invention transforming the modern world. Running a
business is not easy. Of course, the use of computer is the way you can make your business
more capable, more competitive and more connected. We also do website designing. It is
time for Nigerian companies to put their businesses on the web. It’s time for African
countries to speed up, because they have been left behind. African countries are still trying to
analyze and evaluate modern options and opportunities with antiquated decision-making
approaches of a bygone era.”
“In Africa, we’re hostage to our culture, which still pulse to primeval rhythms. The
ability to do things faster, to accomplish developmental feats in shorter time, to compress
what once took months, is what make the western countries developed and Africa
undeveloped.”
“Advanced information and communication technologies make for faster decisions. In
America, we’re preoccupied with keeping pace with new facts, new developments and new
points of view that we’ve no time for idle moments. Since, I came to U.S. I now accomplish
most things that use to take me a lot of time. I have tried to conquer time. Here people turn
time into money, back home, it is wasted. Especially here in New York, every body is on the
move all the time. “You look relaxed”, here is regarded as an insult.”
“Technology has really changed things, but very slowly in Africa. In Nigeria, people
spend ten minutes talking on the telephone on inconsequential issues and loiter around. Even
in the ancient time, the organized, civilized empires conquered the disorganized, uncivilized
ones. The same thing is happening today between western countries and Africa countries.
That’s why the economics of western countries have such buoyancy, while that of African
countries built on an obsolete strategies are such deadweights.”
“We’ve heard about weak banks, catastrophic currency collapse, halfhearted attempts
at fiscal stimulation and lack of budgetary discipline. Despite the so-called “oil wealth”,
Nigeria still has shocking levels of poverty, a burdensome bureaucracy and crumbling
infrastructure.”
“These are what have led to “brain drain”. Generations of Nigerians set off in search
of a better life in Europe and America, today; millions of Nigerians live overseas, including
you.”
“My father was against my staying back in America. He complained that everyone
wants to get away from Nigeria. Western countries’ economic growth is what is enticing
people, to stay back, unlike, the economic situation in Africa, including Nigeria. It’s an
attraction some people find hard to resist.”
“Our healthcare system is the worse hit. Most of our doctors and nurses have left the
country.”
“If our leaders can do the right thing, we’ll witness “brain gain” because all these
people in diaspora will return home with the knowledge they have acquired here to help build
the country. But not now that there’s a yawning gap between the rich and the poor and the
economy is being mismanaged.”
“Uche, when we were in London, I saw suffering than I ever believed exist in the
west. I even met many Nigerians who could hardly feed themselves. They’d left Nigeria for
many years looking for Golden Fleece. I met one who’d stayed twenty-five years and still
cannot make ends meet. I feel his ilk is a disgrace to Nigerians in diaspora.”
“They’re ubiquitous here too. They’re people who left Nigeria in search of greener
pasture, but found out rather too late that there is no free lunch abroad. You work very hard
here to earn your living. Nothing comes easy.”
“My greatest shock was when I met a Nigerian beggar at a train terminus. So why do
our youths kill themselves to obtain visas to travel to these developed countries if life is not
so easy here?”
“You know, there’s something about America that interests me,” Uche said. “Here if
you work hard, you can make something for yourself, unlike back home, where making it
depends on who you know or your family background.”
Before they left that night, they promised to come and take us out the following day.
***
Uche and Jayne came the next day as planned. After an excellent luncheon in our
hotel we drove out.
Jayne suggested we go to the Metropolitan Museum of Arts. She was a lover of art.
On our way, she informed us that the Museum contained a collection of modern and ancient
art from all over the world. I wasn’t exactly keen on arts. I just managed to listen to Jayne’s
explanation as we walked around the Museum.
We later visited the Zoological Gardens at Bronx Park where we saw different kind of
animals. From there we proceeded to the Brooklyn Botanic Gardens. I enjoyed our tour in
these two places being a student of biology. We ended the day by watching a show at Lincoln
Center of the Performing Arts at 65th street.
***
When Biola went to Tiffany’s to buy jewelries, I settled to read a novel about the
mafia. I was absolved reading how the mafia carries out their international drug smuggling,
when Biola rushed into the suite.

“Chika, two black students have been killed,” she said gasping for breath.
“By who?”
“Armed robbers.”
“Where?”
“In a building under construction.”
“What were they doing there?”
“They were keeping guard over the place.”
“And you said they were students?”
“Yes, I think they were doing it in order to get enough money to sustain themselves.”
“Where are they from?”
“I’m not sure, but it’s one of the African countries.”
“They killed themselves. Even if they needed money there are less dangerous jobs-
like being a steward, a waiter, a cleaner in a hotel or a petrol attendant. How did they think
they could stop desperate robbers when the well trained U.S. police fail to accomplish the
same thing?”
“Is that all you’ve got to say?”
“What else is there to say? Cry? Why should someone leave his country only to
become a night guard in U.S.? Is that not signing one’s death warrant? I’ve not lived here, but
the stories and movies I’ve watched at home make me believe it’s a violent country.”
“But the rate black students are being shot in this country is becoming alarming.”
“I quite agree with you, but have those living learnt any lesson? Why should a poor
man’s child decide to come to U.S. to study simply because he can afford flight ticket? Have
they stopped promising prostitutes of marriage in exchange for financial aid and later try to
jilt them after they have completed their courses? What do you expect these girls to do? Kiss
them goodbye at the airport on their way home alone? They have to be shot, of course. I
believe that if the black students stop their deceit and odd jobs they will have less problems.”
“That does not justify killing a fellow human being,” Biola said.
“The Americans are too security conscious that they find it very difficult to even
salute you. Everywhere we have been going, they move, not minding who is around. Even
when one greets them, one is ignored,” I observed.
“They’re telling you to mind your business.”
***
When I bought newspapers the next day, there was some interesting news about
Africa. One paper reported that the Organization of African Unity (OAU), the world’s
biggest regional grouping had survived yet another crisis which threatened its existence as
Africa’s international voice. The cause of the crisis was the organization’s inability to find
lasting solution to the fighting in Chad. Another paper reported that the South African
Freedom fighters had intensified their fight against the white oppressors and that the United
Nations had proclaimed 1982 as the International Year of Mobilization for Sanctions Against
South Africa. The paper decried the dehumanization of the blacks in South Africa and called
for immediate end to the apartheid in the country. I was happy that some western press could
do rational reporting on the events happening in Africa.
Uche and Jayne came later that day to take us to see Jayne’s parents. Their house was
something to look at. It was a fantastic architectural monument, situated seventy kilometers
from the center of the city. The house was built on a small hill surrounded by a man-made
lake. It had an ideal atmosphere for some work, which required calmness. I was, therefore,
not surprised, when Jayne told me that her father had retired to writing. Different types of
flowers surrounded the house, some with fragrant smell. Birds of different colors flew around
the trees in the compound, singing their merry songs.
We were received with irreproachable hospitality by Jayne’s parents. They were
happy to hear that we were on honeymoon. After we’d pre-luncheon drink, we went to the
dinning room for lunch. The Andrews knew how to live. The dinning tablecloth was designed
with gold threads. Everything in the house was immaculately clean. As we ate, Mr. Andrew
told us how enjoyable his own honeymoon was. “We traveled to Australia. Betty loved
Australia. A visit to the country had monopolized her dream months before our marriage. I
loved the place too,” he said. The Andrews were in their fifties. They looked younger than
their ages – the cumulative result of decades of good feeding. They had only two children –
Jayne and Ken.
“Ken is a commercial pilot. He is married with a son. His family lives in Chicago. He
only visits home once a year on his vacation,” Mr. Andrew said.
After the delicious meal, we had more drinks before we went to swim. Jayne had told
us that her parents had an Olympic – size swimming pool, so we came along with our
swimwear. We enjoyed the warmth of the salubrious swimming pool. By the time we were
leaving in the evening we’d thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. Biola and I expressed our heartfelt
gratitude to the Andrews for their hospitality. And they thanked us for accepting their
invitation.
Mr. Andrew presented a parcel when we were about boarding the car. “This is for
you. On behalf of my family I wish you a happy married life. And please note that
honeymoon is a transition period between courtship and establishing a home. This is the time
much blending of your lives should be done,” Mr. Andrew told us.
I was flabbergasted. “We are very grateful for your hospitality,” I said. Uche drove us
to our hotel before he returned home with Jayne. I opened the parcel immediately we were in
our suite and saw two necklaces of pure gold.

CHAPTER EIGHT
Uche and Jayne weren’t happy when it was time for us to leave New York. But we
promised to return any time we had the chance. They organized a send-off party for us in
their house. It was a memorable occasion. Jayne promised to visit us. She’d become very
friendly with Biola.
We’d spend three weeks in New York, everyday better than the last.
“It has been beautiful here,” I told Uche.
We’d walked, picnicked, read and talked unendingly. We laughed and loved
throughout the day and night. We played cards, chess and read American bestsellers. We’d
bath together and explored each other’s bodies.
On the eve of our departure, I cast a glance at the numerous packets of clothes and
shoes, boxes of jewelries. “Our trunk will not be enough to hold everything, we’d bought in
London and here,” I said.
“Let’s go and buy another trunk, then,” Biola said.
We hurried to a departmental store. It took us sometime to decide upon a suitable
trunk. After Biola paid for the purchase, the clerk assured us that the trunk would be
delivered to our hotel within the hour. After a hasty breakfast the next day, we embarked on
packing.
When we landed at Murtala Mohammed Airport, I expelled a sigh of relief. I’d read
of many air-disasters in the newspapers that I didn’t feel safe in the gigantic streamlined
metal case. When the plane taxied to a stop at the terminal building, I looked at Biola and
said: “Welcomed home.” She hugged me and we kissed.
We joined the queue of passengers leaving the aircraft. My camera hung on my neck
and my traveling bag on my shoulder. We waited patiently for our baggage, but some of
passengers ran towards the baggage trucks instead of allowing the conveyor belt to bring the
baggage to the customs checking counters.
“Why all this rush?” Biola asked hoarsely.
“To collect our baggage, of course,” one of the passengers, replied.
“Can’t you collect it when they’re carried down by the conveyor belt?”
“It looks you’re new in this airport. You better go and collect your luggage from the
truck or some of them will be missing before you know it,” he shouted back, as he ran
towards the truck.
“There’s more possibility of the baggage missing under this chaotic situation,” Biola
said.
“Disorderliness is considered a virtue in this airport,” a woman standing by our side
said.
When we walked into the arrival lounge, after collecting our baggage Senator and
Mrs. Harrison were waiting for us. Biola ran and hugged her parents. I was somehow
depressed because none of my relations was at the airport to welcome me back. Senator
Harrison arm remained about Biola’s shoulder as they moved toward me.
Although it was unlikely they would’ve come even if they knew. Senator Harrison
and my father had not been best of friends. They were as friendly as oil and water. Senator
Harrison had tried to be friendly with him but my father didn’t encourage him. He’d even
tried to find him a better job but he refused.
“I’m contended with my present job,” he replied.
Senator Harrison shaking his head in amazement and said, “You’ve remained a
complex enigma to me.”
How an individual could be contended with a job he’d done for twenty years without
promotion baffled me.
“Welcome Chika,” Mrs. Harrison said. “I hope you enjoyed yourselves in London and
New York?” She grinned widely. The action as always drew attention to the gap between her
front teeth. She was a woman of few words. The driver carried our baggage to the awaiting
Mercedes 500 SEL.
“We enjoyed ourselves ma’am,” I replied “I’ve never left this country before, so it
was a pleasurable experience, thanks to you and Senator Harrison.”
“You’re welcome,” Senator Harrison said.
We made our way to the car. The driver opened the door for Senator Harrison and
Mrs. Harrison gave a bow and then with a slavish grin on his face, he went around to his own
door. I sat with the driver in the front and Biola with her parents at the back.
Before the driver drove off, some excited journalists pressed forward to interview
Senator Harrison. Soon the phalanx of reporters had surrounded the car. Tungsten light
mounted on top of the television news camera harshly illuminated the car’s opulent interior.
The press was perpetually after him. Senator Harrison bestowed on them a broad smile, an
unusual gesture.
“Can you tell us how you feel today, sir?” a lady journalist asked, the microphone
held in her outstretched hand was inches from his mouth.
“I feel very happy.” Senator Harrison smiled his contentment.

“Why did you finally give in to the marriage, you vowed it will never take place in
your lifetime?” she demanded, looking pleased with her retentive memory.
“I gave in because Chika has proved himself to be a courageous man. He equally
proved his in-depth love for my daughter by risking his life to rescue her from her
kidnappers. This is what our police couldn’t do. I owe him the life of my daughter due to his
gallantry. He’s a worthy son-in-law. Thank you.”
A policeman elbowed some reporters aside, rapped sharply on the chauffeur’s
window until the glass glided close. Immediately he entered the car, the police van in front
switched on its siren. As the siren was blaring, the entire vehicle on the road cleared for us to
pass.
It was on the way to Victoria Island, that Senator Harrison told us that a reception had
been organized for us. Senator Harrison enjoyed giving enormous parties. The Police had
planned the route with care, and managed to avoid the roads notorious for traffic jam. We
arrived at the house by eight thirty and the party was to start by ten o’clock. Many of the
trees surrounding the house had been decorated with colored lights, giving the whole area a
festive appearance. When I opened the car door I could hear the faintly insistent beat of
country music coming from the house. In preparation for the reception party, the busy
household buzzed like a beehive. The servants chatted happily as they rushed about arranging
things. We’d enough time to take our bath and changed our clothes before guests started
arriving.
Biola wore her spectacular Yves Saint Laurent’s black evening dress bought while we
were in U.S. It breathed wealth and position. Biola’s appearance captivated the guests. I
caught the glint in Biola’s eye. It was a flash of pride.
Senator Harrison’s list of guests reads like a “who’s who” of the rich and famous.
Major General Ngulu and his wife were the first to arrive. He was a disciplined army
officer, who always kept to time. They welcomed us back and asked many questions about
how we enjoyed our honeymoon. Alhaji (Dr) Idris and Chief (Mrs) Idris were the next couple
to arrive. They were from Ghana, I was told. Alhaji (Dr) Idris was a business tycoon. Other
guests arrived almost at the same time. I was surprised at the elaborate party being organized
just to welcome us back home from our honeymoon. Wealthy people had a way of doing
their things.
It was with a tremendous effort I faced the prominent guests, overwhelmingly
conscious of being the focus of numerous pairs of eyes, many of them examining me with the
faintest degree of approval. Having come of age on a strictly controlled budget, waste on the
part of Senator Harrison shocked me. I seemed in a daze as I watched the ceremony unfold.
In the party, the passion of Nigerian women for jewels were displayed on their heads, necks,
ears, wrists and fingers.
They seemed to have insatiable appetite for celebrations, I said to myself. Senator
Harrison circulated among his many friends and acquaintances. Biola was very happy. She
went from one guest to the other exchanging greetings. I was just being initiated into this
social stratum so I knew only a few of the guests I met on our wedding day. Though, I’d seen
the pictures of many of them in the newspapers.
Whatever feeling of inferiority I’d about my performance in the public arena had been
magnified by my lack of personal money and a domineering father-in-law. I finally admitted
that the Harrisons were public figures who fed on publicity, while I needed to preserve some
degree of privacy in my own life. I had no alternative but to learn to make accommodations
to the family into which I had married.
Pride gleamed in his dark eyes. What all the guests had in common was the handsome
look of wealth. And this continued to astonish me. Here in this room with gold chandeliers,
flooding the room with light, champagne chilling in ice-filled buckets, assorted food on
display, expensive dresses, exotic glasses, it seemed as if the austerity didn’t exist.
When it seemed that all the expected guests had arrived, Senator Harrison made an
opening speech.
“Governors, Senators, Honorable members of House of Representative, Ministers,
Chiefs, distinguished ladies and gentlemen, it’s my great pleasure to see that you all honored
my invitation. I invited you here tonight to dine and wine with the Harrison’s family on the
safe arrival of our beloved daughter and her lovely husband from their honeymoon. This is
not a night for long speeches so please go to the tables over there,” he indicated by pointing,
“just mention what you want and you’ll be served. Thank you.” He smiled like a football
coach taking quiet pride for his boys who’d performed with distinction on the field. My life
in Ajegunle hadn’t prepared me for the gay and extravagant life of the rich.
Uniformed waiters and waitresses appeared as if by magic. Then Senator Harrison
picked a glass of champagne and raised it in the air. “Attention, my friends.” The guests
quieted down to hear the Senator announcement. “I offer a toast to my beautiful daughter and
her handsome husband. There was clinching of glasses.
“Cheers,” a chorus of voices responded, and they took the obligatory sip.
There were much to eat, and drinks flowed like Atlantic and Pacific oceans combined.
At midnight, Senator Harrison addressed the gathering again. He thanked them again for
honoring his invitation and wished them safe journey to their respective homes. When he
finished, he invited Biola and I to stand up and presented us with a bunch of keys each.
“These keys are for your house and your car,” he announced. “I wish you a happy married
life.”
At the end of the party, Senator Harrison called one of his drivers to drive us to our
new house. The house was at Ikoyi and we were driven there in our new posh, Mercedes “C”
class. It was a duplex. The compound was decorated with assorted flowers, planted in
different patterns. I marveled at the beauty of the compound. All these things looked ordinary
to Biola, evidence of our different backgrounds. She noticed my surprise but said nothing. I
opened the front door and we moved into a spacious, luxuriously furnished sitting room.
Whoever decorated it had taste. The boy’s quarter was far more beautiful then any house in
our area in Ajegunle.
I was surprised when Biola told me that she wasn’t satisfied with the quality of the
furniture in the house. She contacts Jide Ojuola, a prominent decorator to redecorate the
house.
“The color of the upholstered chairs is nauseating,” she complained. I was outraged.
Soon the whole house was furnished with new set of furniture, Persian rugs and
antiques. For one month there was rearranging of furniture, switching of rugs, moving around
of paintings, framed photographs and some art works. By the time they were through, Biola
had incurred an expense of five million naira and Jide had submitted a bill of five hundred
thousand naira for his effort, which Biola passed over to her father. However, the fashionable
decorator did a slick job.
Ikoyi was a seductive part of Lagos. For men, would give anything to live in Ikoyi,
where food, wine, women and money were in abundance. It was meant for the high echelons
of the society. Some said it was the best area in the nation. You wouldn’t believe that Ikoyi
was in the same Lagos with Ajegunle and the smell.
As I walked around, admiring the exquisitely furnished house and its luxurious
fittings, I grudgingly gave credit to whom credit was due; Biola appeared to have no peer –
she’d high taste.
Immediately, we entered our bedroom for the night, she said in a murmur,
“I adore you sweetheart,” she said.

“We’re good together, I can make you happy. Happier than you’ve ever been,” I
replied.
I woke up the next day still feeling I was in a dream. The simple fact that I married
the daughter of a rich man had transformed by life overnight, from Ajegunle to Ikoyi. What a
transition? When unobserved, I flung myself into a crazy dance, just for the joy of freedom
from poverty.
We had to hire a full-time cook. Biola couldn’t cook; not even the simplest meal. She
had grown up with maids and cooks. She wasn’t particularly interested in the mechanics of
housekeeping, so we had to hire a maid, because she insisted that all the six bedrooms and
four baths must be tidied; all the windows kept clean; carpeting vacuumed three times a day
(morning, noon and evening). The marble floor mopped twice a day.
***
The pealing of the wedding bells had barely faded when Senator Harrison appointed
me to head his group of companies.
He brought out his cigar and lit it with his gold lighter and smoked for a while before
he continued. “Since I joined politics, I’ve been looking for someone young and strong, who
understands business and who at least can be taught and trusted. It happened that I found that
man in you.” He looked at me questioningly. “There are great opportunities in this country
for a young man who is sharp, and I’ve found out that you are sharp. I do …”
He suddenly halted, mid-sentence, as if he was becoming increasingly unable to
choose his words properly. After some minutes, he continued, “I do a great other things
beside contracts. You’ll get to know all before long. It’s not enough to get rich. Once, you’ve
got it, you’ve to make it work for you. So, you see, I’ve been branching out. I transact
business all over the country and I’ve branch offices in London, Paris and New York.” He
was obsessed with the accumulation of wealth.

I listened to Senator Harrison with rapt attention. I was confused if I could handle this
job. I remembered when I was in the university before I developed love for material wealth I
was one of the protagonists in anti-corruption crusade. One particular one was the bloodiest.
The fees in the universities were increased with the excuse that the government didn’t have
enough money to subsidize our upkeep, when a few individuals had stolen billions into their
private accounts. On that particular day, we trailed the streets chanting war songs. We carried
placards, crowbars, stones and catapults in anticipation of an encounter with the anti-riot
policemen. The anti-riot policemen came as expected. We whistled, jeered, and hurled insults
on the police. The police with their clubs raised came to meet us. There was an initial
hesitation in the front, but some daring students challenged the police. Missiles were thrown.
There was confusion, people struggled to join the battle, and other tried to escape. Cries of
pain, fear, anger and hatred went up. The police swung their batons and some students fell
down moaning in pains. But some students surged forward. When the police officer that led
the operation saw that the students were gaining upper hand, he ordered his men to open fire
on us. When we saw our fellow students lying dead, we fled in different directions, shrieking
and crying.
The masses didn’t support our strike either; they regarded us as part of the privileged
elites. The authorities dismissed our protest as that of over-pampered children suffering from
youthful exuberance. Nothing was done about our dead colleagues. We only declared the day
they were slaughtered as a lecture free day. We never achieved what we fought for. It was a
lost battle.
During my graduation, our Vice Chancellor spoke extensively against the lust for
wealth.
“Young men and ladies, you should be proud and worthy ambassadors of this great
university. You should extol virtues such as sincerity, forthrightness, tolerance, justice,
truthfulness and fair play. You should shun vices like indiscipline, corruption, waywardness,
consuming quest for luxury, and seeking easy way out of matters ordinarily requiring
perseverance, devotion and self-sacrifice.”
We all listened in that attitude of motionless attention, which encouraged him to go
on.
“You shouldn’t become obsessed with the lust for wealth to the point, that you take
leave of your senses. Put your trust in time, everything will come to pass. In contemporary
world, we face many conflicts, trials and test of character. Therefore, you need to constantly
ask yourselves, whether, your responses to each situation is one that enhances your
personality or fails to live up to your ideals of conduct.”
He stopped to take a sip of water from a glass by the podium.
“The more troubles and difficulties you face the greater opportunity you’ve to acquire
knowledge and understanding and help you progress towards your highest ideals. Children
are not well brought up these days because their parents are out running after money. No time
to inculcate discipline to their children.”
But I was trying to lead an organization with no other business than corrupt and
criminal practices. I reminded myself that I’d vowed I must get rich by any possible means,
so I went ahead. I was so tired of being poor, of struggling to survive.
The first day I resumed, I was shown to an opulent office. I surveyed the office with
obvious admiration. It had a resting room attached, with bed and a fridge stacked with canned
food and soft drinks, in case I worked late. There was a red bulb outside the office door and a
sign that read: “When light is on do not enter.” Senator Harrison introduced me to the
members of staff as the new General Manager.
“There’s different range of strengths in almost every organization. But in Harrison
Holdings, in order to accomplish our lofty goals, we worked as a team,” Senator Harrison
explained to me, when we were back to my office. “By establishing the links among our
different divisions, we have been able to achieve goals that were previously unreachable.”
He treated his employees like a family. He expected them to work hard, and he
rewarded them with gifts and pay rise. He equally took care of them in other ways. He gave
scholarship to intelligent children of his employees qualified for college education. This was
why his employees were so loyal. Many of them had stayed in his employment for years.
I sat behind my massive desk in the opulent office, listening to Senator Harrison.
“In this country, hundreds of leading organizations, government agencies and
individuals have come to depend on our unique ability to do business. So if you’re
approached for any business never accept anything is impossible. We have used incentives to
especially government functionaries and aggressive business methods to be ahead of our
competitors. You’ll see that with the right incentives and attitude, just about anything is
possible.”
“What type of incentives do you give them, sir?”
“We pay them twenty percent of the cost of contract, and give them some other small
gifts. In today’s turbulent Nigeria, the value of sound advice is more important than ever. Try
to reach me, if there is anything that confuses you. Because, no matter, how insurmountable
the obstacle might seem, there is a good chance, I can do something tangible about it.”
I employed Komoko as my personal driver to keep him out of crime. He was grateful.
I felt obligated to help.
In the office, I found myself very busy. It was a backbreaking job. I wrote comments
in the files, signed orders, promotions, contracts and attended series of meetings with
business associates and senior government officials.
At first, feeling my way through the job, I relied on Senator Harrison for guidance.
Those having business with me start coming in as from ten o’clock. A security man escorted
them to an anteroom, where they sat and filled out visitors’ form. My secretary, Grace would
send the forms to me. I called them in, in order of importance. While the visitors waited, to be
called in, they leaf through books, newspapers and magazines depending on individual’s
choice.
Two guards were stationed at the main entrance to the office. They had no function
except to open and close the door for visitors.
On my desk, I kept a large diary of my daily appointments, scrupulously entered in
my own hand. It was the duty of my secretary to open official letters, file them and place the
files on my desk for my attention. When I drafted letters, she got them typed, passed them for
my signature and later sent them by the appropriate means.
To the despair of the employees who’d hoped that the withdrawal of Senator Harrison
would mean a modification of the working pattern, I quickly made it clear that I would
closely abide by my father-in-law’s principles. Senator Harrison gave me the powers to give
post to whomever I liked, to listen or ignore any advice from the staff and to hand down
dismissals without explanation.
I hated scenes and found it impossible to sternly criticize or dismiss a man to his face.
If something was wrong, I preferred to give the employee a friendly reception, comment
gently and shake hands warmly. Occasionally, after such an interview, the employee would
return in the morning to meet a letter regretfully asking for his resignation.
In the office, it was improper for any of the employee except me to speak to Senator
Harrison without being spoken to, and when walking with chairman, as he was popularly
referred to, friends didn’t greet each other or even notice each other’s existence. Chairman’s
restless temperament, his vanities and delusions, his rapid plunges from hysterical excitement
to black despair kept the employees in a state of constant apprehension.
***
At the early time of our marriage moments of glamour intermingled with moments of
crises. For Biola it was party, party, party. At a point, I became bored by the frequent parties.
Biola installed a special lighting device in the living room. On flip of the switch the room will
be brightly lit. Another flip of the switch the lights become dim. And another flip of the
switch the room was dark with moon and stars shining in the darkened ceiling.
She hosted a lot of parties and birthdays. Her parties became famous because of the
guests list. It was studded with the names of persons both gifted and celebrated, most of them
from the world of music, science, theater and business. When she was not hosting a party, she
was attending the ones being hosted by her friends. The parties gave me the opportunity of
meeting many celebrities.
I’d inhabited a totally different world, I wasn’t enjoying well-off people and the kinds
of things they liked to do. Her social group didn’t think too highly of me because my father
was neither a rich and well-connected business tycoon nor a powerful politician. It was
difficult for me to live in the shadow of Biola in a male dominated society like Nigeria. This
created an inner conflict, which arose whenever I attended any social occasion with her.
If Biola wanted to do something, she didn’t want somebody telling her not to do it or
criticizing her for doing it. She was strong-willed and independent. We argued, just like every
married couple, but we always patched up our differences.
In one of her parties, Biola drank too much champagne, and danced and flirted with
every man within her reach. To my uttermost surprise at a point she moved over to Bolaji.
“Bolaji, let’s dance,” she said, drawing him into the midst of the gyrating figures on
the dance floor. They were soon gyrating as enthusiastically to the earsplitting noise of the
disco as everyone else. When they finally pushed their way off the crowded dance floor,
Bolaji embraced her and planted a moist kiss on the side of her face, a gesture she relished.
I was mad. I resented her male company bitterly, growing more jealous as the months
went by. And this was Bolaji that caused Senator Harrison to throw me out of Biola’s
birthday party embracing and kissing my wife. I felt like going over and giving him a hot
slap. I managed to maintain my cool till the party ended.
I attacked Biola at the first opportunity we had of being alone. “You seem to have no
sense of shame, flaunting yourself at every male guest in the way you did.”
“You’re just too jealous. When I have dinner with someone, dance with someone,
smile at someone, take a walk with someone – immediately you will say, we must be having
an affair. How do you want me to respond to something like that? You are not even willing
to dance with me. So what do I do?”
“That is not enough reason for you to be flirting shamelessly with every man in the
party.”
“I’m not without principles or immoral or for that matter particularly interested in the
opposite sex for any sexual purpose.”
“But it looked as though you really enjoyed having the men following you around
with their tongues hanging out.”
“Go away! Go away! You must be mad.” She turned abruptly and stalked into her
bedroom, slamming the door violently behind her and threw herself on her bed, before giving
way to a paroxysm of violent, angry weeping. She stared with unseeing eyes at the bedroom
ceiling – “How dare you? How dare you? You don’t care anything about me, you’re an
unfeeling brute and I hate you.”
I felt a sense of compassion when I saw the lines of strain on Biola’s face. It had been
a difficult moment for her.

I must be mad --- crazy! I told myself. I had no proof whatsoever that Biola had been
unfaithful. I had overheard her tell some of her friends that once you’d been with Chika; no
other man would do, when they wanted to know why she married me.
I sat on a sofa near the bed and waited until gradually her rage dissipated.
“I thought I’d got your sort of attractions out of my system, but you only have to fix
those your big brown eyes on my face and I forget every wrong you’ve done me. You’re a
virus ravishing me inside,” she said.
She was in love with life and knew how to have fun. However, she was able to
separate business with pleasure. She didn’t play with her job.
“I am sorry, Biola. I misjudged the situation please forgive me.” I said. “I love you,
hence I am jealous.”
***
Most of the contracts we won were grossly inflated. Our organization enjoyed
absolute monopoly of most government contracts. This was achieved before my arrival by
bribing corrupt government officials. They usually got twenty percent of the contracts fee, ten
percent higher than the universally accepted bribe rate in Nigeria. The organization had some
members of staff who were experts in kickbacks and palm greasing. Apart from slow pace of
executing contracts and use of inferior materials, we could abandon any project especially
after collecting mobilization fees without fear of any stringent penalty.
***
Biola’s greatest weakness was her apparent life of luxury. Despite the fact that she
earned well, her father still supplemented her income. But all these money were quickly
squandered. She adored luxury and lived life to the fullest. For this reason, our marriage had
gone through a period of dramatic highs and desultory lows.

She would stop at nothing to possess anything that met her fancy. Her wardrobe closet
was crammed with clothes. She had three hundred pairs of shoes still she bought more.
During our honeymoon, she bought a lot of souvenirs for her friends.
She was generous to a fault. She would remember birthdays and wedding ceremonies
and anniversaries of friends with generous expensive gifts. She gave away invaluable gifts,
not only to friends and acquaintances but to complete strangers. In some of the shops we
visited during our honeymoon, she bought some gifts for courteous sales clerks.
In a party we attended in London, she gave away one of her expensive gold necklace
because her friend admired it.
“Your necklace is very fine.”
“Do you want it?”
“No. I was just admiring it. It is quite beautiful.”
“You can have it if you like it.”
“You must be joking.”
“No. I mean it. I have too many necklaces.”
She unclasped it and handed it over to her friend. I wasn’t particularly happy but
knew better to argue with her.
Even Senator Harrison at a point was angry over Biola’s prodigal spending. On the
other hand, he was to be blamed for the problem. Since her childhood he had encouraged her
in her spending.
“You’re wasting a lot of money with your reckless spending,” I complained when I
could no longer bear it. The moment I spoke those words, I regretted it. After all, it was not
my money.
We argued back and forth for maybe ten minutes before Biola became more and more
hysterical.
“Imagine you I picked from the gutter trying to tell me how to---” The instant those
cruel words were out of her mouth, she wished she could take them back.
I opened my mouth, ready to reply angrily. To my surprise, the words wouldn’t come.
The incident had a chilling effect on me and was a sharp blow to my pride. Biola’s anger
immediately faded.
“Chika, I am sorry. I don’t mean to hurt you. Please forgive me. I don’t know how I
could have lost my temper so badly. I love you.” Knowing how stubborn Biola could be, I
realized what it must have cost her to offer apology and declare her feelings for me.
There was sincerity, a kindness about her that immediately put a person at ease. My
anger disappear as quickly as it had come and was replaced by amusement.
“Has anyone ever told you how pretty you look when you’re mad?”
Trying to pick up the broken bits of my pride, glue them together, and get on with my
life, I dropped my arms casually around Biola’s shoulders; I caressed her skin tenderly and
with great affection. Tracing the beautiful contours of her profile, her brown eyes softened
and glowed with adoration. I took her hand and walked toward the bedroom.
***
One afternoon, Kola came to my office. I was surprised to see him because he rarely
visited me in the office.
“Chika, do you know that for one month now, we haven’t eaten rice in my house.”
“Why?”
“I haven’t been able to buy it. It has turned a precious grain for the consumption of
the aristocrats only. And I heard from a reliable source that you have thousands of bags of
rice and large quantities of other essential commodities stored in your warehouse.”
“That is correct. We bring in the goods; the middlemen buy and sell them. It seems
complicated, but basically it is a trade and very advantageous to all. That’s how it works.”
“Why are these items not in the market? You’re hoarding them to create artificial
scarcity, so that you can make a lot of profit. Imagine hoarding food when people are dying
of hunger,” he spoke deliberately fighting disgust.
I gave a short, unpleasant laugh. “Kola, you would have phoned me and I’ll send
some bags to you.”
“If you, give me some bags how about those who are not lucky to know you? Chika,
open your warehouse and sell the goods to those that need them. It worries me that you can
be so mercenary.”
“Kola, we are running a business not a charity organization.”
“When the whole world is responding with all forms of aids to the food shortage in
Africa, which includes Nigeria, you and your father-in-law hoard food materials, and sell
them at outrageous prices. You’ve gone crazy with greed. Chika, you’ve changed. Remember
you were once very poor. What do you and your father-in-law want to do with all the wealth
you’re accumulating? I learnt you’ve gone into currency trafficking,” Kola accused.
“Oh yes. Hence our banks can’t cope with the amount of foreign exchange, the
citizens of this nation need, we decided to help. We’ve agents who sell all types of foreign
currencies to desperate students to pay their school fees, businessmen and travelers. Our
agents are at all international airports and top hotels in the country.”
“The police may arrest the agents one day and you’ll be in serious trouble.”
“They’ve arrested some of them a few times, but when Senator Harrison name was
mentioned, they were quickly set free. Nothing is impossible in this country as long as you
know the right people. And Senator Harrison knows them.”
“The People’s Voice of yesterday wrote that the contract awarded to Harrison
Holdings to build roads and build housing estates for civil servants have been abandoned
after collecting mobilization fees. And where you’re executing the contract at all, the pace is
slow and inferior materials are being used.”
“The People’s Voice is a useless newspaper. It is fond of spreading rumors. Don’t be
angry with me. Must we think alike on everything to be friends?”
“No. I’m not angry, only that your present behavior surprises me. I’ve no objection to
your living well, even luxuriously as a result of hard work. But you even deal in arms and
ammunitions. Arms dealers live well with other people’s lives. That’s unfair and
unacceptable.”
***
Before I worked for six months, I was in money. Such that my father had never seen
since he was born and would never see till the day of his death. I tried to help my family. I’d
been in the darkness of poverty and now in the brilliant light of abundant wealth and I wanted
my family to enjoy its glow. Austin my immediate junior had gained admission into college. I
took responsibility for all his needs. I sent all my younger ones in the high school to the
boarding house. I tried to rent another house for my parents but my father refused. “I don’t
want to have a share in your dirty money,” he said.
I didn’t like the idea of my parents living in squalor, while I lived in human-designed
heaven. My mother tried to make him change his mind but she didn’t succeed.
“How can you described your son’s money as dirty?” my mother asked.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know how he got his money. I rather die a poor man than
touch money acquired through corrupt and illegal practices,” he grumbled.
“What? Chika is gainfully employed. He is doing a legitimate job?”
“So you think. Do you know what he does?”
"Yes? Execute contracts.”
“Fine.” He smirked. “You don’t know anything.”

“What do you mean?”
“Your son is a smuggler and currency trafficker.” Dishonesty, for whatever reason,
was an abomination to my father. “Clean living and hard work have their rewards.”
“That is a lie. Chika is it true?”
“It isn’t true. We do business,” I said tolerantly.
“What type of business?” my father asked scornfully.
“Importation and execution of contracts.”
“What do you import?”
“Essential commodities.”
“And they have disappeared from the markets,” he replied indignantly. “Senator
Harrison joined politics in 1978, when the military who had ruled Nigeria for many years,
accepted to handover to civilians. He has made an unbeaten record as the most corrupt
politician Nigeria ever had. One must develop a certain obliquity of conscience, an elastic
attitude towards the truth to be an effective politician in Nigeria. Senator Harrison like most
politicians has placed his personal glorification, materialistic insensitivity and power lust
before that of the nation and her citizens.”
“You never liked Senator Harrison. What did he do to you?”
“During the Second Republic which began in 1979, prices of food commodities went
up like balloons in the wind. Toilet soaps, vegetable oil, sugar, detergent, common household
items became classified as “essential commodities”. A committee was set up to ameliorate
the unprecedented shortage of the essential items but their activities worsened the situation.
Senator Harrison being a friend of the chairman of the committee got import license to import
and distribute a large quantity of essential commodities.”
“What is wrong with that?”

“Instead of selling the items direct to the masses at control prices, he sold them at
high prices to middle-men who diverted them to their private shops and supermarkets. Things
that could be bought across the counter before were no longer displayed. They were hidden in
the stores from where they were doled out in small quantities to privileged Nigerians who
could afford the prices. In most cases, prices were three hundred percent higher than the
approved prices. Rice became a golden grain only to be eaten by political leaders and their
families and other privileged citizens. The social and economical situation in the country
today is such that day-to-day suffering is growing and life has become an ordeal for the living
and death a better alternative for the masses.
“This illicitly accumulated wealth coupled with that from arms smuggling made him
live in comfort in a comfortless country, and the remaining wealth was lodged in a Swiss
bank. Swiss banking system offered the facility of permitting unlimited quantity of money to
pass in and out without government control or interference. Unlike Nigeria where accounts in
the bank could be frozen without notice at the discovery that the source of the money was
dubious.”
“What does that mean?” I asked my dad.
The essentials commodities are kept in your warehouses than in the markets. The
artificial scarcity you’ve created has skyrocketed prices so that you can make four hundred
percent profits. You and your father-in-law are useless to this country.”
“Dad, what you call hoarding to me is a business strategy. If you studied economics,
you would have understood the “Demand and Supply’ theory. The major objective of
establishing our business organization is to make profit. It’s not a philanthropic organization.
We can employ any method we deem fit to improve our profit.”
“Even when people are dying of starvation?” he challenged querulously.
“Of course.”
“So it’s normal that you should stock your warehouses with millions of bags and
cartons of essential commodities especially foodstuff, while people are dying of hunger?”
“I know times are hard, but anyway we sell to those who can afford the prices.”
“It’s unfortunate we live in an age when there is a false glare on the things of the time
and a great fog over the thing of eternity. Son, change your ways before it is too late. Your
life is worth more than any material wealth. Read your bible and try to acquaint yourself with
its contents.”
“I doff my hat for the ancient writers in Israel who’d recorded all the words and deeds
of their teachers and leaders in such a brilliant way that they formed the content of a holy
book.”
“Are you saying that the bible is a literature book?”
“I’ve not said that.”
“I’m sorry for you. You’ve become a racketeer and a swindler. In the bible in 1
Timothy 6:9-10 says, “Those who are determined to be rich --- have stabbed themselves all
over with many pains.”
I continued to take care of my mother and my relatives and left my father alone. It
seemed to me that he was born to suffer. Although one way or the other he benefited from my
benevolence. Life was a short thing and strict adherence to stern morality did not contribute
to its sweetness.
Another areas of our business that yielded real money were currency trafficking. We
had agents who sold all kind of foreign currencies to desperate students, businessmen and
travelers at high cost. The business venues were top hotels, and international airports. Our
agents were well paid and therefore fearless. Any time they were arrested it didn’t last
twenty-four hours before they were released because of Senator Harrison’s influence.
When the next election started to approach we went into arms smuggling. We
smuggled all sorts of sophisticated weapons, which we sold to important politicians to arm
their thugs. This was an area we showed no party loyalty. We sold to members of any
political party who was willing to buy and had the money.
Many Nigerians decried the proliferation of arms and live ammunitions in private
hands but Senator Harrison said they were crazy. We brought them in containers and forged
customs clearance papers to avoid detection. Anytime, our men were at police or customs
checking-points, Senator Harrison’s name was the magic password.
***
Biola’s association with men was a source of constant disagreement between us.
She invited Bolaji to her 36th birthday. Immediately he entered our living room, Biola
went to welcome him. He embraced her and lifted her off the ground. Later, that evening, I
still saw them huddled together in a corner. They were paying a lot of attention to each other.
I became afraid that something was trying to develop between them.
That same week there was report in a gossip magazine about this supposed romance
between Biola and Dan Ryan, the managing director of her company. The magazine claimed
there was definitely a relationship between them. This proved embarrassing. I was afraid to
think what my parents would say if they heard that my wife was having affairs with other
men, especially my father, who was a religious fanatic.
The degree to which I reacted to Biola’s presumed flirtation with men shifted
according to my moods. But as time passed I became increasingly philosophic. “You can’t
have everything.” The thought didn't last.
I had an explosive disagreement at the weekend. We were invited to a dinner party by
a Lagos socialite, Nike Peters at her Victoria Island apartment. Ken Okoye, son of a very
successful industrialist, Anthony Okoye was there. Before I knew it, Biola had gone off with
him.
I went out to the garden and wept. But how could tears ever relieve the agony I felt,
this pain that ravaged my soul? Biola didn’t love me. She had never loved me. She had used
me – used me viciously to satiate her lust, I felt.
On getting home, I complained seriously about Biola abandoning me in the party and
going off with another man.
“I only went to discuss a business deal his company is having with our company. It is
a multi-million naira business; we needed a quiet place to discuss it.”
“Why did you not tell me before taking off?”
“I am sorry, it escaped me I didn’t inform you.”
“Do you know what Kola told me about you? We had quite an interesting
conservation when I newly met you.”
“Biola turned reluctantly. “What did Kola tell you?” Her clenched fists at her sides.
“He told me that you were a bitch, and a whore.”
Biola gasped and leaned for support against the door frame. “How could he?”
I ignored her interruption and continued: “He warned me that you would sleep
around, as when you felt like it.”
She pressed her hand to her chest. “I don’t know if my heart can stand very much
more of this.”
“You’re a beautiful and sensual woman, and you use your obvious assets
shamelessly.”
“Most men seem to think I’m just ripe for the picking, some come claiming. I’ve
magnetic effect on them; others seem to be pretty taken by my family’s wealth. But God
knows I have never been unfaithful to you. I love you whether you believe it or not.”
I had spent much of the night arguing with Biola.
We were bitter, disillusioned, withdrawn, and silent as if afraid that conservation
would deepen the wound. The breach between us widened. There had been talk of divorce
between us. But it was only talk.
Biola tossed and tossed restlessly for what seemed like an hour. She then sat up in the
middle of the mattress wrapped her arms around her legs - and pensively rested her chin on
her knees. Quivering violently, she took several deep breaths to stern the rising hysterical that
threatened to overwhelm her
I felt so convinced that Biola was having affairs with men so I hired a private
detective to watch her and give me a report every two days. I wanted an evidence to divorce
her. Biola was pregnant and I wasn’t even sure I was responsible.
Davies was a private detective, who prides himself on getting highly sensitive
information on anybody, with good speed. Surveillance was something Davies was
exceedingly good at. He was a former secret agent.
***
I arrived at my office, early one Friday morning, to find the expected pile of work, on
top of which was a note from my secretary, Grace.
“The Minister of Civil Consructions wants to see you by two o’clock in the
afternoon.”
I sat behind the large oak desk trying to concentrate on the ledgers before me. From
the wall opposite me, a clock tolled the eleventh hour. The office was busy. Staff was moving
around the corridor. The air-conditioner in my office was humming to keep the room cool. I
rose and walked over to stare out into the street below. Cars and people were in motion. I
returned to my chair. I propped my elbows on the desk and rested my head in my hands,
wondering what had delayed Chief Okonkwo. I loosened my tie and rolled up my sleeves,
preparing to go down to work.
There was a knock on my door. “Come in,” I shouted.And Chief Okonkwo walked in.
“Chief! Chief!” I hailed. “You’re welcome.”
“Chika, how is business?” he asked. “I’m sorry I came a bit late. I was held up by
visitors.”
“Business is fine. Please have your seat.”
“Thanks,” he said, as he settled in one of my visitor’s chairs.
“How are you preparing for politics?”
“It is getting tough. Last week, I narrowly escaped assassination.”
“What happened?”
“As my convoy neared the venue for my declaration for Conscience People Party, in
my state capital, my driver saw an object hurled from the crowd. He pressed down the
accelerator, the car jumped forward and a bomb which would have landed on the car,
bounced off the rear of the car and exploded behind, killing some people standing by and
injuring the occupants of the next car. The man who threw the bomb mixed up with the
crowd and couldn’t be identified. My driver quickly drove me home, by the time, I got home,
I was shaken and furious. Can you imagine, people using bomb to welcome me to my own
state! I know it’s the handiwork of the incumbent governor.”
“Why will he want to kill you?”
“I’m going to contest for the gubernatorial seat in my state, and he is aware I’m very
popular.”
“What do you want to do now? Have you changed your mind because of the attempt
on your life?”
“No. I’m going ahead. I shall return fire for fire. In fact, I’m here to buy guns. I hope
you have some in stock?”
“Yes. We’ve large stock of SMG, Assault Revolver, AK 47 and Pump Action guns
and all sorts of ammunitions. Which type do you need and how many?”
“I want thirty AK 47.”AK 47 ranked high among weapons of mass destruction.It was
often referred to as Russia’s most enduring contribution to the science of war since 1947.It
was capable of dispensing death within the range of 1,350 meters with magazine capacity of
thirty.
“They are available. When do you want them?”
“Right now, they have declared war on me and I must fight back.”
“You can’t collect them now. You can pay now, and then come to our warehouse to
collect them by midnight.”
“How much is for the thirty AK 47?”
I collected my calculator and worked out the cost and showed the figure to Chief
Okonkwo. He brought out the briefcase he came with and counted the exact amount on my
table.
“Can I’ve a look at a sample of the weapon?”
“For sure.” I stood up and crossed to my wardrobe and brought out one AK 47, where
I hid it and handed it over to Chief Okonkwo.
“Hey Chika, you’re a strong man. This is exactly what I want,” he said, as he
examined the weapon. When he satisfied himself, he handed the weapon back to me.
“I used this gun during the Nigeria/Biafra civil war and it was beautiful. I shall send
my boys to collect the weapons as arranged. How about the ammunitions?”
“They are equally available. What quantity do you want?”

“About five thousand to start with, I shall come for more, later. I shall send the money
with my boys; when they are coming to pick the weapons.”
“Thanks. That will be fine. Chief! Chief!” I hailed.
“That is me,” he replied. “I think I should be going. You know this is a very busy
period.”
After he left, I stood up and put the money in a private save in my office, till the next
day, when the Accountant will pay it into the company’s account.
When it was three o’clock, I got up and went downstairs. The car was waiting at the
door.
“Komoko,” I said, “there is someone I want to see at the Ministry of Civil
Constructions.”
He drove without waiting for direction. There was no place, he didn’t know in Lagos.
On getting there, I walked straight into the Minister’s office.
“The Minister has been expecting you,” his secretary informed me.
I knocked and entered. “Afternoon, sir.”
“Chika, you’re welcome. Please have your seat. I’ve been waiting for you.”
“I’m sorry; I was busy in the office.”
“I want your company to apply for the contract to rehabilitate the Lagos – Benin
expressway. The common rate of executing contract on our roads is seventeen million, but
put in twenty million per kilometer. I hope you know what will happen to the excess. The
seventeen million is even for virgin land.”
“I hope we will be able to win the contract.”
“That, is for sure but remember, you will give me my share immediately you win the
contract. I am not going to wait until you are paid at the completion of the job.”
“That is no problem. You’ll receive what is your due, once we win the contract.”
“I also want you to buy some project vehicles for my ministry, for supervision of our
road projects.”
“That will be nice.”
“I will order for fifty cars. Just buy thirty cars and we will share the remaining money.
I think you understand.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I shall be expecting your application tomorrow. And by the time, you’re here, the
order for the fifty cars will be ready.”
“All right, sir. I shall be back tomorrow.”
We shook hands, and I left the office.
“Where are you going,” Komoko asked, when I entered the car.
“Home,” I replied.
I met Biola at home, she was already back from work.
“Chika, you look tired,” she said, resting her hand on my shoulder. “And you’ve been
looking too anxious. Please slow down. You’re working too hard.”
“It is the work that keeps me relevant in this setting. If not the work, I would have
been miserable.” At least, I was no longer dependent so much on Biola for anything. I paid
the bills. If it were not for the work, I should be completely without use or purpose. It was the
work that saved me.
I soon made a billion of naira and threw a bash to celebrate it. I made a short speech at
the beginning of the party. “Distinguished ladies and gentlemen, it’s my great pleasure to see
that you honored my invitation. I invited you tonight to dine and wine with my family for the
wonderful gift God has given us. He has been faithful and has rewarded our efforts beyond
our wildest expectation. This is not a night for long speech, so please mention anything you
want and you’ll surely be served.” There was resounding applause and I sat down. I was
already sounding like my father-in-law.
There were four bands in attendance. They entertained the guests in turns. Uniformed
waiters and waitresses of a catering outfit I hired took charge of service. There were too
much to eat, and drinks flowed like Atlantic and Pacific oceans combined. Senator Harrison
and my mother-in-law were among the guests. They left at midnight.
The more profit we made the more I defrauded Senator Harrison. He was in so much
money, he couldn’t detect. I opened a number of businesses of my own and diverted Senator
Harrison’s materials. You would now understand why I earlier told you I’d talent for greed
but never knew before.
I acquired ten acres of land in my village and commissioned an Italian, to build me a
house, which would outshine any other house in Coastal State.
I built a house that people always came to watch. It had well-maintained lawn, an
Olympic-size swimming pool and a long tennis court, almost everything in the house worked
by pressing of buttons. I spared no expenses to make it luxurious and comfortable. It was a
sort of terrestrial paradise. “Live each day as if it’s your last” became my philosophy.
I ate in expensive restaurants. I liked eating in small restaurants as opposed to more
expensive restaurants. Biola would not stand for that kind of places, which she labeled as
unsophisticated. To belong, I had to change from out-of-the-way restaurants to classic
restaurants.
Women who before wouldn’t spare me as much as a grin, who treated me as if I was
an invalid with contagious affliction, waved at me, whenever I drove pass them. They came
to me they way pins went to magnet. Anytime, I made public appearance I received
uninhabited adulation.
After my marriage to Biola, Amina realized that her dream of being my wife was over
but couldn’t accept it. She wrote several rather pathetic letters to me and continued calling
but I never reciprocated.
I bought Mercedes and Lexus for Biola and Hummer Jeep for myself. I spent most
weekends abroad with girlfriends. I was known and respected in most expensive hotels in
London and New York for my lavish spending. “It’s difficult for me to believe that less than
a year ago, I’d to struggle just to stay alive. My girl friends were of various ages, professions
and stature. Biola still indulged herself in extravagant spending. Women like Biola never
changed
***
Since I took over the management of the Harrison Holdings, I’d been very busy. I
received visitors and phone calls without end. I spent long hours in the office.
Senator Harrison came around, whenever he could; to check the progress in the
company. He made it a duty to go over the quarterly accounts of the company.
When I arrived in the office, on the day, I was expecting the Chairman to visit the
office; I called the Accountant to my office.
“How far with the books, Chairman is likely to come around today to take a look at
them?” We kept ledgers for business purposes but actually he had mental records of every
transaction.
“We’ve covered everything for now. The goods have been paid for and the accounts
books are in good shape, as good a shape as anything can be,” the Accountant replied.
A few hours later, Senator Harrison came into my office, I rose with a speed intended
to show my pleasure at seeing my honorable guest, and Senator Harrison took his seat, and
leaned back into it. His body language showed vigor. It was time to talk business. He
demanded for the books. I sent for the Accountant to come along with the books. After about
an hour of careful study, Senator Harrison closes the ledger with a thud, and leaned back on
the chair and stretched his long legs.
“I’ve no regrets, whatsoever, making you the General Manager of this company.
You’ve done a nice job,” he commended. “Harrison Holdings is solvent.”
“You made it possible, sir.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“You gave me the free hand to run the company.”
“It’s because you’ve a sharp brain, that’s why you caught on wonderfully well.”
It was true. I’d even astonished myself. I didn’t only catch on fast, but was able to add
a few touches of my own to the business. For instance, I made friends. I made friends easily
with some prominent government officials. And through such contacts, I was able to win a lot
of contracts. I employed new strategies to increase the projects of the company, because I
was afraid of what failure will do to my relationship with Biola and my father-in-law. I
invested in real estates with materials left from executing government contracts.
“Chika, I’ve decided to offer you thirty percent of the shares of this company. It’ll not
only be more incentive for you to do better, but to let you know that this company will
eventually be for you and Biola on the event of my death.”
“Thank you, sir. I’m really grateful.”
When I got home that night, I told Biola what her father said. She was happy, that her
father was impressed with my efforts.
“The only sad thing is that my work takes so much of my time, which I would’ve
preferred to spend exclusively with you. Tomorrow I’m going to Kano,” I said.
“Again? Must you?” Biola asked. She was looking tired and bored, flipping the pages
of a fashion magazine.
“I have to. I’ve business that has to be taken care of quickly.”

“How long will you be gone this time?”
“It depends how things work out. A couple of days, maybe, but I’ll be back
immediately I’m through with the business.”
The job gave me far more money than I dreamed of. What it didn’t give me was
marital happiness.
“I’ve had it up to here with you,” she said as she clutched her neck.” I cannot
understand you. All you do nowadays is to roam the streets with the excuse that you’re on
official tour. You’re never in the place as I am. If I’m in the house, you’re in the office, if I’m
in the office, you’re at home.” After a pause she continued. “I know my father is enormously
wealthy and he gives you a lot of money which you now squander on young girls in town.
You want my father’s money but not me.”
What Biola said was a big surprise. I launched a counterattack to weaken her
accusation.
“I work very hard to earn the money your father pays me. The time I have spent in his
company has been a period that has severely tasked my inner resources and sense of self. ” I
took her hand in mine and held it tightly. “For women, I am too busy for such triviality,”I
lied.
***
The private detective and my personal surveillance after a month yielded nothing
amorous. Biola’s extra-marital meanderings were limited to escorted luncheons, dinner, and
harmless nights out on the town. I realized my accusations were baseless.
In one swift movement, I drew her to me after I read Davies’ end of month report.
Biola’s cry of protest was effectively silenced by the swift descent of my mouth on hers. Her
response was instinctive and immediate.
“You want it just as much as I do,” I said with husky intensity. “Don’t fight it.”
I now remembered the intensity of her expression and the note of sincerity in her
voice when she was denying any unfaithfulness, if only I hadn’t jumped to the very wrong
conclusions where she was concerned. She had every right to be angry with me, but I found
her animosity melting away. She had decided to forgive me my instinctive distrust.
As we lay on the bed, Boila resting her head against my chest, I felt my doubts slip
away. What a fool I was, what a complete fool to let me hurl stupid accusations at the woman
that loved me so dearly. Of course, there would be adjustments we’d have to make. But as
long as she loved me, and I loved her, everything would work out fine in the end.
The nearness of her was as intoxicating as strong liquor, a sudden rush of desire for
her surged through my loins. Like a spider, she had spun her web and I was firmly caught in
her feminine charm. I put my hand up her dress and discovered she wore no underwear.
***
I went to London to buy a house as a holiday resort and a Rose Royce car, when
“LIFE AID’ concert organized by Irish rock star, Bob Geldolf for African’s famine victims
took place. I attended the show in London with Biola who accompanied me to London so as
to advise me on the best area to buy the property.
The stars that participated were greeted with cheers, whistles, standing ovation and
the thrusting of clenched fists into the air. Vociferous cheering broke out from thousands of
fans when Bob Geldof and his group came on stage.
Music was supplied by superstars like, David Bowie, Elton John, Elvis Costello, Phil
Collins, Howard Jones, Paul Young, Nik Kershaw, The Who, Wham, Sade, Paul McCarthy
and many more.
“I was surprised by this indescribable show of solidarity by musicians. This is another
case of charity begins abroad instead of at home,” Biola observed.

“Our African musicians are busy singing praise songs for our despotic leaders who
are unleashing melancholy on the people because of their insensitivity,” I said.
“This is one of the times in my life, I see modern technology in good use,” Biola said,
as we listened to high-powered sound emanating from the speakers. “It’s being used to appeal
to the conscience of the world about the abysmal condition in Africa through music. We’re
used to weapons made from modern technology being used to destroy Africa in many
senseless wars and insurgence.”
“With the number of the people in this venue, the people of the world responded in far
greater number and with greater vehemence, than I suspected, showing that they care. These
musicians have proved that in this era of enmity and brutality that love for fellow human
beings still exists,” I said.
“I learned that all the persons, superstars, engineers, security guards et cetera who
made the show possible gave their services free,” Biola said.
“Feed the World’ was used to adorn the revolving stages. There were thought
provoking banners also like: “Our hearts go out to you Ethiopia”, and But can we’ve bread
not bombs.”
“This last banner couldn’t be better written. The crazy fight for military superiority
between the superpowers should cause universal concern. I don’t think the world will survive
World War III. The lethal games these superpowers are playing with our future should be
condemned by all the peace loving people of the world,” I told Biola, as she pointed to the
banner.
“But it’s really surprising that while some people dedicate their lives to medical
researches to improve human life, some use music to ease tension, then some scoundrels only
think of the most efficient and the quickest way to annihilate a large number of people in the
shortest possible time. It’s a devilish invention. Can’t the world divert the talents and large
sum of money used in weapons research to research on how to produce enough food for the
world?” Biola asked.
“I think you’re right. If the money spent by world leaders in arms race is spent on
food production, there’ll be more than enough food in the world,” I agreed.
As I was just finishing my statement, “Do you know it’s Christmas” rent the air.
Many people especially young girls went mad with ecstasy. They had long been expecting
the song. It was the moving song of the show. I couldn’t help tapping my feet to the music.
“A lot of money must have been collected by the organizers,” Biola said.
“If this show was organized by African musicians, people might not have responded
as they did, because of the suspicion that the money collected to help the famine victims
might end up in a few individuals’ pockets,” I told Biola.
A few months before the ban on open political campaign was lifted Senator Harrison
pursued me to join politics. This was where I made a life mistake and came to understand that
the road to ruin was a short one.

CHAPTER NINE
One cool evening, I prepared to keep a date with Connie. She’d arrived Lagos two
days before from Los Angeles. She came around once a year. I was at Murtala Mohammed
International Airport to wait her arrival. She was an actress in Hollywood.
“Biola, I’m going for a party in Barrister Jackson’s house. He is celebrating the silver
jubilee anniversary of his marriage.”
“I would’ve liked to be there but I’m not strong enough for any night party.”
I turned and looked at her. She looked shapeless and frail with her six months
pregnancy.
“Do you need to see the doctor?” I asked, as I was shrugging into my coat.
“No. I still have my drugs. Please bring me some water and the tablets on my dressing
table, and make me a cup of tea before you leave,” she said in a soft voice.
Our maid had gone home. Her father was critically ill in the village and there was no
money to carry him to the hospital for treatment, so I gave her some money.
After I’d given Biola her cup of tea, I started to leave.
“Please darling, buy me some ice cream when you’re coming back.”
“Why are women such a bore when they are pregnant?” I said, as I moved towards
my car.
“Barrister Jackson was a member of our club. TCM was a club strictly meant for
millionaires. It was supposed to be a socio-philanthropic club, but we used it mainly as a
forum for meeting fellow wealthy citizens and self-advertisement. The mere mention to an
individual that you were a member of TCM Club was another way of telling him you’re a
millionaire. Our luncheon parties were always looked forward to by most respectable in the
society. The Clubhouses were situated near the beach. All conceivable indoor and outdoor
games possible in our part of the world were available – chess, draught, golf course, polo
field, tennis court et cetera. We even had an airstrip for exclusive use of members. Barrister
Jackson was a minister and owned the largest share in Royal Hotel, the costliest in the
country. He always treated Biola and me to expensive dinners whenever he wasn’t abroad.
He’d a private jet and an expatriate pilot, who he paid heavily. One good thing about
Barrister Jackson was that he was generous. He made it a point of duty to donate to the less-
privileged every year.
Immediately, I got into my Hummer Jeep, I slotted “Sexual Healing” cassette by the
late Marvin Gaye into the car’s stereo. The voice of the late superstar filled the car. My
fingers were tapping the wheel in response to the music as I drove.
I drove straight to the resident of Barrister and Mrs. Jackson.
“Hello Chika, you’re welcome. Where is Biola?” Mrs. Jackson asked.
“Biola is heavy with pregnancy and can barely move.”
“Poor Biola, We all have been through that. Please give my regards to her,” Mrs.
Jackson said.
“Chika! Chika!” Barrister Jackson hailed me, as he came out of the inner room.
“Happy anniversary. I was waiting for you before I congratulate Mrs. Jackson for
having coped with you for twenty five years.”

They both smiled. “Please sit down and take something, others will soon be here,”
Barrister Jackson said.
After a meal of rice, I took a shot of brandy.
“You didn’t eat much,” Mrs. Jackson observed.
“Yes. In fact, I’m just coming from a cocktail party organized by a business
colleague,” I lied. I was sparing my stomach for the dinner date with Connie.
After I stayed for about thirty minutes, I decided it was time to leave.
“Barrister, I’m sorry I’ve to leave. Biola isn’t feeling so fine, but there was no way I’ll
fail to appear to congratulate you and your family on this great achievement.”
“Please give our regards to Biola. We shall be around to see her soon,” Barrister
Jackson promised.
I walked out to the car park and drove away to Surulere to meet Connie.
When I got to Connie’s hotel, she was seated in front of a dressing mirror
experimenting with various hairstyles. She looked her magnificent best. She was a
delightfully beautiful lady with long, smooth tapering legs.
“Let’s go to Millionaire’s Inn for dinner,” I told Connie.
This hotel like the name typified was meant exclusively for the rich. Everything sold
here were for double or thrice the prices they were sold in other big hotels. You must be
loaded with money to contemplate going there. Their service was impeccable and the
environment clean.
When we got to the car, I slotted, “We are the world” into the car’s stereo, before I
drove off. On arrival in the hotel we went straight to the restaurant, where I received nods of
recognition from the smartly dressed waiters. We ordered our meal. The restaurant could be a
good advertisement for the biblical “Garden of Eden”.
“The food is very delicious,” Connie complimented.

“That is why I brought you here. Their standard is high.”
As I was driving to drop Connie in her hotel, I drank brandy occasionally from the
bottle. As we approached a police checkpoint, she warned me to put the drink away.
“Relax babe, I know how to handle these guys,” I assured her.
“You may be charged for drinking while driving.”
“Charge who?” I retorted. “I am known in this Lagos. The rich get away with
anything in this town.”
She wanted to say something, but changed her mind as a policeman waved me down.
I wound down my window.
“How are you officer?” I asked, giving him my boyish smile.
“Ah, Chika! Chika! I am fine, sir.”
The bottle of brandy was still in my right hand while I held the steering with the left.
“Our flamboyant Chika, you are enjoying.”
“Sure.”
“Give me some drink so that I can enjoy with you,” he begged.
I took a bottle of Johnny Walker whiskey from my car compartment and handed it
over.
“Thank, sir. You can carry on, sir,” he said smiling broadly.
I looked at Connie and smiled. I engaged my gear and drove off with the policeman
waving.
“You think you’re in U.S. where those crazy policemen give ticket anyhow. This is
Lagos.”
“But are they supposed to drink while on duty?”
“That’s none of my business. The Police Inspector General should decide that.”
“This is why they shoot innocent people at checkpoints when they’re drunk. He didn’t
even ask why you were drinking while driving. But everyday, I hear on radio, a jingle that
announces that: ‘If you drink, don’t drive and if you drive, don’t drink.’ This is nonsense if
nobody is ready to enforce it.”
“That is mere propaganda. What’s the business of our police officers if you decide to
commit suicide? If you decide to drink and drive, you are on your own.”
“But the drunk driver might not kill only himself.”
“Connie, you’ve stayed too long in America; you’re out of touch with happenings in
your country. Anyhow you die here it’s regarded as the will of God, otherwise it will not
have happened.”
“The policemen are supposed to be mentally and physically alert, while on duty to be
able to do their duties of crime detection and prevention. How can they do this when they are
drunk,” Connie asked, as she got out her cigarette case and lit a cigarette.
“Babe, don’t bother, our police officers have their ways of doing things,” I said, as I
took a sip from my bottle. I passed the bottle over to her, but she declined.
“A policeman found drunk on duty should be fired,” she said with the cigarette
slanting between her lips.
“Fine. Petition the Police Headquarters. How about a policeman found taking bribe?”
I asked.
“He should also be fired.”
“Then we’ll have no Police Force.”
“Do you mean there are no good and disciplined police officers?” she asked with her
eyes screwed up to avoid the smoke as it spiraled pass her face.
“Police officers are only members of the society where corruption is an
institutionalized way of life. If there are no givers there’ll be no takers.”

“Why is corruption so rampant in Nigeria?”
“The white men taught us how to take bribe.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Yes. I am. During the slave trade era, they came in ships and bribed our chiefs and
got them to sell their subjects into slavery. It has never been in our culture to take or give
bribe. When the imperialists came, in order that they might get cheap sources of raw
materials, markets for their manufactured goods, cheap labor for their plantations, and
commercially exploit our people; they bribed our chiefs and important people. They became
their tools. This was how we came to have black people scattered all over the world and
bribery institutionalized in our society.”
“I don’t quite agree with you,” Connie said slightly annoyed.
“You don’t have to, you’ve lived too long in America that you reason and do things
like them.”
“The habit of soaking alcohol like sponge contributes to the carelessness of many
drivers at the wheels, thereby turning the highway into human abattoirs. There should be
legal standard of alcohol tolerable for drivers like in U.S. Law enforcement agents should
carry out blood test of drivers when a driver is suspected to have taken too much alcohol.
And such a driver should be severely dealt with if the result of the test is positive,” she
parried.
I drove into Connie’s compound. “I shall come to see you soon.”
“How soon?” she asked.
“Once the business permits. Have this money and give yourself a treat while I’m
busy.”
***
“Welcome darling my dad has been waiting.”

“Good morning, sir. I went for a party in Barrister Jackson’s house.”
“That’s what Biola told me. How was the party?”
“Fine, sir. I hope there’s no problem?”
He wore a flowing robe sewn the hausa style called babariga, with an hausa cap to
match. Two of his heavily built bodyguards sat around him.
“There is no problem,” He smiled. The kind of smile politicians used to deceive the
electorates. He’d a glass of whisky in his hand.
“I’m happy to hear that, sir,” I replied, as I gave Biola her ice cream. I crossed over to
the bar and fixed myself a drink and took my seat.
Senator Harrison brought out a cigar and lighted it with a gold lighter. Wealth could
make one develop some real bad habits. He smoked for a while before he spoke.
“Chika, I’ve come to invite you to my party’s meeting.”
“Party?”
“Yes. Have you ever thought of going into politics?”
“Politics? Never,” he lied.
He puffed at his cigar before he said anything. “My son, I bet it’s better if you go into
politics. You’ve got all it takes. I promise to give you all the assistance you’ll need. I shall
make sure you start from the top. After you’ve made money, the next thing is to acquire
power. You can only achieve this by going into politics.”
I became increasingly apprehensive. I’ve heard of thugs killing opponents of their
political masters. I wanted to join politics when I wanted money as a matter of life and death,
but now that I have got it I’d to settle down to expending it, I felt.
“Come son, don’t be afraid. I know you’re thinking of the violence associated with
Nigerian politics. I’ve made adequate plans on how to protect you. I have spoken to my
spiritualist and he has promised to make you beyond human destruction like I am. I’m
offering you this help not only because you’re my son-in-law but because of the way you’ve
handled my business. I’ve been making unprecedented profit. Just show your willingness to
join and I shall take care of the rest,” he promised. “I’m going to sponsor you for the
gubernatorial race. And once you’re a governor, you’ll make a lot of money and have
immunity against prosecution, no matter what you do. That’s power.”
I was amazed by how optimistic Senator Harrison seemed about my gubernatorial
prospect.
“But how can a new member of a party become a gubernatorial candidate? Are there
no old members willing to run?” I asked skeptically.
“Leave that to me,” he said in his characteristically pompous manner. He was a
domineering personality.
“I’m not known outside my constituency in my state.”
“Don’t worry. I shall make you popular. You can’t fail to win unless you fail to try.”
“Chika, please don’t accept. I know for sure daddy is capable of pulling some political
strings but politics in this part of the globe is very phony. The parties are so disorganized the
rules are not adhered to. Secondly, there is a lot of violence in our politics. It is too risky.”
“Chika will make a good politician. He is smart intelligent and industrious. I will
guide him and success is guaranteed.”
“Thank you, sir, for finding me worthy,” I said to conclude the discussion on a
positive note.
“Biola, It is impossible to marry a man without becoming a part of his career, so get
interested in politics, it is an interesting power game.”
I would’ve rejected the idea vehemently then but my stubborn cupidity didn’t let me.
***
I went the next day to tell my parents I was going into politics. On the way to see my
parents, I ran into a campaign rally of the Conscience Peoples Party. I parked my car and
decided to listen to what they had to say. Chief Oni was the presidential candidate of the
party and Barrister Dums was a senatorial candidate for Owambe State.
Huge crowd was frantically waving their handkerchiefs and shouting, “We want a
great Nigeria. We want a great Nigeria…” Barrister Dums and other party executives led by
Chief Oni, slowly made their way through the crush of people lining the route to the podium.
When he climbed the podium, people raised thunderous unceasing ovations; Chief Oni was
the first to speak.
“My fellow party faithful, during these approaching elections, we’re going to embark
on enlightening and organizing immeasurably wider masses of the population who previously
took no active part in political events, so as to remove the present corrupt and insensitive
government. It’s unfortunate that in our country today, people have gone mad with greed.
The masses have been manipulated for opportunistic gain. There’s unrestricted access to the
state resources for the educated elites and the politically well connected. Upward mobility,
most of us are aware, is achieved more through clientage and personal relationship than
through ability.”
“Power,” someone shouted.
“To the masses,” the crowd chorused.
“Nepotism and “long leg” are very common in this society. Majority suffers from
these obnoxious practices because most of them are poor and have no influential friends. The
wealth of this nation is appropriated by a few, while most people become poorer, ruined and
starved. The masses have suffered so much from this robbery, oppression and torment, that
they now bear scars of poverty all over their body.

“Our party, the Conscience Peoples Party is the only hope for the masses. We must do
all within our power to prevent any form of rigging of this coming election. Any further
rigging by these nefarious people will spell doom for our country, so we must resist them.”
As Barrister Dums moved forward to address the rally, clenched fists were raised in
greeting and shouts of “Power to the masses,” rent the air. The people moved further,
everybody wanted to see or touch him.
“Power!” he shouted.
“To the masses,” the crowd responded.
“Power!” he repeated.
“To the masses,” the crowd responded jubilantly.
“You’re all welcome to the first rally of our great party. The Conscience Peoples
Party is the only party that has a clear and precise program for all the people. Our party is
made up of people who really want to fight for the emancipation of the masses from the yoke
of political tyrants in this country.
“Succession of leaders should be chosen by the people on the basis of worth. Some
unscrupulous politicians are doing all in their power to institutionalize rigging. This has
caused cataclysmic crashes. Do not be deceived by the propaganda that anyone, who had not
served an apprenticeship, was sure to fail in politics. Libya’s Ghadafi, J. J. Rawlings of
Ghana, and late Gamel Nassar of Egypt, who helped to shape affairs of their respective
countries, had little experience when they came to power. The masses of this country can no
longer bear the endless oppression. They need us to save them. It’s better to die fighting the
oppressors than to allow our people die of starvation.”
“’Power!” Chief Oni shouted.
“To the masses,” the crowd responded.

“Please, anyone who have anything to say should come forward and do so,” Chief Oni
said.
“I’ve heard from a reliable source that PNP is planning a massive rigging of this
coming elections,” a man from the crowd said, after the Master of Ceremony, handed him a
cordless microphone.
“We’ve to be vigilant, so that we can thwart all their plans,” Chief Oni replied.
“PNP has been recruiting and training thugs for some months now,” another man told
the gathering.
“I’ve heard that too,” Barrister Dums said. “This party believes in non-aggressive
approach to our opponents,” he added.
“How about if we are attacked?” the same man asked.
“Then we’ve to fight back in self-defense. We’ll only be involved in selective
violence in self-defense, and in defense of democracy,” Chief Oni said.
Before they disperse they recited the pledge of the party.
I pledge to stop at nothing
To lift my people from
The present pit of hopelessness
And pathetic oppressive rule
Of political tyrants
That has taken
Our country hostage
So help….
All of a sudden, there were sounds of gun shots in different directions. I ran towards
my car at a breakneck speed. People deserted the venue like so many rats clambering off a
sinking barge. They were crying, shouting and there was a great stampede. Many people were
trampled upon. I fell down four times and each time struggled quickly to my feet before I got
to my car.
I later learnt, the commissioner of police had banned any type of rally, which the
organizers didn’t first obtain written permission from the police. It was the police who’d
come to disperse the crowd.
My father was seated in front of our house when I drove as close as I could to the
house in my Hummer Jeep. He looked anxiously to see the stranger that had missed his way.
This type of car was rarely seen in the area. Owners of motorcycles in the area were lords, let
alone car owners, not to mention of Hummer Jeep.
He moved further on his seat, stretching his neck to see the owner of the car. His
effort was frustrated, because the windows were tinted. Austin came out of the house and
recognized my car immediately. He rushed to meet me as I came down from the car.
“Brother, welcome,” he greeted.
“How is school?” I asked.
“All is fine. How is your wife?”
“She is fine.”
I was wearing a flowing garment, the yorubas called “agbada”. It was made with
“wonyosi’ an expensive lace material. I’d a long, big gold pendant hanging from my neck.
My father was hypnotized by my unnecessary display of wealth. Austin ran into the house
and brought out an old chair for me. He placed it by the side of my father and cleaned it with
a rag.
“Good evening, sir,” I greeted my father.
“Welcome. Who owns that car?” my father asked, his gaze narrowed as he stared at
the car, noting its aristocratic features. There was certain arrogance in the way I stood,
holding myself proudly tall.

“It is mine. Why do you ask?”
“It looks to me as an expensive car.”
“Yes. It is. I’ve come to inform you that I am going into politics and I need this type
of car for my campaign. It is bulletproof.”
“What do you need a bulletproof car for? Who do you think will want to shoot at
you.”
“The opponents.”
“Austin!”My father called.
“Sir,” he replied.
“Call your mother for me.”
When my mother came out, he told her, I was going into politics.
“Please don’t do it, my son,” she wept bitterly.
“I’m sorry for you. You want to take deeper plunge into corruption. You’ve given all
your life to Satan. You’ve been a smuggler and trafficker, now you want to become a
politician. Why did you go to the university to read industrial chemistry? What is the
relationship of the course with all these things you’ve been doing?”
“I want to develop Coastal State. And with my knowledge I shall be able to establish
industries for our people.”
He waved his hand dismissively, “Industries indeed! You’ve become a slave to greed.
Explain to me how our nation shall be great when it is filled with avaricious people like
you?” my father asked reproachfully.
“Daddy, you’ve to see things in their true light. This is Nigeria. Blame the system not
men. If I’d kept my hands clean, I would’ve been in the same state with you today. Can’t you
see? Nothing is going to be right again in this country instead everything may just possibly go
worse.”
“Men are the architects of the system and they can change it.”
“That is impossible, dad. Some of the architects will not be willing for any change.”
“But there have to be a change. Things cannot go on like this forever. God has his
way of doing things. He will soon wipe out the sinners. Don’t forget that the wages of sin is
death,” he declared righteously.
“You’ve started preaching again?”
“Yes, I have to. If men remember that God told them to be their brother’s keeper a
few wouldn’t be living in luxury while majority wallowed in abject poverty and stared face to
face with starvation.”
“All fingers will never be equal.”
“Accepted. But the differences in sizes are not very much. Don’t go into politics. You
could be heading for self-destruction.”
“I must. I want to go and serve my people.”
“Or you want to go and steal from your people?” he asked accusingly.
“Dad, hence you’ve decided to sit idle while a few people mortgage the future of this
country; I’m not going to be with you. I’m going out to get my own share of this national
fortune.” I smiled gallantly.
I saw I couldn’t convince my father, why I must go into politics so I left him. I
lingered around until he left for the church in the evening, before I called Austin to off-load
the things I brought for the family. I opened the trunk, and went to sit down. Austin called
other of my younger ones to assist him.
I came with a bag of rice, a carton each of milk, sugar, toilet soap, vegetable oil and
detergent. I gave my mother twenty thousand naira to buy other food items. I gave Austin ten
thousand naira for his upkeep in school. I also gave one thousand naira each to the other
younger ones. They were all happy.

“Thank you, my son. God will bless you,” my mother prayed. “But please don’t go
into politics. It’s a very dangerous game in this country. We hear of so many assassinations of
political opponents. Please don’t join them, you could be killed,” she pleaded.
“I’ve heard you,” I replied.
***
The next day, I went to see Kola in his office. Kola was intelligent. His courage was
evident in the way he handled his arrest and detention when I jumped bail. I wanted to hear
what he’d to say about my political ambition. When I entered Kola’s office, he sat on his
expensive swivel chair. He wore a dark business suit and a neat haircut. He was clean-shaven.
“Hello Chika,” he greeted. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” he asked,
giving me a welcoming smile.
“I want to discuss something important with you. Can you spare me thirty minutes.”
“I’ m busy, I’ll try to hear you, but not more than thirty minutes.” Kola was still my
best friend, even though we often disagreed on issues, there was genuine respect between us.
Kola followed our country’s political scene as much as politicians and took note of
everything that went on around him.
“Kola, I’m here to inform you that I’m going into politics.”
“For God’s sake, Chika! You’ve made a lot of money since you became the General
Manager of Harrison Holdings. You’ve fleet of expensive cars, architectural edifice in Lagos
and your village--- not to mention a lovely wife from a rich background. What else do you
still want? Don’t you think you’re becoming too greedy? Don’t do it. As a politician in
Nigeria, you must have the capacity to say what you don’t mean and pretend to mean it.”
“Kola, I’m not going into politics to perpetuate the traditional approach; I want to
bring in new values into politics. I’m obviously aware of allegations of political insincerity in
the country.”
“What elective post do you want to go for?” he asked hesitantly.
“I want to go for the gubernatorial race. My decision is borne out of patriotism than
anything else.”
Condemnation showed in his eyes and voice. “Chika, do you know the sad thing,
you’re not pursuing power to advance your state of origin beyond the present situation, but to
turn the entire system to make more money for yourself and your father-in-law, even at the
risk of stagnating the development of your area. What do you know about politics that you
want to start as a governor? Senator Harrison wants to impose you on your people.”
“This is what is called spotting and grooming of leadership in politics. Most
prominent politicians worldwide are men who earned their place and their power, first by
serving others in lowly positions, then by industry and intelligence and by God’s grace rise to
exercise immense power.”
"Some People decide to go into politics because their people call them to serve, but
you are going into politics because your father-in-law wants you to participate; strictly for
selfish gain. This kind of imposition is what has brought Nigeria to it’s present pitiable
situation. It is something subversive of democracy. It’s sad that the more efforts a few honest
Nigerian politicians make to position our country as a democratic nation, particularly in
thinking and actions, the more politicians like Senator Harrison relapse into the malaise of
old habits of undemocratic practices. By the conducts of most of our politicians, corruption,
appears institutionalized at high levels and so seem accepted as a way of life. What’s your
agenda if elected into office?”
“I shall do my best for my people. Coastal State people are poor. The poverty
ravaging the state manifests in several ways, including unacceptable level of unemployment
and lack of basic amenities. The high level of poverty has turned our young girls to
prostitutes and our young men to armed robbers, a situation that is creating a lot of social
tension and acute sense of insecurity. The state of insecurity discourages investment. I hope
to combat poverty seriously.”
“Over these years, the signs of corruption had been visible to you, but you’ve been
conditioned to acceptance. What I pray for this country is true democracy not a place run by a
single party hijacked by a small number of powerful men, thereby retarding the progress of a
country that deserved to be great. Chika you have changed. There was a time when you
wouldn’t have anything to do with corruption. But for some time now you’ve been swimming
in corrupt practices.” His look was firm, the tone adamant.
“Kola, the elimination of corruption in our country is an exercise in futility. To
eliminate corruption, there need to be economic stability, which corruption itself has made
impossible.”
“Corruption has been considered one of the greatest obstacles to the economic and
social development of this country. I’ve lost count of the number of times; Transparency
International has listed Nigeria as one of the most corrupt nations in the world.”
“How did they quantify the amount of corruption in this country because it usually
takes place in secret,” I replied.
“The effect of corruption is more in Africa than other continents in the world.
Corruption has diverted a high percentage of the economy to bribe. The high rate of
corruption has equally made it difficult to attract foreign aids and investment.”
“There are always going to be people who are corrupt. Corruption exists in virtually
all the countries in the world; don’t mind the useless propaganda against Nigeria.”
“Ending corruption in Nigeria requires strong institutional mechanism backed by anti-
corruption laws. Our judiciary should be empowered to enforce them.”
“Many government institutions to check corruption are already in place, but they are
not effective and will never be.”

“Every day I see the disproportionate impact of corruption on the poor masses in this
country, it makes my heart bleed. African countries must stamp out corruption, if they hope
to someday emerge from the mire of underdevelopment and poverty. Africa need to be freed
from the clutches of political buccaneers. Corruption is without doubt the continent’s
albatross.”
“Have the leaders in Nigeria or Africa really applied the rules and the laws of the land
without fear or favor? They should remove the causes of corruption and provide facilities for
self-actualization and corruption will be unnecessary. Our present war on corruption is made
to impress the international community without attacking the real causes, so it’ll not work.
Things artificial have short life span,” I said.
“Chika, be aware you’re embarking on a dangerous adventure. Have you not heard of
series of political assassinations in recent time?”
“Oh yes! I’m aware that politics in Nigeria is not meant for the fainthearted.”
“I rather wrestle with a lion than take part in Nigerian’s politics,” Kola said.
“It’s not good enough to live a passive and uneventful life, withdrawing from
adventure, so as not to bear any of its bruises. By adopting this attitude, many glorious
moments of one’s life will pass one by.”
“Nigeria is a place, where human beings treat other human beings so cruelly. One
would think that Nigerians sit around thinking up ways to torture or kill their fellow human
beings. In my dark moments, I seem to see the country sliding toward conflict. I just hope
not.”
The problem with Kola was that he was too cautious. He knew what was right but
always counted the cost of achieving it as too high and the way too difficult, while he waited
for others to do it. He lacked spark. Two characteristics often walked in tandem with two of
us: criticism, then absolution.

Such depreciating social tragedies as ignorance, poverty, corruption, and social
disorder dominated our argument. I left Kola promising to give my decision a second
thought, but greed pushed me on. Elective post in Nigeria translated to access to vast material
fortune.
***
Senator Harrison was happy when I told him I’d decided to join politics. But what I
did not know was that I’d made a total mistake. My going into politics was later to become
my nemesis. He took me to an voodoo priest about seventy years old who gave me some
charms.
“You’ve to protect yourself against the attacks from candidates of rivalry parties,”
Senator Harrison said, with an encouraging smile. “Think of yourself, Chika, as going on a
long, wonderful and dangerous journey. I’ll be your guide. I’ll keep you safe, I’ll keep danger
away from you.”
It was certainly impossible to be around Senator Harrison without becoming
interested in politics. That’s basically all he talked about.
After that, he took me to their party meeting and introduced me to the top leadership
of the party. He told them he was sponsoring me as a gubernatorial candidate for Coastal
State in the Niger Delta. Niger Delta is home to vast oil reserves, which made the country one
of the world’s biggest oil exporters. However, the region remained poor, undeveloped and
ravened by conflict. For many years, militant youths launched offensive against the Nigeria
state and multi-national oil companies. This culminated to the destruction of oil facilities and
in some cases killing of oil workers. The armed struggle was borne out of anger and
resentment as most of the youths had finished school and no job. They’d kidnapped foreign
oil workers a number of times for ransom. The region was awash with weapons. The
proceeds of the exported oil were stolen by politicians like Senator Harrison, and high
ranking public servants, while the people of the Niger Delta were taunted by the lure to have
a bite of a piece of the plantain, fried with the crude oil from their land.
Some of party members objected on the grounds that I was a new member. “When a
sewer had to be cleaned, they send for us,” one of the gubernatorial aspirants complained,
“but as soon as the dirty work has been done, anointed candidate will spring up from
nowhere. Our party constitution stipulates that a new member should be a member for two
years before he’ll be qualified to seek elective post,” the gubernatorial aspirant protested.
We left that day without Senator Harrison pressing the point. Senator Harrison was
subject to abrupt mood shifts. When things didn’t go the way he wanted, he could yell,
scream and curse even his best friend. A one time business associate of Senator Harrison saw
us as we were about to leave the party secretariat in Coastal State, walked up to him and said,
“Hello Senator Harrison, I’m Larry Jones. Do you remember me?”
Senator Harrison looked at the man as though he was an apparition and turned his
head away. Slighting people had become a common gesture on Senator Harrison’s part, an
unbecoming behavior for a politician that needed people’s goodwill. His old friends were
often afraid to approach him for fear of being snubbed or even reproached.
After he went to see some of them at home and bought them over. “A man is only
honest when there is not enough money to buy him over,” he told me. The next time I
attended the party’s meeting it was unanimously agreed that I’ll be the gubernatorial
candidate for Coastal State. I came to realize the potency of “god-fatherism” in our society.
Senator Harrison had the ability to handle different situations as well as difficult persons. He
was a politically powerful figure. Being a shrewd judge of character and a master of hidden
agendas he knew which people to push and how far to push them.
“You should understand that your position in this our great party depends not only on
your financial contributions, but also on if you are able to deliver your state to the party.
From the privilege information the Board of Trustee and the National Executive Council
have, we’re convinced that Chika Okafor will be our best candidate for gubernatorial race in
Coastal State. We want to win the elections in all the states of the Federation,” the national
chairman of the party told the party members.
A godfather in Nigeria’s politics was a looming and imperious, materially endowed,
guardian figure who provided the lifeline and direction for his godson who most times was a
political neophyte. He single-handily funds political mobilization, campaigns, and
manipulations of electoral processes and distortion of facts. The godson in turn offered total
submission and obeisance to his master on ascension to power. The incidence of poverty in
our society had a strong influence in the emergence of this phenomenon. The cost of winning
an election in capital-intensive Nigeria’s politics was usually enormous and usually beyond
the resources of most power seekers.
I was taken to my state and introduced as the gubernatorial candidate by a senior party
official from the party’s headquarters. A few of the old members who were nursing the
ambition to contest raised objections, but they withdrew their protest when they were
threatened with expulsion from the party. After a brief meeting with the party chairman and
his aides in my state we returned to Lagos. As from that day, I started to get prepared for the
election. Senator Harrison was busy also preparing for his re-election into the Senate. I
handed my General Manager’s job to my deputy in the office. Senator Harrison gave thirty
million naira to me for my political campaign. I was shocked at such generosity. Of course,
the process of rising in political leadership was a costly one. He instructed me to hire some
thugs for protection. After all the charms I acquired? I asked myself. But I obeyed. I went to
Ajegunle and engaged forty haughty men to facilitate my movement and that of my
supporters. I bought fleet of buses and cars for campaign.

Like all previous elections, character assassination, murder, arson, whipping up of
tribal and sectional sentiments were the order of the day during the electioneering campaigns.
Thugs obeyed their masters’ orders without hesitation. The risk these thugs took however was
disproportionate with their pay. A rap of marijuana and five thousand naira were enough for
them to stake their lives. An adage in Africa said that the person who allowed coconut to be
broken on his head might not partake of it. But if some people could be so stupid to want to
die so that others could enjoy, I felt that was their problem.
The case of a politician and a thug was like that of a lizard and a rat. When both fell
into a pool of water, the lizard usually swam to safety while the rat drowned after a feeble
struggle. Senator Harrison once said: “The thugs in Nigeria are like ceremonial dress, they
are taken out merely for a ceremony; when it is passed, and they are packed away again, till
they are needed, the next time.” So far I used them to achieve my aim I didn’t bother. Ten of
my thugs were killed before the end of the electioneering campaign. I traveled extensively for
my campaign, and dished out money like Father Christmas gave gifts to children.
In no time I was popular. My election posters were posted on almost all houses and
public places in my state. Money was working wonders. Senator Harrison was right. But
Senator Harrison wasn’t finding things easy, because throughout his first term in the senate
he never did anything for his people. His people were determined he must not represent them
again. Instead, they preferred Barrister Dums. He was a man of high moral standards and
unquestionable integrity. He was an intelligent young man though not very rich. His people
acknowledged his indisputable competence, and his resourcefulness. His academic record had
remained unbeaten in the university he attended. The people felt he was their man. He was an
ideal man to transact business with. He kept to his promises.
Barrister Dums started his activism while in the university. Swept along by his
youthful enthusiasm, Dums, one day found himself making a speech at a student congress;
the following day, he was summoned before the Vice-Chancellor and the Senate and was
temporarily sent home. He returned, planning an academic career in criminal law. Before he
graduated, he changed his mind. He’d the dream all along to serve the nation one day, so he
decided to be a political lawyer.
After being called to the bar, he traveled the length and breadth of the country,
defending political prisoners against the prosecution of the state. He won many of the cases
and became popular. He owed his success to energetic and well thought-out actions. He was
as good as his words.
***
Each time I thought I had everything figured out, something else would come up, and
I’d have to think of another way out of it. At times with the assistance of Senator Harrison.
As the election approached, Senator Harrison called me to his house for a close door
meeting. He was with three of his serious-looking bodyguards. They were big and heavily
muscled men. He never went anyway without them since the campaign began.
“Chika, we must win this election, whether people like it or not,” he told me,
immediately I was seated. “My people are not cooperating, but they are kidding.” He was a
man of iron determination.
Senator Harrison electoral victory wasn’t just the defeat of the political opponent but
the electorate as well. By making promises he wasn’t ready to keep he’d destroyed his
political career.
It was no secret that he accomplished very little of note in his four years in the senate.
What everybody knew was that he walked around with his fly unzipped. His main interest
was making money. My mind flashed back to what Kola once told me.
“Our country which was one of the richest in the continent of Africa due to our
natural and human resources has become one of the poorest nation. The lawmakers
misperceived their role as primarily that of politicians whose allegiance is to their prospective
parties and themselves, and not their constituents or the nation. There is display of utter
incompetence, administrative incompetence, brazen corruption and indiscipline in all facets
of life.”
“Why do you say so?” I asked.
“Instead of them addressing their minds to freeing the nation from foreign economic
exploitation, they took pride in being the commission agents and local errand boys of
economic masters in the name of the multinational companies. They receive kick-backs from
them indiscriminately.”
“Do you’ve any proofs?”
“While the citizens of this nation are suffering, our lawmakers and other political
leaders live in absolute affluence. Their ways of life give lawlessness the appearance of high
wisdom. This is the ultimate sin in all African countries; politicians always place their own
interests before those of the nations and their people. They do everything to get elected, and
having been elected, want to stay in power whether they performed or not. They see failure to
get elected as a crushing blow to their ego and it always frightened them,” Kola lamented.
Senator Harrison voice brought me out of my reverie.
“But how can we win if the people don’t want us?” I asked patiently.
He sipped at a glass of whisky on the rock by his side and lit his cigar. I waited.
“In fact that is why I’ve invited you here. How are your people behaving?”
“Fine. It looks I’ve majority on my side.”
“Don’t be deceived, gentleman. They may be pretending just to collect money from
you. On the day of election, they’ll vote for another candidate.”
“What then can I do?”

Senator Harrison laughed heartily. “All these campaign and sharing of money to the
people is just a smokescreen. The real strategies are what I want to disclose to you now. I’ve
used them before and it worked.”
I selected a cigarette from my gold case and lit it with gold lighter. I filled my lungs
with smoke and blew it out through my mouth.
“You shall employ more thugs.” It was the weakness of Nigerian politicians to use
people’s lives in the furtherance of their personal goals.
“But why? The campaign will soon be over.”
“They are not for protection, but to intimidate people to vote for you on the election
day. I know you know where to get them. Secondly, I’m making arrangements to get some
ballot boxes and the necessary documents required for voting. On the eve of the election,
some paid people will vote in your house in your village.”
“How will these votes be counted?”
He grinned. “I’m coming to that. That’s the job of the thugs. They’ll carry them to the
polling booths and exchange them with the genuine ballot boxes.”
“I don’t see how that can be possible.”
“They’ll drive to the polling booths in an ambulance, start shooting into the air to
cause pandemonium so that the voters and officials will try to escape, they will remove the
genuine boxes, and replace them with yours. And the other boxes will be dropped down the
nearest river.”
“That’ll be difficult and dangerous.”
“That’s why the thugs will be paid ten thousand naira each. Not many people see that
kind of money all their life,” Senator Harrison said.
“How about the police?”

“With one policeman assigned to about five polling booths, the switching of box
operation will take place when he’s in another booth. But they’re no problem, they are for our
party.” He gave another charming smile.
“But how about the polling clerks, they might tell the police what happened and
refuse to count the votes in those boxes?”
He smiled indulgently. “I’ve thought of that, before the date of the election, I’m going
to organize a party to celebrate my birthday soon and the electoral clerks will be invited.
When poor teachers with irregular income and civil servants with their poor salaries see
twenty thousand naira, they’ll betray their fathers,” he smiled mockingly.
“If they don’t run away with the rest some of the hired thugs will drive the agents
away before the operation. And if they resist they should be shot.”
“It looks you’ve thought everything out, but I still feel it might not work.”
“This was how I did it in the last election and it worked. I believe it’ll still work. Even
if it doesn’t, there’s still a way out?”
“How?” I asked perplexed.
“The clerks could alter the figures while recording the votes.”
“That is impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible. It’s very easy. Where we score 12 votes they will make it 112
or 212.”
At this point, I realized there were many things I still had to learn about politics. I’d
thought that after campaigning, one would just pray to God, and wait for the verdict of the
electorates. I came to understand that Kola was right. So rigging could be carried on to the
last minute? I wondered.
“But rigging is a violation of the right of the electorates to choose their leaders?” I
said.
“Forget it. What do the common people know about leadership? They only know
what the politicians tell them. Acknowledging their state in life, they work for the politicians
to achieve their goals and get paid for the assigned tasks. There’s nothing like democracy all
over the world,” he joshed.
In my country, elections were always rigged allowing a few wealthy politicians with a
handful of their cronies to take absolute control of the state through electoral fraud. And the
will of the people was irrelevant.

CHAPTER TEN
As promised, Senator Harrison decided to celebrate his sixty sixth birthday in a big
way. Expectedly, family members, friends and benefactors gathered to celebrate this
remarkable day in the life of Senator Harrison and relived fond memories of the good old
days.
Indeed, it was an ideal opportunity for Senator Harrison to reflect on his days on earth
and to take solemn but sincere stock of their gains and pains. It was a privilege to show
appreciation to his creator for sundry favors and mercies.
But for Senator Harrison, it was simply a period to wine and dine. Rather, it should’ve
been a moment he should have paused to ponder on how best to launch Nigeria into the
esteemed rank of developed nations and transform the lives of millions of her citizens.
“Nigeria used to be a sleeping giant, but my party’s reform programs have kicked her
awake,” Senator Harrison boasted.
An arrogant man celebrated not just his birthday, but his own wealth and power.
Planes were chattered from around the country. Hundreds of cattle were slaughtered. Top
politicians as well as all of the successful businessmen in the country were present; it was a
crowd of the rich and the famous. This was their moment.
“We’re here to honor a man with a statesmanship of the highest order and a seasoned
political player. He is an articulate leader, who has demonstrated clear-headedness in

addressing issues that affect the nation in the National Assembly. All who have dealt with
Senator Harrison can attest to his sober-mindedness as a technocrat, his high regard for all,
God-fearing attitude to money and sensitive national issues ---,” Dr Williams said, when he
was called to deliver a toast.
Almost immediately, Dr Williams concluded his speech, the sound of siren exploded
in the air. People ran helter-shelter to clear the road in panic. A mobile police van appeared,
followed by a bulletproof, black, Concord Mercedes, with tinted windows. Some fierce-
looking “kill and go” (as the mobile policemen were called) men, jumped down from their
van, brandishing serpentine horsewhips.
The motorcade came to a gradual stop. A secret security agent opened the door of the
Mercedes and a huge man, wearing expensive lace material stepped out. He’d a long, big
gold pendant, hanging from his neck. His wife, who wore the same expensive lace material,
followed him. Apart from two gold rings on her left fingers, she wore a big diamond ring on
the fourth finger of her right hand. Three gold chains, of different diameters hung on her
neck. Her body exuded the fragrance of an expensive perfume.
This was Dr (Chief) Koko, the President of the Senate and his wife, Chief (Mrs)
Koko. Immediately, Dr (Chief) Koko walked towards the party, Senator Harrison walked
briskly to welcome him to the party. The bandleader coined a new song in praise of the new
arrival. Two special chairs were quickly created for them at the high table.
After they were seated, he sent his orderly to bring a bulging briefcase from the car.
By this time, Senator Harrison was dancing with his family. His wife reluctantly joined him.
Biola joined, but was taking it easy because she was heavy with pregnancy.
Dr (Chief) Koko ordered for the briefcase to be opened. The orderly flung the lid
open, to reveal bundles of two hundred naira notes. He walked majestically to the dancing
floor and started throwing bundles of money on Senator Harrison and his family. His orderly
carried the opened briefcase for him.
Spectators watched with mouths hanging open. What they saw earlier was a child’s
play. When he finished with Senator Harrison and his family, he moved over to the bandstand
and emptied the remaining bundles of money on the musicians. The musicians sang and
danced with so much hauteur afterwards. Dr (Chief) Koko returned into his seat ,sipped his
wine, and whispered into his wife’s ear.
About ten minutes later, they stood up to go. People struggled to give way and the
mobile policemen had a field’s day thrashing people with their horsewhips. Soon sanity
returned to the place.
He always availed himself of the pleasure and privileges his office gave and wasn’t
interested in taking account the consequences of public evaluation.
“These are men holding our country hostage,” one man complained.
“Old boy, look at wasteful and ostentatious display of wealth by a minority, who have
access to the nation’s treasury,” another man replied.
“This reckless spraying causes the high increase in armed robbery within our society,
because this unnecessary display of wealth increasingly frustrates the hungry, the homeless
and the unemployed. They’re only showing the have-nots that they are responsible for their
misfortune,” the first man said.
During the party, Senator Harrison took the electoral clerks and supervisors who had
sneaked into the party to a special room inside his house, where they held secret meeting and
he gave them huge sums of money.
As I was leaving the party venue to my car, I heard another man saying, “This is an
example of gross indiscipline among the high echelons of our land.”
***
Two months to elections, there was a state of alarm over Mrs. Harrison’s health.
She’d persistent headaches, high blood pressure and general weakness of the body. She
consulted her doctor, who prescribed some drugs and recommended that she rest. After
taking the drugs for two days, coupled with rest, she began to improve. She ate well and took
a walk regularly to exercise her legs.
The improvement was only temporary, a few days after, she began to feel weak again
and her blood pressure went up. She had lost weight, felt listless and couldn’t walk straight.
Biola, who was called from her office, rushed her to the hospital.
“Chika, I am worried about my mother. She is very sick. She has lost appetite and
she’s very weak,” Biola complained to me, when I went to meet her in the hospital.
“What did the doctor say is actually wrong with her?”
“ Hypertension.”
Pastor Jeremiah, whose followers believed was capable of miracles was summoned. I
didn’t believe these claims but I didn’t want to be an obstacle to what some people believed
would save Mrs. Harrison’s life. While the doctors worked, the pastor prayed, but she grew
steadily worse.
For days, Biola and I were always at the side of the sickbed of the dying woman.
Biola was caught in an unsettling swirl of unhappiness and despair.
“Biola take it easy. You know your pregnancy is at advance stage, you might break
down,” I cautioned.
For many more days, the agony of Mrs. Harrison continued, so ours. Doctors and
nurses treated Mrs. Harrison not only with normal deference due her, but with extra
consideration accorded a human being facing a great personal ordeal.
One evening we got to the hospital, Mrs. Harrison called Biola and me to her bedside.
“I am very weak now and I feel weaker as the minutes tick away. I might not survive
this sickness. Biola, it’s a blessing to see one’s child happy. You’re my only child. The
happiness I’ve been seeing on your face is worth everything to me. The most wonderful thing
is that you are pregnant. Try to remain happy. Don’t let my death make you sad. Make what
you’ll of the world. I’ve lived my life try to live yours. Always try to be polite and courteous
with everybody, so that you get along with people.”
She turned to me and said: “Please take good care of my daughter. May the Almighty
God sustain your marriage,” she said not long before the end of her unhappy life. Her voice
was almost inaudible, and her strength was fading rapidly.
Biola and I embraced and cried together. The terrifying fact that Mrs. Harrison was
dying crushed us.
“Chika, what am I going to do without my mother?” Biola wailed, closing her eyes in
a gesture of unutterable weariness.
By midnight, her respiration suddenly became difficult.
“Bring the oxygen cylinder quick,” the doctor shouted.
Even with the oxygen mask on, she soon started to tremble and the end followed
quickly. Biola fainted. Because she was heavy with pregnancy, there was panic. The doctor
quickly took charge and revived her.
During the first week of Mrs. Harrison’s hospitalization, the doctor told Senator
Harrison that there seemed to be some improvement in his wife’s condition.
“Do you think I can go for a week political campaign?”
“No. Please wait for her condition to be more stable,” the doctor advised.
Despite the doctor’s advice, he’d made up his mind to travel, so he left. When Mrs.
Harrison went into rapid decline, Senator Harrison could not be reached by telephone. When
Biola eventually reached him after three days, he seemed not to appreciate the seriousness of
her condition. Before he returned Mrs. Harrison had died. The cause of death was listed as
hypertension resulting in cardiac arrest.
The death of humble Mrs. Harrison at the age of sixty was a great shock to all that
knew her, especially the university community, where she taught for many years.
Biola temporarily moved to her father’s resident to help attend to sympathizers. It was
decided that Mrs. Harrison should be given a quick burial because of the approaching
elections, which Senator Harrison was a candidate.
Two weeks after her death, an expensive casket, bearing the remains of Mrs Harrison,
carried in a hearse, accompanied by the mourning family was taken to St. Paul’s Catholic
Church, Ikoyi for requiem mass. Clusters of people gathered along the street, to watch the
funeral procession pass.
The requiem mass was conducted by the Archbishop of the diocese, assisted by
bishops, priests and mass servers. The requiem mass was held in the presence of royalties and
other important dignitaries.
“The death of such a lovely mother and wife such as Mrs. Harrison is bound
undoubtedly to have a crushing and if not managed well a destructive psychological effect
upon any normal mind, but we should remember that it is God that giveth and he taketh, so
glory be to God,” the Archbishop said.
I took out my handkerchief and cleaned tears from Biola’s eyes.
“Mrs. Harrison played the part of a conscientious lady. She made substantial
donations to schools, hospitals and sponsored charities. Innumerable orphanages and
institutions for the blind depended on her benevolence. She’d compassion for the poor, the
disable and the destitute- those who couldn’t help themselves. There is no doubt in my mind
that she is right now at the right hand side of the Lord Almighty.”
“It’s a dreadful thing to have to live through this anxiety,” Biola said. She wept long
and copiously.
Before the body was taken to Ikoyi Cemetery for internment, she was laid in state for
two hours in Senator Harrison’s compound. Hundreds of people shuffled pass the open
casket. She looked so beautiful and peaceful.
The graveside ceremony was very brief and Mrs. Harrison was laid to rest at five-
thirty. During the burial, Senator Harrison looked calm showing no outward emotion. A
much more intense emotional reaction came from Biola who cried and trembled as the
remains of her mother was being lowered into the earth not far away from where Tunji
Harrison lay.
***
Senator Harrison’s womanizing immediately after the burial of his wife was a shock
to many. He loved to flaunt his women in front of others. He equally enjoyed talking about
his female conquests. Even before her death, Senator Harrison had never put his wife first.
His love affair came first, and he did little to conceal his infidelities from Mrs. Harrison.
To his displeasure, his personal affairs continued to be of endless fascination to
members of the press.
“Does this sort of behavior seem fitting for a man who was supposed to be in
mourning?” Asked an Editorial of the People’s Voice after it was reported that Senator
Harrison was seen with some girls and his friends in his house two days after his wife was
buried.
The news report had it that two days after Mrs. Harrison was buried, a Mercedes
convertible pulled into Senator Harrison’s driveway and three men climbed out. It was
Senator Harrison, Dr. Williams and another of his political associate. Within ten minutes of
their arrival, another car, a buick drove up and three young girls jumped out – all in their
twenties, all remarkably beautiful. They quickly joined the men inside and never left the
apartment until the next morning.
This news annoyed Biola. Her anguish quickly turned to anger. Weary yet combative
Biola accused her father of not treating her mother fairly.
“You paid more attention to your politics and your chains of women while my mother
needed you on her dying bed. I am ashamed to have you as a father,” Biola screamed, as the
trail barriers controlling her emotions snapped.
“What? Biola you are talking to me this way?” her father asked surprised.
I coaxed reluctant Biola to stop further confrontation. Amends were made before we
left for home, but the damage had been wrought.
Biola became more angry when her father informed us a month after her mother’s
burial of his intention to marry Mrs. Grace Ade; the widow of the former governor of his
state, whom he first met two years earlier at a dinner party given by the present governor of
the state, Dr Ken Segun. Senator Harrison romance with Rita,a 26-year model had faded, as
had a subsequent relationship with Mercy Okoye an actress.
He had bought an apartment for Rita in Ikoyi, where all the rich in Lagos kept their
mistresses. It was the ideal area because there was very little traffic and nobody to spot him
on the street.
Mercy Okoye was another man’s wife, she disappeared with Senator Harrison during
a dinner party in Dr. Babs’ apartment. Her husband divorced her because of the
embarrassment she caused him mentioning Senator Harrison in the process.
Mrs. Harrison while alive didn’t show much concern how many women Senator
Harrison kept as long as they didn’t interfere with her personal life. She did everything she
could to hide her marital discord from her friends. After her son’s death, she lost interest in
sexual relationship. They shared the same house but not the same bed. At interval she would
retreat and mope for long stretches, very aloof from everyone and glacially cold to her
friends. Whenever she was invited to somebody’s house, at the last minute she’d feign illness
or make up some other obvious excuse why she couldn’t go.
The wedding between Senator Harrison and Mrs. Grace Ade was set for the exact day
that Mrs. Harrison’s death would be two months. All necessary arrangements were made –
invitation cards sent out. But three days before the appointed day Senator Harrison called it
off.
Senator Harrison claimed that the lady got greedy and demanded for a sizeable
control of his estate which he declined.
Before Biola died, she and her father were barely communicating with each other.
***
Before the elections, there were recurring moments of tension. Metaphysicians,
spiritualists, seers forecasted of political earthquakes of unequalled dimension. Journalists
wrote of impending Armageddon, if the election was rigged. Senator Harrison laughed. “Let
them go to hell. Rigging is inevitable.” The will of the people was irrelevant.
Some of the wealthy politicians, whose political antennae were actually sensitive, sent
their families abroad. But why violence should frighten these men, when they caused it, I
wondered. Senator Harrison refused to send his wife abroad. Biola was so heavy with
pregnancy that she couldn’t go on a long flight. Even if she was willing the airways had
warned they would no longer carry pregnant women. Many had delivered on the air.
“Don’t worry, Chika,” Senator Harrison said. “Nothing is going to happen. Even if
things go wrong, we shall escape in my private jet.”
A few days to the election, Biola gave birth to a bouncing baby boy. I was full of joy.
It was an omen of hope. “This is a sign of great victory awaiting me at the polls,” I told my
friends.
One early morning, Biola cried out and I woke up from sleep. I’d just returned from
Coastal State, where I’d been campaigning for the upcoming elections. I was tired. Her
tautened belly was moving. Her face contorted with pain.
“What is the problem?” I asked.
She held up both hands as if to ward off my words and replied, “I’ve pain around my
waist.”
I quickly dressed up and helped Biola to change from her nightgown. I supported her
to the car.
“Open the gate,” I shouted to the gateman.
The gate was quickly flung open. I eased the car out of the garage and headed for the
hospital. My mind went down the memory lane. Three months we arrived from our
honeymoon, Biola started to have morning sickness. She felt a twinge of discomfort in her
midsection and most mornings alarming jolt of nausea always invaded her stomach. Soon her
breasts began to show signs of pregnancy. Biola set about preparing for the birth of our baby.
I allowed myself to indulge in the momentary fantasy that a son or daughter of mine
would soon be born. I hoped that the child would be a blessing, a child, who would
compensate for the many humiliations and dangers, which had plagued my life.
“Chika, I ache to bear a child for you, so that there will be something to show for the
overwhelming passion I’ve shared with you,” Biola said cheerfully, when it was confirmed
she was pregnant.
In the car, the pain mounted. Her belly was in constant movement, like a battle was
taking place inside. As we got near the hospital, she screamed and rammed her fist into her
mouth.
“Sorry. Please bear it. We’ll soon be in the hospital.”

Pain soared. She turned, turned and turned on the seat, crying without a sound.
Immediately, we got to the hospital, nurses rushed out to take charge. “Get out of the way,”
yelled a paramedic as he came through, pushing a stretcher. She was taken straight to the
Labor Ward.
“Ma’am, please lie back. Don’t be afraid. Just close your eyes. Take a deep breath.
It’ll soon be over,” the nurse assured her.
Suddenly, a sharp stab of pain assaulted her. Her hands went to her stomach, its
swelling, bulging under the big hospital gown, she was now wearing. Her belly was so
enormous, that she was unable to bend and button her strapped slippers when we were
preparing to come to the hospital.
“You might be carrying twins,” I joked.
“I don’t mind. You’ve proved to be the loving man of my fantasies. I’m in love with
someone who is extraordinarily warm and affectionate toward me. A man who had all these
years remained unfailingly loyal. I know our children will be surrounded by love,” she had
replied.
After two hours of labor, the baby still hadn’t made an appearance. There was little I
could do except hold her hand, when the spasms became excruciating. “Thanks Chika, for
being by me,” Biola said, as she gazed at me through pain-racked eyes.
“Everything looks fine, ma’am. Just keep pushing. It shouldn’t be too much longer,”
the nurse urged with a reassuring grin.
Biola gave birth to a perfectly healthy baby boy. Biola was ecstatic. A month after
birth, Chukwugozi was taken to St Paul’s Catholic Church, Ikoyi for baptism by Bishop
Osifo. With the birth of Chukwugozi, the mood of our marriage took a distinctly upward
swing. A baby often reunited a couple who had been having problems. We hired Iyabo as the
nanny to take care of our son.

***
During campaigns, I held many rallies, where I addressed multitude of people.
Initially, I slouched when I spoke and often kept my hands by my side. I tended to talk on and
on, usually much too quickly, never knowing how to make a point or when to take a breath.
Drawing on her theater training at college in U.S., Biola slowed me down, helped me
modulate my voice and gave clearer expression to my thoughts. She demonstrated how hand
gestures could make me appear more relaxed. She taught me the benefits of body language.
Considering my rather limited political credentials, within one month, I had
performed superbly. By this point, I had learned how to hustle a crowd, force myself into a
platform in front of thousands of screaming spectators, and shake hundreds of hands without
collapsing of fatigue.
Senator Harrison, master manipulator and strategist arranged for a prominent
musician to record a campaign song for me. He equally masterminded the whole campaign,
just as he had masterminded my initial entry into politics though he managed to organize it
from behind the scenes.
“I’m the fresh air in the polluted political firmament of this state. I represent integrity,
industry, transparency and honesty when it comes to governance of this state. I’ll need your
cooperation, when I’m elected into office, to wage a war against poverty, unemployment,
insecurity, poor health service, dearth of basic amenities among others,” I promised my
audience.
“The politicians are quick in making tall promises, but short in delivery,” I heard a
man in the crowd shout. I pretended not to hear him and continued.
“I see needless suffering of the masses in this country. God in his infinite mercy has
blessed this nation with abundant human and natural resources, but people are being
retrenched and the same government talks of poverty alleviation. Since independence, our
national revenue has never had it so good. Crude oil, our main source of revenue, has hit the
highest price in history. What justifications can the present regime with such enormous
wealth, as oil producing state have to retrench workers? My first duty, if elected the Governor
of this state is to ensure that people of this state have a decent standard of living. What’s the
advantage of having democratic government, if the people are starving, unhappy and have no
cause to thank God for being alive.”
At the end of my speech, the applause was thunderous. I then moved forward to the
edge of the stage and engaged in a conventional question and answer session. Some people
with tears in their eyes reached out for my hands, as I crouched at the edge of the platform. It
was a lachrymose sermon. Most of the people bore signs of physical exhaustion and
malnutrition. Their faces bore the signs of depression and melancholy.
As I traveled the length and breadth of Coastal State, there was always the nagging
thought that, at any moment, the thugs of the opponents might attack me. To make this less
likely, two identical cars made very trip, traveling about two hundred meters apart. This
confused potential assassins. They couldn’t determine in which of the cars I was traveling.
Once, my convoy was ambushed. My first campaign manager, sitting by my side at
the back seat was hit by a bullet in the stomach. He died instantly. His death only increased
my resolve to win at all cost.
A few weeks to the election, I stopped public rallies and concentrated in planning
strategies with top party executives of the state to ensure my victory at the polls. I visited
Coastal State, every weekend from Lagos to hold meetings. On this particular day, my new
campaign manager came to meet me immediately my convoy came to a stop in from of the
hotel, which was the venue for the meeting.
“You’re late, sir,” he said. “I was beginning to worry.”
“We ran into traffic jam. Is everybody here?”

“Just about, there are two people left.”
About a dozen cars stood at the hotel’s car park. A group of men were entering the
bar. There was activity, but not too much.
“Joe, see to my guests. Take their drink orders; they’ll be thirsty by now. Hurry up.”
“Yes, sir.”
In the private suite, a small group was already waiting. I went straight to the State
Chairman of the PNP, Chief Koro, extending my hands. “Chief Koro,” I said, “Welcome.”
Early hours of the next morning, we were still at the meeting. We spoke in voices,
hardly above a whisper, in case the room was bugged.
“Well, I think we’ve made some progress today,” I addressed the group. “We’ve spent
close to six hours here in crucial deliberation. Let us meet in a week’s time to put finishing
touches to our plans. A trailer carrying bags of rice and some other essential commodities
shall arrive within the week for distribution to our party faithful.”
I shared out envelopes containing various sums of money, depending on the ranks of
those in attendance.
“There are more from where this came from,” I promised them.
“We’ve spent so much time discussing some strategies, how about guns? We all know
that our thugs need guns to protect us,” one party executive said. “What we have presently is
not enough.”
“You all know I don’t like guns,” another party executive protested.
“No one here does, but we’ve to be realistic,” the first man said. “We shall use them
as little as possible but we have to have them.”
“We import guns and sell to other politicians, so that’s not a problem. I shall be
coming with enough guns to go round our thugs next week,” I promised.
“How will you transport such large quantity of weapons from Lagos, without
detection by the police,” the second party executive asked.
“My chief thug shall bring them in a coffin, carried by an ambulance, with its siren
blaring,” I explained.
On getting home that evening, Biola was happy.
“How was the meeting?”
“It was fine. It’ll soon be over. Election is two weeks from now.”
She came closer and kissed me. Like a man, truly in love, I felt delicious warmth
radiated toward my throat.
“How are you feeling?”
“I’m feeling fine. The baby has been sleeping; he might wake up any time from now.”
I left her, picked up the remote control and switch on the television; I wanted to listen
to the National Television Authority’s (NTA) news at nine o’clock.
“Good evening viewers. This is the headline of the news today. At two o’clock today,
the thugs of PNP and CPP clashed in Treasure State, leaving ten people dead and one
hundred people injured. The anti-riot policemen have, however, been able to quell the
fighting. Now is the news in detail.
“Throughout the electioneering campaigns, thugs of different parties crashed
frequently. The thugs obeyed their masters without hesitation.
“Today in the capital of Treasure State, the thugs believed to belong to PNP and CPP
clashed, leaving ten people dead and one hundred others injured. One eyewitness claimed, the
number of the persons dead was more than ten...”
Almost in all the states in the Federation, many politicians became victims of tyranny
by illegal arrests and lock up by the police. Politicians, like in previous elections, engaged in
character assassination, murder, arson, whipping up of tribal and religious sentiments.

During the last week of campaigns, the violence rose to a crescendo, many houses and
cars were burnt, and opponents were assassinated.
I went back to Coastal State, to put finishing touches to my strategies to win the
gubernatorial election as I promised the party’s executives, the previous week. This time, we
shifted venue to another hotel, some distance from the center of town, for privacy. This was a
mistake.
The meeting was in progress, when thugs we suspected, were sponsored by the
Conscience People Party attacked us. I felt a tickle of inexplicable fear run through me, when
I arrived at the venue; I shook my head as if to shake the fear away.
About twenty of them were with guns. Ten others had other dangerous objects;
cutlasses, clubs and daggers. Immediately they arrived, Buddy, my chief security man and I,
stared at each other, as if questioning our senses.
Buddy recovered quick and shouted, “Go. Go right now!” He pulled his gun and
opened fire. Other thugs I’d earlier given guns joined him.
“Run,” Buddy shouted, as he tired to ward off the invading thugs with his AK 47.
A bullet zipped pass near my ear. I turned around with my pistol in my hand. I
released three shots. One of the invading thugs fell down. “Have I killed him? God forbid! Is
this what politics is supposed to be? Hunt fellow human beings like animals in the bush?” I
was muttering to myself, as I took off like a bat out of hell.
“Go. Please go!” Buddy still shouted. “Don’t let them kill you, that is their plan.” I
saw his right arm was bleeding.
I turned and ran away in a zigzag manner out of the hotel to my Hummer Jeep; which
was bulletproof. As I drove off, I continued to look at the rearview mirror, wondering why I
had been such a damned fool to venture into the turbulent Nigerian politics. Being shot at was
not my idea of fun. Kola was right. Politics in Nigeria was war. This was why it had become
a game of retired soldiers, who’d been trained to fight war and knew the tactics.
The next day, the People’s Voice wrote that twelve men died in the encounter. I was
accused of sending my thugs to kill Conscience Peoples Party members who were holding an
innocuous party meeting. What a political propaganda.
***
“Once one has declared one’s intention to run for any elective post in Nigeria, the
first thing one needed to do was to increase one’s personal security,” Barrister Dums once
said. He increased his security guards at the gate. The guards complimented by plainclothes
policemen inspected the visitors and kept notebook records of all who came and went.
Undaunted by persecution, fearless of the opponents’ threats and violence, undeterred
by attempts on his life, Barrister Dums had continued his message for the emancipation of the
masses.
“Most African nations have gained political independence, but the people are not free.
They became emancipated from colonial masters only to be subjected to pathetic oppressive
rule by their fellow countrymen. A true leader is someone who is ready to serve others. He
leads by example. He should be the mirror through which his followers see themselves. His
guiding principle should be others first, self last,” he told his audience in one of his rallies.
He succeeded in swerving the public opinion over to his side. He took advantage of
Senator Harrison’s tactlessness, to stir up the press against him. He took care to treat all
Nigerians with whom he came in contact with utmost simplicity of manner. All these drove
Senator Harrison into a frenzy.
Senator Harrison had sent his thugs many times to assassinate Barrister Dums but he
always escaped. In one of the attempts, while the assassins were trying to gain entrance into
his compound, Barrister Dums scaled the wall into a neighbor’s compound. His security men
were able to kill two of them.
“Barrister Dums is getting too popular, I must get him assassinated, ”Senator Harrison
told me, his gaze meeting mine for a single meaningful moment.
Barrister Dums, thirty-five, was a rising star on the political scene whose vibrancy
and charisma the people could not resist.
“That might cause political unrest,” I warned him. “People seem to like him a lot.”
“I’ll do anything to break any political unrest. When there’s killing to be done, I get
someone who kills for a living. A professional. They are more capable. It pays to be alert
when you’re in politics. He is far too dangerous to be ignored.” Flushed with money and
power Senator Harrison felt he could do anything.
Inevitably, Barrister Dums became the assassins’ constant target. One Sunday
evening, he was in his study, writing his speech for the next day’s rally, when a bomb
exploded in his compound. A wall of his house collapsed, killing two of his plainclothes
policemen and one security guard. His wife and one of his daughters sustained minor injuries.
They were rushed to the hospital for treatment. The rally was postponed. Barrister Dums
calmness and self-control won him more admiration.
“People like Barrister Dums have to be stopped. You know that, I know that. If he’s
not, he goes on with his incitement, screwing up the country. I don’t want to spend the rest of
my life looking over my shoulder,” Senator Harrison said, when the assassination attempt
failed.
“If you kill Barrister Dums, can you withstand the political heat, it’ll generate?”
“I’m capacity of handling any situation,” he boasted.
In December, when it was a week to the election there was a launching of state
campaign against HIV/AIDS, in the State Stadium in Owambe State. Many prominent
citizens from within and outside the state were invited to donate money to combat the rapid
spread of the deadly disease in the state. The Minister of Health represented the President.
Senator Harrison was the chief launcher. He sat with his wife in the chairs meant for very
important persons (V.I.P.). Barrister Dums and his wife sat in the front row. I sat in the fifth
row.
The Master of Ceremony introduced the special guests, after which he called the
Minister of Health to deliver the President’s message. Immediately after the speech, there
was some movement as the Minister was being escorted back to his seat, a young man, about
twenty, walked down the aisle from the rear. He stopped at the front row, beside Barrister
Dums. He looked at the young man questioningly.
In response, the young man drew his revolver and fired two shots, which struck
Barrister Dums in the chest.
From where I sat, I saw the whole action vividly. Women started to shriek. Barrister
Dums looked directly at where Senator Harrison sat and murmured something inaudible. His
shirt and coat were bloodstained. He slowly slumped. His poor widow stood as though cast in
bronze and was unable to weep.
There was a great confusion. Many people ran out of the stadium. Others trampled on
those that fell down in the stampede. Some other people were trying to lynch the assassin.
The police rescued him from the crowd and took him away for interrogation. He was
bleeding all over. He’d equally stared death on the face. It was like something out of a horror
movie.
The national anthem was quickly played and people dispersed. Within twenty-four
hours, the story, embroidered with a thousand colorful details, was all over the country.
Billy was a young man, about twenty years of age. His father was an armed robber
who met his death at the age of thirty at the hands of a police officer when he went on a
robbery operation. He was eight years old when his father died. His mother was a prostitute.
He was a product of one-parent upbringing, poor schooling, adverse peer pressure, and the
slum of Ajegunle. He was a career criminal.
The rules between him and Senator Harrison were fully understood by both sides.
Billy was to kill anybody Senator Harrison wanted without fear that his name would be
mentioned. Billy would get half a million for his trouble. One who was caught breaking the
law was a criminal. Wasn’t it?
Billy had a skill of getting in and out of places without being detected. This skill had
made his apprehension by police a demanding enterprise. Together with other delinquents he
had robbed, stole and assaulted their way across Lagos since his mid-teens. He was treated by
his peers with considerable respect.
Several people who had come across him ended up traumatized or dead. The police
suspected him of five murders. The problem was the cases could not be proved beyond
reasonable doubt. He always hired an intelligent criminal lawyer; he’d identified quite early
in his criminal career.
In the past, he never killed honest people but members of Lagos criminal community
who were in competition with him, which in fact invariably made the police not to be so
much interested. But this time, he had fucked up, by killing a popular politician.
Billy had finally run out of luck. Even his lawyer had told him that. He promised to
try his best to save him from death sentence but going to jail was inevitable.
“If you’re lucky, you’ll get a life sentence, awful long time.” The lawyer said.
“I can’t say how distressed and indignant I’m about the murder of Barrister Dums,”
Senator Harrison told journalist from The Nation newspaper. “I hope the police will
immediately commence investigation to uncover those having anything to do with this
regrettable incident.”
The policemen who covered the event were all charged in the room. Ten of them of
various ranks lost their jobs and twelve were suspended for negligence of duty.
“Another patriotic politician who was willing to devote his time and energy to help
alleviate the poverty of the suffering masses has been sent to his early and untimely grave,”
one man complained.
“The perpetrators of the previous dastardly and heinous murders are yet to be brought
to book, that’s why more assassinations are being carried out,” another man said.
“PNP is a sinister place, where blood-thirsty tyrants are hatching their terrible plots
against their opponents and even some of their own members,” the first man added.
The youths of Owambe State on hearing the news of Barrister Dums assassination
started preparing for a retaliatory pogrom. Frantic with fear, the PNP top leaders spent the
night packing some of their essential belongings. Before dawn the next day, most of them had
left Owambe State to hide in different parts of the country. I left with Senator Harrison and
Mrs Harrison right from the stadium to a hotel in Sango Ota, tightly protected by our thugs.
The Inspector General of police sent five thousand policemen into the streets of
Owambe State to protect people and some government properties. He ordered them to use
every possible means, force, if necessary, to prevent possible pogroms.
The anger of the public wasn’t hard to understand. In their mind, Barrister Dums was
closely associated with the welfare and development of their area. To kill him was to destroy
whom they held most dear.
The nation shuddered under the impact of assassinations and political violence during
the last week of campaign.
“People responsible for this dastardly murder should receive their deserved
punishment,” a woman weeping profusely, shouted as we were escaping from the stadium.
The presences of policemen in the streets were ignored completely by the youths.
Huge crowds swarmed from different parts of the state to the capital. At two o’clock the next
day, there was shooting at the city center. Some youths had attempted to burn the State
Assembly building. Five people were killed; fifty wounded.
Many of the policemen, that liked Barrister Dums, were bitter. Some only reluctantly
obeyed orders some refused to fire into the crowd at all. When their leader insisted, one
constable turned and shot him instead. There was anarchy in the capital.
Barrister Dums was listed among the ever-growing diary of victims of political
killings of which nobody had been convicted.
Giving the timing, suspicion was, entertained in many quarters that the killing had
political motives. Some of the executives of Conscience Party were arrested.
Mrs. Dums cried out that the police were headed the wrong direction. “The murder of
my husband was masterminded by his opponents in the other parties.”
The resident of Barrister Dums’ parents in the village was a beehive of activities.
Sympathizers visited the parents to condole them.
The police waved off Mrs. Dums accusation as a result of emotional trauma expected
of a person who had just lost her beloved husband and breadwinner.
Everywhere I went I heard people discussing the death of Barrister Dums.
“The spate of political killings is on the increase and this doesn’t augur well for our
nascent democracy. This is a bad omen for these coming elections,” one man complains in a
gasoline station, where I went to buy fuel.
“If the Minister of Justice and Attorney General of a nation could be murdered in cold
blood in his house without tracking down his killers, tell me, who is safe in this country. It’s
obvious that nothing meaningful will emerge from the ongoing investigation into the young
man’s death. Indeed, nothing meaningful has ever come out from similar investigations in the
past,” another added.
***
What made it particularly difficult to deal with Senator Harrison was his totally
unpredictable nature. At times he proved quite thoughtful, some other time he was not. He
was a man of contrasts and extremes, he was deeply divided by the most basic human
emotions; love and hatred; kindness and brutality; sensitivity and callousness.
While his political plans seemed to be going awry, he soon proved that he was
susceptible to excesses of fury and the need for revenge. I couldn’t figure out exactly why he
hated the press. His war of independence with the press seemed unending. He remained
constantly, on edge and antagonistic when it came to the press. He continued to resent them
as deeply as ever.
People’s Voice newspaper covered the assassination of Barrister Dums extensively. In
some editions, it was almost obvious that they held Senator Harrison responsible. I was in the
office, the very week of election, to check how business was going, when Senator Harrison
walked in. Men who were desperate tended to be careless.
“I’m going to teach Dr. Ogunmola some lesson,” he fumed.
“Who is Dr. Ogunmola?”
“He is the editor of People’s Voice.”
“What happened?”
“The newspaper has been publishing libelous stories about me.” He didn’t care that he
was doing his job of informing the public.
“Why not suit the newspaper for libel?”
“I’ve not got the time to waste with that hopeless newspaper.”
“But if you make your living in public office, you’re the property of every tax-paying
Nigerian. Your life is an open book.”
“Journalists are too intrusive. You can’t blame me for hating them. No matter what I
did they crucified me. That idiot prints malicious stories without bothering to check that it’s
true. Malicious gossip sells newspapers which make money for newspaper proprietors and
name for the editors.”
Just as we were talking six of Senator Harrison’s thugs matched into my office. They
stood at attention and saluted him.
“I learnt you want us, sir,” the leader spoke for the group.
“Yes. I’ve a job for you.”
“Alright, sir. We’re always at your service.”
“Go to 5 Unity Road and beat some sense into the head of Dr. Ogunmola. He has
been writing all sorts of nonsense about me in his newspaper.”
“Yes, sir, your wish is our command,” the leader replied. “Boys, let’s go.”
Senator Harrison rang my secretary.
“Call the leader of the boys back,” he ordered.
“Take this five thousand naira and keep the boys in the mood. Come back here to
inform me of the outcome and collect more money for you and the boys.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” He stood at attention, saluted and went to meet the others
waiting in my secretary’s office.
After about one hour, they filled into the office looking unruffled.
“We are back, sir,” the leader announced.
“So fast?” I asked.

“We do our job with dispatch, sir. When we left here, we stopped at King
Supermarket, where I bought a bottle of hot drink each for the boys. We drove to my house
where we drank and smoked marijuana. Before we left, we were in murderous mood.”
“Did you see him?” Senator Harrison asked.
“Oh yes. Dr Ogunmola was trying to drive out of the compound, so we blocked him
with our car. Immediately, we jumped down and forced him out of his car. He shouted. But
before people could gather, I smashed one of the bottles of the hot drink on his head. He
slumped. We rushed into our car and drove away.”
“Is he dead?” I asked.
“We didn’t wait to find out,” the leader replied.
“That’s very good for that bastard. If he survives this, he will learn his lesson,”
Senator Harrison said.
For Senator Harrison, who’d been at the brink of the abyss due to Barrister Dums’
assassination to engage in another act of violence, was evidence of his incorrigible arrogance
and callousness.
He was a powerful man who didn’t mind hurting people, or at least didn’t worry about
it. This was one of the secrets of his success. He didn’t seem to care what people thought, so
far he got what he wanted.
***
The next day, following Barrister Dums assassination, People’s Voice published an
interview he granted the newspaper before his untimely death.
“Why are you in politics?”
“To change things.”
“Many people have said the same thing before and were unable to make any mark. Do
you think you can?”

“Yes. I must act instead of talks.”
“What about getting in trouble?”
“I’ll certainly try not to. But sometimes one has to stand up for what one believes.”
“Why delude yourself? You can’t change things in this country, or your senatorial
zone. Nobody can.”
“The system is too profitable to crooks. And it’ll go on indefinitely if it’s allowed to
go on without any challenge.”
“Don’t you think that people will believe you’re mad for embarking on this mission
impossible?”
“I know. People have said so before. The corrupt leaders sicken me, all of them. They
don’t know how they sicken me.”
“Have you recorded any positive result yet?”
“We are getting somewhere. It is gradual. You can’t just turn everything around
overnight.”
“The result of your mass mobilization could be terrible. When you whip up passion
among the ignorant, you could be building a time bomb, with your educational background;
you should understand what mobs are capable of doing.”
“Rebellion is not my intention. Education is, political re-orientation.”
“You speak like a lawyer.”
“Well, I am a lawyer.”
“Citizens of this country have been shocked by the audacity and brutality of armed
robberies nowadays. What do you think is the cause?”
“Given the financially difficulties in which this nation has been plunged for some
time now by the PNP leadership, there is no other means of survival for some people than
violent crimes.”
“With the elections around the corner what is your prediction?”
“I vehemently believe that the PNP is incapable of solving the problems of this
country and this fact have become very clear. So the people of Nigeria will vote them out of
power. They have only been able to loot the treasury with such callous artistry unparalleled in
the history of this country.”
“Have you ever heard of the defeat of any incumbent leader in Africa in an election?”
“Yes. In Sierra-Leone in March 1967, the incumbent government was defeated in an
election by the opposition party. President Kennedy said that, ‘Those who make peaceful
change impossible makes violent change inevitable.’ If they refuse to go peacefully, they
shall be booted out by a massive revolt. What our people want is good leaders who will
satisfy their yearnings and aspirations.”
“How do you see the problem of insufficient food in the country?”
“Agriculture is a goldmine. If we put but half of our arable land under cultivation, we
can boost our agricultural production beyond our imagination. One immediate result would
be, a dramatically changed face of our rural areas and the arrest of the rural – urban drift that
has made planning difficult. I have no doubt that this will substantially reduce food insecurity
in this country. There are high hurdles for us to scale through, if this country must stand
shoulder-to-shoulder with the other developed nations. But with the right approach and
undying resolve to prosper, the goal is achievable.”
“Barrister Dums, we wish you success in this difficult task you have embarked on.”
“Thank you.”
***
Due to Conscience Peoples Party constant enlightenment campaigns, many people
became increasingly aware of national issues. Their campaign rallies were always well
attended. The masses loved what they preached. The enlightenment apart from rallies was
carried on just anywhere.
I was in Millionaire’s Inn, one evening to have a drink, two men who sat next to my
table, were engaged in serious political discussions. I listened avidly while pretending not to
hear.
“The government of PNP has nothing to offer this country, but enslavement of the
people by the political leeches. The present government uses its policies to increase the
wealth of the rich and unleash brutal and wholly unnecessary tyranny on the common man.”
“We must follow Conscience Peoples Party’s process of induction into new political
values and styles qualitatively different from those of PNP. We need meaningful attitudinal
re-orientation. Better life for the masses is attainable. The present government lacks the
determination to provide the basic necessities of life.”
“The problem in this country is the ignorance of the majority. We want a country,
where people can freely and fearlessly express their opinions and their wishes in the
newspapers or anywhere without being imprisoned.”
“When we obtained our independence, this country possessed legal, political and
economic systems that were characterized by a dualism – between European models and
African practices. Now it’s the American system. While I believe we should keep the
political values and norms that retain their utility, we should Africanize all other aspects our
society.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“We should reject slavish copying of political institutions from either side of the iron
curtain. Transplantation of constitutional rules from Europe and America is done under the
wrong assumption that if they work in America and Europe, they’ll also work in Africa. All
ideologies have failed in Africa because none had been designed by the Africans taking
cognizance of the cultural heritage of African societies and implemented exclusively by the
Africans. There’s need for the emergence of black power.”
A nation is supposed to look to the future with confidence and determination after
independence but in most African countries today, there is always an internal power struggle.
This makes the nations a lot worse then pre-independence era. The question now is what
purpose has the independence served?”
“Why should nations become emancipated from colonial masters only to be subjected
to devastating and pathetic oppressive rule by their fellow countrymen? And when these
tyrants die, except by a military coup, they’re described as pan-Africanist and anti-
imperialist. Nobody mentions that they were bullies and bare-face tyrants, who had put many
people to death.”
“You are right. Many African leaders enslave their citizens, making many of their
countrymen and women escape to neighboring countries, while their close associates and
relatives drain the nations of their wealth. The late Nkomo of Zimbabwe, once said that, the
saddest thing in his life was when he discovered that people could get their freedom from
colonial masters and still found themselves unfree.”
“I believe we’ve to solve this leadership problem not only in Nigeria, but also in
Africa ourselves, instead of depending on the super-powers. Africa needs leaders with
dynamism and reformist stance, which will be respected in international circles. We need
leaders who can resist western manipulations and exploitations, leaders, who will form
responsive and responsible governments with genuine national cohesiveness.”
“The image of Africa as a continent of coups, insane dictators, and life presidents has
to come to an end.”
“The OAU charter which discourages interference in the internal affairs of fellow
African countries should be reviewed. We shouldn’t sit and watch colonialists or power-crazy
African leaders invade sister African countries, using Africans to test the effectiveness of
newly invented weapons.”
“The Conscience Peoples Party doesn’t promise a land flowing with milk and honey,
but we wish to create a society that has no place for selfish individualism. I know we shall
not fail. It is time to raise our people from the mud and mire of poverty, starvation and
vicious abuse of power,” he said reassuringly.
The Conscience Peoples Party’s member called the waiter and paid their bill before
they walked out.
***
On the elections days, people went to vote praying fervently that their names will
appear in the voters’ register, because we held replaced some of the names with names of
illegal aliens we brought in from the neighboring countries.
On the day of gubernatorial election, many individuals expressed shock at the brazen
manner rigging was carried out in such a way that made mockery of democratic election
practices. After voting, I went around, monitoring events in some polling booths.
In the evening, people were glued to their television sets and radio monitoring the
progress of the voting. The period between the closing of the polls and the announcement of
results was the longest anxious moment I’d spent in my life. Voting was still going on in
some polling booths, when the results were announced over the radio and television.
The result showed that I’d won the election. But my happiness was to be short-lived.
Soon, my beautiful dream world came tumbling down around me. When my victory was
announced I went from Mr. Chika Okafor to His Excellency Chika Okafor overnight. There
were those, however, who resisted the formal title, particularly my close friends and those
who felt I rigged the election. The magnitude of the rigging of the election precipitated
unprecedented riot in many areas. Some militant youths started to look for me. Through the
days things kept getting worse.
“The country has gone mad, it is enough to make the citizens go mad as well,” I heard
someone say, as I was escaping with Biola and our baby.
As my people were in rampage so were Senator Harrison’s people. He was believed
burnt in his country home. Finally Senator Harrison‘s stamina to fight the most dangerous
and destructive political forces in Nigeria was believed to have failed him. Everyone I figured
had his limitations. Several attempts had been made in the past to kill him without success. At
the peak of his campaign for second term in the senate a bomb was hurled at his Prado Jeep
which he was driving to a political rally, but it exploded some distance away from him killing
five innocent spectators.
The masses hated his nefarious influence and interference in everything, felt he was
driving the country to destruction; that such conditions could no longer be tolerated; that
things must change, something done to remove Senator Harrison from the scene or get him
annihilated. What a tragedy! What a disaster!
I learnt later that our house was also razed down a few hours we escaped.
Unfortunately, I didn’t build the house with politics money. I’d not stolen directly from the
people yet. Then my mind asked me, how about their votes?
I moved from one uncompleted building to another with Biola and the newborn baby.
In this difficult moment, Biola was most touchingly brave. I’d named my son Chukwugozi,
which meant God’s blessing. Our child had to depend solely on his mother’s breast milk.
There was no way for expensive baby formula. I believed he’d survive because I was brought
up with my mother’s breast milk. My father couldn’t afford formula food. Experts had said
that breastfeeding was the healthiest option for feeding babies and breast milk was all that
was needed for the first six months. I went to buy something for us to eat one night, where
there was less likelihood of recognition. Before I arrived, Biola and our son had been shot
dead. Our marriage had been a comfortable, altogether suitable match. In the course of it, I’d
gained a deepening respect for Biola. The sweet, accommodating and over pampered lady, I
married had transformed into a courageous and dignified woman. Biola had been a pretty,
kindhearted woman. I wept bitterly. I was still weeping when someone said behind me:
“Hello, young millionaire.”
My face took a puzzled look. I felt as if someone had suddenly put an ice block to the
base of my neck. A hungry looking man of about thirty with sunken cheeks was pointing a
gun at me. Here I stood face to face with death.
“You’ve come to the end of the road,” he continued. “We starve, strive, sweat, toll for
a living while others like you live soft and grow fat. You treat us like dirt. We die a miserable
death. We eat filthy food, diseased meat, and rotten fish while you eat honey, cheese and
butter. I’ve watched my mother and father die from kwashiorkor, and I couldn’t help, while
all around me there was wealth in abundance. You even bought expensive cars and houses
abroad for girlfriends. I’ve vowed to my father on his deathbed that I’ll revenge his death. I
burnt your house. I also killed your wife and your son. I would’ve left the small boy, but he
has your genes in him. He would also be greedy. The thing that the hawk sires will never fail
to devour chicken. My mission is to staminate people of your kind. Other people like me are
carrying out this revolution in other places. You’ve taken us for granted for too long. We are
out to change Nigeria. There’s no more room for people like you in this country. Say your
last prayer.” I blinked, thinking the vision must surely disappear and I would find myself in
bed, awaking from a bizarre dream.
I wanted the earth to cave in and swallow me up, but it didn’t. Fear trickled through
my veins. I felt cold. Anyone who said he could face a violent death without fear must be a
liar. I felt terribly afraid, but I braced myself for the worse.
I tried to run but it was too late. He opened fire on me. This was the most violent
protest since independence in 1960 against rigging of elections. There was no doubt that it
was their right to rise against a corrupt and dictatorial system, but why when it was my
chance. Some Nigerians must have read of the French revolution where citizens had defied
the police and other apparatus of state, took to the streets in a sustained protest and decided to
try it out. But was it as violent as this? However, justices had many shapes and many colors.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I regained consciousness in the hospital. I tried to remember what happened but my
memory was blank. I lifted what used to be my right hand there was nothing there. Without
warning a sudden, overwhelming sense of loss invaded my chest. I fainted. The discovery
was too much for my weak body. I came to the surface again after a period I couldn’t
estimate. My head was very heavy. I lifted my left hand to my head and discovered that it
was heavily bandaged. My heart swelled with sadness. I made another effort to remember the
event that landed me in this pathetic state but I couldn’t remember anything. This was one of
the blackest days in my life. I was still struggling with my thoughts when a beautiful, slim,
fair-complexioned nurse made her entry.
“Hello Mr. Okafor, happy survival.” Everyone knew me in the state because my
election posters were posted everywhere. I’d several interviews with journalists, so my face
was always on the television and newspapers.
I didn’t say a word. I didn’t know if I was to be happy for losing my right hand.
“Your survival is a medical miracle. You had bullets in almost all parts of your body.
Everybody was surprise you didn’t die before a Good Samaritan rushed you here. I better let
Dr. Okon know you’ve come through.”
“Please come. How long have I been here?” I asked.

“Two weeks, you were in intensive care after the operation on your arm for one
week.”
I was consumed by a fit of coughing; my body was as hot as a fired-up barbecue pit. I
lay in bed, groaning piteously. I was in a great deal of pain. I was reduced to a state of
extreme and dangerous exhaustion by the loss of blood.
“I better get the doctor,” She said and walked away. The mention of bullet sparked
my brain and I remembered what happened. I was crying when she returned with a
bespectacled young man with stethoscope hanging from his neck. He smiled at me as he
entered my room.
“Mr. Okafor, you must be a very tough man. So you clung to life so tightly?”
Softly I continued to cry, my body racked with pain for Biola, for myself, for what
might have been.
I didn’t enjoy the joke if it was meant to be a joke. When he came closer, he saw I
was weeping. “You’re not well enough so please take it easy,” he advised. I thought the
doctor was mad. My wife and child had been killed and he was telling me to take things easy.
I ignored his advice as though he were speaking some foreign tongue. When he saw I wasn’t
ready to heed his advice, he directed the nurse to give me an injection. I felt initially dizzy
before I went into oblivion.
When the effect of the drug wore off, I tried to review what led to my disastrous state.
I found myself, when not giving in to drugged sleep unable to refrain from touching my
empty right sleeve. I was overcome by fear, by panic --- Panic quickly turned to anger, then
to bitterness. Chika be a man, some voice whispered in the back of my mind.
The whole thing started from my greedy nature and introduction into politics by
Senator Harrison, the rigging of election and the landslide victories of both of us. My
ostentatious life-style, political ineptitude and lack of political candor had annoyed a lot of
people. Many complained I was corrupt and immoral. “But how many Nigerians were
upright? How many lived on their salaries and legitimate allowances? How many never
cheated their employers? Wouldn’t many of them have done worse granted the same
opportunity? Hadn’t many social critics and anti-corruption crusaders turned embezzlers?” I
asked the empty air in my room. “Killing Senator Harrison and trying to kill me will solve
nothing. Other opportunists will take our place. Okay, how about my wife and innocent
child? Were they corrupt? The hungry bastard had said it was a matter of genes. Does it
necessarily mean that the son of a thief must become a thief?”
My raised voice brought in the nurse. “Mr. Okafor is anything wrong?” she asked.
“Yes. A lot. People said I was corrupt and that was why they wanted to kill me. Can
you mention a righteous man in this our society? If not for the love of Nigerians for things
that are illegal and foreign would our business have thrived? If men of Customs and Excise
did their jobs wouldn’t our smuggling business have been aborted in its infancy? If
importation license were issued to other recognized and registered companies, would we’ve
had the opportunity of importing prodigious quantity of essential commodities and hoarding
them? If not for the kickback experts in the government offices would we have been able to
inflate contracts fees with brazen impunity? What have they done about the policemen who
have turned the checkpoints to bribe collecting centers? If they want to fight corruption then
everybody must be affected – a total social purge. I’ve lost my right hand and have got
several bullet wounds for doing what others have been doing for years and are still doing.
Who is not corrupt,” I broke off.
“Please rest, you’re still weak,” she chided in a protective tone.
Life have been cruel to me,” I said. “Could destiny be so cruel as this? I know my
wife loved me. I know she was proud of me. It took sometime for us to work everything out,
but we did and we were closer. I loved her and look at what that bastard has done.”
***
Coastal Hospital was a serious, no-nonsense facility devoted to the task of keeping
people alive. It served a mixed clientele from the state, outside the state, the nearby
highways, and the adjacent waterways and anywhere else human beings got hurt or sick. The
staff there had seen everything, not once but so many times, that almost nothing seemed to
ruffle them, except a wounded politician. That was in a category all by itself.
The hospital had magnificent buildings, very impressive to look at, and equipped with
the state-of-the-art equipment. Corridors connected all the buildings. It’d well-trained doctors
and nurses.
“Good morning, sir. Sorry to disturb you. I just want to dress your arm,” a nurse said.
The dressing was done, but a few minutes later there was red stain seeping through
the bandage. Something was wrong; blood was oozing through the bandage.
“How do you feel?” the nurse asked, as she came with my drugs.
“I feel awful.”
“There’s a little bleeding and you may feel weak, but it’s nothing to worry about,” she
said reassuringly. “Go and get Dr. Okon at once. If he’s not there, any of the doctors working
under him will do,” she told her assistant.
Dr. Okon rushed down. “Let’s get the bandage off and check if there is any damage,
Nurse, check the blood bank and get a pint of blood.”
The nurse left. Dr. Okon started to check if he could see the cause of the bleeding. He
adjusted the drip and fixed the blood, the nurse brought from the blood bank.
“You’re coming along nicely.” Dr. Okon said. “I’ve arrested the bleeding.”
“Doctor, I don’t know how to thank you.”
“For what?”
“I was told I would’ve died without your care,” I said.

He frowned, “Die? Nonsense! Who said that? I just did what I’d to do. Whether you
die or survive is for God to decide.”
“I suppose you’re right. But thank you all the same.”
“Doctor, you’re wanted in the Accident Ward. There is an emergency,” a nurse rushed
in to inform Dr. Okon.
“I shall be back later,” he said before he left.
I turned to the nurse, “I’m very thirsty,” I said weakly.
The nurse poured a glass of water, and then slipped an arm under my back to raise my
head and shoulders. I felt helpless and ridiculous as she held the glass to my mouth.
“Just take a few sip for now,” she cautioned. “I’ll get you a cup of hot coffee later.
That’ll help you to feel better.”
I lay back. The simple act of sitting up had exhausted me. I closed my eyes and slept.
When I woke the next day, the nurse was there. I saw the bright sun streaming
through the windows.
“I’ve come to clean you up.” She started to clean me up with warm water and hand
towel. It took some time before she believed she’d done a thorough job. “I’ll be back with
your drugs at eight o’clock.” She left, and returned thirty minutes later with my drugs.
“You’ve are visitor,” she said, after giving me the drugs.
“I feel exhausted. I don’t want to see anybody. I want to rest.”
“Well, she’s very anxious to see you. I’ll tell her, she can only stay for a few
minutes.”
“Tell who?” I asked suspiciously.
She opened the door and my mother stepped into the room. At the sight of my mother,
I broke into tears. “Mom!” I tried to sit up but couldn’t. My mother rushed over to the bed.
“Relax,” she said, crying as she embraced me. I looked at the nurse watching us from
the door. She smiled, shook her head, and closed the door gently and she walked away.
My mother was the first person to visit me in the hospital. Never in my wildest realm
of imagination did I ever think I would walk the valley of the shadow of death during the
politics. I was now a pathetic shadow of my old self, battling to cling to life. I had emaciated.
My decision to join politics had turned out to be a tragic mistake.
“Thank God. Thank God ---,” my mother repeated between gulps. She sobbed, pulling
out a handkerchief and wiping her eyes. “What happened?” she asked soothingly. I noticed
the redness in and around her eyes; the result of weeping and exhaustion.
I frowned with the effort of recollection. Why did the Good Samaritan rush me to the
hospital, deposited money for my treatment and left without leaving his name or address? I
wondered.
“You haven’t said anything?” my mother reminded me quietly.
I gave a little shrug, as if to deprecate my sufferings. “There’s not much to tell. I won
the election, and people went on rampage claiming I rigged the election. They killed Biola,
our child and tried to kill me too?” I said in a flat voice that concealed unbearable emotion. “I
feel so guilty over being alive and the death of Biola and our child, because I caused their
death.”
She pressed my left hand, tears pouring down her cheeks. “I just thank God, you’re
alive.” She cuddled me and soothed me.
“Yes, I owe my life to a good Samaritan, someone I don’t even know who rushed me
to this hospital. Some good people still exist in this country.”
“God will bless him.”
I looked past her to the top of the cabinet by my bed, where my personal belongings
were kept. I brought my gaze back and focused, not on her face but rather on her hands,
which lay twisted nervously on her lap. When the realization of my situation hit home, it was
too much for my weak body.
“You are thinking,” she reproached gently. “Don’t think too much, you look terrible.
You’ve lost so much weight.”
“I look a lot better now. You ought to have seen me two weeks ago. No, I’m grateful
to God, you didn’t. I was in coma for three days.”
“We were worried, because we didn’t know your whereabouts, till the hospital sent a
message to us,” she said with tears in her eyes.
“It was when I regained consciousness; I gave them your address. Two weeks ago I
didn’t understand what a dream was and what was real. To know that Biola was dead and
never to be seen again was the hardest thing to bear.”
“It hurts me to see brutality during campaigns and elections in this country.”
“I made the biggest mistake of my life this year.”
“Get a grip of yourself, my son.” My mother tried to comfort me, to reach out to me
in my disaster, to tell me I was not alone. “Many people in the past had done things they were
not proud of afterwards. You’re not the first,” my mother’s tone was sympathetic. “Chika,
Biola might be dead, but you’re still surrounded by those that love you.”
It was heavy for me; I’m not back to hundred-percent strength, but getting closer to it
everyday, and still undecided whether to be grateful to be alive.
“You’ve been through too much during these elections.”
“A lot of them were my fault, though some of them weren’t.”
“What are you going to do when you leave the hospital?”
“Do? Go and be sworn in, of course. I won’t quit. I won’t give up.”
My mother was astonished. After what you’ve just passed through? You mean you
want to continue?”
“But of course, when one has set one’s hand to a thing, one have to finish it, isn’t it.”
“I learnt your father-in-law was also killed?”
“That is what I was told.
“I never thought, after all Senator Harrison did to us, that I could feel sorry about his
death,” my mother said, “but now he’s dead, one thinks how good he really was. Some
people were even saying he was a generous man. Better try and sleep, you’re looking so
weak.”
“I can’t sleep.”
“Try.”
My mother had this almost uncanny ability to rise to the occasion. She sat with me for
hours, held my hand, mopped my brow, fed me, and helped me in and out of bed.
***
A week later, before the hospital rounds, Eunice checked my temperature and pulse.
Eunice was a splendid nurse and good at her job, though overprotective. She kept many
visitors away from seeing me.
How is my special patient feeling today?” Dr. Okon asked.
“I’m feeling so much better, and I can’t wait to get out of this bed,” I sighed deeply.
“It’ll feel wonderful to take a hot bath.”
“You can get out of your bed tomorrow, but only for a short period of time. Do you
still feel pains anywhere?”
“Just a slight pain in my amputated arm.”
The doctor began to scribble in my medical treatment file at the foot of my bed. He
put his stethoscope in his ears and checked my chest.
“Your heart and lungs sound good,” Dr. Okon said, pulling the stethoscope out his
ears. I didn’t say anything.

Eunice came later. “Have you eaten something?” she asked.
“No. I’m not hungry.”
“You need to eat something.” She left and came back with a pot of coffee. She poured
some coffee into a cup. “You must eat to keep up your strength.” She checked a cabinet near
my bed and brought out some biscuits.I shook my head. “Please Mr. Okafor, drink this and
eat some biscuit.”
Too weak to resist, I grudgingly accepted the cup and drank a few sips of the hot
coffee.
“Thank you,” I said. For a brief second, our gazes locked, and then I lowered my head
and drank some more of the coffee.
The following day, accompanied by Eunice, I took my first outdoor stroll since I was
admitted three weeks before. My mother followed.
“I see our patient has regained his footing,” Dr. Okon complimented.
“I’m enjoying my first outing very much,” I said demurely. “Thank you for your kind
assistance.”
“I need to attend to a patient,” Eunice said. “Please watch over him,” she told my
mother.
“Go ahead, he’ll be fine with me,” my mother said.
Inundated by a wave of dizziness twenty minutes later, I grabbed for my mother, as
my knees buckled. She caught me before I fell to the ground and shouted.
“Get the stretcher and the doctor please,” she cried.
When I opened my eyes, Eunice was putting a cold cloth to my head.
“What happened?” I asked.
“You fainted, because you over stressed yourself. How are you feeling now?”
“Better. I would’ve waited till I was stronger, before taking the walk. It was a stupid
thing to do.”
“No. You needed the exercise. You only overdid it. You’ll be fine. Do I get you
something to eat or drink?”
“Yes, something to drink? Please get me a cup of coffee.”
I was feeling pains all over. I wasn’t alone in my grief and trouble, because Kola
came to console me. I lay on my bed weeping intermittently amid excruciating pains when
the nurse came to inform me that my friend, Kola had come to see me. Most times, she was
the one who checked my blood pressure, temperature and pulse and entered them in my
treatment file at the foot of my bed, daily.
“Chika, how are you?” he asked, immediately he came into my room in the hospital.
“Very bad,” I said. Shock and humiliation washed over my tired face. “My life has
turned upside down and inside out.”
“It’s risky to talk this way, Chika. You realize that, don’t you?”
“I admit I’ve made colossal wrong turn in my life. I wonder why life has suddenly
become so complicated.”
“Oh yes! You’ve been jolted into reality. I warned you that you were embarking on a
dangerous adventure. It could mean pain or death. It could mean victory and joy. Don’t take
it tragically, will you? No need to cry over spilt milk.”
I was in atrocious agony. “I’ve made plenty of mistakes along the way, no doubt. I’ve
been in victories and defeat, but I never thought it could come to this.” My eyes moved to my
empty right sleeve. The tears that had welled up, despite my best efforts to maintain my
composure suddenly blurred my vision. I couldn’t stop crying.
Kola shut me a look of concern. “This was a narrow escape. And you were very
lucky, you were not killed.”

“But the trouble is that people refused to acknowledge or value the hard work that I
put in, in the campaign and in most things I did. They only see the rewards and wondered
why I get more than they did. The reason they never got as many rewards was that they didn’t
work hard enough; they had the opportunity to do something worthwhile. That wasn’t my
fault.”
He turned his head to meet my gaze, his eyes alight with accusation. “In most recent
past, Chika, you’ve exerted your energy in the wrong direction. Nothing is for free in this life.
You must reap what you sow. How are you sure the gun used to kill your wife and child and
in injuring you fatally wasn’t among those you imported?”
“The bastard killed my Biola and my child. How I wish Biola was alive. We’ve had
such a happy life together. Maybe one day I’ll be able to take my revenge. It is a strange
world.” I avoided answering the question.
“The danger of storing up resentment and wishing ill on people is like drinking
poisonous substance. You think your resentment will kill the person who wronged you.
However, usually, it ends up killing you. Nicholas Roerich, in his “Burning of Darkness’ read
at the meeting of young Idealists in New York in 1931 wrote: “Beware of poisonous
thoughts, not one of them will be lost without traces.” Study the history of humanity and
you’ll discover how men of violence fared.”
Kola’s intelligence always baffled me. “It is horrible. My grand house in the village
and all the treasure inside were burnt by that scoundrel.”
“It’s a shame to talk of house and things after what you’ve been through. The greatest
problem is your love for glamorous life. You’re too greedy.”
“What do you expect from a man in a society that money is sought at all cost? And a
few that have got to the top prevent others from getting up. I looked for an honest job, but I
couldn’t get one.” I closed my eyes for a moment and said in a low voice laced with sorrow,
“The inabilities of the government to create employment, made me decide to go and get my
own share of the national cake. I went into politics for the identical reason, why many young
men have turned criminals and our women turned prostitutes.”
Kola looked pitifully at me. “And what is that reason?”
“To escape the humiliation of poverty.”
“That is not true. You were already rich before going into politics. You went into
politics to satisfy your personal greed and your father-in-law. I’ve been thinking of your days
in the university and when you newly graduated; I’ve been remembering the things you said
about the way the rich treated the poor. But when you became rich, you did the same, just the
same.”
“I’ve learned that I couldn’t change Nigeria, so I might as well get my own share.
There is not much one person can do. I joined politics because I saw the nonentities of
yesterday taking pride of place in social and even official gatherings because of their political
affiliation. I saw bright, beautiful cars glide pass me, sometimes owned by former hoodlums.
It was then I decided “Honesty is the best policy” taught me by my teachers was a complete
misnomer. All the period, I protested against these sybarites and narcissists yielded no result.
I was described as a fatuous person and a mad man.”
“Oh, you astound me, Chika! That is no excuse for doing the wrong things you did.
I’m sorry you’ve had such a scary time, but thank God you came through it somehow. If you
hadn’t involved yourself in those dirty affairs, you wouldn’t be in this mess today.”
“What do you mean by dirty affairs? Can serving one’s people be referred to as dirty
affairs? I acted honestly.”
“Chika, stop pretending. You know what I’m talking about. It is fools that take our
elections seriously. The smarts ones stay at home. And it is only crooks that go into politics
in Nigeria.”
“That is not true.”
“Where in the world, except in Africa and especially Nigeria do people go to vote
carrying guns? You were racing downhill, running so fast and I tried all I could to stop you,
but you refused. I was scared that you’ll crash and you did. You were too blind to see. You
betrayed yourself.”
The most burning tears came at once. My lips quivered. He’d seem through my skull.
I despised self-pity. And blaming someone else for my own folly wasn’t going to help. This
was my first encounter with death. No one I knew had ever just disappeared just vanished
until my wife and my child had vanished. “Oh my God! Biola where are you? What is this?”
my voice broke. Tears rushed down my cheeks.
“Don’t look glum,” Kola admonished. “When one has been dealt a deathly bodily and
psychological blow, one needs time for the bruises to heal.”
I was very, very tired, with weariness and confusion in the depth of my soul, best not
to think about anything more just now, best just to close my mind and eyes.
“What is to become of me? What kind of man will I be when this is over?”
“I know you’ll sort yourself out. You’re a very strong person. I don’t think you ever
realize how strong you are. Gloom never made the world better.”
“I learnt they burnt Senator Harrison his house in his village.”
“Yes. Senator Harrison had a bloated ego of himself. He only suffered the fate of
someone who believed he is infallible.”
“But the people must be lunatics.”
“There was no way a massive revolt like this would’ve been avoided, without
removing oppression, dehumanization of fellow citizens. The politicians and the former
military leaders damaged the economy of this country and caused austerity that has made
many people commit suicide. They were enemies of the society and stupidly you joined them.
While they preached dignity of labor, self-sacrifice to the rest of us, asking us to awaken our
patriotic instincts, they wallowed in profligacy. They are betrayers of what they preach.”
“How was the riot brought under control?”
“The police boss ordered that the rioters should be shot at sight, because they were
enemies of the nation. So many of them were shot down, many died; some were brutally
flogged to death. The incident was similar to the Sharpsville massacre in South Africa, during
the apartheid era.”
“Kola, tell me something. Tell me you’re not too angry with me. I feel you’re angry.”
He put out his hand to touch my shoulder, pressing it lightly. “Chika, I’m not angry
with you. I’ve long known you’re stubborn. But your marriage to Biola was marked by pain
and tragedy. It’s time for me to go so that you can rest. I think you are weak.”
We both stood up. Hesitating, we faced each other, caught in one of these uncertain
moments of departure when neither wished to appear abrupt.
“Kola, thanks for coming. You’ve come a long way. You’re a friend indeed. Give my
regards to Toyin.”
“That reminds me. Toyin wanted to come with me, but I stopped her. She is three
months pregnant.”
“Thank God. At last, you’ve made it.”
“Chika, bye. Take care of yourself and stop feeling sorry for yourself. Before I leave
there’s this poem I read somewhere, titled survivors. You had endured a great tragedy and
emerged triumphant. You are a survivor.”

SURVIVORS
The greatest risk
Is not taking risk
Risk is different
From stupidity or
Careless flirting with danger.
Nothing solves anything
Greater risk
Greater reward.
Those build strong
Hold on.
Those build soft
Crack.
Those build malleable
Stretch.
Remember Survivors
Never give up.
Fail, yes
Give up, no.
When Kola had gone, a silence, in its way more threatening came down upon me.
Even a momentary rush of wind outside was too loud in that silence.
“Damn it!’ I said. The visit was therapeutic for me, like talking to a psychiatrist.
***
I gently closed the door to the hospital room and slumped against the wood paneling. I
took a deep breath to try to steady my nerves, wondering if I’d finally, completely, lost my
sanity. I walked unsteadily to my bed and sank onto the mattress, my mind reeling.
A gentle noise roused me from my thoughts where I’d been considering my bizarre
experience. The door opened a few discreet inches, Eunice, followed by Uche and Jayne
walked in. Jayne clung to Uche’s arm. She was beautiful as usual. On seeing me, she went
stiff with emotion. Uche and Jayne stared at one another in mute disbelief. My look was a
hideous shock to them. This was not the vibrant young man they saw in New York. Nigerian
politics had taken the shine out of me, and left me with suffering and humiliation that was its
hallmark. Uche straightened in the chair, stiffening his spine, his eyes glued on me, his face
overwhelmed with sadness. Jayne sat by my bed with tearstained face, staring at me. My air
of sadness and resignation struck them. Uche sighed after watching me speechless for about
two minutes.
Shaking my head in remorse, I lamented, “What a tragedy there is in this life.”
“You remember I warned you about the violence associated with Nigeria’s politics. A
very wide road leads to Nigeria’s politics, but a very narrow path leads to survival and
victory. You’d no right, to drag your family with you down the precipice,” he said with a
concerned expression on his face.
“Uche, it is unfortunate, I’m a victim. Politics in Nigeria is business, just like church.
In a society in which money is worshipped, there is no doubt that people will aspire to
acquire wealth by any means. Our society idealizes corruption and edifies materialism. In the
society where the less privileged are trampled upon and made to go into extinction, in the
survival of the fittest syndrome, I felt I shouldn’t just standby and watch.”
“There’s dire need to change the perverted value system in our society. Those values
that glorify and worship material acquisition without sparing a thought as to the legitimate
means of such wealth should be done away with. They encourage corruption,” Uche said.
“For this to happen, people must be patriotic. But you can’t force people to be
patriotic. People will be patriotic if there are overt reasons to be. Many people that have
sacrificed a lot for this country have nothing to show for it, but poverty, hunger, and disease,
while the dishonest ones live in affluence. That was why I joined them.”
“Martin Luther King Jr. said: ‘The prosperity of a country lies not on the abundance
of its revenue nor on the splendor of its public buildings nor on the strength of its military
forces, but in the number of its cultivated citizens, in its men of education, enlightenment and
character.’ This is what we lack in this country.”
“Politics here offers the extremes of emotion, from gloom to ecstasy. Bitterness
always flowed with blood and pains are oftentimes inevitable.”
“Nigerians deserve God-fearing leaders, so that the country’s wealth will be properly
harnessed and equitably distributed, among the citizenry. Maturity and wisdom is not
measured by age, I think it is time for generational shift. All these old men who’ve
mismanaged the affairs of this country since independence should give way.”
“They can never give way. When they are not contesting for elective posts, they turn
kingmakers or what is call “godfathers’ in our national politics. They impose their anointed
candidates on the electorates. They engage in behind-the-scene maneuvers, expecting their
candidates to emerge victorious from the usual non-transparent wheeling and dealing
associated with political elections in this country.”
“It’s very sad that all one require being a politician in Nigeria is the ability to deceive
the people to gain what one needs.”

“It will ever remain so, till the era of “money politics’ is over and people no longer
cast their votes based on candidates’ financial capability. The National Assembly that is
supposed to make laws is an institution serving the satisfaction of the personal ambition,
vanity and self-interests of members. The same thing goes for other organs of government.
The National Assembly is a madhouse of shouts, insults and brawls.”
“Chika it is unfortunate, I met you in this shape. I thought we’ll be able to have a
happy reunion after the New York experience.”
“When did you come into the country?” I asked.
“We came in three days ago. It was my father who told me what happened. It’s very
pathetic.”
“My greatest regret is the death of my darling wife Biola and our innocent child. Biola
rescued me at a moment when my life lacked direction. She brought me into a world of
affluence where I found both happiness and love. We lived through many beautiful
experiences which cannot be easily forgotten and for which I will be eternally gratefully. I
feel very sad anytime I remember them. There have already been enough bloodshed and
unhappiness caused by people trying to take laws into their hands in this country. Just
because one doesn’t like the way things are, doesn’t give one the right to try to change them
by a violent means. How long are you staying in the country?”
“I hope to be here for two weeks. I’ve come to establish a branch of our company in
U.S. in Lagos. I felt touched by your accusation when we met last in New York. And I’ve
decided to heed what president Lincoln told Americans, Think of what you can do for your
country rather than what your country can do for you. I was hoping you and Biola would help
us oversee it.”
“That is very good. I wish you success. As you can see I’m not in the form of doing
any serious work for now.”

“Chika, we shall be going, before we miss our flight. We shall be back, if you are not
discharged before the next one week. I wish you speedy recovery.”
“When you feel better I’ll like you to take me to my late friend’s grave, so that I can
lay a wreath before I leave the country,” Jayne said cautiously.
“Alright. Thanks for coming.”
When they left, an inexplicable feeling of gloom seemed to close in around me. For
sometimes, fate had a way of bleeding some joy out of my everyday life. To my
astonishment, I wept again.
I must try to calm my feelings, to put some order into my murky tangle of despair, I
reasoned. There was the frustration of being at the mercy of the society. Yes, and the
loneliness, looming around me, knowing that I would never see Biola or my child again.
Never. What a shame.
I glanced toward the window, where, not five feet away, people were passing on the
hospital’s corridor, darkening the translucent curtains of my room as they passed. I was
alone, there was no one; I could tell how I felt. I wasn’t even sure I knew how I felt. I bit my
lip. I wasn’t going to make a sound, no, God damn it, not again.
***
“When can I leave this place?”
“Not yet,” Eunice said flatly.” You’ve made good progress in the past three days, but
you’ve had a severe concussion – and it only three weeks since your attack.”
“Three weeks?”
“Yes. Keep calm --- you mustn’t get excited. As the governor elect, the police has
posted ten officers outside to protect you against another attack and to stop the press
disturbing you till you get better. I’m afraid there have been a few silly stories in the papers.”
“Damn!”
“Your party members have visited several times but we didn’t allow them to see you,
and many of them telephone everyday inquiring about your condition.”
“I don’t want to see anybody. Please see to it that nobody is let in without first
informing me.”
“I will tell the police officer in-charge of your security. Don’t get excited. You
needn’t see anyone you don’t want to see.”
“I need a telephone straight away,”
“I’m sorry, not yet. Doctor’s orders.”
“If you don’t bring me a phone, I’m going to go in search of one. I must make just a
call.”
After further argument, in order to calm my growing agitation, Eunice brought me the
phone in the nurse station.
“What! That can’t be true!” I shouted.
Eunice removed the phone from me and replaced it. “Don’t be excited. You have a
visitor.”
***
My swearing-in had been delayed because of my unfitness. When I was well enough,
the doctor allowed a court official to serve me a paper summoning me to the court. My
defeated opponent had taken me to court along with the electoral officers who conducted the
election.
I sent for my lawyer for briefing. The lawyer closed the door to my hospital room as
he came in. He sat on one of the visitor’s chair near my bed.
“Welcome, Barrister Temisa.”
“How are you feeling today?”
“I’m feeling better.”

He placed his thick briefcase on top of his legs and opened it. He pulled a pile of
papers from inside the case.
“There had been some unpleasant publications about you,” he said, as he handed me
three tabloids with screaming headlines about how I rigged the gubernatorial election in
Coastal State.
“Flamboyant Chika Meets His Nemesis”, one of the newspapers wrote. On the same
page was an unflattering picture of me, lying in a pool of my blood, after I was shot. I stared
at the picture, mesmerized by my pathetic posture. Definitely, it wasn’t a pretty picture. The
story described in riveting detail of how I rigged the election using thugs to switch ballot
boxes and using electoral clerks to alter figures where switching of boxes were not possible.
Another headline shouted, “Chika’s Untold Anguish”, sub-head read, “Chika Rushed
To the Hospital by Good Samaritan.” The newspaper described how I lay on the hospital bed
unconscious.
The third tabloid headline screamed, “Chika Meets His Waterloo”.
I didn’t want to bring any of these up, until I was sure you were feeling better.”
I stared at the stories. “How in the world did they write this rubbish about me?”
“I felt it is good you know what is happening outside,” Barrister Temisa said,
shuffling through the pile of paper in his briefcase. “We must have our defense for all the
issues raised to prove that your opponent is lying. The journalists have tried you and already
found you guilty.”
The truth was that, unless people had been through the nightmare I’d endured, they
couldn’t comprehend as I certainly did now, that there wasn’t any amount of wealth or
position that could ease or erase this type of life tragedy. What my lawyer didn’t understand
and what nobody in the country would ever fathom was that nothing could compensate for
my eliminated family. Nothing could bring Biola and my child back or make up for their
death. What a price tag for my greed. I reflected on the events of the previous months with
bitterness so potent.
“Do whatever you have to do. I just want this over with,” I told my lawyer.
The suit was an opportunity for the highly talented lawyers in Nigeria to match wits
because my opponent fielded his best lawyers. I dressed to court every session in expensive
suits with insouciant expression on my face.
After my team of lawyers led by Barrister Temisa had rounded up their defense, it
was left for the judge to make his judgment, from all the facts made available. Many times
during the case, Judge Omorogbe interrupted with a warning to both sides of the legal
gladiators. On the eve of the judgment, tormented by my own sense of mild panic, I
awakened at five. Tried as I might to sleep back, a thousand thoughts about the judgment
crowded my brain. The Judge returned that morning to deliver his judgment.
“I bear in mind everything that has been said on behalf of the defendant by his team
of learned counsels as well as the presentations of the counsels of the plaintiff. However no
rational human being will smile at the increasingly senseless acts of violence being
perpetrated by our politicians and their supporters. Everything should be done not only to
condemn these horrendous acts, but genuine efforts, should be made to discourage them. It’s
unfortunate that many of our people have disproportionate faith in the power of the gun. This
doesn’t make for a peaceful society. And our people should desist from jungle justice and
taking laws into their own hands.”
The whole court was quiet. “The actions of the apostles of violence constitute an
intolerable menace to our nascent democracy. I am of the opinion that the counsels of the
plaintiff have not proved their case beyond reasonable doubt. Therefore the election of Mr.
Chika Okafor as the Governor of Coastal State is hereby upheld.”
“Court!” the court clerk shouted.

Everybody rose and the Judge left the courtroom. Many of the supporters of my
opponent wept heartrendingly in disappointment, while the cheers from my supporters were
deafening. The victory was a tonic to my spirit.
“Imagine the injustice in this country. This evil man, stole our money, used the same
money to corrupt our electoral system and now he is our governor. What type of country is
this,” I heard one of my opponent’s supporter lamented. “What a scandalous betrayal.”
My opponent’s lawyers filled an appeal in the Federal Court of Appeal. I spent a lot
of time preparing for my defense with my team of lawyers. But the end didn’t justify the
means. I lost the case. The electoral officers were jailed for falsification of election figures.
All my dreams died. What a disappointment! My life became empty and unfulfilled. My
security details were quickly withdrawn.
***
Senator Harrison was given an expensive burial by his political and business
colleagues. In our society, the status of a man or that of his family was measured by the
richness of his casket and wreaths with which his body was interned. How lavish was the
entertainment during the funeral and the quality of the clothes worn by the family members.
Like it was the tradition in Nigeria, there was a large turnout at the burial and I was
among the crowd. I attended despite all discouragement from friends and relations. In this
part of the world, burying the dead was a big business.
Plastic chairs, tables, canopies were rented from rental companies. Some rented
cooking utensils, cutleries et cetera, while some undertook the video coverage of the burial.
Recently undertakers had surfaced in many cities.
During the church service, the officiating bishop described Senator Harrison as a man
who gave selfless service to his country. “The pillar behind cherished memory in any society
is selfless service. Men right from recorded history, who gave selfless services to their
countries, always have their name written in gold. I’m convinced that Senator Harrison’s
name will be written in gold in our national history,” the bishop said.
“Never an unkind word is said about a dead man, even when he was known to have
been a wicked fellow,” a man sitting behind me said.
“The bishop has confirmed the insincerity of most of our so-called religious leaders.
They’ll always call black white,” another man next to him complained.
At the graveside, Dr. Williams’ funeral oration was more hypocritical.
“Senator Harrison’s death came to us, who are his friends as a rude shock. We don’t
know why such a fine gentleman should be a victim of misguided elements in our society. He
was a noble and righteous man. He was an erudite and fearless politician. He was a man of
dazzling intellectual virtuosity, who hated injustice and inequality. He bequeathed into the
political system such values as honesty, humility, straight forwardness, love, fair play,
firmness and selflessness.”
A man standing by my side smiled and shook his head.
Dr. Williams continued: “He was incorruptible and a pious Christian. He was
articulate but gentle. He was a likeable fellow, who made himself accessible not only to
people of equal status, but to the generality of people.”
“Bullshit,” the same man by my side shouted. “His life had benefited no one.”
“He was particularly fond of and generous to the downtrodden.”
“My God! This man is a crazy liar!’ the man exclaimed.
“He’d an illustrious upbringing and background having been the son of a chief. This
exposed him to hard work, honesty and forthrightness right from childhood.”
The man walked away smoldering with anger.

“By his death, Nigeria has lost an accomplished administrator, a patriot, and above all
a philanthropist,” Dr. Williams ended his speech. He spoke with such eloquence that even his
adversaries respected his oratory.
The casket which contained just ash from his burnt country home was lowered by five
o’clock in the evening at Ikoyi cemetery. Many prominent Nigerian politicians and
businessmen were at the burial. Many of them laid wreaths at his grave. Within the week,
Senator Harrison’s statue was erected at the grave.
Unlike the statue of historic or commemorative statue of persons, who though dead,
but were immortalized for their contributions to the development of their countries or their
humanitarian services and achievements, Senator Harrison was immortalized for no clearly
defined purpose for honor.
***
I went back to Lagos and to our house at Ikoyi. When I entered Biola’s room; her
clothes were still intact in her wardrobe, as if awaiting her return. As I wandered aimlessly
around the room, I could smell the faint scent of her perfume that lingered in the air.
With a shuddering whisper, I said, “Oh God, why? Why did you allow Biola to die?”
Tears glimmered in my eyes. I wiped away the tears, slammed the wardrobe, and left the
room.
The house reminded me so much of the past, so I didn’t feel happy inside. I would
have done anything before to live in that kind of a house but now it gave me no peace. The
house that echoed daily with the sound of voices and laughter was now empty and quiet. I
sold the house and went to live with my parents till I got another flat. Imagine going down to
the valley from the mountaintop. What a worthless world. I wasn’t myself again. People
feared I’d become mentally deranged. I contemplated to commit suicide but later changed my
mind. That was a sign of cowardice. I learned that life was fraught with hazards, that money
wasn’t everything and that the road to ruin was a short one.
When I packed to my parents’ one room apartment my father asked me: “Didn’t I
warn you? Have you now seen that money is not everything? There are certain things it can’t
buy. What an old man sees while sitting can’t be seen by a young man even while standing.”
“Dad, I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you, and I’m sorry you think I’ve dishonored our
family name, - you believe I didn’t use my head when I decided to marry Biola. Well, may be
not, but I used my heart and there’s no dishonor in that. I loved Biola. Maybe you do not
know what love is all about.”
My bank account was still pregnant, but I didn’t feel like touching it. Any beautiful
fair-complexioned lady reminded me of Biola. I stayed indoors to avoid seeing any. I read all
sort of books to prevent me from thinking. Never before had I felt quite so alone.
My life was dominated by Biola’s death. Everything I did and everywhere I went
reminded me of her.
I felt bereft as if a part of me had been amputated. Every time I remembered her, my
heart seemed to shrivel and I felt a physical pain in my chest. I remained practically a
prisoner in our house. I became obsessed with the thought that I had somehow failed Biola,
and caused her death. My perceptions, whether right or wrong, produced more unhappiness.
My mother was worried. “Chika, go out and mix up with your old friends,” she
advised. “Don’t feel depressed. The mistake has been made, you’ve to take the consequences
gracefully and turn a new leaf.”
But how could I go out? Any time I saw people talking or whispering, I felt they were
talking about me. “What you sow, you reap.” I reprimanded myself. I’d slipped into an abyss
of shame and misery. I was reading a novel one evening, when there was a knock on our
door. My mother was in the kitchen, my younger ones were in school and my father had gone
for evening prayers. I was annoyed at the disturbance. I shouted for the person to come in.
Amina came in slowly as if she was walking on eggshells. She’d walked into one hell of a
surprise. She could hardly keep her eyes off my empty right sleeve. A shiver rode through her
body. She didn’t know how near I’d been to becoming a corpse.
“Your arm,” Amina’s voice rose out of control.
“Don’t, don’t talk about it,” I admonished.
“Your arm,” She repeated, looking at me in utter bewilderment
Bitterness, the most intense I’d felt, since I lost my right arm, went through me. I
didn’t look at her but at the floor. She tried to compose herself, forcing her eyes away from
the empty sleeve to my face.
“What do you want? Where are you coming from? And who showed you our house?”
I asked in succession.
She stood rigidly, and for an instant her pleading gaze looked unflinchingly into mine.
“Can I sit down?” she asked
“To do what?” I’d been sullen and withdrawn – a far cry from the young man who’d
gallantly gone into politics.
She stood without answering. She showed no sign of wanting to go away either.
When I saw she was determined, I told her sit down.
“Where are you coming from?”
“Kano,” she replied. I’d not seen her for two years after our National Youth Service
Corps Scheme.
“You came all the way from Kano?” I asked. “Why have you come?”
“Chika, I came into the country yesterday and heard all that happened to you. I’m
awfully sorry.” Tears started to flow down her cheeks. “I thought I could put you out of my
mind, but the harder I tried, the more firmly embedded my memory became. I don’t mind
telling you, I’d been miserable.”
“Ehh, I don’t want to talk about it. It’s past and I want to forget about it.” But how
could I, with the empty sleeve where my right hand used to be to always remind me.
Horrified, she stared aghast. The Chika she knew had undergone some sort of
metamorphosis and would never be the same again.
She busted out crying again, “Chika-Chika-Chika, why-why-why?” she asked
mournfully. Tears gathered at the back of her throat, and she swallowed.
“Why what?”
“Why did you go into politics? Didn’t you know that is a very dirty game especially
in this part of the world? People just regard it as a means to make quick money? And once
they have made it, they’re determined to maintain and retain the status quo at all costs?” She
said breathlessly. I wondered what she thought that drew me into politics, service to my
fatherland?
“Is killing fellow citizens for one person or a group of people to achieve their selfish
ambitions worth it? Why must people want to rig in an election? Must they impose
themselves on the electorates? Are they not confident of their qualities? Must acquisition of
power be a matter of life or death? Why must people destroy what took others a lifetime to
acquire in seconds? Does a nation maintain peace and stability by unequal distribution of
wealth?” she asked, with a fine edge of sadness in her voice.
I felt uncomfortable. She thought she was speaking on my behalf, but she didn’t know
all she said were against me. Who told her about me didn’t give her details, I believed. After
all, those who went fishing must not be afraid of getting wet and those who fear lion should
not go into the forest.

“Please, if you’ve no other thing to say, apart from reviewing what happened to me,
you can leave.”
Disbelief flared up in her eyes. “Chika, I’ve come because I felt you need someone
that really loves you at this turbulent epoch of your life. I only came in yesterday from
London where I’m reading for my master degree. We are on summer holidays.”
“I’ve no time for anything called love any longer, so please go. Thanks though for
caring. You better be on your way now, you’ve a long way to travel.”
“I know you’ve experienced a lot but it’s not enough reason to live like a hermit. I
decided to come down when I learnt you’re living a solitary life. I think you’re being too hard
on yourself. I believe in you. It’s going to take time. Everything does. But at the end you’ll be
just fine again.”
“Thanks for your consideration. But nobody is going to tell me how to live my life.
Please go and leave me alone.”
“Chika, I still love you as ever.”
The love Amina felt for me was evident but I responded in a cavalier manner. "I am
grateful for your concern and for coming all this distance to see me. But talk of love. No. I’ve
never been lucky with that word. I couldn’t have gone through these tragic months, without
changing my mind about what is call love. It has always brought me pains. Forgive me, but
that is the truth.”
“I’m sorry for what happened.”
“It wasn’t your fault, so why be sorry.”
Seeing my sober face, Amina reached out instinctively. She took my left hand;
pressing its palm against her cheek, murmuring, whispering, and letting the words rise to her
lips without hesitation or shame.
“I want to live my remaining years on earth with you. You are young. We can still,--”
I cut her off before she could finish. “How can? The way I am?”
“What does that matter? I don’t care.”
“You don’t care, but I do. One handed husband?”
Her eyes deepened with sorrow. “You’re stubborn and you’re wrong. Tell me if there
is any other reason. Perhaps you don’t want me.”
“Not just you, anybody. I don’t want anybody.”
“I know you loved Biola, but you’ve to try to pick the pieces of your life.”
“I’m trying,” my voice faded.
Though Amina was not as flamboyant as Biola, she was too much in love with me for
her own good. I was surprised that after the way I dumped her, she still came back and was
groveling at my feet.
At this point, my mother entered. She was happy seeing me with a lady. She didn’t
hide her feeling.
“Chika dear, who is this beautiful lady?”
“She is Amina.”
“We’re friends, ma’am,” Amina intervened.
My mother cast her eyes heavenward. “Glory, be to God. Where did you come from?”
“Kano.”
I was surprised my mother was happy, even though Amina was a fulani girl – another
tribe. “Oh! You came all that distance? It’s getting late; I hope you’ll spend the night with
us.”
My anger flared. “No. She was just leaving,” I protested. Goodbye, Amina. I think the
last word has been said between us.” She stood up and tried to leave.
“Amina dear, you better stay till tomorrow. With the armed robberies everywhere
these days, it’s not safe to travel at night.” As always, my mother was the anxious hostess.
“I’m sorry about everything. It wasn’t my intention to make you angry. There’ll never
be a last word between us, Chika.”
“Look beautiful girl, in this country today, honest people who’ve worked hard to earn
their money and properties are being robbed of them,” my mother announced with a
bitterness that was palpable. “People now jump out of bed every minute to check if their
windows and doors are properly locked and supported with crossbar.”
“You’re right ma’am. Armed robbers have succeeded in damaging the psyche of our
people by their operations, people are now afraid of their own shadows,” Amina said, staring
at me with an air of triumph.
“I witnessed a car snatching last week in the market and I shuddered at the
ruthlessness and the disregard to human life manifested by the young men during the
operation. They didn’t only snatch the car; they killed the owner of the Mercedes car.”
“Why our young men have decided to engage in such callous acts of brutalizing their
fellow human beings is mind- boggling. Men who should contribute to the development of
our society reverted to the brazenfaced undesirable elements,” Amina said, her face wearing a
look of puzzlement.
“These men of underworld are waxing stronger and acquiring extra sophistication
everyday. They’ve successfully imposed a reign of terror especially here in Lagos,” my
mother affirmed.
“Tales of their activities are told daily by words of mouth, on pages of newspapers, on
radio and on television. Most surprising thing is that these hardened criminals and social
deviants have continued their daredevil activities, despite the efforts of the law enforcement
agents to keep them in check.”
I held up my left hand, “Enough of this discussions, why not discuss something else.”
“Please excuse me,” my mother said, as she stood up, “I’m cooking in the kitchen.
Chika has been hot tempered since he came back from the hospital.”
My eyes now blazed with fury as my anger intensified. My mother had been trying to
interest me in another girl since Biola died. “Chika, it’s about time you have another wife.
You’ve to give me a grandchild in my lifetime,” she said. “You should realize that I’m not
getting any younger.”
Amina felt at home. She soon joined my mother in the kitchen.
“Chika, please take things easy. If you re-organize yourself, you can start again. And
I’m willing to help you make a fresh start,” she said, trying to display a show of verve in the
face of my anger.
“Thank you,” I said.
My father didn’t say anything when he saw her. Amina slept with my mother. The
next day, she washed a heap of dirty clothes in our house. I was grateful anyway. She left the
same day for Kano by afternoon flight.
“Chika, Amina is giving you the chance to start afresh, without having to swallow
your pride. Think about it,” my mother said. “Pray to God to put wind back in your sails.”
She came once more before she returned to London. I was still confined to our one
room apartment. I dreaded showing my deformity in public places. A few times I went out,
people stared at me. I spent my time thinking of what lay in my past rather than what might
lie ahead in my future. My expression was tinged not only by grief and apprehension but also
by astonishment. It was the look I’d worn since the day I was shot, a disbelief that things
could tumble and I with them.
Amina was surprised I was still feeling depressed. “Chika, enough of this, it’s
spineless and does you no good.”

I took a dangerous plunge and used up my ambition. Amina was back and the comfort
of this fact soothed me like warm milk. For a long time, we sat without speaking, joined by
the tightening contact of our hands.
The way I treated her, I didn’t think I was worthy of this affection.
I forced myself to say the two words that have since time immemorial, undoubtedly
altered history and reshaped the destiny of the human race --- two important words that those
who wish to hear them find so easy to expect yet those who wish to say them find so difficult
to utter. Slowly and painfully I said, “I’m sorry.”
“Forget about the past. Let us talk of the present and the future.” Neither sorrow nor
sympathy flickered in Amina’s eyes – instead, joy and pride radiated from her very soul.
“You’re such a wonderful person.”
“I can’t bear it when you’re unhappy. Remember that every day brings something
new, so brighten up.” She kissed my eyelids. “I want you to be happy.”
“Your walking in today is like sunlight in the dark. Your words of encouragement are
highly appreciated. My life nearly came to abrupt end due to greed. I’d more wealth than I
ever dreamt was possible, but still, I wanted more. Though, the fierceness of my belief in
materialism was inspired by my revulsion against the abject poverty of my family.”
I was surprised, I felt depressed when she returned to London. “And I’m willing to
help you make a fresh start,” continued to enter my mind. I started to miss her. She still had a
semester to finish her course.
Try as I might, I couldn’t put Amina out of my mind. It was as if she had cast a spell
to keep me taking pleasure in any other woman.
After her departure, I sat down to reflect on her words. I knew Amina was right; I’d to
make up my mind what my future will be. Furthermore, if I intended to remarry, I must make
the commitment to myself as well as to Amina and stop wallowing in guilt and self-pity, I
thought, disgusted with my mood and my station in life. After all, Amina was offering a
chance to start again. No one knew what tomorrow could bring. Political violence wasn’t the
only catastrophic event in life.

CHAPTER TWELVE
I’ve realized that greater influx of money didn’t necessarily bring about happiness.
“What is the use of money without love,” Biola once asked.
It took her tragic death for the full meaning of the statement to become dawn on me.
When she was killed, I lost interest in life despite my wealth. I’d found out the hard way that
happiness and joy came only when one was doing something for the progress of humanity not
the reverse.
When my father told me: “My son, it’s not wise to measure one’s success in life by
one’s worldly possessions,” I waved him off as a religious fanatic and a man gone senile.
Greed had left its indelible mark on me. What hope for the future could there be for
me, when the past had been so ugly and could probably remain so. It could be worse, I told
myself in the privacy of my bedroom. I could have been dead. For the thousandth time, my
mind scanned the details of my unpleasant situation, searching for some overlooked clue that
might explain how the revolt that claimed the lives of my wife, Biola and my child, Ngozi
started. Who started it?
With bitterness, I recalled the speech Barrister Dums made in the rally of Conscience
Peoples Party, I once attended. “The masses can no longer bear the endless oppression. They
need us to save them. It’s better to die fighting the oppressors, than to die of starvation.” This
might have brought some bastards to the conclusion that there was such a thing as justifiable
homicide. I shook my head, clearing it of the haunting memories of the past months.
It was now four months; Amina went back to London to complete her master degree.
She’d written quite a number of times, but I never replied any.
“I’m willing to help you make a fresh start,” flashed into my mind. I was still
confused. The Accountant in Harrison Holdings had come to meet me, over four times, since
I returned to Lagos, to request me to come back to the office to assume duty, but I told him, I
was not yet ready to discuss business. I’d leased a modest duplex in Surulere, where I lived
with Austin and his immediate junior, Kenneth.
As I was ready to move to my new house, my father called me to sit down. “Chika, it
is not too late for you. Repent now. Just as a mother rejoices on the day she delivers a child,
so does God rejoice the day a sinner is delivered to Him. Focus on the future.”
“Dad, I’ve heard you. Thanks for your advice.”
“What is past is past, and will never return. We all have been tempted in this world
and when we were young, we hadn’t the strength to fight and hold our own against strong
temptations, except with the help of God.”
“I think I’ve learnt some lessons now, I’ll be more careful in the future.”
“That is good news. God proscribe trespassing upon people’s rights or to use your
gains to injure others or prevent them from the pursuit of happiness to which they’re naturally
entitled. Right from the ancient times, our culture has always upheld the sanctity of human
life. But today, politicians hunt fellow human beings like animals. They regard human life
like banana peels which can be discarded without qualms. When one kills a human being, one
have not only sinned against man, but also against God, who told us in the Ten
Commandments that, ‘Thou shall not kill’. What a man sows he must reap. To kill a person is
to impose eternal burden on one’s life,” he said, his face contorted with rage.
Since one month I’ve lived in my new house, I’d been trying to learn to write with my
left hand.
I believed in the axiom that the end justified the means so I went to any length - lied,
deceived and killed when necessary to arrive at my goal. But the end was not as altruistic and
good as I originally thought. An African proverb said that: “Beneath anything that is sweet
lies a choking bitterness”.
***
Six months I moved into the new house, Amina returned to the country. The
following day of her arrival, she was in Lagos to see me. She was very happy I’d moved to a
more comfortable accommodation. I spent five hundred thousand naira approximately to have
the apartment refurbished. While, painters, plasterers and plumbers worked on my new
apartment, I checked into Millionaire’s Hotel to be able to supervise them.
“How are you, Chika?” She looked at me inquiringly.
“I am fine,” I said hesitantly.
Amina couldn’t understand why the aura of sadness and regret that surrounded me
had refused to dispel. Remembering the brutal murder of my wife and son was still
unsettling. Most times in the night, I whispered her name “Biola”. But this was totally insane
I always chided myself.
Some women passed through a man’s life without leaving a trace, but people, like
Biola left unforgettable memory.
“Oh, Chika! You don’t know how much I’ve missed you, all these years.” Her eyes
sparkled flirtatiously. “After I learnt you were married, I felt there was nothing more to
expect, but to pray for you. But I was crushed and I couldn’t understand how you could do
such a thing to me. My studies, yes, God knows I put in my best, but one was human, one
wanted someone to love and to be loved. I can recall my mother’s efforts, to arouse my
interest in one eligible man after the other. Her definition of “eligible” was young, good-
natured, handsome, and, most important, of a fine family background. I remember one
particular man, very handsome, educated and young. His parents were friends to my parents.
I could’ve gone further with him, if it hadn’t been for you. Always your image came between
me and any other man.”
All I wanted was to be left alone. As I listened to her, Amina struck me as a very
unselfish woman, with great ideals, but I’d seen enough, that I wasn’t easily moved.
“I felt hurt deep inside me when you left me and married Biola. My love for you was
like fire burning inside me. I tried to quench it but it always flared back. When I learnt of
what happened, I felt so sorry for you, because I know you loved your wife. Nothing could be
gained by dwelling on something that couldn’t be changed.”
I turned to Amina, my eyes filled with pain. “I can’t stop looking for Biola.” The
word was wrenched from the depth of my soul. “My mind wouldn’t accept that she’s gone. I
keep expecting to see her come through the door. The thought of never seeing her again is
tearing my heartstrings to shreds.”
Perhaps it was for the compassion in Amina’s eyes, but for some inexplicable reason,
I found myself confessing to Amina my deep and haunting anxiety. Suddenly, embarrassed
by exposing so much of my dark thoughts to her, I said, “Please forgive me, the way I
behaved. I know you came with good intentions.”
“Honey, you can’t afford to be sentimental forever, you’ve to be practical. Why won’t
you pick your life up and go back to normal life?”
“I wish I understand why? I don’t know if it’s pride or hurt or anger. For whatever
reasons, I’ve lost interest in life. The death of my family and my narrow escape from death
burnt the bridges connecting me with my formal normal life.”

“Chika, you’re thinking too much. I loved you during our youth service and I even
love you more now,” she said, as she held me tight.
“After my terrible experience, I have been afraid to love a woman?”
“Are you still afraid?” she asked softly.
I had hoped that when I saw Amina again, I have had my feelings under control. But
her love for me was too strong and I could not deny the powerful emotions that gripped me as
she stood close to me. I couldn’t stand this agony any longer. I love this girl and there was no
point in fighting it or denying it any longer.I stopped the attempt to disguise the feelings that
swept through me.
“No. I don’t think so,” I replied. My gaze moved to the distant horizon, my eyes
suddenly clouded with painful memories. “You’ve almost succeeded in making me view life
in an entirely new light. You’ve been great in getting me out of my current emotional
entanglements,” I said.My fears and sadness seemed disappeared. Amina couldn’t suppress
her happiness. I was afraid her heart might burst with joy.
“You’re all I have. All I ever will have. I firmly believe that the most painful period is
behind us.”
The presence of Amina added a new and significant dimension to my life. I felt
alive---really alive, since Biola died. I came to appreciate the difference between living and
merely enduring life.
The appearance of Amina brought me some joy, but fate was to play another trick on
me.
***
On one of my visits to my parents, I met my father looking sad. My mother had gone
to the market.
“I’ve been retrenched,” my father said.

“Too bad,” I replied. “I’m sorry. But it’s really terrible to wake up in the morning a
worker only to return in the afternoon a jobless man. When did this happen?”
“Last week Monday.”
“Did they give you notice?”
“They’ve been saying that the government wants to reduce its workforce, but no exact
date was given, only for two thousand of us to be given letters of retrenchment last Monday.”
“The malfeasance of men in authority is too much. They’ll only retrench those who
are engaged in day-to-day battle for existence. Nothing happens to them at the top, but they
are the ones who have bank manager friends, who can grant them loans to start a business, let
alone their huge retirement benefits.”
“You’re right,” my father said. “What is the salary of a laborer? The retrenchment of
one of those inefficient directors will take care of the salary of twenty laborers. Many of them
swear affidavit frequently to change their ages so as not to retire.”
“I don’t know of any nation that has developed with massive unemployment and large
scale retrenchment of workers,” I said.
“Retrenchment is nothing short of life sentence of humiliation and deprivation,” my
father said. “Most government policies work to the advantage of the wealthy, the better
educated, and the politically well-connected people, not people like me. Do you know that
our director lives in a government furnished bungalow in Ikoyi and pay only two thousand
naira for it, while I pay one thousand for this one room in this dilapidated building in this
dungeon.”
“Such is life.”
I was still discussing with my father when my mother walked in, carrying a heavy
bag.
“Welcome mom, you’re back early. How was the market today?”
“Every bad,” she replied.
“What happened?” my father asked.
“This morning, Town Planning Officials accompanied by three policemen and a
bulldozer came and destroyed all our stalls in the market, claiming they were illegal
structures.”
“I’ve been retrenched and now your stall has been destroyed, how do we survive?
What kind of life is this?”
“I rushed to salvage my goods before the bulldozer got to my stall. As I removed the
last item to safety, the bulldozer pulls down my stall. The officials poured gasoline on the
destroyed stalls and set them on fire. All our cries for mercy fell on deaf ears.”
“Don’t worry the injustices, to which holders of power are always prone usually have
a boomerang effect,” my father consoled her.
“What is the worth of my wares that they expect me to rent those expensive stores in
the market? Even to get allocation of a store from the Local Government office is not easy,
except you’ve connection with any of those corrupt bastards. They usually allocate the stores
to non-traders, who now rent them out to traders at exorbitant prices, and one is required to
pay for two years rent in advance. Where do I get that kind of money?”
“How much is the rent for a store for one year?” I asked.
“Twenty four thousand naira,” my mother replied.
I left that day promising to do whatever I could to help. The next day, I sent Austin to
the Local Government office with a note to one of my friends there, and forty eight thousand
to pay for a store for two years. He returned with allocation paper and a receipt for forty
thousand naira.
“Why is the receipt reading forty thousand naira instead of forty eight thousand,” I
inquired.
“The cashier said that, that is how it is done. The eight thousand naira he said was for
their logistics,” Austin explained.
“Logistics indeed.” I hissed.
I gave Austin twenty thousand naira and told him to give the allocation paper and the
money to my mother.
Despite the fact that I was already up to my neck in waters they were definitely rising.
***
Despite the fact that I was already up to my neck in waters they were definitely
rising .I woke up and tuned my radio to listen to the seven o’clock morning news in Radio
Nigeria. The radio hummed for some minutes and went dead.
“What is wrong with this useless radio station,” I complained aloud. “Our local radio
stations are always off air, but one can hear VOA and BBC, so clearly as if they were next
door,” I said. I stifled a yawn.
I tried again after thirty minutes to listen to the news update. Martial music oozed out
of the radio.
“Jesus! Coup! Oh my God!’ I exclaimed, apparently with a touch of surprise.
I went to the window of my first floor bedroom and peeped out. I saw many citizens
trooping out to the streets, jubilating and expressing solidarity with the new military
government. I was still transfixed at the window, looking at the jubilating crowd, when I
heard a voice over the radio.
“Fellow Nigerians, on behalf of my colleagues in the military, I, Colonel Dauda, wish
to inform you, that there has been a change of government in this our beloved country.”
I left the window to sit on my bed, near the radio, bending my head toward the radio,
as if I was partially deaf.

“The happenings of the past five years and especially the recent events in this country,
have given us in the Armed Forces great concern, hence, we’ve decided to intervene so as to
save our country from total collapse.
“First of all, let me assure you that there is no cause for alarm. It’s a shame, we’ve
gain independence from colonial masters, but bad leaders have hijacked the country and
everything in it. They don’t want to leave power and the more they stay, the more they loot
and consequently, the level of poverty deteriorates. Few people keep recycling in power,
doing things the same old ways that never worked. Unemployment has reached unacceptable
level…”
This speech will be repeated every thirty minutes on Radio Nigeria stations, another
voice said at the end of the broadcast.
“Bastards,” I shouted.
I picked up the radio and smashed it against the wall. The radio scattered into small
pieces. The thunderous noise brought Austin running.
“Brother, what is wrong? I hope you’re fine? I heard an explosion just now.”
“The bloodthirsty and power hungry soldiers have overthrown the government,” I
said. “Only God knows how many people they have killed.”
“Why are you so angry? After all, you’re not a member of this government.”
“The worse democratic government is better than the best military rule. What did the
former military rulers, achieve? You’ll soon see series of arrests. I’m sure they would have
started by now.”
“What do you do? Won’t you escape?”
“Escape to where? I haven’t done anything wrong?”

I stood up and went to the bar and collected a bottle of whiskey and glass. I sat down
on the settee and started to drink. I brought out my cigarette and lighted it with my gold
lighter. I was still drinking and chain-smoking when four soldiers broke into my sitting room.
“Don’t you see the bastard drinking,” one of them shouted.
“You’ve come to the end of the road. While the masses starve, strive, sweat and toll
for a living, you and your types live soft and grow rosy cheeks,” another one said.
“What’s my business about the suffering of the masses, am I in government? I wanted
to help, see what they did to me.” I pointed to my empty sleeve.
“You and your late father-in-law perpetuated a lot of corruption; you abandoned many
projects after collecting mobilization fees, inflated contract fees, hoarded essential
commodities. Harrison Holdings fraudulently acquired the license to import essential
commodities. The list of your corrupt activities is endless.”
“We were doing business. Harrison Holdings is not a charity organization. The
government still owes us millions of naira for jobs we did, and the supplies we made.”
“You wasted the nation’s money buying expensive cars and houses abroad for
yourself and your girl friends.”
“What I do with my personal wealth is my business not yours.”
“You’ll now come with us to give account of your several misdeeds. Private, arrest
him,” the colonel leading the soldiers ordered.
“Get up,” the private ordered, pointing his gun at me.
“You are just opportunists. It is sanctimonious hypocrisy for soldiers to accuse
civilians of corrupt practices, misadministration, irregularities, lack of sense of direction, in
order to bulldoze yourselves into power only to perpetuate to a greater degree the very things
you accused civilians of or for which you set out to correct,” I shouted at them.
“Keep quiet, you bloody civilian. You must be drunk, that is why you’re talking like
this,” the private said.
“You’re the one who is drunk.”
He slapped me. “If you open that your mouth again, I’ll shoot you, bastard.” They
dragged me to their Landover and drove me to the army barrack. My mind continued to
whisper to me, have courage, and have courage.
***
I was thrown into a dark, filthy cell with some other detainees. The offensive smell
here was unbearable. I couldn’t sleep. I crouched down at a corner, unable to realize that this
strange happening, after my last experience, was a part of real life. I felt I was dreaming;
surely I would suddenly awake in my own bed at home.
In the cell, I was able to recognize many prominent politicians, former ministers and a
few former governors. Some soldiers on sentry duty were marching up and down the corridor
of the building.
Once again, I felt myself floating in a surreal world, adrift in the emotional wreckage
of the past months and the present shocking events.
After a week in detention, I felt better. I made a few friends, with whom I’d some
discussion in order to retain my sanity.
“President Audu regime was actually a corrupt and incompetent government,” a
businessman friend of mine in the cell said.
“How did you come about that conclusion?” I asked.
“The politicians helped to destroy the government of the day. They were living in a
world of self-interest, where little mattered except the unending gratification of their personal
desires and ambitions. Nothing proved it better than the scrambling for contracts, posts and
special favors. Their undisguised selfishness stifled all feelings of conscience or even
ordinary decency.”
“But it wasn’t President Audu that did all these things?”
“In any nation, all over the world, leaders are held accountable for failure or for
success. No matter who did what, to the president belonged the blame or credit.”
At this point, the key turned and the door to the cell swung open, two soldiers entered
the room and pointed to me, “Follow us,” one said.
I stood up and followed them. I’d lost weight because the food was bad. We were
only allowed one hour in the open every day. My clothes were already dirty. No visitor was
allowed to see us, not even our lawyers. No one had formally told us what our offences were.
I followed the two soldiers to a spacious office that was well furnished. Five men were sitting
on a long desk facing the door. I walked to the front of the desk and was told to sit down on a
single chair by my side. I complied. Three of them wore army uniforms, one was dressed in
suit and the fifth wore a flowing garment and a hausa cap.
“What is your name?” the man in suit asked.
“My name is Chika Okafor.”
“Do you know why you are being detained?” One of the soldiers asked.
“No.”
“You’re here because you corruptly enriched yourself and your late father-in-law. The
abject poverty in this country was as a result of corruption unleashed on the populace by
people like you. Bribery, the advance-fee fraud, money laundry and other forms of corruption
had undermined the rule of laws and weakened the institutional foundations upon which the
economic growth of our country depended.”
“I wasn’t involved in any corrupt practices,” I replied.
“Were you not the General Manager of Harrison Holdings?”

“Yes, I was. But late Senator Harrison was the Chief Executive Officer and
Chairman.”
“Your company abandoned many government projects, after collecting mobilization
fees.”
“The inflation trend in the country was unpredictable, so, at times; the contract fees
we discover cannot complete the project. When this happens, we stop the project and apply
for variation, which is not always.”
“But it was alleging that the contract fee is always inflated so why do you run into the
type of situation, you just described?”
“I don’t believe that. Most contract we won, were subjected to competitive bidding.”
“In the last election, you rigged the election by corrupting the electoral officers. Is that
true?”
“I didn’t corrupt anybody. I won the election because of my plans for my people.”
“We are suspecting that Senator Harrison is not dead after all. His private jet is
missing from where it was usually packed in the airport. I sent my men to seize it but they
discovered it had disappeared. What do you know about it?”
“I don’t know anything.”
“What is the name of his pilot?”
“Captain Truman Lawford.”
“He is of what nationality?”
“American.”
“Where does he live?”
“50 Slover Avenue, Ikoyi.”
“Corporal,” the most senior army officer called.
“Sir.”
“Take him back to the cell.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Mr. Okafor, we shall send our report to the superior authority. You shall soon hear
from him.
On the day, I completed the third month in detention; I was set free without any
further interrogation. There was no explanation why I was not released nor was any apology
rendered for my detention. My international passport was seized.
***
Immediately Amina learnt of my release, she rushed to my house. I saw her eyes
filled with tears. She squeezed, pressing her eyelids against her eyeballs, forcing the tears
back.
For a moment, I studied Amina’s dejected face and thought how wrong I’d been at the
time of our first meeting. Since then, I’d learned that Amina was the entire woman I would
like to spend the rest years of my life with. She wasn’t only beautiful, but intelligent,
compassionate, and a wonderful lover.
“Thank God, you’ve been released.” His calm voice soothed my ruffled feelings.
In a lightning stroke, everything changed. I saw what I’d not seen before, that the
woman who stood before me was a rare breed and always had been although I didn’t know it
until now.
“You brought much light into my life.”
“How was the detention experience?”
“Bad. Let’s not talk about that, let’s talk about us.”
I took her hand and led her into the bedroom.

“I love you, Chika,” she murmured, deliberately pressing her midsection firmly into
my pelvis, signaling in this unmistakable fashion that she was acutely aware of my being
aroused. I closed my eyes and allowed the delicious cravings of my body to prevail.
“Promise you’ll never leave me again,” Amina said. For a long moment I lay gazing
with torment into her eyes, before I closed my eyes again in meditation.
I opened my eyes and smiled into hers, which glowed with the warmth of her love. “I
love you and will never leave you again till death do us part.”
Then her face curved into an impish grin. I slipped the palm of my left hand at the top
of her blouse to gain access to her breasts. Amina gave a little moan and pressed herself with
abandon against the length of my body.
The next day, I decided to tell my parent about my plan to remarry. Amina drove the
car. I told her to drive to the market so that we could pick up my mother because I wanted the
two to be present when I broke the news.
By the time we got to the market, there was noisy atmosphere, a hallmark of the
market. Traders were loudly canvassing for customers to clear some wares heaped by the
roadsides at “give-away” prices. Some of the traders in second hand clothing were ringing
bells and shouting at the top of their voices to attract customers. The ubiquitous women and
teenagers hawking milk, soaps, sweets and minerals shouted at the top of their voices.
We met my mother singing light-heartedly as she arranged some goods. She was in
high spirit.
“Chika, what are you doing in the market? My daughter welcome.”
“We’ve come to drive you home. I have something to tell you and my father.”
“About your detention?”
“No. I’ve put that one behind me.”
“Thank God. What then?”

“Wait until we get home.”
I’d hardly finished when five soldiers approached the store. I thought they were
coming to arrest me again. Even Amina and my mother had the same thought. One of them
asked for the prices of some of the items in my mother’s store and she told them.
Immediately they seized the goods and started to auction them. My mother watched
with her mouth agape, as the soldiers sold her goods at economically suicidal prices not
considering the exorbitant prices she paid for them.
I was shocked at the sadistic joy on people’s faces as they carried away the goods.
Under the confused atmosphere, in the market, rogues stole some of her goods. My mother
started to cry. I consoled her.
“Amina help her pack some displayed goods into the store and lock it,” I said.
Scarcities sent prices of goods soaring and the military hierarchy was trying desperately to
solve the problem of food supply by forcing down the prices. Some traders hoarded goods
and created artificial scarcity.
Due to the action of the price control committee, other traders locked up their stores
and went home.
“But why do you have to sell those food items and some essential commodities at
high prices. There have been complaints that market women were fond of raising prices
whimsically and capriciously,” my father said, when we got home.
“It’s not our fault. It’s the distributors and shylock middlemen who increase the
prices.”
“I learnt that Harrison Holdings warehouse had been forced open by the soldiers and
the contents auctioned,” my father said. I pretended not to have heard him.
“Mom and dad, I’ve come to inform you I’ve decided to remarry.” I didn’t want any
argument to distract my attention from the purpose of the visit.

Despite my mother’s initial sadness, she smiled broadly, “I’ve been waiting to hear
this for a long time.”
“And who have you decided to marry?” my father asked.
“Amina of course,” I said, pointing to her.
My father asked us to knee down and he prayed for us. “May you have a happy and
fruitful marriage in Jesus name, Amen.”
When we got back to my house, I decided, to present to Amina the engagement ring,
I’d bought. I drew a small velvet box out of my coat’s pocket and laid it on the table before
her.
“Open it,” I said.
Her hands trembled, so that she was clumsy with the catch. I waited. It was a sapphire
engagement ring surrounded by small diamonds.
“How do you like it?”
“It’s beautiful,” she said.
“Here, put it on. Try it on.”
But that was I, in spite of all reverses and defeats; I still sought grandeur or my
version of it. I took the ring from her and slipped it on her finger, where it looked exactly
right. What was more, it fitted. Amina held up her hand and look at the jewel from every
angle, admiring it.
“It is magnificent,” she said. “Thank you, darling.”
Two days later, I wedded Amina in a small church in Surulere. As I dressed, my
cheeriness fled. “Who’ll knot my tie?”
“You’re alive, Chika. First and foremost,” Kola reminded me. “Here, let me do it for
you.”
I smiled. “You’re fantastic.” Then flowed unashamed tears of happiness.

I invited only a few friends. Kola and Toyin were present. There was reception in my
house. I’d bought hundred bottles of champagne. Amina was excited.
“Chika I wish you a happy marriage,” Kola said.
“Chika, thank God, you were able to make up your mind to remarry,” Toyin
remarked.
When they left I lifted my glass of wine, “To us and our new beginning. I’ve made so
many mistakes in life. This time I’m going to do things right,” I said.
“Yes,” she murmured. “To a new beginning.”
We drank our wine.
***
After the marriage, the next day we traveled to Yankari Games Reserve for
honeymoon. Yankari Game Reserve was a site of great natural beauty about 2,500 square
kilometers in size and 225 meters above sea level. The government had developed the
Reserve to international standards. It yielded a lot of revenue to the government due to the
influx of tourists.
Cozy accommodations with excellent, modern amenities were available. English,
continental, oriental and native dishes were served in the restaurant. Yankari Game Reserve
was one of the few places left in my country, where wildlife could be seen in an almost
completely natural state.
The next morning, Amina rolled over on the bed and opened her eyes. She snuggled
closer and kissed my cheek. Her face looked very relaxed. She looked soft and vulnerable in
her white, transparent nightgown. Her hair, which had been dressed, was ruffled.
“Good morning dear,” I said.
“How are you today?”
“I am fine. I’d a nice sleep.”

Her eyes brightened with enthusiasm. “Do you remember we are going on tour of the
wildlife today?” she asked.
“Certainly,” I replied.
Gazing into her adoring face, a feeling of comfort and harmony came over me.
I stood up and went into the bathroom to brush and shave. When we were fully
dressed, we went to the restaurant to eat breakfast. After the meal, we joined the other tourists
outside, to wait to be taken on tour of the Game Reserve.
By ten o’clock, we mounted a three-meter high, open-backed, Mercedes Benz lorry. It
had two, long, foam-padded benches for about twenty-four tourists. An unarmed guide took
us on the tour. He was ensconced at a vantage point in the lorry, where he could show us
around and drew our attention to the presence of some wild life.
We saw elephants, in their natural habitat, hippos, antelopes, giraffes, lions, leopards,
crocodiles etc. It was a memorable day for both of us. In the Game Reserve, an uplifting
harmony seemed to prevail. The environment and the presence of Amina, seemed to sooth
and assuage my wounded soul. The incredible beauty of the surrounding lifted my spirit
another notch. The wildlife kept my mind off my unutterable sadness. Both of us recognized
that we needed privacy to take our relationship into a higher level. We left after two weeks.
***
Three days we returned from our honeymoon, something untoward and unexpected
happened. I was discussing with Amina when our door bell rang.
“I’ll get it,” I said as I walked to open the door.
“Jesus Christ!” I exclaimed when I was Senator Harrison standing at the door with a
six-man security force.
“Darling, what is it?” Amina asked.

Senator Harrison embraced me in the way that men do only with their wives, their
children, and those with whom they had faced danger.
“Chika, how are you. I know you’ll be surprised to see me.”
“I can’t believe my eyes. We believe you’re dead,” I said.
“But as you can see, I am still alive. Will you allow us in?”
“Why not? I was just surprised by your sudden reappearance. Please come in.” I threw
the door wide open and Senator Harrison and his security men walked in. Could this be real
or was I dreaming? I wondered.
“Welcome sir,” Amina greeted.
“Thank you fine lady.”
“What type of drink do I offer you?” I asked.
“Champagne.”
I was struck by his appearance. He was still his vivacious self but his hair seemed
dusted with gray. He looked mentally fatigued and physically exhausted. There was a strange,
almost vacant smile fixed on his face. But he still had both nerves and characters of granite.
“Chika, I learnt my daughter and my grandson were murdered by a scoundrel in
Coastal State claiming to be a revolutionist, “he said with his drink in his hand. Amina had
withdrawn to the bedroom. Senator Harrison was sitting with his leg across a knee, shaking it
briskly.
My mood changed. The name of Biola reawakened the pains of the past. “Yes,” I
replied.
“What a tragedy there is in this life.” he said. “I would have preferred it was me than
Biola. But God knows the best. I am going to track down all those who destroyed our
properties and kill my daughter and grandson and make them pay. Our safety lies in
eliminating the danger.”

“Have you heard that your friends have given you an elaborate burial?”
“Yes. I have even visited my grave. It was interesting to know that while some were
out to kill me, I still had some people who loved me. What an irony?”
“How did you escape?”
“As a smart politician I sleep in different places different nights, so the night my
house was burnt down I was in a hotel in a neighboring town. When the news reached me, I
left straight to the airport and flew to London in my private jet. I have been there since
monitoring events.” Senator Harrison was a very sophisticated political observer.
“Why then did you come back because you would have heard that the military has
taken over? The soldiers have been looking for you.”
“I am aware.”
“And you still came back?”
“Yes. I am not scared.”
“They claimed that Harrison Holdings was into corrupt practices.”
Senator Harrison leg stopped moving.
Senator Harrison leg stopped moving, “ Nonsense. Are they not corrupt? I have a
dossier on the top military officers in the present government. Any attempt to harass me will
spell doom for them.”
“How?”
“I have instructed my lawyer in London to release the document to international press
on the event of my arrest.”
“Is that why you have not been arrested?”
“Nobody has tried to arrest me since I arrived two days ago. Soldiers have no
theoretical preparation, no political schooling, no ability for governance, and no political will.
In the place of these qualities they have an inflammable temperament and the kind of
eloquence which operates neither upon the mind or will but upon the nerves.”
I was surprised that Senator Harrison refused to give up. He was still preoccupied
with politics. Yes, men like this didn’t appear every day.
Senator Harrison’s heart was frozen and he couldn’t feel. The nearest he got to feeling
anything was the pursuit of power. That was what excited him. He loved money because it
brought power. That was why he could never get enough of money.
“Why have you come back?”
“I am back to plan how to take over from the present military government. I hope to
be the next president of this country. I am here to tell you that no matter what happened in the
last election you should not give up. Life generally is studded with hazards and that does not
mean we should stop living. You will still be the governor of Coastal State whether our
political enemies like it or not.”
“How are you sure the military regime is ready to relinquish power?”
“I have got in contact with my international connections in the superpower countries
in the west to apply pressure on the regime. Military rule is no longer fashionable. I shall be
in touch.”
He stood up and left with his security men.
Some superstitious people suggested to me that some sinister force had to be
responsible for the tragic events in Senator Harrison’s home. His wicked political activities
had brought the wrath of God on his family, they claimed.
To them anybody close to Senator Harrison will die. So I was advised to keep far
from him. The terrible conviction was all the more powerful because everybody around him
had perished. For me I didn’t know who to believe .I only felt that time will tell.

Victim of Greed

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Victim of Greed

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Tony Chuks Modungwo Genre: Contemporary Romance

Federal Department of Fisheries, Word count: 102,000

Tony Chuks Modungwo

Greed, the soul of fox

You have in which the light

Of God has been put off.

Your tongue traffics in deceit

And leads men astray.

Your treachery is exhuming

Sordid events long buried

In peoples’ subconscious minds.

Arrogant and unheeding you’re,

You’ve hygienic habits of a pig

And regard gracelessness

You’re a tyrant that

And swear to thrust her

Down to unfathomable depths of agony.

Greed, I’ve seen through

Your mask of warmth

You’ll only change when the

River flows backwards.

Men, watch galloping greed,

Because the cat always eats

The mouse it plays with.

to any real person or actual happening.

breakfast and had no hope of having lunch on my return.

simply told me to leave him alone.

I laughed uncontrollably at the absurdity of the proposal. My father looked

anyway interfere with my decision to get rich at all costs.

He stared unbelievingly at me.

believed anything worldly was sinful.

before talking of some paradise somewhere beyond the blue?”

this since childhood.”

all the way, with all your heart.”

another heated argument one day.

“Your pastor is a rogue,” I told him.

International Incorporated in Ajegunle. He swindled his flock of millions of naira; collected

acquisition of an American visa was a do-or-die affair, so fraudsters cashed in on such

travel out of the country, but none of them succeeded.

Jeremiah went for a missionary job outside Lagos.

“Stop blaspheming!” he warned. “Our Pastor is good. Pastors help people.”

steals from people, instead.”

church?” His eyes glared accusingly.

poor followers made in the church, of course.”

reminded me sharply. “What our pastor is doing is written in the bible.”

morality and practices immorality.”

she’s married. Sleeping with Pastor Jeremiah is a form of purification.”

displace your pastor? Willingness, to serve God?”

the reverse, is my strong belief.”

“You’re timid and parochial. Men have no right to claim superiority.”

“Preaching equality is religiously and culturally blasphemous and sacrilegious. Read

“Culturally, polygamy is our practice. Polyandry has no place in our society.

not wanting to marry highly educated ladies.”

worth staying under the same roof with.”

physical without any emotional involvement.

inculcate discipline in Nigerian youths by instilling in them a tradition of industry at work,

would end in matrimony.

can’t ask you to marry me, not right now.”

marriage when I’ve got no job.”

after what we have shared during this service year.”

“Let us wait till we are employed.”

keep in touch. We never met again until several years later.

“Come in,” a feminine voice said.