Op!!!!.. I'm back again O..

Come Update Baba...... I dey feel You

The danfo parked well into the cemetery yard and just as the three men inside alighted, the security detail came running towards them, leaving behind him a trail of light dust swirling in the air. Moji wished an invisible dead hand would just slap some senses into him. Whatever he was to do, he should have done when they were at the gate.

``Oga, I need to see una permit'' he said, trying so hard to put up a serious face but his naturally fine-tuned comic features had already registered him as a joker to any complete stranger.

The driver brought out a paper from his pocket and handed it to the man. He smiled upon recognising the signature on it. His smiled and shook his head in a knowing manner, saying ``chai, our oga and backyard business'' in the middle of a mild chuckle. Moji wondered what he meant by `backyard business'.

``Sha, at all, at all, na winch. Bury am for there'' he said, pointing to a lonely spot on the ground.

Moji asked if him if he had a shovel and he replied in the affirmative, but the young boy was irritated by the man's inability to bathe well. He thought that the man was scratching his palm just because it was itchy. It was the driver who intepreted the gesture to him in clearer terms

``He wan make you give am small money, asin...bribe''

``No be say na bribe oo, I neva chop since morning'' he said, defending his actions in a rather amusing way, that only the driver found funny.

The cleric thrust ten naira forcefully onto the security man's hand, and dealing him man a deathly stare of resentment.

The young Moji got to work once he received the digging tool, his sweat frequently moistening the soil. He dug a well enough hole to fit his mother, but he kept on digging, much to the surprise of the cleric and the driver.

``E dun do nah'' the obese driver said, it sounded like an advise. One Moji wouldn't take anyway.

Stepping forward, the cleric gently took the shovel off the boy's grasp. The cleric and the driver then carried Moji's mother, and put her into the `grave', Moji went forward and kissed her forehead, crying.

The driver whose face was now awash with pity retreated, the alfa too. He bent his head and occasionally caressing his subha beads with his fingers, whilst he prayed gently

``O Allah, forgive and have mercy upon her, excuse her and pardon her, and make honourable, her reception. Expand her entry, and cleanse her with snow, water and ice, and purify him of sin as a white rob is purified of filth. Exchange her home for a better home, and her family for a better family, and her spouse for a better spouse. Admit her into the Garden, protect her from the punishment of the grave and the torment of the fire''

``Amin'' the sad voices chorused

Moji covered his mother with the soil, crying as he did so, because he thought he was stuffing her nose and ears withh sand, and forsaking her to the worms that would feast on her. She forsaked him too, she left him to become a man in a harsh world, on his own. As soon as his mother's body was well covered, they all hopped back in into the bus, and were leaving, when Moji remembered films he watched while in kirikiri where people drop flowers on the grave of their loved ones. He jumped down from the moving vehicle and injured himself, but mindless of the scratch, he ran back to where he buried his mother, and looked around, and saw a leaf that was a mix of yellow and light-green. It looked beautiful. Moji plucked it and planted it firmly on top of the soil where his mother rests below. The bewildered alfa and driver came out and each had a tear in their eye in obvious sadness, each wondering why life had to be such a miserey for one so young.

As they were approaching the gate, the security man waved his little hand on which glorified stupidity was spelt. Moji was too full of grief to accommodate resentment, the alfa spat on the ground in an obvious show of his, while the driver threw a hardened remnant of an agege bread he ate weeks ago to the man's face, maintaining his right hand on the steering.

They left, but unknown to Moji, a strong wind had blew off the `flower' with which he honoured his mother.

I hope you got the e-book @fikfaknuel.

Akposb:
I hope you got the e-book @fikfaknuel.

Yea. Thanks aplenty. Itz an insightful book. I'll certainly learn alot from it.

ruggedadventure:

Rugged!!!! How your Matter be na?

Tgold1:


Rugged!!!! How your Matter be na?

Op dey Bleep up nah.... see d last time he updated

ruggedadventure:
Op dey Bleep up nah.... see d last time he updated

Sure, This Your Moniker Though

Op hwfa I need to read sumtin b4 I slip tonight

Tgold1:


Sure, This Your Moniker Though

lol........ cool

ruggedadventure:
lol........ cool

H2O na adventure

Akposb:
I hope you got the e-book @fikfaknuel.

I would be happy if you send it to me too at peterabayomi01@gmail.com

CHAPTER FIVE
The Man stood with his hands behind his back, walking in a clockwise manner, staring into the dark ground. All his students were present, about five in number. They were young boys, but should be a little older than their honcho. The light from a distant house shone dimly on their faces, just as The Man had thought out. The light made him to be able to look into their faces and catch their undiluted reaction to what he was going to say. Their present venue of course, was the famous Maracana football field, close to the Tolu complex where over twenty government-owned schools were situated. It was not new to anybody who wasn't a JJC to know that whilst football prodigees and talented footballers own the field during the day, when the clouds turn gloomy and light is submerged, it is the headquarters of illicit activities, and dangerous people were usually there. They would be seen smoking, or drinking unknown `highness'. Other people who lived around but weren't a part of this strict circle did wise to keep their distance from the Maracana field once it's dark, for darkness begets evil. There once was a young lady who was brutally raped by a gang. Her offence? She was indecently dressed. Such an irony; outlaws administering the law to defaulters.

"Blackie Olokpa is back, as some of you might have heard'' The Man said to the stick-like boys who stood animatedly. They looked at each other, with telling gazes. As long as they knew, the culprit was unknown, he who raped Blackie Olokpa's daughter. They all suspected that The Man knew who it was, but didn't find it `necessary' to divulge such an infomation to them.

"All I need to say is, you all stay out of harm's way. No further words should be needed than to remind you all than that one policeman right now is more powerful than all of us combined. He promised hell, and he is back, bringing hell to our doorsteps.

Silence ran through their presence, as the whooshy wind echoed the words of The Man into all of their ears. Nobody echoed any sentiments, or had any cloud hovering over his cloud of reasoning. They got the message loud and clear and so, didn't ask any question. They just stood, hands folded behind their backs, in similarity to The Man, as they awaited further directives from him. They saw a person approaching them. His facial features were blackened out by the darkness, but his body was slim. He walked bravely towards them, disrupting the meeting. They all wondered who this brave, or rather stupid person was. As he got closer to the circle and the dim light too, rested on his face, his facial features were recognised, immediately obvious as the suspense dropped. There was no shaking of hands, even though they knew the intruder all too well. The Man certainly had business with him, they thought

"Good evening, the First, the Apex of intellectual, the Symbol of Knowledge, The Man. I salute'' The intruder hailed, as the receiver of the vocal accolades looked at him, unpertubed, by the sugary words of the speaker. He wouldn't grin like a tormented lunatic or a low esteemed person who forcefully seeks recognition from a toothpaste outfit. No, he wasn't fazed by the titles, because they were rightfully his.

"Saliu, what have you come to do here?'' The Man asked, raising his chin up, looking more intensely into his obviously `unwelcome' visitor's eye.

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HOw u tk knw my moniker

Nice story man. Continue

Tgold1:



H2O na adventure

I sight U
Rugged U



U b fine-boy?

Nice story..thanks for da mention.

Wishing all my esteemed readers a bountiful sallah. Sorry i've been slow in updates, been really busy to free up time to type.

Today i'll update as much as I can.

fikfaknuel:
Wishing all my esteemed readers a bountiful sallah. Sorry i've been slow in updates, been really busy to free up time to type.

Today i'll update as much as I can.

Same to you......

Pls be faSt with those updates Though

Nice Story Bro....... Waiting for the update

"I need your protection" Saliu spoke, after he had looked at all six of them including The Man, in the eye.

"You traitor! You snake! How could I possibly protect someone who I now consider my enemy?" The Man spat out in an obvious venomous anger, the 'weakest' of his group shuddered, afraid he would eventually slap somebody's head off.

"I know i'm a traitor, I know i'm a snake. I even be lizard. But, I no wan go hell fire na, and I know wan die now. The preachers dem tell me say if I do bad thing I go go hell fire, and e hot well well"

"You don't want to die, or go to hell? And yet you smoke and drink recklessly. Get out of here, Saliu, I didn't make any rash decision those several years ago because of our then-friendship. Don't make me to do so now" The Man said in a final tone, turning his back to Saliu and facing his students and ardent followers.

Saliu and The Man was once best friends, even though there was a huge five years difference between them. They had been both been outstanding prodigees of a cult which was as secret as it's operations. No one knew it's name and no one ever knew any of it's members. Their operations was politically-influenced. But what the people knew was that, any time the 'nameless cult' struck, there was always a red flower at the scene.

The Man's fame in the cult protracted when he, and he alone, infiltrated the Chairman's office and threatened him to resign the next day or die. The chairman, a yoruba man, whose body-fat couldn't be hidden by the blue agbada he wore shivered, but was sweating profusely. It was such a huge decision to make, but he didn't have any choice in the matter.

"Wh-wh-what is m-m-my off-ence?" He stuttered, out of fear, but still able to complete his sentence.

He saw a wicked smile behind the mask. The chairman feared for his life, but the masked person was democratic, in dealing with a corrupt democrat.

"I am an abomination caused by you"

"Wha-what do you mean?"

"Your admnistration of thievery, and partial service led to the death of my mother, who was pregnant, but was asked to pay 'acceptance fee' by a so-called 'community hospital'. I lost my mother and unborn sibling because of your reluctance to pay the workers. I lost my mother and unborn sibling because of your greed"

"Ple-please, don't kill me" the chairman begged, kneeling, with the perspiration emanating from his forehead enough to bathe a cow. He was obviously afraid of dying, and leaving behind, the numerous sums of money he had acquired illegally.

"No, I wont kill you"

The masked person put his hand into his pocket, bringing out a rose, and placed it on the chairman's table, then he left.

In my opinion, your story is cool, but in the name of comments and recognition, you delay updates, and even when you choose to update, your updates are so little and ends up like a waste of time. Serve the story hot, do not kill the vibe, give them stuffs to comment about...I have been following, but severally I have been tempted to hit the unfollow button. A matured writer would not write for comments and likes, but would write professionally, ignoring the urge and desperation for comments and likes, these (comments and likes) would come with your quality and professional writing. Its like counting stars while losing focus on the moon. Its like seeking all other things and waiting for the kingdom of God to be added unto you, its like being pennywise and pound foolish. Make your updates frequent, consistent and lengthy, make it worth the short wait and make it worth being read.

Cheers!

Man keep up the good job. In as much as you have described the events as real I am content and revel in reading it like a fiction.

Please do well to consider the comment above me.

FxHouse:
In my opinion, your story is cool, but in the name of comments and recognition, you delay updates, and even when you choose to update, your updates are so little and ends up like a waste of time. Serve the story hot, do not kill the vibe, give them stuffs to comment about...I have been following, but severally I have been tempted to hit the unfollow button. A matured writer would not write for comments and likes, but would write professionally, ignoring the urge and desperation for comments and likes, these (comments and likes) would come with your quality and professional writing. Its like counting stars while losing focus on the moon. Its like seeking all other things and waiting for the kingdom of God to be added unto you, its like being pennywise and pound foolish. Make your updates frequent, consistent and lengthy, make it worth the short wait and make it worth being read.

Cheers!

Thanks for your honesty. I appreciate it alot. However, i'm not doing this because of 'likes', recognition I hope to get someday.

I push myself hard, but obviously not hard enough. That's something i'll work on. Please follow, and my other readers too.

The next morning, news greeted the city of Ajegunle that the chairman had resigned. It was cited to be as a result of poor health, but the 'nameless cult' knew who was behind it. Ajegunlites jubiliated about the resignation. The boy who used to be just Chibuike, became The Man, his name was known in the whole of Ajegunle, he was a cultist with a postive aura, for like Anini, he stole from the rich, and gave to the populace.

Saliu always felt like he wasn't given the same opportunies in the cult with Chibuike, and although they were good friends, Saliu nursed a silent jealousy against him, it was healthy nevertheless, he saw Chibuike who was now, The Man as a competition. Following the dissolvement of the 'nameless cult', each member went his way, but Saliu joined The Man in his new group, which he called a 'school'. Saliu stayed with the group for about eighteen months, before converting to christianity, after claiming he was taught about hell fire, and he so much feared to go there. He, Saliu, thought he'd avert it by opting out of a cult.

Back to the present day, The Man's cult was almost invisible, and therefore, could rarely be attacked. Unknown to The Man that night, Saliu wasn't just there to beg for protection, he had ulterior motives, and his jealousy was still being kindled by the hateful hands of Saliu.

Weeks followed, and still there was no incident concerning Blackie Olokpa, the election campaigns and rallies were still being held, Moji was working as a full time dish washer in a restaurant, and passed the night there, accomodating rats as his roomates, Chinasa was still a 'call girl', Kosere just released his album, and the Ajegunle was still Ajegunle, busy as ever, full of hardworking people.

Deep inside Ajegunle, in Salami, a street in the boundary market, it was a makeshift liquor store a meeting was being held, just like The Man's. They were four boys, and Saliu sat with them, pouring Meshango into plastic cups for them.

"I have a task for all of you" he said, lighting up the cigarette he held on his lips.

"Dalung, abi you bring your pencil and paper?"

"Yes" a bulky boy with a round face said, his eyes glistening with glee on his rare chance to impress the boss. He was a master artist, and could draw anything and anybody, if properly described.

"The boy is tall..." Saliu began, as Dalung held his pencil to the paper in utmost concentration, the other three boys looked on with admiration. "he has one kind face like that, e no round but..." Saliu fought with his thoughts, trying to give a proper description. "Oblong face, you mean?" Dalung suggested "Ah, yes" Saliu concurred.

Saliu went on describing the yet unknown person to Dalung, for minutes, taking brief breaks to sip from his cup of Meshango, and kissed the stick of his cigarette.

After about seventeen minutes, he was finally through.

"Is this the person?" Dalung asked, lifting his drawing up so Saliu could see it.

"Yes" Saliu said with a smile on his lips. "Exactly the person" he re-iterated. His other boys now looked at him, and he knew the question on their minds.

"He is a student of The Man. You are to kill him" Saliu charged his boys, looking into their scared eyes. He knew they haven't claimed a life before but as it is said, a first time for everything".

Ajegunle woke up to the news of a casualty, a casualty of death. In a street in Ajegunle, a possibly fourteen year-old school boy. As usual, fingers were pointed at cultist events. The body was eerily disposed of, as his hands and legs flung in different directions, dry blood on his head. It was congealed, and was sure that the person was continuosly hit on the head by an amateur-although nobody knew.

"Ehn, I see three small boys, wey be like this" a trader who caught a glimpse of the homocide said, gesticulating with his hand, trying to pinpoint the height of the killers.

"Ehen, wetin dem come do?" the police man asked impatiently, sounding so quick to wrap-up the investigation and retire to the 'comfort' of the station.

"The three boys come corner the boy, as the boy come dey beg dem, the boy dey cry, but one of them hold stick for hin hand. Him come dey shift near the boy. I be wan shout but dem fit attack me, and me I get romantism, I no fit run" the witness said, giving a more detailed info into the murder, and capping it off with a wrong pronounciation of Rheumatism, to which the middle-aged policeman laughed, mildly, at.

"Okay, thank you ma. I may further need your assistance" the cop concluded, giving the woman a gently pat on her right arm.

The next day, the police unit was at the crime scene, clearly lacking any nous on how to solve the murder. They got a call, from a call center phone number.

"Another person we found dead, inside a well." some persons said over the phone in scared voices, afraid of this phenomena where young boys were murdered.

The Police was as confused as anyone could ever be; who would want to kill seemingly harmless schoolboys? Ajegunle had been peaceful, or at least tried to be, after the not-too-long Ilaje-Ijaw conflicts which claimed many lives. That was ethnical, but this was something else. Some fingers were pointed at the local government, some others blamed it for failing to protect it's young ones.

There was a state-wise focus on the Ajeromi-Ifelodun Local Government Area, popularly known as AJ City as these two deaths skyrocketed it into external gaze. In a rather unfortunate twist of events, a media house happened to be nearby, in Kirikiri town. This media outfit was The Sun, a foremost one in Nigeria, and effectively began running some two years ago. It's editor-in-chief was a honest and driven man who craved to report news as raw as possible, undiliuted and true. The chairman knew they was trouble in the air when a correspondent from The Sun sought an audience with him, and requested for permission to do a `survey report' of Ajegunle, strictly based on sheer curiosity. Dimeji Wasiu the chairman wasn't a gullible man. He possesed the typical nittty-gritty characteristic in politicians who sought to reach elevated heights. He knew he couldn't just grant this young, pretty journalist a free pass to roam his territory. He also knew denial to do so will be bad press and will attract more eyes on the dealings of his administration and his re-run campaign couldn't have that. He wouldn't drop votes in a careless manner.

``Come back the day after tomorrow, i'm really busy now'' honourable Dimeji Wasiu said to the reporter, ``i'm really busy now'' feigning a work-like face and pretended he was immersed in the papers on his table. The lady journalist didn't object to his decision. She just stood up and thanked the honourable, for acting his title, and giving her an audience. She also said she'd be back on Thursday, the day-after-tomorrow, just as the chairman had suggested.

Later that same evening, the chairman when leaving the office placed a call to his bosom friend, Baba Saka. Baba used to be a vocal critic of the chairman in earlier years, when the chairman was just a 46 year old man, relatively young in politics, and was contesting for the chairmanship.It was during one of his rallies which was staged in Rorobi, he met the vibrant aged man.

``I promise to improve power supply, all your children will be enrolled for free in our quality schools! Vote for me, and i'll eradicate the ghost of the crisis of the mid nineties to the late nineties, unite and vote for me! Ijaw, Ilaje, Ibibio, Ibo, Yoruba, Hausa, Fulani, Tiv, Idoma, vote for me! we are brothers and sisters and together, we can make Ajegunle the number one city in Africa, for we have bountiful talents like the skillful Samson Siasia, or have you forgotten Daddy Showkey? the king of music, he is an Ajegunlite. I will encourage talent, vote for me!'' He had roared that day, some four years ago, in 1999.

Whilst the crowd roared in equal measure, a old man was jostling through the sea of bodies, he wanted to go to the front. He finally did, and told one of the `political party hypemen' who shouted stupidly at any average utterance of the aspirant that he wanted to ask him, the aspirant, a question. They initially denied him access but Dimeji Wasiu saw them below from the mounted stage on which he stood. He gesticulated that the man should be allowed access to join him on the stage. Baba Saka climbed the stage with so much vigor that made one think he was a young boy in an old body. He greeted the aspirant returned the favor of the greeting, prostrating flat on his tummy to the old man. The crowd roared jubilantly at such a man, so humble. Baba Saka was then given a microphone to air his question, or suggestion. He took the tool with an elderly swagger and cleared his throat. In Nigeria in general, whenever people did this in public, especially old people, it meant that the audience should be quiet as the speaker was ready to share something, usually very wise and thoughtful.

``Ehm, first of all, Mr I-want-to-be-chairman'' Baba Saka addressed the aspirant in a straight-up, sarcastic manner "Don't steal our money''
The crowd jumped high in excitement and their collective elevated roar was similar to that of an earthquake, for the ground shook when their heavy legs descended. In Hip-Hop terms, that was what was called a punchline.

"Now, I only have one suggestion to make. I know all these things which you have said here na just talk, you wan win. I know. But, if you want us to vote you, first, you go promise us say we go see food chop. Abi na economy dem dey call am? I de call am eko money. Make sure say things no ever bad when e go reach say, we no go fit chop rice, or I no go fit chop my gbegiri and amala. Make the economy no bad oo, because when money for food dey, we go chop, we go dey alive. No be all dis one wey you dey talk, we Ajegunle people, nobody hustle reach us, e dey our blood, we go hustle, make our own money'' Baba Saka explained in what seemed like a comical lecture on the blueprint of how to make Ajegunlites happy. It was dead serious to him, but that didn't stop the aspirant from nursing a wide grin, or the crowd from making animalistic shouts and whistling, happy that they have a Fela Anikulapo Kuti, that would speak for them.

``I have heard you baba, I plan to do exactly as you say-and even more. As far as I am chairman, no pesin for Ajegunle would ever go hungry. I promise. Thank you baba''

Baba Saka unmounted the stage and descended back into the crowd of common men, as he was given a rapturous welcome.

Dimeju Wasiu asked one of his campaign officers to find the old man, and gift him a phone. With this, Dimeji Wasiu constantly called Baba Saka who offered him a first-hand report on the streets. He also gave him advice on things he should do to claim the seat of chairman. Dimeji eventually became chairman largely based on Baba's advice which he cherished, when it favored him but when it didn't, he didn't hesitate to change Baba Saka's opinion by sending people to give his aged acquaintance a fancy bag, which sent the chairman's regards and of course, crisp naira notes.

fikfaknuel:


Thanks for your honesty. I appreciate it alot. However, i'm not doing this because of 'likes', recognition I hope to get someday.

I push myself hard, but obviously not hard enough. That's something i'll work on. Please follow, and my other readers too.

All the best bro, I must say its not easy, but let me quickly point out that nothing good comes easy. I'm right here and I'm following closely and patiently too. Your job is highly creative, in the sense that it puts the reader in the scenario in terms of imagination.

Keep up the good work...

Nice morning!

Baba Saka and the chairman had remained good friends ever since, even though the man's honesty became compromised. He was the one man who had the ears of the chairman.

Before the chairman got home, Baba was already seated in, his old and feeble hands working skillfully through his plate of Amala and Gbegiri, picking out the fleshy mounds of soft beef, shaki, and 'roundabout' that swimmed in the gbegiri soup. The brown Amala too, was a joy to behold, as it slipped into the grasp of his fingers when he dug his hand inside. Beside his plate was a chilled bottle water, for Baba Saka didn't drink any other liquid apart from that. He believed, rightly, that soft drinks and beer killed people. He didn't want to die now, not when such pleasures as these were accesible to him.

The door flung open as the chairman entered, to which Baba Saka stood gently, appraising his arrival and complimenting the culinary skills of his cook. The chairman awarded the old man with a brief smile but cut it off, he had more pressing things to discuss than receive glowing compliments about Amala and Gbegiri. Shortly after, in about twenty-seven minutes, the chairman had gone in and took a quick shower, then changed into his pyjamas, even though it wasn't really night. When he came back to the living room, Baba Saka had finished his food and was cleaning his hands, afterwards digging a toothpick into his mouth to expose and extract any little chunks that refused to be grinded by his teeth. He was done with eating, then he turned to face the chairman who was patient, waiting calmly so he could have the whole attention of the wise chap.

"How is your family, baba?" the chairman asked, not wanting to rush into the primary talk of the day, the African politician never goes straight to the point, he dribbles around words and takes his audience unawares, and unable to say 'no'.

"Well, my wife you know, is happy. Our first and only son will be graduating from unifasity next year, and I too, i'm happy.

I don't want to bore you with tales by moonlight, how is my able chairman doing, and how is my able chairman, and his family? I hope you all are well?"

"Ah-yes, Baba. You know, my wife is in Dubai now, you know how women like shiny things" they both burst into a friendly laughter "and both my daughers are doing well at the University of Cambodia, so we are fine" The chairman stressed, as the Baba looked at him in admiration.

"I know you did not call me here to discuss family issues" the chairman shook his head indicating 'no'. He was happy that his old friend still maintained his sharpness and wit over the years. It was certainly going to be needed.

"Today, at the office, a journalist girl, came to my office, requesting that I grant her permission to do a what did she call it, ehmm, a survey report, of Ajeromi-Ifelodun. I am looking at it from a suspicious angle. What do I do?"

Baba Saka observed his trademark clearing-of-throat.

"In the name of democracy, you cannot deny her such permission to any responsible citizen, moreso a journalist. You'll receive a serious public bashing"

"You are merely stating facts, my friend!" the honourable chairman's voice was loud, as he said that in impatience and a thinly-veiled anger.

"Patience" the old man warned, making a 'shh' sound thereafter.

"If you are to grant her such permission, it has to be given with a condition"

The chairman shifted to the edge of his luxury sofa, closer to where Baba Saka sat.

"You have to provide her an escort. That way, you can monitor her every movement and activity." Baba Saka advised

"Good idea. Who might that escort be?" the now-gleeful chairman asked

"I don't know, but it should be a young,vibrant man, who has a lot of brains. Shebi that your nephew that graduated with a first class from OAU, he's in Lagos, abi?"

"That's why I call you Baba. You too wise!" the chairman praised.

"Heys, boy, bring champagne come here" he said to a young-looking boy, who should be a domestic help, gesturing him to do as he was told.

"Ah-Ah chairmo, you know I don't drink"

"Wetin you want?"

"A little cash will do" Baba Saka replied, adjusting himself comfortably on the sofa.

CHAPTER SIX
Just how a mature hen flees at the sight of an approaching eagle, so does time flies fast. It was Thursday, the tenth day of July, 2003. The chairman woke up lazily from his bed 8am, as he woke up every other day. It was like his brain had been distinctly programmed to wake up at that exact time. He quickly dashed off to brush his teeth, and afterwards took his bath. He came out of his room and descended to his large sized living room, where in the right corner, was his dining table. He rushed over and took his breakfast which was white bread and tea. Exiting his living room in his trademark flowing agbada, he held a briefcase in his left hand, on which a gold watch hung on its wrist. He looked at the watch, and he wasn't pleased with what the time was, as it was obvious on his face, which formed into a slight frown. He dug his right hand into the left pocket of the agbada, and brought out a phone, with which he punched in some digits, and put it close to his ears, so he could be aware of when the person he was calling picks.

"Uncle, is that you?" a baritone voice sounded at the other side.

"Yes, Kunle, Kunle the son of my sister. It's me. Are you prepared?"

"Ah-yes, uncle. I am knotting my tie now, soon afterwards, i'll be coming to your office" the person said assuredly

"Okay, I believe you. I'm on my way to the office. I'll see you later"

"Bye, uncle, I don't want to strangle myself with this tie"

The call ended, as the chairman smiled at how one can never know how life and good deeds repay them. He was the young man's benefactor in the higher institution. Now he was going help him one way or the other retain his chairmanship.