The Sun City Of Abuja

I want to tell you a secret. Something yet unknown to man. Like how the spiders survive in palaces and how the worms find its way to the princess’ belly. Secrets of men who sought the unknown; who journeyed to find their dreams; sailed the seas with no compass; and crossed the deserts with no guide. Men who expected nothing from life, who knew that one’s success or failure in life’s journey was the decision of the gods.

Some believed that seekers would find. A fallacy; a theory, yet unproven. The only fact is that every accomplishment shows how lucky a person can be: a decision of the gods. For he that is favored by the gods amasses wealth and he, whom the gods do not cherish would stand and stare. But nothing is as pathetic as the man who his Chi – personal god – accepts his beggarly status. If such a man fights against all odds and climbs out of abject poverty, he would not last; his tale would not end well. And because he finds it difficult to appreciate that ‘all who seek must not find’, the wrath of the gods would consume him. Nevertheless, no one knows his destiny, be it fortune or love, till he seeks.

Take Flora for example. Cities like Abuja were not for good girls like her. But she cast her fears to the winds, paid over the odds and fought for her little dreams. She knew the terrain would be rough, but she did not appreciate how rough things could be. Without relenting, she gave her best. Even when the dice was loaded against her, she never backed down.

There were secrets she did not know. To her, Abuja was like the toss of a coin –

Head: she would find her dream and live happily.

Tail: she would not find her dream and would return to where they came from.

She never considered the possibility of the coin landing on its edge. A sign that they would neither find happiness nor find their way out of the town. It happened that when Flora’s destiny-coin was tossed, it neither showed the head nor the tail.

Abuja doesn’t spare. How else could I have traded on its secret? Abuja was a city where ladies hardly sustained that which they held in high esteem. Flighty and swift. A wrong choice for guiltless souls. Abuja was that blacksmith’s furnace which would test morals; that fire which would prove how fine steels were. It was an anvil upon which Flora’s personality would be struck.

“Flora, this town is very strange,” I subtly warned her. But she never understood.

A job was all she needed, she had said. Believing that once she found a good job, she would be fine.

But good jobs, most times, came with a price tag which could either be a signature on a letter or possibly, a body on a platter.

Flora put in her best, moved from place to place and hunted for an imaginary job. Good soul; but being an eager beaver did not guarantee her quail and manna. There were dues to be paid; Sacrifices to be offered. But Flora believed in her own strength.

Her heart, possibly, was made of diamonds. Unknown to her, not all diamonds last forever. When Flora’s diamond was tested, it cracked.

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I first met Flora seven years ago at Nnamdi Azikiwe University, Awka. Then, she was tall, thin and looked a lot younger than her eighteen years of age. Like a beautiful girl would attract a willing young man, she did interest me. But she was too serious to accept my offer.

She said I was a nice guy and would just like to be a platonic friend.

“No Flora,” I told her, “I hate being good friends with my crushes,”

I wasn’t too naïve to not know where she was driving my passion to and I hated ‘friend zone’. I persuaded the much I could; she did not shift ground. That was seven years ago. So when I heard she had relocated to Abuja, I welcomed it as a second chance to re-confess my love.

Believing I might be lucky, I did the necessary and paid her a visit in Sun City Estate, Abuja. The estate was a fine neighborhood with beautiful landscaping built for the rich.

Waiting in front of a beautiful cream colored house; in a long peach gown and holding two mobile phones in her left hand, her face broke into a smile when she saw me.

“Welcome, Obie,” she said as I walked into the compound.

“This place is beautiful,” I complimented.

“Thank you.”

“And Flo,” I added, “you are looking more beautiful.”

She giggled.

The apartment, where Flora was squatting, provided shelter for her and her two friends and there was another inmate I met – a dwarf white dog whose only duty was to wag its tail. The details in the living room showed that the girls lived in abundance. I have met girls like that in the past. They lived everywhere in the city of Abuja. The real magicians, I’d call them, who could not afford a bottle of beer but drank only champagne.

Sitting on a brown couch was one of her friends. She was fair and appeared tall. She could be of Flora’s age. Her yellow bum-shorts could not completely cover her laps, and that created a distraction for my lustful eyes. A green singlet covered her tempting body and there was a snake tattoo on her neck.

Throughout my stay, her eyes were glued to the television and I found it difficult to understand how Flora, who I knew as an extrovert, ended up in their company.

“Flo, this is a wrong crew.” I couldn’t keep it to myself on my way out. “How do they afford this lifestyle?”

Flora gave me a weak response. I rested my case.

Because my protest would not give her shelter and I knew I could not separate her from her company, I said the much I could and let her be. Flora, I could tell, became an accident bound to happen. It was not hard to discern that soon the chicken would one day become a cock, and do what cocks did. It was only a matter of time.

A few days later, at after eleven o’clock in the night, the exact time I laid on my bed, a call came into my cell phone. I wanted to ignore the call but realizing it was from Flora, I picked up the phone.

“Please, can you come and pick me?” she said in a tense and weary voice. She sounded like one who had been assaulted.

“Flora, where are you?” I reluctantly asked.

“I am at the Wine Shop in Wuse 2, near Amigo.” she replied.

“Wine shop by this time? What on earth are you doing in Sodom and Gomorrah at this God-forsaken period?’

“Please, I will explain” She mumbled. “Just come and pick me from here.”

To Be Contd.

Ozii Baba is a Facebook storyteller, a published author and a spoken word artist. Join him on Facebook: Ozii Baba Anieto

The topic alone did the magic for me. Your ability to weave words is great.... I am here dear make we dey go..... Ride on

Thanks man. Glad you like it.