Before I left the house, I stood for half an hour in front of the mirror. I'm not a dandy nor particular about my appearance. It was a great day. In the company of some politicians, I would visit a very wealthy man. You need to look great! Every detail mattered - my shoes were polished; my socks was brand new; the singlet on my body, unworn; there was no new boxers - so I picked my best.

We parked our car outside the house - we rode in a beautiful 2012 Range Rover, and until we entered the compound, I realized why it was a taboo to bring garbage into the master’s bedroom. The rich have inherited the earth, believe me. Our host’s house was everything a billionaires house should be: the mansion - I'm sure - is not finer than palaces in the Middle East, but it can compete with castles in Europe. He built a garage in front of his country house; what he parked there were not ordinary machines. The only reason I could not write the varieties of cars I saw there was because I have never seen them in my life. Yes, I became as tiny as a soldier ant in Savannah. As we walked towards the main house, someone shouted my name, and it forced me to flash a glance at the voice’s direction.

Clad in a short and a dirty rag was a young man with a wide grin. His cloth was soiled with blood, I could see that from the distance. He kept the grimace on his face as he called me again. I recognized him - he was Emeka, my classmate in the almighty DMGS. Though I have not seen him since ‘97, the face was still the same. We could only wave, I could not leave the magnificent train I was with, and he could not ascend to my height. We are in two worlds apart.

In DMGS, in the 90s, Emeka was not an exceptional student; he was not a dull guy. His father, a chubby man that looked angry always, was very fond of him; he visited him almost every week. He (the father) once came to fight a teacher that flogged his son. Then, we all said it: ‘the man was spoiling his son; he would never allow him to be independent.’ But no matter what we said, the boy was as social as he could be, and, in his own little way, strong. Though his class results were not outstanding, Emeka was an average student. He crossed J.S 1 with ease.

In the second term of our J.S 2 class, tragedy struck. Armed robbers went to Emeka’s house at night and -in presence of the whole family - shot Emeka’s father. We heard he died at Emeka’s feet, and that the boy did not cry (then, Emeka was barely 12 years old; the oldest of the family of 6). He missed almost a term, when he returned, he was no longer the guy we used to know. He slept a lot in the class, became a truant. His mother tried to rehabilitate his boy, but clearly, to everyone,he was beyond redemption. His new company were the bad boys of those days. He failed the J.S 2, n when we crossed to Senior class, he failed JS 2 class again. This time, he was expelled. A no-do good; a riff-raff.

The last time I saw him - I went to Central School to deliver something for my mother - he was on the school’s fence smoking weed. He hid his face, and I was wise enough to act as if I did not see him. But that impression was indelible; it was how I remembered him.
******

Back to our trip to the Big Man’s house.

We stayed in the Big Man’s house for nearly an hour; when we were leaving, I saw him again at the gate. ‘You are now a big man,’ he amicably said. There were marks on his face to show that he had seen more than he could tell - rough scars. He kills cows, he told me. He was in the Big Man’s house to kill cows.

On our way back, I couldn’t help it but think about Emeka.

A lot of people would blame his woes on him - people have seen worse still they survived. Very few would understand that Emeka was not just ‘people’. The robbers thought they killed only his Father, but on that day, as they pulled the trigger, Emeka died also. It's so easy to judge people - to most of us, Emeka was the architect of his own future. What we all failed to put into consideration was the importance of the mental health - his coping mechanism.

If not for the death of his father, Emeka would have become something better. But now, he is a mere pawn of fate, a chaff blown around by savage winds. Maybe - though my understanding of the term is bias - ill was his destiny.. Just maybe.

I heard myself saying audibly inside the car: ‘We need to be humble, sometimes; we are just lucky. Just lucky.’

Nice one