Abuja, Nigeria
Waterfall district in Abuja is one of the most beautiful organized urban settings in Nigeria. The district have also been acknowledged as one of the most expensive spaces on earth where only the super rich could afford to own or rent an apartment, a duplex, a mansion or a diplomatic structure, this depending on one’s pocket and purpose. The district unquestionably housed some of the most influential people in the country. The Nigerian master plan was designed by the International Planning Association (IPA) of America with a design which divided the city into two sectors of residential districts to accommodate a population of between 100,000 and 250,000 people, an unrealistic number that has since swallowed the plan.
The Federal Capital city in all was actually a four phased development plan with a short sighted arrangement to accommodate an initial total population of 1.60 million people within the year 2000 with an ultimate speculated capacity for 3.10 million inhabitants. But what the IPA had failed to put into consideration was the daily biological landing of more Nigerians into the world and the large number of existing ones, estimated to be more than 200 million people. So before you know it, most of the land in Waterfall and the other rich surroundings in the capital city had been allocated and divided among the rich elites and their cronies. They had the money and influence to built and erect some of the most spectacular untouchable structures in the district, thus turning the area to one of the most expensive, well organized space in the federal capital city, including the whole of sub-Sahara Africa.
The story goes that there is no house in Waterfall that housed a ‘’Nobody’. You must be a ‘Somebody’ or someone close to a ‘somebody’ to own a space or reside in a particular street in the district. Among the various exclusive streets in Waterfall was a peculiar street, simply known as the ‘CLOSE’. This street is said to be the most expensive street in Nigeria and among the most expensive in the world. The street derived its name from the nature of its long winding avenue that ended at a final close, and barricaded by high magnificent rocks and waterfall. Every house on the close was a masterpiece on its own. A prudent observer lucky to be allowed into the area will quickly notice two obvious thing among the rich elites with houses on the close; a silent war of showoff and flamboyancy. Every house owner conspicuously displayed its opulence to show the next door neighbor that ‘I too could afford to park some of the latest state of the art classy cars’ inside my multi million naira structure. This they do by building low fenced walls and expensive carports, so visitors and neighbors alike could see and marvel at their acquired vanities whenever they visit or stumbled upon their exquisite compounds. Every structure on the close was roofed in various competitive aluminum sheets and designs with exception to a particular house with modernized asbestos on its roof.
The house was currently the most luxurious, the most beautiful and most controversial house on the close. Every house inside this exquisite space have a personal guard and other domestic staff, this apart from the rich owners who hardly spend more than few months in the country before jetting out to their other various rich abodes abroad, making more money and enjoying the sweet things money could buy and those rare ones that life often offers.
The long wide road leading to the Close was lined with tall trees, bright streetlights and strong concrete slaps. The German multinational firm Julius Berger built the roads and almost all the prominent government features around and within the area. No visitor was allow between the gigantic barricades on the close without first passing through the suspicious scrutiny of the four well-armed security guards who watched over the area on a twenty-four hour shift. These four heavily built men would first make every visitor known or unknown go through their various interrogations and intimidation before allowing the visitor to pass through, this after been satisfied that he or she was not a threat to the rich elite and their pampered families. If not, then it was the beginning of trouble to the unlucky caller which might lead further to more interrogation and intimidation, and then finally to detention. A big signpost at the beginning of the close boldly cautioned in capital letters read: DON’T COME TO THE CLOSE IF YOU ARE NOT INVITED.

All the domestic staff both male and female knew each other, so there was never a vacancy or a chance for an unemployed passerby or a domestic service company to come nosing around for jobs within the close. The street was intentionally closed to the unwanted hawkers, painted taxis and okadas. The controversial asbestos structure was the last house that shared the same border with the tallest rock in the area. The building made up of a one story duplex, painted in white colour with two other one storey chalets, also painted in white stood very close to the decorated sculptured rock. The French window frame was all painted in red, with tinted reflecting glass.
All the structure occupied a large expense of land, almost the biggest on the close with tall palm trees adoring the compound and frontage. Parked neatly in an orderly outline around the carports were some of the most expensive state of the art cars, rare to see around the country, in fact around the African continent.

At exactly 6:05pm the massive gates of the controversial mansion on the Close suddenly glided open remotely and three creatures drove out of the rich compound inside a silver color BMW rear wheel coupe. One of the creatures was a human being and the other two were beast. The human among them as expected was on the steering wheel while his two breed of fiercely looking Doberman dogs gawked suspiciously at everything around them from the back seat. The car was roofless; the fresh breeze of the day enticed the three occupants inside the stylish car as they cruised away in its flashy alloy wheels. The young stocky looking guy on the wheel was a Nigerian in his late thirties. Simply dressed in a white sleeveless Danshiki, (Sleeveless caftan) with his bloodshot eyes hidden behind a dark framed designer sun-glass.
He wore a contented smirk on his round face with a goatee beard and confidently smoked a weed as he rock himself slowly to the track ‘ Beast of No Nation’’ by Fela Anikulapho Kuti, from the heavily loaded Pioneers sound system inside the car. The character on the wheel dragged his thick weed and occasionally took a swing from the chilled bottled of EVA water beside him. He drove towards the fortified gates of the close confidently with the weed held boldly to the view of the men by the barricades. The four armed men by the gate stared at the coming car and it occupants, stood suddenly alert and then smiled broadly at the young Nigerian with a bow. Their eyes stared admiringly at the car and the dogs, then knowingly at the weed in his hand. Two of them rushed to the barricade and quickly lifted up the bar with a bow.

The character on the wheel grinned at them, threw a bundle of fifty naira notes at their leader, engaged gears and then slowly cruised away, leaving the four men to gape at the money, and then suspiciously at each other. Man and money. Money controls men. The character on the wheel concluded, grinned, dragged his smoke, sipped his drink, and then cruised away with his watchful dogs.


********

The character inside the Chrysler Cross Fire notoriously known as Smoke in cybercrime world made a U-turn ten minutes later and cruised steadily on a street along Maitama district, another high brow neighborhood in Abuja. He finally stopped in front of a brown bungalow with beautiful arranged flowers adoring the fence. A uniformed guard by the gate sighted the car, the man a well built hard faced guy threw open the gates, then smiled at Smoke with his eyes warily on the dogs.

“Evening sir” He greeted, his eyes never leaving the two beasts at the back seat.

Smoke nodded at him, then drove straight to a carport and parked close to three other posh cars. He lit a stick of Marlboro cigarette and casually stepped out of the car followed by his brutes. He grinned at them as the two dogs dutifully flanked him on both side. He parted them on their heads, and the female dog obediently jumped onto his car bonnet and mounted a sentry on the car and the surrounding. He grinned approvingly at the dog, then sauntered towards the main building followed by the male dog. The uniformed guard at the gate stood transfixed, his eyes gaped uncomfortably at the dogs and their master.

The well furnished bungalow with its multi colour sofas and white painted wall hosted three people at that moment. They were all members of the Free-Hands, the most notorious cyber-crime gang in Nigeria, and also one of the most organized cyber-crime bands in Africa. Two male and a female, among them a tall, slim guy with a babyish face in his early thirties, dressed in a blue jeans and a multi-coloured designer shirt by Tom Ford with a brown half-cut Swede boot. The slim guy called Skinny busy himself on the internet on a silver color Apple laptop, sip whisky from a glass, drag his cigarette and then carried on with what he was doing on the net. The other guy, a massively built guy with a clean shaved face and a glittering shaved head that sat on his broad shoulder like a trophy was also in his early thirties and dressed in blazers over blue jeans and rich loafers’ shoes. He was known as John Bull. He had his attention glued to a big plasma TV on the wall with rapt attention to the football match going on. Skinny, crossed his legs and stared up at the third figure inside the room, the extremely beautiful Lizzy, the female character with a stylish breaded African hair style and a slim shape like a model and presently dressed fashionably in an expensive designer dress, embroiled with African fabrics. They called her Lizzy, short for Elizabeth, but well known as Franca by security operatives across the country.

She paused in her browsing from her expensive iphone from her position on a double multi colour sofa, re-crossed her long legs on a high heels gladiator designer shoe and joined the others as they glanced towards the glass door which at that moment remotely slides aside and the familiar outline of a dog strolled in. They all stared uncomfortably at the brute as the sniffing Doberman sniffed suspiciously around. Satisfied, the dog picked a corner close to the entrance and dropped itself into a squatting position. Smoke with a cigarette still burning on his lips, casually sauntered into the setting few seconds later. He paused by his dog and scrutinized the three other human figures in the room from his dark glasses. They all stared back at him quietly and stole individual glances at the dog. He wandered into the room and dropped his stocky frame into a two setter sofa close to the dog and stared at the three. He piled off his dark shades and smiled broadly at all of them with his bloodshot eyes.

“ So, wetin dey happen? Which Flame dey burn? Smoke finally asked with a deep commanding voice in pidgin. They all remained silent and Lizzy finally smiled up boldly at him.

“ Na Victor, e be like say dem don grab am for Money House…”

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