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Don't be a hero

This is not a story. Not from the way the events kicked off and played out before my very eyes. One minute, I was positioned beside the metal detectors, monitoring customers as they entered and exited the banking hall, the next, I was having unsolicited romance with the floor, the detectors blown to shreds; funny, how I was still breathing. Good Bank (not the real name), Agbarho was about to experience its first grand larceny. Today was definitely one of those mornings I wished I’d skipped work. Literally and figuratively.

“If you know wetin good for you, cooperate with us” , one of them – obviously their leader from his build – screamed at the panting bank manager. “Arrange 50 milla there. No sime–sime. We carry gun and we nor dey fear to use am.” He fired at the ceiling, backing his words with action. A hale of dust and ceiling particles rained down, and a bar of sunlight shot through the hole. It looked like the eye of a monster Sofia, my wife and I had watched while we had sex on the sofa, with Jude my son sleeping in the room. He waved the gloomy weapon in his hands, gesturing to the black duffel bags they came with. Five bags. Five men.

It was pretty much a smooth operation—the prospects were eye-glaring. I prided myself with the knowledge of evaluating a scheme quickly. It was more of a necessity for my survival. From where I was, I could see a handful of the customers, heads bowed, and mumbling prayers to whoever cared to listen to them. The bank manager’s eyes were already wide with enough fear to carry out exactly what they’d commanded. But this entire fiasco had a fatal flaw. My sidearm was still in my possession, pressed under my weight. I thought of my wife, we had a little argument before I left in the morning . I remembered Jude, my son – I was to pick up his new school uniform from Taye, the neighbourhood tailor. I thought of my family because I would be doing something rash. ‘I’m gonna save you, baby! I’ll be your hero! I thought.

The bank manager had already begun moving away from the banking hall, two of them closing in on him as he made for the vaults. A tiny hesitation at the entrance as his fingers rapped rapidly on the electronic panel propped by the side of the vault. The door hissed like an airlock opening, and they slipped in. I saw my chance…. ‘Don’t be a hero, Mike. You’ve got a wife and a son’, a rational part of my mind said …and I took it. Still lying down, my hands moved deftly to grab my weapon, and I rolled off on one side and squeezed off two rounds in the opposite direction. I watched as the bullets slammed into the back of the heads of the two men watching the door. Down they went. Lifeless.

The hall erupted in screams. I took aim and squeezed off a round on the third guy before he could get a hold of himself. Three down. Two to go. By this time, everyone had started to flee the scene through the entrance that had been ripped apart. I raced towards the counter before me, my eyes never leaving the vault entrance. I was banking on my intuition that one of them would come out, guns blazing. He did and he was faster. He fired first. I was sure it was going to sink into my chest, but it grazed my shoulder blade. I leaped, released a set of double-taps and ducked back down. Thud. Numb to the pain on my shoulder, I stood up and aimed the barrel at the entrance. A pregnant silence hung in the air—even as seconds ticked away like heavy artillery in my head.

“DROP YOUR WEAPON OR I GO BLOW E HEAD COMOT!” shouted the last robber from inside the vault, breaking the silence. Then they came into view. The bank manager came out first, hands raised to the high heavens in total surrender. It was hard to pick off the last guy, because he was well covered behind the manager’s bulky frame. I knew he had a nozzle to the back of Manager’s head. Great. Just great. “DROP YOUR GUN!” He boomed again, and bumped the BM’s head. I got the message. But still… “I GO SHOO—” “Shoot am sef,” I countered, cutting him off. “Who e help?” “What?” He shifted in surprise of my answer, and I squeezed off a round just a few inches shy from the BM’s armpit. It hit him squarely in his chest and reeled him backwards. Dead.

* Maybe I should publish a book or something. Seriously. I mean, that’s a much better ending than what TRULY happened- that I snored on the floor throughout the entire operation. When I woke up, the bank had already been relieved of over 60 million naira, and one staff got sacked. Just one staff.

Care to guess who it was?

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mogozi:
Nice write up man... Should be moved up front.
Ftc material.

Thank you @mogozi

Lagos is experiencing yet another round of downpour in this rainy season due to the prevalent south-western Monsoon winds( my Geography teacher would be so proud right now). All things attached to this boisterous city are tough in line with its ‘hustler’ image, and the rain is no different.

Lagos Rain (LR) is hardworking, resilient and constantly looking for ways to re-brand itself. This contrasts with its wimpy London cousin, London Rain, which is too lazy to release heavy downpours and instead settles for depressing and unnecessary clouds in the sky (probably the reason for those stiff upper lips the Brits are so famous for). LR is known for its torrential downpours which quickly transform the tiniest puddle into the set of the Titanic movie.

Well, there are many reasons to love Lagos Rain, but here are my favourites:

1) LR has a sense of humour- Yep! I’m pretty convinced about this. Why else would a heavy downpour disappear in seconds and even find a way to let some rays of sunlight through- when you are under a shelter, but the minute you leave and are in a stretch of open ground it starts again leaving you drenched in seconds. It even laughs at you with thunder, probably thinking to itself- hehehe, gotcha!

2) LR hates laundry- Well I guess we have one thing in common then * covers face*. LR will allow you pile your clothes up and fool you into thinking that its going to take a day off active duty. Then when you have everything dripping on the line, LR will promptly take its cue and let the showers fall. Sometimes it is nice enough to throw in some wind just so your clothes will fall down and thwart your efforts. Of course the consequence is simple- walking around with a Tarzan-esque loin cloth to cover your nether regions or damning everybody’s eyes and going ‘commando’.

3) It makes you painfully aware of your ‘Leg-edes benz’. No matter how much we complain about how driving in Lagos is stressful and the incessant traffic jams are annoying, LR quickly changes your mind about having a car. Watching those lucky bastards zoom off in their car while drenching you further, when their tires fling water off the roads to add salt to your open wound can be very frustrating.

4) LR is a leveler: Whether you live in Lekki (Nigerian Venice) or Bariga, when the rain has unleashed its fury, all of you will roll up your trousers and wade through the water to get to your houses. The fear of replacing the entire engine of your latest BMW or Mercedes Benz is enough to make even the biggest boy a swimmer overnight (Thank god for Uber now).

After all these I have to be thankful that even if Lagos Rain has more ‘fire’ than London Rain, it is certainly no match for Chinese Province Rain, or worse, Mumbai Rain whose destructive powers are legendary. If it was, the title of this post would be ‘Why I hate Lagos Rain’.

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My mud caked shoes left prints on the floor as I walked into the restaurant, not oblivious to the stares I was getting from the smartly dressed people in their Armani suits and Elie Saab dresses. Well, I couldn’t fault them as I knew I really did look a fright. I was drenched and my hair clung to the back of my neck. My once pristine white dress was dirty brown and torn in 7several places. Any other day, nothing would have possessed me to walk into such an establishment looking the way I did, but this wasn’t any other day, it was THE day.
I summoned up courage and marched towards the Maitre’d. I didn’t actually have that far to walk as he was already bearing down on me like a raging bull during a bull fight.

“Madam you can not be in here” he spluttered, clearly trying to remain civil but failing miserably.
This is it Rolake, I told myself. Now or never.
I am here to see Mr Jide Silva, I told the Maitre’d.

The contortion of his face from anger to surprise was hilarious but I knew laughter would be terribly inappropriate at this time so simply glared back.

He recovered surprisingly quickly and said ‘ Please leave the premises at once !’.

Annoyed, I was about to launch into a lengthy tirade when I heard the man in question call out “ROLAKE”! Jide was apparently just about to leave when my face-off with the maitre’d started. When that one realised I actually knew Jide he started apologising profusely. I couldnt help but smirk and say na nana na na( in my head of course). The shock of realising that the youngest Nigerian billionaire and heir to a multi national company would know someone so strangely dressed made him stutter. Jide took off his jacket and put it on me after noticing how much I was shivering (weirdly enough I didn’t). He gently walked me out of the restaurant and into the night.

‘Wait, whats going on…what happened….. how did you know I was here?’ , said Jide.

It all came out together though and I hardly heard a word until he repeated himself.

I think I should start from the beginning, don’t you think, I said.

He nodded and I proceeded to do just that.

‘I was in the car with Anita and Lola and somehow their excitement hadn’t rubbed off on me. They had been chattering non stop since we left Ikeja and hadn’t even noticed my pensive mood. Suddenly my first day at Corona came back to me. You, smartly dressed and already a playboy, even at the tender age of eight, sat on a table. All the girls circled around you as you regaled them with a story of your summer visit to the UK. I listened with rapt attention until you noticed me and motioned for me to come over. I think that was the day it all began. For me anyway…. we started talking a lot after that and became inseparable. We manipulated our parents into sending us to the same seconadary schools and university in the US’.

‘I thought everything would fall into place when we got back to Nigeria. But it didnt.. I waited for you for 5 long years until my father’s snide remarks about me pining for someone I would never get made me finally accept Dotun into my life. And still you didnt make a move and when he proposed I had no choice but to accept. Dotun genuinely loved me and I was prepared to be contented with that. On the way to the church this evening I saw the lights of the Majestic and was reminded of how much you liked the place. And then I knew I couldn’t go on with it anymore. I had to tell you how I feel or forever live a life of regret and what ifs… I took a deep sigh and looked up at his face. ‘Jide, I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember and I need to know how you feel’…

I started twisting my fingers and came to a complete stop. I had just placed so much into Jide’s hands and the terror of 7possible heartbreak was making my hands shake. Jide bent his head and took my hands in his. I saw a single tear glide slowly down his cheek as his shoulders began to shake. Confused and not really sure what was happening I waited for him to start talking. He put a hand is his breast pocket and withdrew…..

---

‘Emma are you serious?’, Biodun asked. ‘Don’t tell me he had been carting a ring around all this while waiting for he to come screaming to him’.

Emma didn’t realize he had been sitting behind her, reading as she typed. She shot him an evil look and turned back to her laptop.

‘Well’, she said. ‘I still don’t know. You guys are so hard to figure out. The possibility of that is very high and so is the possibility of him rejecting Rolake. The male species is a rather confused one’.

‘Ehn’ he shouted. ‘It’s you women that are confused…stringing along different men’.

At that she had to laugh out loud. But this was an argument nobody would win so she kept mum.

‘In any case’, Biodun continued, ‘if Jide wanted to marry Rolake he would have. Obviously, something is wrong with her’.

She flew at him in outrage and pounded him on the back.

‘Why cant you accept that maybe something is wrong with HIM!’ she said.

Biodun laughed as he tried to ward off her blows.

‘Jeez Emma, its just a story’.

She stopped suddenly as her eyes shifted to a photo frame that was lying face down on her dressing table and got a faraway look in her eyes. Biodun followed her gaze and stopped smiling.

’Oh Emma, i’m sorry’, he said. Didn’t mean to upset you.
‘Its alright, she answered. I’m over it’.

She put on a brave smile and continued typing.

---

… a handkerchief. Jide raised his head up and I saw his mouth stretched in laughter. He was laughing? After i’d just bared my soul to him. It was like someone had just doused me with a bucket of cold water.

“I’m sorry Rolake but I don’t feel the same way you do'”, he said .’I won’t lie and say that I didn’t suspect that you had feelings for me but I had hoped it would fade away. You aren’t my type and I don’t want to make you miserable. I hope we can move past….

My mind whirled as I struggled to come to terms with the fact that my worst fears had just come to pass. The ringing of a phone snapped me out of my reverie and I realised it was Jide’s..

‘Yeah, she is here ‘, I heard him say and he hung up.

The next five minutes passed in a blur as Jide spoke but I didn’t hear a word. I felt like curling up into a ball and fading away. The bridal car came to a halt in front of me and Anita and Lola hopped out. Jide must have told them what happened because they didn’t bother asking anything. They just guided me into the car and we drove off. I remember one last thing though- the strange look on his face as the car pulled away.

---

He placed a hand on Emma’s shoulder as she continued staring at the blinking cursor.

‘So he did break her heart?’ asked Biodun as he finished reading. ‘You know not all of us are like Segun’.

Emma tensed as she heard the name. Sensing the need for her to be alone, Biodun left her in the room and closed the door softly behind him. She stood up and went to the picture and raised it up. Inside was the word- SERENDIPITY. She had replaced Segun’s picture a few days after the pain of his betrayal had started fading away. That word alone had convinced her that although it was not planned, his leaving her had been the catalyst for her to pour her emotions into writing and launch a career as an author. In a way, she thought wryly, she actually had him to thank. Maybe the men folk aren’t actually that bad she thought and sometimes heartbreak could be blessings in disguise.. a light bulb went off in her head at that moment and she hurried back to her laptop.

---

Jide watched as the car moved away until it became a speck in the distance. Then he allowed the true tears to fall. Rolake would never find out that he had steered Dotun in her diretion in an attempt to get her to stop loving him. He tried to be distant and aloof but it made her hold on tighter. Even though he loved Rolake he couldn’t allow her to suffer loss so early in life. The blasted disease that had reduced him to a shell of his former self gave him only a few more months to live but he had the satisfaction of knowing that Rolake would be well taken care of.

Dipping his hand into his trouser pocket, he pulled out the 22 carat diamond solitaire cut ring surrounded by tiny rubies. He had bought the ring three years previously when he made his first million. Just a routine medical checkup though had changed his life in an instant. He had been diagnosed with a rare blood disease and it was a miracle that he was still alive. Well, thought Jide. Her hatred for me is a small price to pay for her eventual happiness. He turned round and started walking off into the night…..

---

Emma reflected on Rolake and Jide’s story. Rolake would forever look at Jide as a heartbreaker, never knowing the sacrifice he had to make for her own happiness. Although his actions would seem callous to anybody else, the selfless decision was one that would probably push Rolake to see Dotun as more than a friend and open her heart to a loving relationship. It was probably the best gift he could have given her and certainly the most expensive.

Written by Mojisola Abudu.