₦airaland Forum

speak2femz:
Its a nice one.

ThanksThanks

Ezedon:
Who will have time to go through all these in this APC regime

Abeg, boss. Leave APC and PDP make you epp me o.
Who dem epp?

Please, lemme know what you think. I'll post some more chapters after I get some reviews.
Thanks.

As soon as we got to his door and knocked, I realized that his wife would let hell loose if she saw her drunken husband and i together.
I knocked again and got out of sight to see what would happen. I could have gone home but I wanted to see his wife’s reaction so I could tease him the next morning. Then I heard a voice as stern as a man’s voice. “Leave that door. Go and sleep. He will stay outside today”.
I waited. Still the door did not open. I knocked again, no response. I was at a dilemma whether to leave him there or take him to my house. I could leave him there, the door would come open in the morning but if I did, his neighbours would definitely see him early in the morning and ridicule him. I could take him home but then he could not wear the same uniform he was putting on at that moment to work the next day. His other uniform was is in his house.
I could speak up and let his wife hear my voice, she would definitely open the door, but she would also create a scene like she did the last time. I checked my handset for time, it was 10:52pm. Then, I thought “I can leave him here. I will just get to work early tomorrow so as to sign for the both of us”.
In my mind, I knew the best thing to do was to speak with his wife, calm her down and explain why we went to drink today. Explain that today’s late coming was different. She might be sympathetic.
While this thought ran through as I left for my house, my half-drunken mind could tell it was wishful thinking. “Wives are never sympathetic”, I thought to myself. All they do is yell and yell till your ears pop off. That is why anytime a woman comes home, her husband and Children will not have peace. Women always find something to complain about, not to talk of now that Sarah, Amin’s wife really had something to complain about.
As I got closer to my house, I remembered Sarah’s anger showing through her voice as she commanded her child “leave that door. Go and sleep, he will stay outside today”. I chuckled to myself, finding it funny- how a woman’s soft voice can sound like a man’s voice when she is angry. If that anger was anything to go by, Amin was in for real trouble tomorrow morning. I chuckled to myself again.
I opened my bedroom door, it was already 11:40pm. I knew I had to wake up early the next morning. So, I set my alarm for 3:00am, 4:00am, 5:00am and 6:00am. I increased the alarm tone volume of the China phone to the loudest. It was really loud, too loud but I was satisfied. As I went to sleep in my uniform, I thought “this should be enough to wake a dead man”.

For some reason, rich men stopped picking on him.
One of the Journalists said it was because Amin now worked around “as confidently as a Lion stalking prey” unlike before when he had no confidence and people could see he was the prey and not the Lion.
I and Amin had hissed at him, a rich man is always the Lion and the poor man is always the prey. How can someone be more confident than another who has more money in his pocket? The journalist made no sense and we refused to listen further. The journalists always thought they were wise and that we were foolish gatemen but they were just foolish for not seeing that we were wise and not fools. Maybe Amin was a fool. He still carried the recorder around looking for evidence with the confidence of a chronic gambler who has never won a bet.
He brought out the recorder and played it. It was noisy but I could hear every word she said. “(Hissed) this is the problem I have with most men, they stay poor but spend time and money bothering about those who are making money. Man City ko, Neymar ni”.
I felt like cold water had been poured on me. A woman just said this concerning me. If it were to be in my community, she would be scorned. No woman talks to a married man that way. I could not understand how Amin was feeling. He must have been hurting. He was older than the woman’s husband. There was silence, “and her husband no talk anything” I said. “No be her husband, na her son” he responded. “Na husband dey drive for moto. If husband no dey, den na wife go drive. You don see where woman dey drive her husband?” he asked sarcastically. Well, I had seen that once but it was rare, so I guessed he was right.
“You tink say I fit sue them?” He asked. “I no know” was my response.
“I don tire for this life”.
I too was tired.
Well, as much as we resented her for her statement, the truth is that on her way out, we had to lift the toll bar for her with beaming smiles on our faces, which was fairly easy. As part of the job, I had given a lot of fake smiles in the past. In this line of work, you easily get fired for not smiling enough. Having to smile at the same person who just insulted us was demeaning. A woman for that matter!
As I lifted the toll bar for her and her son, a beaming smile on my face, my heart was heavy. I began to think of possible solutions to this predicament.
“Amin, se you don think of how to end this problem?” He replied “before nko? I don even buy medicine wey I go drink but I never get liver take do am”.
“I no dey joke o! I serious” I said.
“You think say I dey joke? If this thing no change after two years, I go go join Army make dem post me go where I go for die”. He confessed. “That one na im easy pass for me to kill myself”.
“If you come kill yourself, who go take care of your wife and children?” I inquired, surprised at his resolve. He just stared at me confused, and then tears came to his eyes.
I was about to burst into tears too, realising how frustrated he was and how frustrated I would be if I ever had a fight with my sister but two grown men crying is not exactly the scenario to beat. So I controlled myself and consoled him.
I thought that the best thing to do now that the day’s work was coming to an end would be to take Amin to where we usually drank on Saturdays and Sundays. The same spot where he usually met the women he had extra marital affairs with. His wife thought I was the one influencing her husband and so she hated me but it was actually the other way round.
As soon as we signed off and left work, we headed to “Bottles Beer Parlour”. The good thing about this spot was that it was far from either of our homes. So, there was little probability of his wife catching us. We agreed we would not drink too much but by 10:30pm, we were both drunk. I was still a bit sober. Amin was not. I had to help him back to his house.
He lived in a 'face me, I face you' apartment, just like any other person on our pay grade.

Then, he would be full of positive comments. I knew though, that Amin believed the stupid stories. He was the most superstitious person, I had yet known.
I brought out the ipad my sister sent me, I was very proud of it. Amin said people in the station called me “the Security Man with the ipad” or “the rich Security man”. very ironical! That is why I liked the name.
I entered a blog, 'The People’s Mind'. The whole nation was shaken and shaking with news of the abduction of the Senator and people’s favourite Presidential Candidate. Everyone could see he would win. The President had responded to the situation many minutes ago, saying lots of thing; how he was going to get to the root of the situation, blah blah, blah.
Someone commented “if you ask me, I think this was done by the opposition party. Now Senator Yemi is out and Senator Bida can comfortably win the election”. He or she got 103 likes on the statement.
Another commented “or this is a plan by the President to frame the PVP up, removing the PVP and PLP from the race, so he can win again. I would not put it past him”. He got 33 likes.
Still someone else commented “PLP and PVP bigots and e-warriors! Can’t a kidnapping be a kidnapping anymore or do you have to string up conspiracy theories all the time just to tense our President up?” She got 56 likes.
Another commented “if he would get tensed up to his death, I would like that. This kidnapping thing has been going on for some time now and he has done nothing to stop it”. Thus they argued.
A car horned and I went to raise the toll bar. Just then Amin walked into the compound holding a 'complete sports paper'. He read it every day. “Yemi, Man City don craze o! Upon their squad, dem wan still buy Messi and Neymar join. Barca no go grin sef”.
The occupants of the vehicle were a couple. The husband and his wife were both in their forties. Amin stopped talking and just stared at the vehicle as I raised the toll bar. He was standing by the driver’s side of the car. It was the woman who drove and not the man.
When I dropped the toll bar, I noticed his countenance changed. I knew why it changed. He was forty years old and he still did not own a car. To console him, I told him “no worry, one day we sef go be like dem”. I honestly did not believe a word of what I had just said. “They seem like a nice couple”, I continued.
Amin stared at me sadly and asked you hear wetin that woman talk about us?” I shook my head in the negative. I did not hear or see her speak. If she did, however, Amin would have heard since he was standing by her side. I was not really interested but I knew he expected me to ask “wetin?” So I asked “wetin?” Then he dipped his hands into his breast pocket. I knew what he was going to bring out. It was his recorder, a very good one at that. He had saved up to buy it after a young lawyer he met on the bus, proud to boast of his profession, told him and the whole bus, stories of people who got rich through damages awarded in Court cases.
Stories like that of a poor man who got into an argument with a wealthy car owner and got slapped by the latter’s driver, like the man who sued the Government over the death of one of his relations who was in an ambulance and being taken to the hospital when Policemen stopped them and demanded for N20, causing delay which he claimed caused the loss of life.
Some people won their cases while others lost. It all depended on the evidence they had. Amin, hoping to get rich one day had asked what an evidence was and the young lawyer was even more proud to explain that evidence included documents, recorded conversations or anything that proved your case. The young lawyer admonished them to get a recorder as “a small recorder could be the difference between your state now and a financially buoyant future”.
Amin at the time was sure he would soon be rich because rich people always picked on him. So, he got the recorder. Up till this day, Amin never got any evidence on that recorder.

Chapter 2
I walked back to my security post. The meeting with Dr. Ayo did not go as I had expected. It was not an executive meeting. Just me meeting Dr. Ayo. He did not seem disturbed by my latecoming, he did not seem to notice it despite the fact that I was supposed to be on duty.
“Amin, how far now?” I called out to my partner (Security mate). “Nawa for you o!” was his jovial response. “You want make dem sack you?” He asked more seriously. “Wetin happen?” I asked. “Oga no notice say I no quick come?” He replied “I tell am say you go shit and I help you sign”.
“Hey, thank God! When Oga ask me say wetin I come meet am for, thank God say I tell am say I hear say e dey find me. Im come say “nothing”, say him think say I come late. Thank God! Na so I for go report myself”.
“You know say na new Oga now, make u stop all that your late coming o!”. Amin admonished.
Then we jabbered on about lots of things. It seemed like the kidnapped Senator and his father, the Royal Highness were the topic of the discussion everywhere on the streets. At least, Amin made it seem so. Some people thought they deserved it. Others did not.
“I no know why all these people dey bother themselves over that Senator and im Papa”. Amin said. “No be dem be the people wey dey cause wahala for this country? If you ask me ehn, make dem kidnap all these Senators make dem pay small of the money wey dem dey chop””.
“Yemi no be like that o!”. I defended. “Maybe im Papa na thief but im no be like that”. “You know say na Senator Yemi dey win this election. I pray make dem find am o! Ha!” but Amin maintained "if dem com find am nko? Na dat one wan reduce price of garri for market? Or how e take affect beans?"
“I hear say some idiots don dey protest say make President make sure say dem fyn dem. Those people be mumu. Dem no dey fit protest for better thing like salary increment or payment. Na person mata dem carry for head”.
“I dey come make I go buy complete sports before you sef turn me to mumu” he continued.
I smiled as Amin walked away. He did not say anything to make me smile. It's just something I do when the reality of something hits me. He was right. I was about to join in protest after work on behalf of the Senator because he was obviously the next President. Yet, I had never once protested about my welfare. I was a Security man earning N5,000 a month at a government TV Station, 'The Star Television'. Though for the past 10 years, the government had been talking of N18,000 minimum wage.
The price of garri in the market was N250 per Congo. Beans was between N450 and N600 per Congo depending on variety and I was expected to get-by, do my job and be punctual. Where was the transport money?
I sent my wife and our two kids to stay with my divorced elder sister because I could no longer take care of them. She had been married twice. The first time to a rich man who died and left all his property to her. The next man she married was also rich. He too became very sick 5 months into the marriage and he accused her of trying to kill him, so, she could have his wealth.
A whole lot of idiots believed him. That is how people think. They are very quick to lay blame of anything on the woman. I know it happens a lot in my society- women kill men one way or the other so they can take over their properties. Most women are gold diggers but not my sister, i can vouch for her.
So, the man divorced her and paid a whole lot of money to her for the divorce. It was called Alimony. Then he became healthy again. This further confirmed people’s suspicion that my sister killed her first husband. Some even said she was a witch.
On a normal day, I would go with that but since this was my sister’s case, I was sure beyond doubt that people were either plain stupid on stupidly superstitious. .
Amin did know about all this, he just never said a word about it. He never said anything about my sister until she sent money to me which I would split equally between the both of us.

hen, I had an idea. I would tell him I was already on my way to work when I received a call that my apartment was in danger of burning down as smoke was seen coming from the kitchen. Surely that was cogent enough. Just then my phone rang in my pocket. I fumbled to get it, discomforting the middle aged female passenger sitting beside me to my left who was already complaining. To me, that did not matter as she too was discomforting me, carrying two children on her laps.
“Hello” I spoke into the phone. It was my neighbour calling to inform me that my door was locked but the burglary proof protector was not and there was smoke coming out from my kitchen.
“Conductor stop”. I yelled as I brought out my wallet to pay the fare for the full journey even though I was only halfway to the office. They would never collect a half pay.
I came down and boarded a bike hurriedly back to my apartment. Luckily, only the Newspapers placed on the table to cushion the stove had burnt. I thanked my neighbour and went back into my apartment. It was already 8:10am. I was scared, I did not want to lose my job. Just then, an idea popped into my head. I called my neighbours and thanked them again, after which I pleaded with them that if anybody came asking what time they (my neighbours) called to warn me of the disaster, they were to say 7:15am. They agreed. Those I needed to bribe, I bribed.
I smiled to myself, satisfied that I would not be fired today.

Chapter 1
What I heard from the TV shocked me to my bones like a faulty 200volts Appliance. Every bit of the information was shocking.
Only the smell of fabric burning jolted me back to my senses. I had been standing with my mouth agape staring at the TV, forgetting I left the pressing iron on the shirt I was ironing.
It was the uniform I was to wear to work today, already badly burnt and I only had two pairs. The other still very wet- I just washed it. Yet, that did not seem to matter as I sat the pressing iron up, switched it off and focused on the Television. This had nothing to do with me. Just some people I knew from my childhood and that was what really affected me.
The Senator had gone to visit his father, the monarch of Ilu-Eja community. The same community I hail from. The duo had become very popular due to the concluded feud between Ilu-Eja Community and Ilu-Obo Community, in which they were active. The issue had been on for 23 years before it was resolved with the Oil wells which were the bone of contention awarded to Ilu-Obo by a Court ruling. The feud was so bloody that people died in heavy numbers on both sides. It was in the midst of all this chaos and confusion that my family moved to the city.
The Senator was said to be with his father in a car, with their convoy when a gang of hoodlums attacked them, killed everyone in the convoy and kidnapped the two public figures.
The Police had not yet identified any suspects but there were already counter accusations.
I felt sorry for Senator Yemi. He was my friend while we were growing up until the feud came and his father, the Oba sent him oversea due to threats the Oba was receiving. Prince Yemi, was the only son and possible heir.
My alarm rang; it was already 7:15am. I quickly got the wet uniform and pressed it with the very hot pressing iron in hopes of the heat vapourizing most of the moisture. I usually did this anytime I had to wear wet clothes but to my chagrin, it was not working on this occasion. Only then did I realize that the lights and TV were off. The power was gone. I was running late for work and to top it off, I had to wear the wet clothes. A really bad start to a bad day. I hurriedly switched off every appliance and put on my wet clothes. I took my keys and left locking the door. I hurried off while buttoning my shirt as I walked to the main road. Luckily, my neighbourhood was not one with friendly people, so there was no exchange of pleasantries. The first bus in sight came and stopped a distance from the woman that stopped it and waited for her, with the bus being closer to me. I took my chance and jumped in. the driver immediately moved the vehicle into transit and left the junction, leaving the woman complaining bitterly.
I did not regret it, everyone does it in this town.
My thoughts quickly went to my boss. How was I to explain that I, a Security man at an establishment, supposed to arrive latest by 7:20am was still on my way to work by 7:32am. This would be the third time this week and it is only Thursday.
Before now, there were no qualms coming late. Everyone did that. At least until Mr Awure, the former Director was removed for ‘accepting bribe’. At least that was the reason the Governor gave. Everyone knew though that Mr Awure had never been in good terms with the Governor since their teachers training days and everyone including I, was mad at the Governor for Mr Awure’s removal and indictment. It was not that Mr Awure was innocent; it was the fact that everybody gave or took bribes. Even the Governor rigged the election to come in. These things were ‘normal’ day to day activities everyone was involved in and did not need the involvement of the law.
In his bid to prove he was not witch hunting, Governor Tunde then brought in Dr. Ayo, a devout Muslim to take over management.
So, I had to think of a cogent reason for my lateness this time.

Guys, I just wrote this novel but it's not yet on hardcopy. You can get it online at okadabooks though.
However, I would like you guys to get a feel of it and help me by critically appraising it. Tell me what you think. Tell me it's strengths and it's flaws.
So, here it is.

INTRODUCTION
In my life, I have gone through many struggles and done many things. Most of the things I have done in my life have been for others. In the end, I feel like a monster for the things I have done and those I have failed to do. Some people see me as their hero. To others I am a traitor. Throughout the latter part of my life, I have been branded a monster, especially by those I love. This diary is part of your inheritance, Kunle. Let no one else see it. I would like to preserve the remaining good thoughts of me that lie in people's hearts. It contains events in your father's life, how he has lived and the things he has done. I want you to privately read it. For fear of scolding from you, I have been unable to ask you in my lifetime. When you are done, there is just one question to which I would have loved to know the answer. Tell me kunle,
How do you see me?