ANGELA


Everywhere is silent, except inside my head. I am in the same position I have been since my meeting with Mr. Hassan. I massage the back of my neck and push away from my desk after putting the papers I had been studying to the left hand corner of the table. I think about Mr. Hassan’s revelations.

Why would my father give Naden a new house?

What kind of deal did they have?

I leave my chair and walk barefoot to the door, determined to find the missing piece to the puzzle that Naden’s ties to my father presented. I make a U-turn at the door and march back to my desk.

Something…something. What is it?

Think Angela. Think.

Ten minutes and a hundred possibilities later, there is no plausible answer for my questions. I am frustrated and a little upset when I slump into my chair in defeat. I think of Reuben and our plan, and as if reading my thoughts, the intercom buzzes with his call.

“Hey.”

“How far? Gotten anything on him yet?”

“Not really. The dude is elusive but I will be studying him. Don’t worry. Leave him to me.”

I am disappointed by Reuben’s answer. I had expected more. His visits to Naden’s office had been growing in frequency these days. How could he not have gotten information on Naden?

“So you haven’t even gotten where he is from.”

Reuben’s sigh is long and exasperated.

“Angela, I said leave him to me.”

It is my turn to sigh and I take my time.

“Sorry.”

“Okay.”

“Are you angry with me?”

“No.”

“Good, don’t be.”

Left with nothing to say, I plead a headache and hang up the receiver. I sit down with my thoughts for a long time, vaguely aware of the rapidly darkening sky outside my blind covered windows. I am jolted out of my reverie by a knock on the door. It is Agatha and she is here to deliver her goodbyes. I wave her forward in excitement. Pushing my chair closer to the desk as she approaches me, a frown of curiousity on her face, I lean my elbows on my desk and smile.

“What if I get close to him to find out things about him myself?”

Agatha is aghast at my question. She does not ask me who. She just stands there like statue and stares at me like I have lost my mind.



**********************

THE OYELOWO MANSION


Martin Oyelowo was lost for words for the first time since his marriage. He did not know what to make of his wife’s recent announcement. They stared at each other, two strangers sharing the same name.

“You want a what?” Martin asked, incredulous as his eyes followed the new creature in short white silk nightdress floating towards the bed, left hand massaging lotion into her right arm.

“A divorce,” Damilola Oyelowo, his wife, said calmly as she curled among her several pillows.

Martin looked for the usual tears but he found none. The determination on his wife’s face caused him to experience unusual panic.

“A divorce for what?” Martin heard himself ask even as he tried to appear unaffected by the change that had come over his wife.

Damilola did not hear her husband’s panic. She heard arrogance and reacted to it by shooting Martin a withering look.

“Am I supposed to answer that question?”

“Yes,” Martin said, crossing his arms against his chest. “I expect you to answer it. What do you want a divorce for?”

Damilola was quiet for a while and then decided that Martin deserved an answer. She tossed back her head.

“To be free of you Martin…to be free of this marriage. I told you I would leave.”

Martin wanted to laugh, to call her bluff but found that his tongue would not move. He felt his blood pressure rise. He said the only thing he could manage.

“You are out of your mind.”

Damilola shrugged. “I don’t care what you think. I am leaving you so you can chase after every woman that catches your fancy. My lawyer will contact you tomorrow.”

Martin glowered at his wife for some minutes and then turned to stomp out of the room. He slammed the door forcefully on his way out, causing the sound to echo around the house. His absence gave Damilola a chance to massage the painful spot on the left side of her chest. She was not supposed to hurt. She was leaving the man who had caused her pain for many years. So why did she feel pain?



**********************

DOWNSTAIRS THE OYELOWO MANSION


Martin Oyelowo searched for his drugs in the upper drawer of his study desk. There were several white plastic containers scattered at the bottom of the drawer. He picked and uncapped one of the containers with Atenolol written on it and then shook a single tablet into the palm of his right hand. He dragged weary feet to the water dispenser just a few steps away and fetched cold water in a brown mug. He downed his drugs quickly and walked back to his chair. He sat still for a while, felt his back begin to ache. Releasing a short sigh, he pressed the button on the arm rest of the chair and the chair became a recliner. He closed his eyes and the memories came back.

It was the 2nd of January, 1985. The sky was overcast and hanging with rain soaked clouds. The mood in the living room of the four bedroom duplex Martin Oyelowo had just purchased in Keffi Street, a quiet street off Awolowo Way Ikoyi, was sad and the adults sitting on camel back chairs with velvet upholstery avoided each other’s eyes. A little girl, aged three was tucked in a corner of the room, a colourful book about gnomes and wizards shielding her from the pervading gloom in the room. The middle aged woman in green kaftan reached for the limp right hand of the beautiful young woman sitting beside her.

“Damilola, you will have others. Your life is more important to us.”

The young woman’s lips quivered and her eyes filled with tears.

“I want this baby,” she said, left hand moving to cradle her slightly bulging belly. “I really do.”

“Be reasonable. The doctor said it is dangerous. Do you want to lose your life? Who will take care of Ranti?”

The young woman lifted her head and looked in the direction of the little girl and then her eyes sought those of the man sitting across her. He looked at her, his feelings hidden behind the mask he always wore around the older woman. She knew what he wanted. He wanted the baby. The trip to London would save her life and the baby’s. Why had she seen this new doctor against his wishes? Why was she consulting his mother?

“I don’t…don’t know,” the young woman told her mother in law, downcast and afraid of her husband’s wrath. He wanted her to keep the baby. His son. But her life was in danger.

Acute Aortic Dissection.

That was the diagnosis for the pain that crippled her for days and left her bedridden. She was in danger of a rupture. Only an abortion could save her.

“Tolu,” the older woman said, turning to the young man. “Won’t you say something? You heard Doctor Timothy. Damilola cannot have this baby.”

The young man had stood up without a word, his head held high and his eyes avoiding those of the women in the room. He knew he would lose against his mother’s persuasion.

The abortion was done in the expensive clinic Doctor Timothy operated just a few streets away from his house. The day his wife came back without the bulge under her flower patterned dress, Martin Oyelowo went out and got his first prostitute. The next morning, he moved his things to the guest room, ignoring his mother’s entreaties. He would never forgive Damilola for killing his son. He found a way to kill the love he had for her.

Martin opened his eyes.

She wants a divorce.

His hand reached for the button beside him and he brought himself forward again. Head bowed over his desk, he tried to reach a decision. It wasn't long when he raised his head up again and pulled the phone on his desk towards him. The fear was gone from his eyes and his heart had settled down nicely in his chest. Oozing some of his old confidence, Martin Oyelowo called Naden Tare George.



***********************

NADEN


Laughter bounces off the walls and voices reverberate in the empty space. A few cans lie scattered at our feet as we make ourselves comfortable on empty buckets of paints and two old Coca-cola crates. Reuben has blended into the crowd and is enjoying a laugh with Itohen. He seems to sense my eyes on him and turns to me.

“May you enjoy many passionate nights in this place,” he toasts, raising his can of Star.

“Yes o,” Itohen hoots, raising his can to join the toast. “Make all the beds for this place experience plenty action.”

I laugh and then raise my own can. “Thanks guys.”

“Wait o, chicks suppose dey this party na,” Henry says, a suggestive smile on his face. “Make we arrange something abeg.”

Everyone in the room subscribes to Henry’s idea before I can make my misgivings known. Reuben’s tie is slack and he raises his voice in tipsy support for Henry. The picture is funny. I take a mental picture of his revelry and store it away in a mental compartment for future retrieval. Somewhere in the middle of loud laughing and phone calls with would be female company, my phone rings and I escape the chaos to answer the call from my boss.

“Naden,” he says without much ceremony. “As you know you will be going to Kano very soon. You will be going with Angela. The two of you will work together on this case.”

As usual, he does not wait for an answer. The dial tone shrills loudly in my ear. I pull the phone away and look up at sky. A few stars wink playfully at me. Inside my barely furnished apartment, my friends continue to cackle drunkenly. I stand under the skeet of darkness and think of the trip to Kano. I had collected the gifts. It was now time to pay for them.



*****************

ANGELA

I receive the call from my father just before I close my eyes.

“You will be leaving soon to Kano with Naden.”

Click.

His brusqueness did not fill me with annoyance this time. I sit up in bed, dragging the covers with me and reach for the leather bound book on the bed stand. I open the pages and draw a plan.

***********************

UPSTAIRS THE OYELOWO MANSION


Damilola Oyelowo woke up before midnight to answer nature’s call. She switched on the lamp on the table beside her and began to push the covers aside to leave the bed but she froze for a second at the sight in the room. Her eyes locked to the thing that held her attention, she left the bed quietly and walked to the sofa across the bed. She stood there and watched the form collapsed on the chair, its arms hanging lifelessly beside its body. She watched the form for several minutes.

He was not dead but asleep.

The husband she wanted to divorce. He was here in her room and it wasn't because she summoned him like the other times.


MEANING OF HAUSA WORDS IN STORY

Mai ya sa - Why?

Ba zan zo Sokoto ba - I will not come to Sokoto.

EPISODE 5


ANGELA


Some days I keep my resentment against the male species hidden under layers of civility. Other days, I let it run free.

Like now.

As I watch tears fill Amina’s eyes, I find another reason not to like men. Today Amina is an emotional mess, her face a macabre portrait of many colours – black running into brown, red sitting side by side with pink, shimmering gold smudged by overflowing ivory.

Pressing the sodden tissue against her tear streaked face, Amina sniffs into the phone.

“Mai ya sa?”

An intense frown on her face, she listens to whatever her fiance of three years is saying. I see a slight tremor run through the hand holding the wad of tissue in her hand. She lowers the tissue to the table and runs the free hand through black wavy hair made possible by her Arab genes. Her mother, a Tunisian who had met and married her father in London and had settled in a five bedroom duplex in Ennasr city, an upscale area of Tunis with Amina’s sister, still pressed Amina about finding a suitor among her Berber relatives but Amina’s ties to her Hausa heritage had meant she chose Nigeria instead of her mother’s birth country.

“Ba zan zo Sokoto ba,” Amina says after a while with a shake of head.

I sigh. Even though my understanding of Hausa is practically non-existent, the mention of Sokoto gives me an insight into the conversation Amina is having with her fiance. The argument about moving back to Sokoto had been the bone of contention between Amina and Aminu for the past year. Aminu favoured a move to Sokoto to perform his princely duties at palace of the Sultan, a place he had not been since he was five years old after his grandfather, the last Sultan died in a plane crash at Abuja while on his way back to Sokoto from a meeting with a former president in Lagos.

Amina pulls the phone from her ear and drops it without much ceremony on the table. I react with alarm as the black and gold damask patterned iPhone lands with a clatter and skids dangerously to the edge of my desk. Oblivious to my reaction, Amina reaches for a tissue from the box of Kleenex beside my laptop. She blows her nose noisily and aims the tissue in the direction of the metal waste basket beside her with precision.

“I am so tired,” she says, slumping into her chair. “I want out of this relationship. This back and forth is killing me.”

I am angry for Amina’s sake. Her decision to return to Nigeria was because of Aminu who is also a lawyer. They had made plans while studying together in London, some of which I was privy to and one of such plans included making a home in Lagos, but this was not to be. Aminu had changed the moment he visited Sokoto for his Uncle’s burial. His dreams with Amina had taken a backseat. There were even rumours of an affair with the daughter of a serving Senator. A part of me is itching to tell Amina to move on with her life but I know that will never happen. Aminu is Amina’s life, the first man she had ever known and the only love of her life.

I fiddle with the pen on my desk and bite my tongue to keep from interfering with Amina’s relationship.

“What do you think I should do?”

I look up from the pen. Her face restored to its natural state with the help of the tissue in her hand, Amina is a picture of innocence and dejection.

“You know how I am with these things Amina. You shouldn't be asking me that sort of question.”

Amina slumps deeper in her chair, her face contorted in pain.

“It is just so hard. Why does he keep doing this….coming back and then giving me hope…only for the fighting to start again.”

I return to my fiddling.

“Sorry.”

“I think I should break off the engagement.”

My tongue properly restrained under my teeth, I hold on to my resolution not to interfere. I look towards the door.

Where is Agatha when you need her?

Moderate in her worldview, Agatha always took the middle ground on matters of love. I maintained my position on the extreme left while Amina suffered lack of will and emotional dependence on the far right.

“I think you should talk to Agatha.”

Her eyes lighting up at my suggestion, Amina nods and drags herself up in her chair.

“I will.”

Amina remembers a case review she is working on and repairs her make-up with the help of my make-up kit. Looking like a high-powered lawyer once again, she leaves my office, her steps quick and assured. As she closes the door, taking her emotional baggage with her, I remember my own mother’s struggles and the early morning conversation with Fausat who had once again crept into my bed while I slept. Her nose almost touching my own, Fausat had been concerned about the constant fighting between my parents while I struggled with wakefulness.

“I hear Aunty and Unk…uncle fight all the time. That’s not good.”

“Okay.”

“Are they gonna get a divorce?”

“I don’t know.”

“Divorces are bad. I still miss my dad. He is married again. Her name is Martha and I hate her.”

“Okay.”

“She is from Mexee…Mexico.”

“Great.”

“Not great. She makes great Tacos though.”

“Okay.”

“You keep saying okay.”

“Okay.”

“Maybe they ah…argue so much ‘cause they like each other…”

I remember my lips twisting in a sardonic smile.

“Do you think they are having sex?”

My smile had slipped. I had closed my eyes and pretended the question was never asked but Fausat was determined to add an amorous quality to the squabbling that has characterized my parents’ marriage since I was a child.

“So they are having sex then ‘cause my friend Tanya says oh…only people having sex fight that way.

I continued to ignore Fausat who was by then happy to continue the conversation with herself.

“Eewww old people sex…..gross.”

Hours later, I met my mother on my way out of the house. She was dressed in a simple cream lace layered dress, her purse tucked under her arm as she chatted with my grandmother. I learned from our five minute conversation that she had an early morning meeting with a lawyer. Keeping her lips sealed about the purpose of the meeting, she left me standing with my grandmother in the living room and drawing conclusions.

My parents are getting a divorce. Finally.



**********************

NADEN


I drive through the gates of the compound in my new car, a gift from my boss. The steering of the BMW X5 moves smoothly in my hand as I steer the car towards the parking space beside Angela’s car, a white Audi A6.

I grab my jacket from the passenger seat and leave the car. I am expecting a call from him by ten thirty and all I have is fifteen minutes left, no thanks to unexpected traffic caused by a broken down fuel tanker on the expressway that led to the office.

My jacket slung over my right hand, I walk into the office and right into the path of an argument between two lawyers, male and female. The argument stops and the lawyers nod at me in greeting. I respond and begin to walk past them when the female raises her finger to stop me.

“Sir?”

I look down at my wristwatch. Twelve minutes left. I look at the female lawyer who has now walked to meet me, a small smile on her face.

“Sorry sir to disturb you sir but Lekan and I were just arguing….”

I wince inwardly. Not now.

“…About one of our cases. Our client is supposed to have defaulted in his Mortgage payment and the bank….the Plaintiff has applied for Summary judgment….”

“Under Order eleven of the Lagos State High Court Rules,” Lekan adds unnecessarily, a smirk on his face. The female lawyer whose name I have not quite grasped does something that resembles an eye roll, and then continues.

“Apart from the mortgage payment, he is claiming legal fees for his lawyer as special damages…Lekan thinks the judge might rule in his favour because of the client’s default.”

I forget my time constraint and turn to Lekan.

“Is it explicitly stated in the contract that in the event of a default in Mortgage payment, the client is expected to pay the legal fees of the lawyer representing the bank?”

Lekan’s face squeezes in a thoughtful frown and he shakes his head.

“No sir. I can’t remember seeing it in the contract.”

I nod. “Okay, are you aware that special damages must be strictly proved and that such damages cannot be automatically made into liquidated money claims?”

Lekan adjusts his collar and appears to think about his answer.

“Fortune International Bank versus City Express. You might want to look that up.”

“Okay sir.”

“So, legal fees unless previously agreed upon cannot be claimed in an action brought against the defaulting Mortgagee.”

The two lawyers murmur their thanks and turn away in the direction of their office while I resume my journey to my office with the longest strides I can manage. I am putting up my jacket on the coat rail when the intercom rings.

“Good morning sir.”

“You will be getting a call from the Inspector General of Police after I drop this call.”

“Okay sir.”

His call drops almost immediately and the phone rings again. The voice of the Inspector General is gruff but very warm.

“How are you young man?”

“I am great sir.”

“I guess you are familiar with our case.”

“Yes sir, I am.”

“Good.”

“So what do you make of it?”

I begin to answer but pause as I suffer a conscience attack.

Naden, this is wrong.

“Hello? Young man?”

I silence my inner turmoil.

“Yes sir, I am. Sorry about that. The case…we can win it with the right witnesses.”

“We have some witnesses….the officers involved.”

“We will need more. Civilian witnesses probably.”

“I see. Let me see what I can arrange. I will get back to you soon.”

“Okay sir.”

“And you should be getting ready for a trip to Kano. I need you to meet with the officers.”

I am suffering another bout of conscience attack when someone knocks on the door. It is Rueben. I remember his message as he quickly makes himself comfortable opposite me.

“So how is everything going?”

I listen to my gut tell me all sort of things about the man seated before me as I prepare to give him a single word answer. He is nodding now, his pencil think mustache curling with his lips as he smiles.

“Good.”

“So what did you want to tell me about Angela?”

“Ah that,” Reuben says, straightening the lapels of his suit jacket and leaning forward. “I think she wants you out of this place.”

I find myself smiling at the earnest frown on his face.

“Okay?”

Leaning back in his chair, Reuben wears a surprised look.

“Did you know?”

“Know about her not wanting me out of this place?”

“Yes.”

I shrug. “Well, I know nothing about Angela’s plans but whatever she is cooking up is her headache. I am not bothered by it.”

Reuben frowns some more, elbow retracting from my desk as he leans back again into his seat.

“I don’t think you should brush this off as nothing. She is a very manipulative and ambitious woman, even dangerous to an extent. She will do anything to get you out of that chair….and did you know she was actually made senior partner for only a few days?”

“Hmmm.”

Reuben twists in his chair and looks at the door as if expecting the subject of our discussion to come charging into the office. When he looks at me, his eyes face is full of loathing. He wriggles to the edge of his seat, fingers settling on my desk.

“She wants me to help her get you out of this place. She called me some days ago and asked me to watch you.”

Reuben’s admission is unexpected. I want to ask questions but something restrains me from doing so. I sit and wait for more revelations. Reuben taps his fingers on the table and obliges me.

“She asked me to get close to you. She thinks you are here for something.” His expression turning somber, Reuben stops his tapping on my desk. “Women like Angela…they will do anything for power. You should watch your back in this place.”

I adjust my chair and lean forward.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I think you should know.”

I nod slowly. “Okay.”

Reuben begins to say something but my phone rings that instant, causing his lower jaw to snap back in place. I nod at him.

“Excuse me.”

Henry is loud and cheerful.

“Ol’ boy how far na?”

“Good morning Henry.”

“You dey work?”

“Yes.”

“You dey close early today?”

I look at Reuben. His unflinching gaze is direct and unabashedly curious. Even though he is settled back in his seat, his body is tilted sideways as if straining to hear the conversation between me and Henry. I lean back in my chair and increase the distance between us.

“Maybe.”

“You suppose close early na. You don forget say we suppose do washing for your new house and your new car this night?”

“Ah that, I have forgotten.”

“No forget o. We go leave Surulere for four, so dey expect us.”

“Okay.”

“Text me the address abeg.”

I remember my lack of furnishings and means of entertainment. I look at Reuben again. He is still watching me closely. I sigh inwardly and give up trying to be discrete in my conversation with Henry.

“Don’t forget the place is kind of new and the fridge is practically empty.”

Henry tells me he and his friends will be bringing beer along with them. We end the conversation on the agreement to meet at my new apartment by four in the evening.

“So you are having a party tonight,” Reuben says, a smile on his face as one leg crosses over the other.

I cross my own leg. “Yes.”

“Great. So can I come?”



**********************

Chuksemi:
Your story is very exotic. I appreciate your story, nothing could be more sublime. By the way, are we allowed to make predictions?

Thanks, and yes you are allowed to make predictions.

seunviju:
Lovely story,keep it up

Thanks.

Jennimma:
More inspirations ma'am

Thank you.

IKOYI BOAT CLUB


The breeze from the Atlantic gathered momentum before forcing its way into the enclosed space, whipping strands of hair loose from tightly wrapped buns on the heads of stylishly dressed women and causing the shirts on the men to cling to their frames and then balloon out again. The man sat alone and watched the sea froth and throw up stormy waves. His eyes were distant and thoughtful as one hand reached to pick up his phone from the table. He tore his gaze away from the sea and looked down at the phone in his hand. He dialed a number and waited for the call to be picked. He did not wait for long.

“Good evening sir.”

“How is it going?”

“So far, so good.”

“Opposition?”

“Well, there was something this morning but I worked through it.”

“Good.”

The man was about to end the call but he hesitated for a second.

“Where do you live?”

“Surulere sir.”

The man’s eyes grew distant again.

“Ah Surulere. What part of Surulere?”

“Aguda.”

The man’s eyes narrow and the colourful surroundings fade into the sepia of the past. In his mind, he sees a stately white building with a wide balcony and a young woman leaning down from the balcony, a coy smile on her face.

Goodnight Tolu.

He fought the past with a shake of his head and the sounds of the Atlantic brought him back to the present again.

“I have spoken to Hassan. He will get back to you.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He never did. He lowered the phone to the table and waited for the man who was now making his way through the throng of sophisticated revelers to him. Yinusa Ali soon met him.

“Boko,” he greeted, his eyes lighting with rare pleasure.

His friend, Yinusa Ali, current Inspector General of Police laughed, adjusting the silver buttons of his long sleeved native shirt.

“Martin, you better stop calling me that. God help you that you don’t make this mistake when somebody who knows somebody in Punch or

Guardian carries the wrong news.”

The man laughed. The sound was a rich throaty one. Years fell from his face.

“I’d like to see that happen. It will be an interesting story, I tell you.”

Yinusa Ali laughed.



“You know these days, every Hausa man is seen as Boko Haram. One has to be careful with you Southerners o!”

“Is that why you are looking like the President now?”

“Oh, I am beginning to like this attire,” Yinusa Ali said with a smile before excusing himself to motion to a passing waiter. After placing his
order of whiskey and coke, he became businesslike.

“So how is it going with the case?”

Martin Oyelowo reached for his own drink on the table.

“So far, so good. I am sure we will be ready at the next hearing date.”

Yinusa Ali nodded.

“Great.”

They talked about the case for only a few minutes, the Inspector General of Police deciding that his friend was more capable to dealing with an issue that had threatened his career and cordial relationship with the president. It was a beneficial arrangement. Martin Oyelowo stood to gain a lot if everything went according to plan. They sipped their drinks and talked about women. A teasing smile on his face, Yinusa Ali sought to know Martin Oyelowo’s progress with the wife of the president of their club, a Russian beauty with a flirty eye and hordes of lovers from the club’s patrons. He leaned and whispered to Martin.

“So have you….you know?”

A mischievous wink finished his statement. Martin laughed.

“Not yet.”

“Hmmm,” Yinusa Ali said, leaning back into his seat. “So what are you waiting for?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is it madam?”

Martin scowled.

“Since when did she start controlling me?”

Just then, Yinusa Ali’s eyes caught those of a beautiful woman in a group of two female friends sitting three tables away from them. Her skin was flawless and her full chest distracting. He feasted on her beauty until something struck him and he called his friend’s attention to the woman.

“Martin, is that not your wife?”

Martin Oyelowo turned in his seat and stared at the strange vision before him. His mind was filled with one thought.

What is she doing here dressed like that?



*******************
NADEN

I walk back to join Henry and his friends, still reeling from the call from Mr. Hassan.

He has asked us to get you a four bedroom apartment in Lekki. I am coming to your office tomorrow so that we can go and see the houses I have selected.

I claim my other former seat, a lumpy chair at the edge of the haphazard arrangement in Henry’s living room. Henry and his friends are still
discussing my issue with Angela. I had let my guard down today and shared the story of her animosity with them and they had latched on to it, sharing stories of similar experiences with women.

“Women ehn, if you follow their behaviour, you fit just confuse,” Itohen says, shaking his head, one leg stretched out before him and the other bent at the knee. “Na so my girlfriend been dey do before we begin dey date. I been hate am before ehn. That time, we dey work for the same office…for GT Bank. Any small thing, the girl go just dey attack me. Before I talk one, she don talk fifty.”

Itohen changes his voice to a high pitched imitation of a female.

“Is it because I am a woman….is it because I am a woman?”

There is a general laughter and Itohen goes back to his voice.

“I go just dey vex. Who dey struggle your womanhood with you? Comot make person see road abeg.”

I smile and the others guffaw.

“So how una take settle?” Henry asks, slugging beer from the Star bottle in his hand.

“I no even remember,” Itohen says with a shrug, “I just find myself with am.”

“E be like say na so them dey take show love,” Abbey quips, a grin on his face. “Fight before surrender.”

“So maybe this Naden babe sef like am.”

I shake my head.

“Nah, we really don’t like each other.”

I get a message alert and pull my phone from the breast pocket of my shirt when I had dropped it after returning back to the living room. The number is strange until I read the message.

Hi, hope you are having a great weekend. I will need to talk to you on Monday about Angela. I have something I think might interest you.

Rueben.

chinedumo:
Why the hidden comment from op?

Issues with the anti-spam bot.

THE OYELOWO MANSION


The woman primed her make-up and checked her reflection again for flaws. Satisfied that she had hidden ten years under her water based foundation, she left her vanity mirror and grabbed her purse. Her short black scoop neck dress hugged her cinched waist and wide hips without exposing the lace corset she wore under it. She slipped her feet into gold strappy sandals with glittering stones and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. Her phone started to blink on the bed and she picked it.

“Have you left home now?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, see you soon.”

She grabbed her purse and her car keys from the bed. She was going on a date and it wasn’t with her husband. For the first time in her fifty two years, Damilola Oyelowo nee Adesoga felt truly free.



*******************



DOWNSTAIRS THE OYELOWO MANSION


Fausat continued to badger her grandmother.

“Please grandma, say…say yes. Pea…please.”

The old woman laughed at the frustration on her granddaughter’s face.

“I should say say yes to what?”

The frown cleared from Fausat’s face and she buried her face into her grandmother’s laps and giggled at the imitation of her stutter. When she raised her head again, her grandmother was smiling.

“It’s just a date.”

“A date with somebody you met on Facebook ehn Fausat. You want your mother to start shouting abi?”

Fausat made a face.

“She doesn’t have to know.”

“Ehen, so you want me to lie?”

Fausat shook her head and cosied up to her grandmother. “If you don’t teh…tell her, she won’t know. Don’t tell her and you won’t hah…have to lie. Please.

Her grandmother inclined her head and studied her for some minutes.

“But you are too young to have a boyfriend.”

Fausat drew back with a gasp.

“Huh what? I’m almost seventeen.”

“Ehen? Seventeen is still very young. You are a baby.”

“I’m not,” Fausat said with an incredulous laugh. “I had my first boyfriend in fourth grade.”

“Fourth grade?”

“Yeah….urm….I don’t know what it’s called here but it’s what we do after kindergarten.”

Understanding shone in the old woman’s eyes.

“Ah, like Primary school.”

Shock replaced comprehension.

“Ah, so you started having a boyfriend from Primary school. Fausat!”

Fausat clamped a hand over her mouth and dissolved into wild fits of laughter.

“Grand….grandma,” she spluttered at the end of her laughter. “Your so…so funny.”

They were interrupted by the loud clicking of heels against Marble. They turned at the same time to smile at the woman coming down the
stairs. They greeted her. The old woman expressed surprise at her elegant ensemble while Fausat overwhelmed her with colourful teenage language.

“Wow, aunty…you look so bad. Your…your outfit is sick.”

The woman smiled demurely and told the old woman she had a meeting with a friend. They watched her cross the living room to the door.
There was a frown of concern on the old woman’s face as her daughter in law disappeared from sight.

“So grandma, please?”

The old woman pushed disturbing thoughts from her mind and looked away from the door to her granddaughter’s earnest face.

“Okay but you must come back home on time o.”

They reached a compromise. Fausat would be home from her movie date before nine. A driver was assigned to her. He would wait until the date was over and ferry her home. Fausat tried to negotiate the terms of her deal with her grandmother but got obstinate head shaking instead. She settled for what her grandmother offered, enveloping the old woman in a tight hug.

“Love you grandma.”

As she bounded up the stairs to prepare for her date, her grandmother watched her, a nostalgic smile on her face. How she reminded her of her late husband, that one. She turned again to the door and remembered her daughter in law. She sighed. There was still so much to do.



*********************



NADEN


I am weary and drained of energy when I lean away from my desk. The familiar darkness weighs down on my shoulders and makes my world gray and colourless. I forget work concerns and her sneering face, and remember my conversation this morning with my mother.

Naden, Boma don run o. Ai, why Boma dey do me this kain thing?

What?! How? When did this happen?

I no know o Naden. I go Opolo go find am. When I reach there, dem tell me say im don run.

Knocking at the door makes me sit upright again.

“Come in.”

The door opens and a lawyer strolls in with brisk steps. A smile decorates his face, making him almost unrecognizable, but I remember him. He is the one who had supported my decision to settle Mr. Hassan’s case out of court.

“Good evening,” he says.

I nod.

“Good evening.”

He looks at the empty chairs beside him.

“Can I sit down?”

“Sure.”

He sits down, making sure to arrange this suit jacket around him before looking up at me again.

“Sorry about what happened this morning.”

I give a careless shrug.

“I am not bothered by it.”

He mulls over my answer, stroking his jaw.

“I think that is the right thing to do. There is no need to respond to all that negativity.”

A curious thought occurs to me but I have no time to dwell on it.

“Listen,” he says, leaning forward and propping his elbows on my desk. “I am on your side in this place. If anyone opposes you, be rest assured that they have me to answer to.”

Even though his face is open and friendly, I am slow to react to his show of loyalty. He leans back in his seat, eyes expectant. I exhale and nod slightly.

“Thank you Mr…”

“Rueben,” he supplies, jumping to the edge of his seat and extending his right hand across the table. I take it and give it a perfunctory pump.

I suddenly begin to crave for privacy, for space to analyze the man before me. I flick my wrist and eye my wristwatch. Done with that, I concern myself with looking for nothing under the files on my table. He gets the message and stands up from his chair. I ditch my search and look up at him.

“I guess we’ll see then.”

“Sure.”

“Great. Can I have your number?”
I fish out a newly printed card from the leather card holder on my desk and hand it over to him.

“Thank you.”

His body language is confident when he leaves the office. I watch the door long after he has left and replay his words until I reach a logical conclusion.

He is up to something.



************************

THE OYELOWO MANSION



The woman primed her make-up and checked her reflection again for flaws. Satisfied that she had hidden ten years under her water based foundation, she left her vanity mirror and grabbed her purse. Her short black scoop neck dress hugged her cinched waist and wide hips without exposing the lace corset she wore under it. She slipped her feet into gold strappy sandals with glittering stones and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. Her phone started to blink on the bed and she picked it.

“Have you left home now?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, see you soon.”

She grabbed her purse and her car keys from the bed. She was going on a date and it wasn’t with her husband. For the first time in her fifty two years, Damilola Oyelowo nee Adesoga felt truly free.



*******************



DOWNSTAIRS THE OYELOWO MANSION


Fausat continued to badger her grandmother.

“Please grandma, say…say yes. Pea…please.”

The old woman laughed at the frustration on her granddaughter’s face.

“I should say say yes to what?”

The frown cleared from Fausat’s face and she buried her face into her grandmother’s laps and giggled at the imitation of her stutter. When she raised her head again, her grandmother was smiling.

“It’s just a date.”

“A date with somebody you met on Facebook ehn Fausat. You want your mother to start shouting abi?”

Fausat made a face.

“She doesn’t have to know.”

“Ehen, so you want me to lie?”

Fausat shook her head and cosied up to her grandmother. “If you don’t teh…tell her, she won’t know. Don’t tell her and you won’t hah…have to lie. Please.”

Her grandmother inclined her head and studied her for some minutes.

“But you are too young to have a boyfriend.”

Fausat drew back with a gasp.

“Huh what? I’m almost seventeen.”

“Ehen? Seventeen is still very young. You are a baby.”

“I’m not,” Fausat said with an incredulous laugh. “I had my first boyfriend in fourth grade.”

“Fourth grade?”

“Yeah….urm….I don’t know what it’s called here but it’s what we do after kindergarten.”

Understanding shone in the old woman’s eyes.

“Ah, like Primary school.”

Shock replaced comprehension.

“Ah, so you started having a boyfriend from Primary school. Fausat!”
Fausat clamped a hand over her mouth and dissolved into wild fits of laughter.

“Grand….grandma,” she spluttered at the end of her laughter. “Your so…so funny.”
They were interrupted by the loud clicking of heels against Marble. They turned at the same time to smile at the woman coming down the stairs. They greeted her. The old woman expressed surprise at her elegant ensemble while Fausat overwhelmed her with colourful teenage language.

“Wow, aunty…you look so bad. Your…your outfit is sick.”

The woman smiled demurely and told the old woman she had a meeting with a friend. They watched her cross the living room to the door.
There was a frown of concern on the old woman’s face as her daughter in law disappeared from sight.

“So grandma, please?”

The old woman pushed disturbing thoughts from her mind and looked away from the door to her granddaughter’s earnest face.

“Okay but you must come back home on time o.”

They reached a compromise. Fausat would be home from her movie date before nine. A driver was assigned to her. He would wait until the date was over and ferry her home. Fausat tried to negotiate the terms of her deal with her grandmother but got obstinate head shaking instead. She settled for what her grandmother offered, enveloping the old woman in a tight hug.

“Love you grandma.”

As she bounded up the stairs to prepare for her date, her grandmother watched her, a nostalgic smile on her face. How she reminded her of her late husband, that one. She turned again to the door and remembered her daughter in law. She sighed. There was still so much to do.




*********************


NADEN


I am weary and drained of energy when I lean away from my desk. The familiar darkness weighs down on my shoulders and makes my world gray and colourless. I forget work concerns and her sneering face, and remember my conversation this morning with my mother.

Naden, Boma don run o. Ai, why Boma dey do me this kain thing?

What?! How? When did this happen?

I no know o Naden. I go Opolo go find am. When I reach there, dem tell me say im don run.

Knocking at the door makes me sit upright again.

“Come in.”

The door opens and a lawyer strolls in with brisk steps. A smile decorates his face, making him almost unrecognizable, but I remember him.
He is the one who had supported my decision to settle Mr. Hassan’s case out of court.

“Good evening,” he says.

I nod.

“Good evening.”

He looks at the empty chairs beside him.

“Can I sit down?”

“Sure.”

He sits down, making sure to arrange this suit jacket around him before looking up at me again.

“Sorry about what happened this morning.”

I give a careless shrug.

“I am not bothered by it.”

He mulls over my answer, stroking his jaw.

“I think that is the right thing to do. There is no need to respond to all that negativity.”

A curious thought occurs to me but I have no time to dwell on it.

“Listen,” he says, leaning forward and propping his elbows on my desk. “I am on your side in this place. If anyone opposes you, be rest assured that they have me to answer to.”

Even though his face is open and friendly, I am slow to react to his show of loyalty. He leans back in his seat, eyes expectant. I exhale and nod slightly.

“Thank you Mr…”

“Rueben,” he supplies, jumping to the edge of his seat and extending his right hand across the table. I take it and give it a perfunctory pump.

I suddenly begin to crave for privacy, for space to analyze the man before me. I flick my wrist and eye my wristwatch. Done with that, I concern myself with looking for nothing under the files on my table. He gets the message and stands up from his chair. I ditch my search and look up at him.

“I guess we’ll see then.”

“Sure.”

“Great. Can I have your number?”

I fish out a newly printed card from the leather card holder on my desk and hand it over to him.

“Thank you.”

His body language is confident when he leaves the office. I watch the door long after he has left and replay his words until I reach a logical conclusion.

He is up to something.



************************



IKOYI BOAT CLUB



The breeze from the Atlantic gathered momentum before forcing its way into the enclosed space, whipping strands of hair loose from tightly wrapped buns on the heads of stylishly dressed women and causing the shirts on the men to cling to their frames and then balloon out again. The man sat alone and watched the sea froth and throw up stormy waves. His eyes were distant and thoughtful as one hand reached to pick up his phone from the table. He tore his gaze away from the sea and looked down at the phone in his hand. He dialed a number and waited for the call to be picked. He did not wait for long.

“Good evening sir.”

“How is it going?”

“So far, so good.”

“Opposition?”

“Well, there was something this morning but I worked through it.”

“Good.”

The man was about to end the call but he hesitated for a second.

“Where do you live?”

“Surulere sir.”

The man’s eyes grew distant again.

“Ah Surulere. What part of Surulere?”

“Aguda.”

The man’s eyes narrow and the colourful surroundings fade into the sepia of the past. In his mind, he sees a stately white building with a wide
balcony and a young woman leaning down from the balcony, a coy smile on her face.
Goodnight Tolu.

He fought the past with a shake of his head and the sounds of the Atlantic brought him back to the present again.

“I have spoken to Hassan. He will get back to you.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He never did. He lowered the phone to the table and waited for the man who was now making his way through the throng of sophisticated revelers to him. Yinusa Ali soon met him.

“Boko,” he greeted, his eyes lighting with rare pleasure.

His friend, Yinusa Ali, current Inspector General of Police laughed, adjusting the silver buttons of his long sleeved native shirt.

“Martin, you better stop calling me that. God help you that you don’t make this mistake when somebody who knows somebody in Punch or Guardian carries the wrong news.”

The man laughed. The sound was a rich throaty one. Years fell from his face.

“I’d like to see that happen. It will be an interesting story, I tell you.”

Yinusa Ali laughed.

“You know these days, every Hausa man is seen as Boko Haram. One has to be careful with you Southerners o!”

“Is that why you are looking like the President now?”

“Oh, I am beginning to like this attire,” Yinusa Ali said with a smile before excusing himself to motion to a passing waiter. After placing his
order of whiskey and coke, he became businesslike.

“So how is it going with the case?”

Martin Oyelowo reached for his own drink on the table.

“So far, so good. I am sure we will be ready at the next hearing date.”

Yinusa Ali nodded.

“Great.”

They talked about the case for only a few minutes, the Inspector General of Police deciding that his friend was more capable to dealing with an issue that had threatened his career and cordial relationship with the president. It was a beneficial arrangement. Martin Oyelowo stood to gain a lot if everything went according to plan. They sipped their drinks and talked about women. A teasing smile on his face, Yinusa Ali sought to know Martin Oyelowo’s progress with the wife of the president of their club, a Russian beauty with a flirty eye and hordes of lovers from the club’s patrons. He leaned and whispered to Martin.

“So have you….you know?”

A mischievous wink finished his statement. Martin laughed.

“Not yet.”

“Hmmm,” Yinusa Ali said, leaning back into his seat. “So what are you waiting for?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is it madam?”

Martin scowled.

“Since when did she start controlling me?”

Just then, Yinusa Ali’s eyes caught those of a beautiful woman in a group of two female friends sitting three tables away from them. Her skin was flawless and her full chest distracting. He feasted on her beauty until something struck him and he called his friend’s attention to the woman.

“Martin, is that not your wife?”

Martin Oyelowo turned in his seat and stared at the strange vision before him. His mind was filled with one thought.

What is she doing here dressed like that?




*******************
NADEN


I walk back to join Henry and his friends, still reeling from the call from Mr. Hassan.

He has asked us to get you a four bedroom apartment in Lekki. I am coming to your office tomorrow so that we can go and see the houses I have selected.

I claim my other former seat, a lumpy chair at the edge of the haphazard arrangement in Henry’s living room. Henry and his friends are still discussing my issue with Angela. I had let my guard down today and shared the story of her animosity with them and they had latched on to it, sharing stories of similar experiences with women.

“Women ehn, if you follow their behaviour, you fit just confuse,” Itohen says, shaking his head, one leg stretched out before him and the other bent at the knee. “Na so my girlfriend been dey do before we begin dey date. I been hate am before ehn. That time, we dey work for the same office…for GT Bank. Any small thing, the girl go just dey attack me. Before I talk one, she don talk fifty.”
Itohen changes his voice to a high pitched imitation of a female.

“Is it because I am a woman….is it because I am a woman?”

There is a general laughter and Itohen goes back to his voice.

“I go just dey vex. Who dey struggle your womanhood with you? Comot make person see road abeg.”

I smile and the others guffaw.

“So how una take settle?” Henry asks, slugging beer from the Star bottle in his hand.

“I no even remember,” Itohen says with a shrug, “I just find myself with am.”

“E be like say na so them dey take show love,” Abbey quips, a grin on his face. “Fight before surrender.”

“So maybe this Naden babe sef like am.”

I shake my head.

“Nah, we really don’t like each other.”

I get a message alert and pull my phone from the breast pocket of my shirt when I had dropped it after returning back to the living room. The number is strange until I read the message.

Hi, hope you are having a great weekend. I will need to talk to you on Monday about Angela. I have something I think might interest you.

Rueben.

Episode 4


NADEN


The boardroom is full when I walk in. They are about twelve in number. She sits further down the square end of the table with the two women I have come to realize are her best friends. The others are strange faces apart from David, the new lawyer who has mastered the art of appearing magically at every corner, demanding to know the intricacies of the law. I nod at him. He smiles and bows slightly. I am trying to get used to the deference…to the sheepish grins. I am senior partner.
I square my shoulders and fill every space in my dark gray suit jacket with authority, just as he would want me to. Lowering my Blackberry and the file in my hand to the table, I pull the black all important leather swivel chair at the head of the table and sit down.

“Good morning.”

They chorus their greetings, their voices rising and falling in a disharmonious chant.

Good morning.

Good morning sir.

Morning.

I look at her. She does not join in the chant. Her eyes are fixed on the stack of papers she holds to her face. We sit through several minutes of chair squeaking and paper rustling until the room finally settles down. I look at the oddity in the room, the figure covered in pale blue Danshiki. The blue stands out in a sea of overbearing black and whites, its owner stiff in the midst of lawyers wearing serious frowns. I smile at the owner of the Danshiki, already acquainted with him through nights of studying his case file.

“Sorry about the wait Mr. Hassan.”

Mr. Hassan nods.

“It’s okay.”

I open the file before me and flip through the papers inside.

“So, I have been briefed by Agatha,” I turn to nod at one of her friends, the one with an identical frown on her oval face and a halo of tight stringy curls sitting comfortably on her head. Agatha acknowledges my mention with a curt nod. I turn back to the file before me. “From what I learned, the processes were served on you two days ago.”

“Yes sir.”

I move my attention to Agatha again.

“I don’t think I have the Statement of Defence here. Do you have it there with you?”

“Yes.”

Agatha picks up the papers before her and passes it to the male lawyer beside her and he repeats the action with the lawyer beside him. The papers touch several hands before they get to me. I receive them from a female lawyer with a syrupy sweet smile. I thank her and then read through the documents in my hand, pausing to note each fact with painstaking care. I finish my perusal and look up at Mr. Hassan again.

“Let’s go through the facts of this case again.”

We discuss the case. Mr. Hassan has nothing good to say about the Plaintiff, a lawyer with a thriving practice in one of the properties managed by his company. He lambasts her for being troublesome, counting on the tips of lean fingers, how many times his company has suffered from what he called her excesses. He digresses at some point, raising inconsequential matters designed to layer the tenant with more guilt and improvidence. I let him vent.

“We were tired and so we decided to sell the property,” he says at last, coming to the end of his rambling.

“Okay.”

I rustle through the papers with me.

“In the Plaintiff’s statement of claim, she says your firm continued to receive money from her despite issuing her the quit notice.”

“We already told her that there are no records to support her claim,” Mr. Hassan says with a frown.

“Copies of the receipt of the payment are attached to her statement of claim.”

Mr. Hassan shrugs.

“I don’t know, like I said, we have no official records to show that anybody received money from her on behalf of the company.”

I nod. “I see.”

I move through the documents on the table and get to the last page, a dull black and white copy of a photograph showing a detached burglary
proof, a shattered sliding door glass and an office in the background that had papers strewn all over the floor. I place the stapled papers on the
table and push them towards Mr. Hassan. He picks it up and turns his nose up at it

“That was done by the officers of your company?”

“Yes,” he says, returning the paper to the table with a shrug and then pushing it back to me again.

A chair squeaks and I turn to her to find a frown of impatience on her face.

“What is the point in all this?”

Heads turn this way and that as the other lawyers forget to slouch in their chairs. I am conscious of the eyes watching me, waiting for my reaction. I breathe deeply and edit her from my field of vision. I nod at the client.

“Sorry about that interruption. So back to our discussion, I think we have to settle this out of court.”

Mr. Hassan blinks at me in confusion.

“Out of court?”

I nod.

“Yes.”

He turns to her with a help-me-here-I-am-lost look. She pushes towards the table and responds to his visual plea.

“What he is trying to say is that we should abandon the case.”

A sneer twisting her face, she cocks an expertly lined brow at me.

“What we don’t know are his reasons for that decision.”

I fight mounting irritation and fix my undivided attention on Mr. Hassan.

“Well, there is evidence that someone in your company has been receiving money from the Plaintiff. This should not be the case. The moment a tenancy agreement has been repudiated through the issuance of an eviction notice, the contract between your company and the tenant is terminated. Your company has no reason to benefit from a repudiated contract.”

“Receipts can be forged,” she says, attacking me from the other end of the table again. “There are no records in the company to back the
Plaintiff’s claim of payment. I don’t see how that is a big deal.”

I ignore her.

“Secondly, the law frowns against the destruction of tenants’ properties. By removing her burglary proof and breaking her door, you have contravened that law. I don’t see the judge ruling in our favour.”

“Are we forgetting one little detail?”

I summon an imperturbable expression and face her.

“What could that be?”

Another brow shoots up at me.

“That the Plaintiff had constituted a nuisance throughout the tenancy period.”

“Is that a defence?”

“Why not?”

I smile.

“The Plaintiff operates a law practice on the premises and nothing in this interview has been able to prove that she was indeed a nuisance. Don’t forget we are dealing with a lawyer here who understands the position of the law on these things. We have more to lose if we continue with this case.”

“I agree,” a voice to my right says, causing me to turn to find its source. It is the male lawyer beside her. His eyes are cool but friendly. “I think we should settle out of court.”

The support is unexpected. I try to smile my thanks but something holds me back. I give him a nod instead and return to a squirming Mr. Hassan who has a pained expression on his face. I lecture him about the law, throwing out sections and subsections in dizzying succession until he raises his hands in surrender.

“Okay fine, I guess we will do what you advised.”

“Good.”

The meeting ends as I distribute tasks among the lawyers and arrange a meeting with Mr. Hassan’s tenant. The room soon empties. I sit and wait for her. She is behind Mr. Hassan when she begins to walk past me. I catch her eyes and hold them.

“I need to talk to you now.”

She frowns, adjusts the papers in her hands.

“You need to talk to me about what?”

I heave off my chair and reach for the only thing before me – my phone. The file has long been returned to Agatha who had marched out of the office with military-like efficiency a few minutes ago. I walk to the door and turn to her.

“So your office?”



*********************
ANGELA


I drop the papers to my desk and turn to him. He is standing behind one of the chairs across my desk, his face impassive as he watches me.

“Your behaviour in the boardroom….can you try not to repeat it again?”

I simmer and boil.

“Are you gagging me?”

“Listen Angela, I am here to work and as it stands, I am your boss. Talking down at me or attempting to ridicule me before the other lawyers
will not be tolerated as from today.”

I fold my arms against my chest.

“Aren’t you unraveling rather nicely? Who would have thought you had such dictatorial tendencies?”

He says nothing, just stands there watching. I drop my arms from my chest.

“Listen, I am not even going to pretend I know why you are here, but please don’t come here and order me around or ask me to like you.”

A smirk breaks through the blank slate that is his face.

“I don’t care about your feelings Angela. What you like or don’t like is none of my business. All I am asking you to do is recognize who has the final say here.”

A cutting remark settles on my tongue but he is already walking away. He stops at the door, one hand on the hand and turns to me.

“And you should really take out time to study the Lagos Tenancy Law. I am afraid your knowledge of the law is a little bit obsolete.”
The door closes after him. I see red. I pick the expensive jotter I had gotten from my mother as a birthday gift and fling it hard at the door. It hits the door with a defeated thump and falls lazily to the floor.



**********************

akinsadeez:
Am I seeing a law/legal themed story here? Wow. This is the first one I will be seeing on Nairaland. In fact first one I will ever read from a Nigerian writer and I have read countless foreign legal thrillers. As a lawyer I can relate to the story perfectly but you have made quite easy for even non-lawyers to follow. The combination of law, romance, suspense and intrigue is quite wonderful. This is the first story of yours that I will be reading, but I will go and check our your website now. I guess I just became a fan. Great, great job!

Thank you.

Nmeri17:
Virgo yo writing is captivating and awesome. i suggest you break each episode into shorter doses so ion scroll endlessly. btw can i give spoilers??

Thank you dear. I will try to do as suggested with the next update. And no, no spoilers.

Mutaino7:
I don subscribe 4 ur site.. But virgo updates on ur site get hiccups oh.. Hope newer updates no go tey lng *4 ur site*...i love ur story... Wagbayi!

Thanks for subscribing. Sorry about the delay in my updates. I was on break for a while. I promise to be more consistent now.

joanne1:
@Umariayim a very wonderful,brilliant,beautiful piece u got here,u deserve more than a standing ovation infact if I see u I wld jump on ya wiv a big hug. hv bn a silent follower of ur page like I look forward to it evry week until u went MIA. I jus hope and pray u finish dis beautiful piece here on dis forum + pls put on sth new on ur blog... Thanks!!! U guys shld pls visit her page www.umariayim.com dis babe has got wonderful stories there infact asyds frm royver,kayemjay,princesca,bukkydan and sme few mre dis babe is jus exceptional... Kisses gal4rnd...

Aww...thanks dear.

Chuksemi:
This is simply epic.

Thank you.

NADEN


Her car is parked outside the gate of the compound when I get to the house. I slow down to a crawl and battle with myself for some minutes. Finally, I make my decision and press down on the accelerator. My destination is Henry’s place at Animashaun. He is lounging outside the gray and white building with his usual group of friends. I get rid of my jacket and tie and join them. The mood is mellow and the language informal.

“Guy, how far na?”

“How that your job?”

“Fine babes dey for the office?”

I deflect the questions and merge with the crowd until I no longer stand out. Soon, talk shifts to the hordes of women patrolling the street. A particularly curvy one with a quite sizeable behind obscenely outlined in a tight fitted blue dress is the center of attention.

“Chei, this babe no go kill persin,” Abbey, one of Henry’s friends says, his eyes bulging as he watches the girl swing past us with provocative steps. “Na which kain nyansh be this?”

“That one no be nyansh again o,” Itohen, another of Henry’s friends adds, his head shaking as he too follows the girl’s movement down the street. “Na persin. You no see say the thing get mind of im own? Check am….look am well. See as she dey go left, the nyansh dey go right. Na persin the thing be abeg.”

I join the raucous laughter but it is not long before my individuality wins and I begin to feel out of place again. I drag Henry to the side to discuss privately.

“How work today?”

“It was okay.”

“Your oga…you talk to am today?”

“No, not yet.”

“Okay. The chick nko?”

I smile at the memory of my face off with Angela.

“She hates me.”

Henry is not interested in Angela’s feelings towards me. His overall interest in women usually hinged on whatever aesthetic qualities they possessed.

“She fine?”

“Yes, she is.”

“She fine reach Esiri?”

I look away to the dull yellow headlights of an approaching car.

“They are different.”

Henry smiles and winks at me.

“E be like say you don dey like the girl.”

I smile and shake my head.

“Not really. I feel nothing actually. She is a little rude but that’s okay.”

We stand together and watch cars whizz past us. Henry asks about Boma. My heart sinks.

“Not good. I spoke with one of the officers in charge of the situation. He gave me somebody’s number in Abuja.”

Henry shakes his head in sympathy.

“Na wa. Boma never change.”

I hang out with Henry for thirty minutes, listening to dirty jokes and ignoring my ringing phone. When night falls and I know she would have gone home to her husband, I leave Henry and his friends, and head home again.



*******************


ANGELA


We are on his bed, caught between sheets as we kiss deeply. I should be enjoying his groping, the tongue pushing relentlessly into my mouth and the knee finding its way roughly between my legs but I am not.

“Wait,” I gasp, coming up for air. His face is passion inflamed and very worried.

“Did I hurt you?”

I sigh and try to sit up. He retrieves the barricade that is his leg and helps me up. I give him an apologetic smile.

“I am sorry. I don’t know what is wrong with me.”

Disappointment clouds his face immediately. He knows he will not be sleeping with me tonight. I know it too. I pick up my discarded skirt and wriggle into it. I walk to his bathroom to reassemble whatever dignity had been dismantled by our fifteen minute pre-intimacy.

“Sorry,” I try again when I return back to the room.

Fully aroused and still lying on his back, he gives me a weak smile.

“It’s okay Angela. I know there will be other days.”

I blow him a kiss and lock myself out his apartment. As I drive back to Lekki, I can’t help but replay my time with him in my head.

What happened to me back there?



*********************

NADEN


I allow the phone ring for a while before I pick it.

“How did it go?”

“It went well sir.”

“Did you have any difficulty with her?”

“Not really.”

“Good. Have you started looking at the file?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good.”

The phone clicks his goodbye. I sigh and return it to the bed. I reach for the file on my bed, separate the metal clips and lift up the papers inside. I read into the night, my conscience pricking with each turned page. The evidence is damning and the conclusion clear. I harden myself against my conscience. This is just a job.



****************


ANGELA


I pace the room, unsettled and a little angry with myself.

“Think Angela, think. He is there for something. Find out what.”

Thirty minutes later, I am still blank. I sink into my bed in disappointment and scroll mindlessly through my phone. My finger stops at a name and flirt with a thought.

Why not?

I call Rueben.

“Hey.”

“Hi Angela. I missed you at work today. When did you leave?”

“Four thirty. Listen Rueben, I need you to do something for me. Please.”

“What?”

I tell Rueben about him and share my suspicions with him. I hatch a plan with him and listen as he hails my intelligence. I enjoy the flattery and forgive Rueben his past sins. We talk easily as we bury the hatchet. We have a common enemy now.


Meaning of Yoruba words used.
Ooo ah Tolu fimile. – Ooo ah Tolu, leave me alone
Beeni oo omo mi – Yes oo my child
Oya wa gba Sisi Pelebe – Okay, come and take Sisi Pelebe (coconut chips roasted with sugar)

EPISODE (3)

ANGELA


I open one eye to thick darkness as a small squeak jolts me from the comforting depths of sleep and tosses me rudely to the conscious world of phantom images that creep stealthily towards me like ghosts with malicious intents. Rendered immobile by horror and surprise, I can only watch as the ghosts in the room come together, expand grotesquely before falling back into a compact, single form. The solitary ghost climbs into my bed, presses against me and inhales.

“I think they are fighting again.”

I try to stretch but the ghost which has now become the warm flesh of my cousin has attached itself by my side. I give up my bid to loosen my muscles and yawn instead.

“Who?”

“Aunty and uncle.”

I sigh. “Oh okay.”

Fully awake now, I listen to the soft whirring of the air conditioner in the room. The shadows have now cleared and I make out the small square shapes of the recessed lights in the ceiling. I think of my parents, of the many times I had woken up as a child to their loud arguments and my mother’s keening cries. Then my heart solidifies into that unfeeling mass of revenge and resentment. I hear myself swear in that wide living room with velvet chairs and pictures of old women wearing giant red beads on their neck.

I will be a lawyer. I will put men who fight with their wives in prison.

It was 1998 and my grandmother had been impressed by my solemn declaration as the white of the sky turned to burnt orange over the town of Oshogbo.

Beeni oo omo mi, you will be a lawyer, a very big lawyer.

I had been awarded the sugary treat of coconut chips covered with brown crusty sugar.

Oya wa gba Sisi Pelebe.

“They kinda argue a lot.”

I rub an itchy spot on the tip of my nose.

“Yeah.”

Fausat says nothing after that. She tightens her crushing grip on me and breathes noisily.

“I love your perfume.”

I wince and begin to pry Fausat’s fingers loose from my side.

“Thanks.”

Free from Fausat, I pull myself to a sitting position and push to the edge of the bed. I pad barefoot to the bathroom with a full bladder and the sudden reminder of a court case at eleven this morning. I close the door behind me and commence my early morning rituals.



***********************

A FEW ROOMS DOWN THE HALLWAY


The man stood a few steps away from the double size bed in the white painted room with ornate drawers and heavy red velvet curtains, a dark scowl on his face as he looked down at the silk covered figure glowering at him with equal dislike from the bed.

“And so what?” he fumed, lips twisting in anger. “What right do you have to ask me about her?”

They had been like this for the past thirty minutes, arguing about his recent friendship with the president of the boat club in Ikoyi where they were both members. The woman on the bed shook her head.

“You are a shameless man Martin Oyelowo,” the woman hissed at her husband, nose turning in contempt, “A useless man.”

The man approached the bed with threatening steps.

“Watch your tongue. Don’t make me lose my temper.”

The woman sprang to her knees, her eyes blazing in fury, neckline plunging awkwardly to one side and exposing the creamy swell of full D cup breasts weighed down by gravity.

“Or you will do what Martin?” she challenged, body shaking with anger. “Or you will do what?”

The man said nothing, his jaw working as he exchanged angry looks with his wife. The woman sank back on her haunches but her eyes still glittered with fury.

“You never get tired. If it is not that your secretary, it is the president’s wife.”

The man’s look became one of scorn.

“You are petty.”

“And you are stupid.”

“I have warned you…”

His wife was not listening.

“Just keep doing your nonsense you hear. Just continue. At least Ranti is grown now. I don’t have any reason to stay in this house.”

A sneer appeared on the man’s face.

“Oh you want to go? What are you waiting for? Do you think I care what you do with yourself?”

The woman hissed, drawing a serpentine sound that conveyed all of the disgust she was feeling at that moment.

“I am sure there are countless men standing outside your father’s house to ask for the hand of a fifty two year old woman in marriage,” the
man continued, his tone derisive as his sneer transformed into a mocking grin.

The woman laughed bitterly.

“Oh is it because I have not been telling you? You just wait. Wait and see Martin. Let me just leave your house first.”

The man scoffed and then turned on his heels. He was at the door in seconds, yanking the handle and stomping into the hallway. His progress was halted by the sight of his mother leaning on the wall opposite the door. He drew himself to his full height, against the disapproval on the older woman’s face. Mother and son said nothing. She glared, eyes reminding him of past family meetings and lengthy advice sessions. He shrugged, forcing the material of his cotton pyjamas top to rise and fall on his shoulders, and then walked away to his study downstairs.
Inside the room, his wife sank back on the bed, eyes brimming with unshed tears.

The man settled into his study, flipping light switches, remote controls and anything he could lay his hands on. When lights burned brightly above him and the television hummed with advert jingles, he stood in the middle of his study, eyes on the small framed Polaroid portrait of his wife in her twenties that sat on his desk. He remembered.

Ooo ah Tolu fimile.

Okay, I’ll let you go if you kiss me just this once.

Ah ooo (giggling) why do you like kissing so much? Is that the latest thing in London?

Okay fine, let me take you back to Surulere. I am sure your mother is expecting you back now.

Are you angry? Are you sure? Oya, come and kiss.

Some of the darkness left his face but he turned the photo face down anyway.



******************

NADEN


I massage the back of my neck as I read the report of the case on my desk.

The matter was set down today for definite hearing. Tobi Ezekiel and Sumbo Ayeni appeared for Plaintiff/Applicant. Okon Bassey appeared for the Defendant/Respondent.

Tobi moved motion to amend statement of claim as fresh facts had arisen since pleadings were first filed. Counsel to Defendant/Respondent opposed the application, stating that he was not aware of the latest developments and that the motion was only filed on him this morning. He asked the Honourable Court to dismiss the application, stating that several frivolous applications had been brought in the past. He asked for costs to be awarded in his favour.

The Learned Judge asked Tobi why he was just serving the amended statement of claim on the Counsel to the Defendant and Tobi informed the Honourable Court that he had served the amended statement of claim at Defendant Counsel’s office since last week Friday. Tobi thereafter proceeded to provide the Court with evidence of receipt by another Counsel at Counsel to Defendant’s firm.
Citing Order 24, rule 1 of the Lagos High Court Civil Procedure Rules, the Learned Judge in his ruling granted Tobi leave to amend the Statement of Claim.

Consequently, the matter was adjourned to January 24 for Hearing.

Remarks. –

Counsel – Sumbo Ayeni

I close the white arch folder with a snap, straighten and push back from my desk. I fetch my jacket from the coat rack beside the desk and push my hands into the sleeves. The door opens and the secretary I had inherited from my boss pokes her head through the door.

“Sir, the meeting you asked me to remind you about. It is about to start.”

“Thank you Ugonna.”

The woman gives me a red lipsticked smile and closes the door so quietly, it barely makes a sound. I pick the file from the desk and leave the office.



**********************


ANGELA


Our eyes meet as he walks towards me. I stop short of rolling my eyes and turn to David who is brimming over with curiousity at the moment.

“I have two questions actually,” David continues before breaking off to bob his head at the intruder approaching from the opposite direction. I keep my eyes fastened on David, refusing to give him any more attention.

“Good morning sir.”

His voice is deep and when he answers David, it is with a slow drawl that rolls into my ears with ease.

“Good morning…David, right?”

I scoff inwardly at his drawl.

David bops again, grinning from ear to ear.

“Yes sir.”

I become impatient with the bobbing.

“Okay?”

“Oh sorry,” David apologizes, even though his eyes are still fixed adoringly on the man I know is standing at my shoulder. “What I wanted to know is if there is a defence to an action brought years after it occurred?”

I smile and begin to answer David’s question but I never make it.

“You are asking about the limitation law and if there are defences, exceptions when an action becomes statute barred as a result of being instituted years after it occurred, am I right?”

“Yes,” David says, nodding vigorously.

“Actually, there are various limitation periods for different subject matter claims. For actions based on simple contracts….debt recovery, you have six years, twenty years for land recovery by a state authority, twelve years for claims on a deceased person’s personal estate. As for defences and exceptions, the time at which the party became aware of the injury can be a defence. Fraud, the existence of a legal right, unsoundness of mind are also defences.”

“Wow, thank you,” David says, taking his hero worshiping a notch higher. “I am sorry to impose but I have another question…” Pausing to consult the note pad in his right hand, David raises his head to beam brightly at the man behind me. I am completely forgotten but I stand bravely in the shadow of David’s object of worship. “I am trying to review a case and one of the documents attached to pleadings is an unsigned resignation letter. In the university and law school, we were taught that unsigned documents have no value as admissible evidence in the courts of law, so…I don’t know,” David’s grin is sheepish as he attacks an itchy spot at the side of his head which I think is more from anxiousness to please than from a scalp infection. “I wonder why the counsel to the other party attached it to the pleadings.”

“Well, you have answered your question yourself. The law is quite settled on the probative value of unsigned documents. It is useless as a means of proving the claim of its contents. You can look up the case of A.G of Kwara State versus Alao.”

David grins widely, bombarding me with soft pink tissue coated with the fine silver of saliva, and rows and rows of milk white teeth.

“Thank you sir.”

Suddenly remembering me, he turns to me and nods.

“And you too An…Angela.”

I clear my throat to clear hoarseness formed by irritation and smile as brightly as I can manage.

“It’s okay. I am sure he has managed to teach you something.”

David bows before turning away to walk to his office. As soon as the door closes behind him, I turn and then take a step back when I find him-who-is-my-nemesis standing too close to me. His eyes are cool as they appraise me.

“Managed?”

I lift my chin up.

“Yes, I believe I said that.”

His eyes narrow and he steps away from me before I can ask him to.

“Okay Angela. I won’t take away your right to pass thinly veiled insults.”

I watch coolly as he looks sideways at the door of the boardroom.

“I believe we are supposed to have a brief meeting here.”

I raise my right eyebrow at him.

“I have a meeting with our lawyers. I am not sure about we.”

He smiles but it is humourless. I replicate his smile.

“Your meeting is cancelled.”

I stop smiling.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

I scoff. “Like you have a right to. Like I am going to take someone who has only been here for two minutes serious.”

He shrugs. “You don’t have to but the fact remains that I am the senior partner in this firm now and my word stays.”

Anger shoots up in my veins and blinds me to fear of titles and fathers with tricks up their sleeves. I close the distance between us and jab a finger at his chest.

“Listen, I don’t know what game you and my father are playing but no one…I mean, no one orders me around in this firm, okay.”

He says nothing, does nothing, except to push one hand into the pocket of his trouser.

“Have you finished?”

I am too angry to answer. I lower my hand to my side and glare at him. Seconds tick and I suddenly become aware of the loud tap tap of keys and our single audience. I look back at Laide and find that she is staring with wide eyed concentration at her computer screen. When I turn back to him, his spot is empty and the door of the boardroom is now open. I hurry into the boardroom. I am just in time to hear him announce to Agatha and Aisha who are sitting behind the circular conference table, sheets of papers scattered in front of them.

“Good morning ladies. I am afraid there has been a change in plans. Angela and I will be representing the firm in this case. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

As my friends walk past me to the door with questions in their eyes, I realize for the first time in my life that I am capable of murder.



**********************

NADEN


The judge, a no nonsense man with zero tolerance for adjournment seeking lawyers is breathing down the neck of my opponent, a tall stooping young man with an apologetic smile hanging awkwardly on his face.

“You think I am here to waste my time?” he explodes, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Rifling through papers and sending a few across the dias, he scowls at my opponent as the court clerk to scampers in pursuit of the papers.

“This case was brought into this court last year and all you have done is ask for adjournments the moment the case is set down for hearing.”

“Sir,” my opponent splutters, adjusting his stiffly starched collar and looking down at his papers in his hand. “From what I have here…as I have been briefed by the counsel that appeared for the defendant the last time, it was the counsel to the plaintiff that delayed the case by asking for more time to amend their statement of claim.”

I start to rise from my seat but the judge is already answering my opponent.

“I know exactly what happened at the last adjourned date but you people have been responsible for the delays in this case. Listen young man, this is the last adjournment I am granting in this case. If you are not ready at the next adjourned date, I am striking this case off the cause list.”

“Yes sir. Thank you sir.”

The judge orders the court clerk to find a suitable date for the next hearing. We get a date and the judge makes reads his ruling in a gruff voice.

Somewhere behind me, a soft chorus is taken up. I add my voice to it.

As the court pleases.

We leave the court, Angela and I. Outside the court premises, the driver is slouching behind the wheel of the white Mitsubishi Pajero Jeep that is the firm’s official car. He rushes out of the car, reaches for the handle of the attaché case in my hand and pushes it into the boot of the Pajero. We sit far from each other in the backseat. Her face is turned to window the entire length of the drive to the office, exposing the harsh lines of a jaw clenched too tight.

I smile.



********************

ANGELA


I dump the file on my desk with more force than is necessary.

“I am so pissed right now.”

Agatha and Amina sit on the leather sofa at the end of the office and shake their heads in sympathy.

“Eyah. Sorry,” Amina says, crossing long smooth legs. “I would be pissed too if I were you.”

“Can’t you talk to your father about this?”

I shake my head at Agatha.

“I can’t and I won’t. I am not going to beg him to be senior partner. I don’t even know what he is up to.”

Her face squeezing in a thoughtful frown, Amina cocks her head to the side.

“Do you think he is trying to set you up with him like he tried to do with Rueben?”

I kick off my shoes and lower into my swivel chair. I think about Amina’s question for some minutes. Was there a plan by my father to get me together with him? I summon his face in my mind’s eye and study the proud tilt in his jaw and the coldness in his eyes. I shake my head.

“I don’t think so.”

“Me too,” Agatha says with a nod. “He is nothing like Rueben. He reminds me of your father in a way. Maybe he is here for something else. We have to watch him.”

We agree that the man who had somehow usurped my position in the firm had an ulterior motive that went beyond navigating the confines of my skirt and make a pact to study his every move. I am still incensed when my friends leave for lunch. I reach for my phone and dial a number.

“Hello,” says the voice of the man who provided occasional intimacy when I needed it.

“Hi. Can we meet later?”

“Hmm, this is a nice surprise and it is not even my birthday yet.”

I roll my eyes.

“So?”

“You know me Angie, later…now…tomorrow…I am always at your beck and call.”

“Fine then. See you at six.”

I end the call, breathe out my frustration and look forward to a passionate night with my occasional boyfriend.



*****************

Harmvirus:
Umari please come back to your website.. I've really missed "gentlemen of the bar" and "unilag runs girl" love your stories ma. Although I've been a ghost reader buh I promise to repent

I have returned actually.

swtdarling:
umari!,umari! umari!
I miss. u oooo
I see u and seun have made up.hehe
why did u abandon ur fans on ur website na
God bless u o
when will u continue your story there na.
prettyyy pleeasse

Hello love, I have not abandoned you guys. GOTB will be continued there today by God's grace.

rufychuks:
Lovely. Subscribed

Thanks.

zyzxx:
Am following you bumper to bumper
Welldone ma'am

Thanks.

Jennimma:
I'm ur new follower. I've just fallen in love with ur story.

Great to hear.

Braggante:
Perhaps I have not been reading much, but this right here is one of the best I've read (of course by an 'unpublished', thats if you have not yet). This is incredible. you have it. You are the star. I love your descriptive powers, your use and choice of words. There's a lot to learn from you.

Well done Ma. Apparently, you're a lawyer. Clap clap clap!

Wow!

Do keep writing please.

Thanks Braggante. I am humbled by your kind words.

LaurinaDavid:
auntie virgo, i followed you till you became auntie umari, now i've followed you here again, me i'm waiting for chapter 20 oooooo, more ink to your biro, more grease to your elbow

Aww...thanks love. As for episode 20, it will be up this week.

************************


ANGELA


Agatha is visibly upset. Her case at the High Court had not gone as well as she had hoped. She swears and rants against a conspiracy she thinks has been formed against her. I listen to her vent against the lawyer that had represented the other parties in the case of a frustrated property recovery. We represented the owner of the property, a ten storey building behind Silverbird Galleria.

“The idiot just kept giving excuses for not showing up in court the last time. He said his father was sick and he had to travel to see him, can you imagine? And this was after he claimed to have gone home to bury his uncle.”

“Did you point it out to the judge?”

“I did and as I was speaking the goat kept saying I was pre-empting him.”

I almost ask Agatha who the goat is, but she swears softly under her breath and crosses her arms against her chest.

“slowpoke.”

“The lawyer right?”

Agatha’s frown darkens.

“Who else?”

“Sorry. So the case was adjourned then?”

“Yes, the fool asked for one and the judge gave him.”

“Did you ask for costs?”

“I did, but the judge refused.”

“Sorry.”

“He was just being a man. You know the male paddy paddy thing. A judge is supposed to be impartial but no o, not Agbalajobi. He must nod to everything the cow says. Agama.”

I can’t help laughing.

Agatha’s face softens.

“I hate men sometimes.”

“No you don’t. You just hate this particular man and I understand why. If someone frustrates me with adjournments, I would hate him too.”
A sudden flurry of activities in the hallway cuts our conversation short. Agatha and I walk to the door to see a surprising sight. I walk towards my father and the man with him.

“You came?”

My father nods.

“I did.”

I look at the man again and recognize him. The stranger from the house. What is he doing here?

“Why?”

“Why?” My father repeats, eyebrows drawing together. “What do you mean why?”

I retreat. “Sorry.”

“Thank you.”

Looking sideways, my father seeks a quivering Laide.

“Where is Ugonna?”

“She is in her office.”

I frown.

Ugonna is already here? And she had not stopped at my office to let me know?

There is no time to worry about Ugonna’s disregard. I concentrate on working out a reason for my father’s surprise visit.

“Call her for me,” my father barks, marching down the marble floors of the hallway to his office. I watch the man follow closely at his heels. I stare in confusion at their rigid backs.

But he is supposed to be sick.


****************************


NADEN


I stand stiffly beside the desk and try not to look at the slim figure in orange and black beside me. The man facing us could as well be a stranger. His eyes are cold and his demeanour aloof as he looks from me to the woman who is his daughter.

“So he will be here,” my new boss says, tapping the well polished surface of his desk lightly with his forefinger. “You will assist him from your office.”

“But….”

“Not now Ranti. I don’t have time for this. Naden will take over for some time. I know what I said. Just work with Naden for now.”

“So I guess he is the new senior partner.”

Barrister Oyelowo seems to hesitate before adding.

“And you too.”

The woman laughs. The sound is dry and bitter.

“Me? Senior partner? From my office?”

“Yes Ranti from your office,” Barrister Oyelowo answers, pushing his hands deep into his pockets. “Do you have any objections to this?”

There is a sullen silence from the woman and I can’t help but steal a sideways glance at her. Beautiful with a detached air that seemed to be borrowed from her father, she is stone faced at the moment, her lips tight with anger.

“No,” she says at last, drawing her shoulders higher.

“Good,” Barrister Oyelowo says with a smirk. “Please sit down Naden,” he adds patting the black leather recliner behind his desk. “I expect you
to start work immediately.”

I watch him turn to his daughter and nods curtly.

“Bye Ranti. See you at home.”

We are alone when he leaves. The woman Ranti glares at me as we face each other – me from an incredibly soft recliner that feels like heaven
and she from the other side of the desk.

“Pleased to meet you Ranti.”

“Angela,” she spits, turning on her heels and leaving the office, the door slamming in her wake.

I lean back on the recliner and close my eyes. Barrister Oyelowo’s voice plays in my mind.

Now, let me tell you something about my daughter. She is very stubborn. Beautiful too but too stubborn, but this is my fault you see. I made her to be that way…taught her to have a mind of her own. Made her play chess at an early age. Don’t let your guard down around her. Keep the file from her. I don’t like idiots, Don’t be one.

I open my eyes.

The battle line is drawn.

EPISODE 2


My name is Naden Tare George. Today is the day I resume work at one of the most prestigious firms in Lagos. Oyelowo and Co. It is sometimes hard to take in, this unexpected stroke of good luck. In the past few days, I have tried to forget with the help of Henry and his rambunctious group of friends in bars where the lights hung low and football matches streamed live on small flat television screens on the walls, but this morning, there is no way to escape reality as orange rays of a waking sun slant on my bright green walls. I flip on my back and eye the mold lined ceiling. Some of the memories come back.

I think of the man. I think of the cold eyes that fixed you with a hard stare every time you answered one of the questions thrown at you in a toneless voice. I think of the thin lips that twisted in a sneer when you reeled out your academic feats. I remember the nose that appeared to turn in derision when you talked about your former job. In the end, only a nod, one so small that you think you imagined it, informs you of the decision to employ you. Then you hear the rules, the conditions and you try not to worry, because you see, moving from a small law firm in the rowdy and polluted area of Masha, Surulere to big law firm located in the posh environs in Lekki, is quite an achievement.

So this morning as a religious zealotry reached my ears through the unfriendly whine of a loudspeaker, damning all unbelievers to hell for not accepting the gospel, I stretch my stiff muscles, drag myself to the edge of the bed and throw my legs to the cold tiled floor. As I walk away from the bed, a voice from my past stops me dead in my tracks.

Tare you don pray this morning? Why you no dey pray for morning? Why you no dey thank God for morning?

I retrace my steps back to the bed with a sigh and drop on my knees beside it. I clasp my hands together, bow my head and rush through the Lord’s Prayer.

“Thank you and amen,” I cross myself and rise once again to my feet.

I refuse to think about my lack of religious conviction and I walk to the bathroom. In the narrow space of broken brown tiles and rusting railings, the taps splutter and hiss in defiance, denying me water. I shake my head and turn away from the bathroom to the kitchen where the hulking presence of the giant black drum Henry had recommended holds some of the water I had transferred into it from the kitchen tap yesterday. As I scoop out water from it into the waiting bucket beside it, I make a mental note to refill it when I return from work in the evening.

I leave the bathroom after my bath to find missed calls from my mother. I slip on my boxers, sit on the bed and call her.

“Good morning mama. I saw your calls. How far?”

My mother’s answer is cheerful. She talks about her health and her small retail business, peppering it with enthusiastic thank-Gods. She asks about my new job. I tell her I am resuming today. There is an outpouring of prayers and well wishes in Pidgin English. I smile and thank her. There is a pregnant pause after that. I can sense she has something on her mind.

“Is everything okay?”

There is a pause and then a denial.

“No. Nothing dey happen. Why you dey ask?”

“I don’t know. I am just wondering.”

My mother falls silent and I know my intuition is right. Something is wrong. Another thought is whispered into my mind.

“Is it Boma? Has he done something again?”

A long drawn out sigh makes my stomach fold into half. My younger brother Boma, black sheep extraordinaire, rebel without a cause and occasional law breaker is always the reason for the occasional hiccup in my mother’s voice.

“Hello? Mama?”

“I dey here.”

I switch to pidgin out of frustration.

“Tell me if something don happen na. If na Boma, tell me.”

“Na Boma,” my mother confirms, her voice lowering with sadness.

I exhale and imagine the worst.

“Something don happen?”

“Police don arrest am again.”

I exhale again, but this time in relief. He was still alive. That fact was most important to me. Boma was the apple of my mother’s eyes. After my father’s death had denied her a male to pamper, she had turned her affection on Boma, accepting him as the center upon which her whole life revolved. Initially, I had felt alone and resentful, but like my mother, I loved Boma and wanted the best for him. However as we grew older and our lives took different turns, I had steadily grown into the arrogant distant elder brother with a career that made him think he was better than everyone else. Those were Boma’s words during a recent disagreement. They still rankled. Every now and then, I bristle at the memory of those scathing words and swear never to have anything to do with him, yet I know I must, because if Boma goes to an early grave, he is taking my mother with him and I love my mother too much to dream of a life without her.

“So wetin dem arrest am for?”

“Oil bunkering.”

“For where?”

“Opolo.”

I look down at the hexagonal lines of the tiles under my feet. I think about my last trip to Bayelsa. I had been jarred out my orderly life by an SOS text from my mother about Boma. After a hurried explanation to my boss about family urgency, I had taken the next flight to Port Harcourt and boarded a bus to Bayelsa. It was the third of many of Boma’s brushes with the law but it had been serious enough to keep him behind bars for two days. The arrest had been over an armed robbery attack in the home of prominent local female politician who lived across the bar Boma and his gang of friends liked to visit.

The woman had decided that Boma’s dark brooding manner and his circle of neighbourhood misfits was threatening enough to make him an accomplice in the robbery that had seen her lose two of her cars, so she called the police on him. Boma was taken to the police station at Amarata. I had gone there with my mother the following day after arriving Yenogoa. Standing beside the DPO’s table, his blue long sleeve shirt torn at the left shoulder, Boma had been adamant that he was framed by the woman who he claimed bribed the police to arrest him because he rejected her amorous advances. He had chosen to glower at the DPO while I leaned heavily on criminal law, going back and forth with the DPO over the conditions for his bail. The decorous atmosphere would however prove too hard for Boma to maintain.

I don’t know why you are begging him. I did not do it! I don’t know anything. The woman is lying. Just because person no gree for am, na im make she carry my name come give una. Make I just comot for this place.

The DPO had threatened him with incarceration. Boma had stood his ground and dared the DPO as my mother wept into the edge of her wrapper in the stuffy office.

You wan lock me? Lock me na. The one wey una do never do. Lock me again.

The DPO had swelled in rage at Boma’s dare, the buttons around his swollen midriff threatening to burst free from the threads that held them in place as he hyperventilated. He had summoned one of his junior officers with a loud voice and ordered him to return Boma to his cell. Boma had shrugged and swaggered to the door, leaving my mother to wail as the door closed after him. It was then that I realized how little my legal posturing would help Boma’s case. I reached inside the inner pocket of my suit jacket for the bulky white envelope that contained most of my savings at that time. As my hand left my jacket and moved towards the DPO, the electricity in the air disappeared. The DPO’s dark frown was replaced by a very toothy smile. We would chat like old friends as minutes passed, talking about everything from football, to religion, to sport as he counted the money in the envelope with fingers wetted with gobs of saliva to make sure he wasn’t missing a note.

“So what do we do now? You know I cannot come to Yenogoa.”

My mother sighs. I feel the pressure.

“But you know,” I insist, doing my best not to let frustration win this time. “I am about to start a new job and this man….he is giving me an opportunity you know. I don’t want to misuse it.”

“No worry Tare. God go do something. I wan go meet Brother Josiah for Government House. Maybe im go do something for Boma.”

Brother Josiah was my mother’s elder brother and the Assistant Press Secretary to the Bayelsa Governor. He was a short bespectacled character as well as a miser who gave my mother more excuses than he gave her money. Brother Josiah lived with his three daughters in a five bedroom duplex in Baybridge, Yenogoa. Sometimes the gate men at the towering high gates of the duplex told you he was around, sometimes they told you he was not. It all depended on your call to Brother Josiah the day before your visit. If your request was money, you got the not-around answer.

I sigh and desist from discouraging my mother’s visit to her brother. There was no other alternative.

“Okay.”

After another round of prayers, my mother ends the call. I lower the phone from my ear and hang my head for some minutes. My younger brother’s face flashes in my mind’s eye. I try to summon some angst to keep me aloof from his troubled existence but my efforts end in vain. There is a dull ache where anger should be. I lift my head up, prompted by my ringing phone. I see the name on the screen and sigh. Another burden in my life I was having difficulty shedding.

“Hi.”

“Hello.”

We wait. I wait actually. There is nothing to say. I have run out of words of discouragement for my married ex girlfriend. I rely on silence to convey my decision to end communication.

“Can I come and see you today?”

Erotic images play on the projector of my mind. Esiri’s butter yellow skin is soft and yielding again, her moans invoking lust and powerlessness as her ringed finger touches me in places that no woman has ever touched me. It had taken every shred of control in me to stop the adultery from happening. My body crying for release, I had opened the door of my living room and let a disappointed Esiri out of my apartment. I had sworn that that would be the last time and had done everything to avoid her since then.

“No Esiri, you can’t.”

“Why?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing is not a good reason.”

“Esiri you are married. Let’s stop talking please.”

“You are saying this because you know I still love you.”

I let out a dry laugh.

“And you married someone else?”

“Are we going to do this again?”

I lean sideways and pick my gold wristwatch from the table beside the bed. Seven thirty. I return the watch back to the table.


“Do what Esiri?”

“This whole you married someone else routine?”

“Yes we are. I am not committing adultery with you.”

There is a short silence and I use the opportunity to walk to the built in wardrobe where I find my white button down short hanging among the cluster of dark brown suits. I pick a suit jacket and trouser, and also reach for the red tie hanging from the wooden peg of the wardrobe door. I drop them on the bed the same time Esiri finds her voice again.

“You weren’t ready.”

“And I said wait for me to get a better job, didn’t I?”

“But you know….Naden. My parents.”

I walk to the mirror and examine the sprout of new beard covering my face. I think of shaving but change my mind.

“Okay, your parents were on your case. They said you were not getting younger, right?”

“Yes.”

“You have said this a thousand times Esiri. It changes nothing. You are still married.”

“Maybe…”

“Maybe what?”

“Maybe I could get a divorce.”

“What?”

I begin to laugh because Esiri’s words strike me as funny.

“Are you serious? You want to leave your husband after one month together?”

Esiri’s silence tells me she is serious.

“Wait, are you serious?”

“Maybe I am.”

I shake my head.

“No Esiri. I don’t want you to leave your husband. We should stop talking. It is not helping.”

Esiri is hard to shake off but after a series of warnings, I cut her plea for another visit off before emotions overwhelm reason. I wear my clothes and stand before the mirror, adjusting my tie, one eye on the phone sitting on my new leather laptop case as I expect his call. It is five minutes to eight when it comes.

“Meet me at the house before nine.”

I slip my phone into the pocket of my trouser, pick my laptop case off the bed and leave the room. It was time to pay my dues.



****************************

ANGELA


This morning I have decided to let my hair down. I left the house with Fausat’s praise trailing behind me like the enticing scent of an expensive perfume.

Wow, just loo…look at you. So pretty. I bet your gonna get a boyfriend today.

I nod my head and tap my fingers to the music coming from the car speakers. I don’t know the words but I am happy enough to dance to meaningless lyrics this morning. My first day as senior partner at Oyelowo and Co. I swing my head back and forth and wave an impatient motorist forward. No sweat. Life is easy.

The drive to the office is done in ten minutes. As I drive into the estate where my father had spent millions acquiring a stately two story white with impressive columns for his law practice, I smile and wave with youthful exuberance at the uniformed gate man that holds the gate open for me. I spy the old gate man exchange a baffled look with his colleague from the rear view mirror. I shrug and smile.

“Good morning ma,” David, our new lawyer with a round cherubic face a barely dry call to bar certificate greets when I walk into the cool reception of the firm.

“David, really. I have told you about calling me ma. I am Angela.”

“Sorry,” David apologizes, smiling awkwardly at me and reaching to adjust his too tight tie. I nod.

“It’s okay.”

I look at the sturdy black attaché case beside him.

“Are you going to court?”

“Yes, High Court Igbosere.”

I nod. “Okay. What case?”

“Adegoke versus Marine Management. Court two.”

I nod again, the facts of the case coming back to me. It was one of the firm’s longest running cases. It has been ten years since it was first instituted and after several counter claims and further affidavits, we were nowhere near the end of the case.

“Ruling?”

“Yes ma…sorry,” David laughs and scratches the top of his head. “Ange…Angela.”

I smile. “Okay.”

I look away from David to nod in answer to the greeting of the receptionist, a petite light complexioned young woman in her twenties who wore ruffled blouses and sometimes spoke legalese.

“Good morning Laide.”

Three lawyers make their entry and another round of polite greetings ensues. The smiles are warm and the handshakes telling. It is clear that they know. They kiss the ring one after the other, complimenting my orange chiffon top and black skirt with colourful words and exaggerated deference. I thank them and watch them slink into their cubicles for early morning gossip. I turn to David again.

“So you know what to expect?”

David nods enthusiastically.

“What to say?”

“Yes, yes,” David says again, pushing his chest out. “May it please this Honourable Court, David Pam appearing for the first and second
defendants, appearing here with me…..” David stops in time, eyes lowering in embarrassment again. “Sorry, I forgot I am going alone. I will not say appearing with me.”

I nod.

“Good.”

Bowing with flourish, David grabs the retractable handle of the attaché case and wheels it out with him as he hurries out of the firm. I turn to my office and wait for my father’s secretary. A phone call to her thirty minutes ago had been fraught with communication difficulties.

I am not sure I understand you Angela. You said I should do what?

The office. My father’s office. Please come and clear it for me. I am moving there this morning.

Ehn?

I said clear the office Ugonna. Can you hear me?

I can hear you but I don’t understand.

I had understood with Angela, sympathized with her for being befuddled. I couldn’t blame her. My promotion still surprised me. I resolved to
show more kindness.

I know you are surprised. Sorry Ugonna. I am surprised too. I hope you had a great time during the holidays. The thing is my father has made me senior partner and I will be taking over his office.

Oh…really? Erm I don’t know. Are you sure?

My kindness had dissolved under the heat of Ugonna’s scrutiny.

What do you mean am I sure? Am I supposed to lie about something like that?

I had put on my best senior partner voice.

I will expect you in the office before nine. Thank you.

I drop my car keys on the table, look around my soon to be former office with a smile. Yes.



*************************

NADEN


I turn off the engine and look through the review mirror at the black tinted Mercedes as it draws to a stop before the tall white building. I see the door opening and grab my laptop bag from the passenger seat. I leave the car and lock it with a turn of my key from the driver’s side. He is immaculately dressed in charcoal black suit, a formidable frown on his face as he alights from the Mercedes. I keep my steps measured as I approach him.

I do not like idiots. Don’t be one.

His words control every step I take. I keep my shoulders straight and chin lifted. When I reach him, I find a shadow of a smile playing on his lips.

“Are you ready?”

I nod.

“Yes.”

We walk into the building together.

Mutaino7:
virgo nah u i 4low cum diz side of the continent.. Its bin long u made an appearance.. Hope dis will b entertaining as usual.

Lol. Thanks for following me jare. As for the story being entertaining, you know I always do my best.

Souljaboi1:
Its nice to see you back. I hope 'Egbon' apologized ?

Egbon and I are cool.

Copyright © 2014 by Umari Ayim
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review

Updates will be available on Monday, Wednesday and Friday.


EPISODE 1

Slowly, very slowly the world spins, taking me with it, turning me in wild circles until I feel that familiar feeling – the feeling of being light and far away from the gold and black damask curtains hanging stiffly from the windows with the weight of over familiarity and dismissal, the gray and sometimes black rug I have not gotten around to changing no matter how many times I jot down neat and self condemning reminders in my daily planner, the too large queen size double bed that seems to get bigger with each passing day, the forty nine inch Samsung black panel LCD television dutifully gathering dust on the black wood and glass television stand with steel legs, and the ceiling to floor mirror throwing fragments of my reflection back at me as I bask in one minute of magic and madness

“It doesn’t matter if I am off the beat…”

I lift my shoulder up and pretend I am being controlled by the strings of a puppeteer – like they said in the belly dance video. I rotate my shoulders and try unsuccessfully to do a shoulder shimmy. I give up and go back to Dan Pearce.

“It doesn’t matter if I am snapping to the rhythm…”

I should be happy.

I am.

It is not every day that your father, a shrewd lawyer and unrepentant manipulator, one who had mastered the art of changing his mind as often as he won court cases, the one who hounded you for years about being single-minded and ambitious and…single would finally turn around and eat his words.

Yes, eat his words.

I smile, throw my head back and breathe.

“It doesn’t matter if I look like a complete goon when I dance…”

The walk to the mirror is slow and when I do it, I go with the fantasies – fantasies of me on that high backed chair, in the dark room where blinds were pulled tightly over the windows by workers permanently stooped from cowing before my father, a room you approached on the balls of your feet and grazed the door with a slight brush of your knuckle.

The dragon’s chamber.

The slaughter lab.

The room of he-who-must-be-obeyed.

A thousand words run through my mind, all reminders of my whispered taunts and the resentment that has been my companion for the past twenty years of my thirty one years. We are just in the eleventh day of the two thousand and fourteen but I am back in that office, in that white and blue corporate edifice where my father rules supreme. A place where lawyers shiver at his summon and wealthy clients whip out cheques to settle six figure fees at his persuasion.

I won.

At last.

“It is my dance. It is my moment. It is mine. And dance I will.”

I know I should be sad, and maybe a little worried about his diabetes, about the doctors that visit him daily with their starched shirts and officious attitudes, but I am not. His health was being taken care of. My pride was still battered, broken and in pieces.

I should have had a son. You won’t get married. You won’t give me a grandson. You have not done anything for me Angela. Nothing! You will not get the firm. I will never leave it to you until at least have a son.

I close my eyes and stop the tears just in time. The earth rights itself and the sun breaks through the darkness caused by the memory of one of my father’s many tirades. I open my eyes, smile at the slim woman wearing a white tank top over blue cuffed shorts staring back at me from the mirror and summon a more recent and pleasing memory.

I am sick. The doctors say I should take the time off work and concentrate on getting better….

You will be taking over…

Yes…as senior partner. I have asked Ugonna to prepare some files for you to look into.


There was the caveat of course.

You are not to take any decision without informing me. I will be telling you what to do…until I can trust you.


I shrug off the scathing end of the last statement and concentrate on the victory. I, Angela Ranti Oyelowo had made partner and that was the most important thing this morning. The smile still on my face, I walk to the bed and sit at the edge. I throw one hand out to reach for my phone which is lying face down in the middle of the bed and it vibrates immediately with a call. I smile. Amina. She must have heard.

“Hey partner. Good morning.”

“Senior partner,” I gloat.

“Oh shut up. Congratulations anyway.”

“Thank you.”

“So tell me how it happened. How did you get him to change his mind?”

I tell Amina about the sickness. There are no secrets between us. Amina is sympathetic and says eyah and sorry after every pause.

“But at least he can rest now. We can rest.”

We laugh together.

“Yes we can.”

“Did I tell you, Aminu called? We will talk when you come to work on Monday.”

Agatha is the next person I call. Like Amina, she makes happy noises and toasts to a Martin Oyelowo free workplace.

“Ah,” she says, breathing her relief and causing static to fill my ears. “If only you know how relieved I am. I am not happy about the sickness o, I am just happy we can work without all that tension.”

“Well, me too.”

“And to think that you are now my boss. The wonders of two thousand and fourteen.”

“Hehe.”

“At least I know what to expect from you, so it is all good.”

“Maybe you can call me ma, no oga will do.”

“Ha, I am laughing. Later.”

“Later.”

“And oh, has he called you…Reuben?”

I smile. “No.”

“I am sure he will call you when he hears the news and when he congratulates you, just know he is crying into his shirt.”

I laugh again. “You are crazy Agatha.”

Agatha laughs and ends the call. I go back to my thoughts in the silence. Reuben. The tall, gangly divorcee who had immediately become my best friend and confidant from the very first day he walked into the firm. That was three years ago. A lot of things have changed since then. The truth had found its way past bright warming smiles, reassuring back pats and understanding eyes, and struck me raw like an unexpected blow. I had been devastated. I had ended the friendship and rebuilt the walls around my heart.

“I knew he was up to something. He is always with your father,” Agatha had told me that fateful morning when the truth came out. “I never liked him.”

Reuben stayed after the betrayal. I wondered why at the beginning, but in the end, I decided that it was not his ability for winning even the most difficult cases that made my father keep him. It was the hope that would I change my mind that guaranteed Reuben the place of the most trusted junior partner in the firm. The realization was as unsettling as it was upsetting. I used the only weapon I had against Reuben. I kept a grudge.

We teach girls to shrink themselves
To make themselves smaller

I look down at my phone. Reuben’s round face is staring up at me, his chin tilted and supercilious.

We say to girls, you can have ambition but not too much
You should aim to be successful but not too successful

I press the answer button and cut Chimamanda’s voice off.

“Hi.”

“Happy New Year.”

“Same to you.”

“I heard.”

“Heard what?”

“You are taking your father’s place.”

“Okay?”

“Well, congratulations.”

Agatha’s words return and I relish the picture they conjure.

“Thank you.”

There is an awkward pause. I lower my phone from my ear and check the screen if he is still there. He is. I roll my eyes and go back to the call.

“So urm…I guess we’ll meet at the office….oga.”

Reuben’s accompanying laugh is dry and affected. I smile this time.

“Yes.”

“Have a good day Ranti.”

I am jarred by his use of my other name. There is a suggestion of intimacy and I balk against it.

“I will appreciate it if you stick to Angela like everyone else.”

“I will do my best to remember that.”

I imagine his trademark snicker playing on his thin lips as he says those words. I cut the call and dump the phone on my bed.

“Idiot!”

My mood shifts again when I think of my good fortune. I push thoughts of Reuben to the back of my mind, lie back on the bed and dream of my new office.



******************************


SOMEWHERE IN THE HOUSE


The man lifts a lazy finger and pushes down the button on his arm rest. A soft whirring fills the dark study as the recliner pushes backward and the footrest moves up, settling him in his favourite position. The ambience of the room is soft and meditative with low overhead lights casting soft shadows over the themes of black, burgundy red and cream tones. A spicy woody fragrance permeates the air, lifting the man’s pedigree and wealth from the soft leather recliner and flinging it against the walls, so that room and man become one. Framed canvases sit on the wall, some of them hold still life art and some hold images of the man frozen with governors, ministers and the powerful forces he called allies. Gleaming bookshelves made from dark mahogany hold volumes of law reports and autobiographies of men he admires. There is a large flat screen television at the far end of the room but it is silent. A Channels News reporter mimes her words, her tight plaited hair exaggerating the height of her forehead.

The man shifts. Pensive eyes lift towards the high vaulted ceiling.

The stupid diabetes.

“The last thing I need.”

He sighs. His phone rings.

“Good morning sir.”

He frowns.

“Good morning Reuben.”

“I erm…sir…heard.”

Shadows gather on the man’s brows.

“Heard what Reuben?”

“That erm…Angela is taking over from you.”

“And so?”

You did not think I was going to give you the firm after failing the assignment, did you?

The words are unspoken but the man’s silence conveys them all the same. The younger man hems and haws and hurries off the phone. A small smile lifts the face of the man in the study and he returns the phone to the shiny surface of his table. He liked this game. Intimidation was the drug that kept him alive. It was his revenge against a God that refused to give him a son and had instead given him diabetes.

“There is still so much to do,” he complains to the empty room. “Nothing can stop me from becoming senior advocate.”

He reaches for the button on the arm rest again and pushes himself forward. The blue plastic file is still on his desk. He leans forward and caresses it with loving fingers.

“Nothing,” he swears quietly.

The intercom rings, interrupting his brooding. He reaches for the receiver without taking his eyes off the file.

“Sir, there is a man here to see you. His name is Naden Tare George.”

“Send him in.”

The man straightens his spine and waits for his guest.



****************************

ANGELA

My privacy is violated by a plump, round faced woman with a gap toothed smile who just happens to be my grandmother.

“Aderanti, please come downstairs,” she says, standing in the doorway and bequeathing me with one of her cajoling smiles. “Prophet Jeremiah is asking for you.”

I sigh. Prophecy seeking was among my grandmother’s favourite pastimes. If she was not haranguing about my slim build, she was off seeking prophecies that claimed goodies in the future.

“I don’t want to see any prophet.”

“Please now Omoluabi, my sweet darling. Don’t worry, this one will not take time. He is not like Prophet Femi.”

I want to complain but my grandmother’s gap toothed smile is a terrible thing. It is my Achilles heel. I make a face but pull myself from my bed and follow her downstairs to our unnecessarily large living room with gray marble floors, black leather sofas arranged in a U pattern and a television screen covering most of the wall opposite the sofas.

Prophet Jeremiah is a fat sweaty man with a dull white cassock and a red Bible he keeps zipping open. My mother is sitting beside him, well coiffed and perpetually nervous. Her small white container of blood pressure pills is sitting on the glass stool beside her. She gives me an apologetic smile. I cross the room and take the sofa next to her. True to my grandmother’s words, Prophet Jeremiah’s prayer session is shorter than that of the last prophet. He falls into a frenzy of Halleluyahs and the Lord-told-mes

“Halleluyah?”

I nod stiffly and say a prayer for my neck.

“Halleluyah.”

“The Lord told me that you have met your husband.”

I quirk my eyebrow at him but lower it when I catch my grandmother’s eyes.

“Erm… I am single.”

“I mean, the Lord said that you will meet your husband.”

“Okay….erm…Amen.”

“Halleluyah?”

Oh God.

“Halleluyah.”

“The Lord told me to tell you to stop placing yourself higher than a man. The Lord told me to tell you that you must be humble. You must not be too proud. The devil use pride to defeat many of our young women so that they can’t find husband. Halleluyah?”

I twist my lips and look at my grandmother. She is quick to avert her eyes, but the guilt on her face gives her away as the source of the prophet’s last prophecy. I am glad when it all comes to an end. I escape upstairs but meet another interruption. Fausat, my cousin. A happy go lucky teenager with a pierced tongue and an occasional stutter. Fausat who had just clocked one month with us after her irate mother, tired of her antics had flown in with her from America and dumped her with us for what she called ‘an African upbringing’. Fausat is leaning on her door frame when I walk past. She gives me a conspiratorial wink.

“The…the…pastor has he…he gone?”

“Nope. He is still downstairs,” I answer Fausat, walking past her. The soft click of a door closing makes me happy until Fausat appears at my side. I give a start.

“Stop creeping, I told you I don’t like it.”

“Sorry,” Fausat says, sweeping past me and pushing my room door open. I walk behind her into the room and close the door as she dumps herself on my bed with a sigh.

“You are kinda uptight, why?”

I walk to the dark green loveseat in the corner of the room and sit facing Fausat. I watch her arrange herself in a lotus position and then defend myself.

“I am not uptight.”

Fausat smiles and then turn her nose up at me. “Yes, you are. Sorta…sno…snobbish too.”

I give a resigned shrug. “If you say so.”

“Do you have…urm…a boyfriend?”

“Nope.”

“Urm..why?”

I shrug. “No reason.”

Fausat makes a face.

“You’re boring.”

“Thank you.”

Fausat toys with her earlobe for some minutes and cocks her head in my direction. Dark brown eyes study me under a microscope.

“Do you speak Yoruba?”

“Yes.”

Fausat abandons her earlobe and nods enthusiastically.

“Me too. Wai….wait, I’ll tell you a story.”

I hear through jumbled adjectives and drawled adverbs the story of my cousin’s rebellious not too distant junior high school years. We get to the climax in minutes.

“So my teacher gave me detention. you know what a detention is right?”

I barely nod before Fausat continues her story.

“Well, I do it and when I leave the class in the end, I say wey rey niyen. Cool right?”

I find myself smiling. “Okay?”

“So she asked me, Fausat…” Fausat pauses to do a shrill mimic of her teacher’s voice. “What did you just say? Are you cursing at me?” Fausat goes back to her voice. “I tell her no, no, I am not cursing at you. I just told you good day, wey rey niyen means good day in Africa and she buys it, can you believe it?”

I chuckle in amusement and nod to encourage Fausat’s story.

“And the next day she sees me, she says wey rey ni yen to you Fausat, I hope you had a nice night. I say wey rey ni yen back.”

I laugh. Fausat beams at me.

“Okay now…now…I…I think you are cool.”

She frowns.

“My mum, she didn’t think it was cool. She kept saying I am bad and all, but I am not. My teacher was a meanie.”

The wall of communication torn down, Fausat looks at me with a new light in her eyes.

“And urm…did…did I tell you? There is handsome man downstairs.”

“The prophet?”

“Ewww no. A tall dude in white shirt. I think he came to see uncle.”

Fausat untangles herself, pushes off my bed and walks to the window. She is disappointed to find the view of our shrub lined backyard.

“Let’s go to my room,” she says, marching over to me and tugging my hand from my lap. “We’ll see…see him when he is leaving. Maybe he
can be your boyfriend.”

I harrumph but let Fausat pull me to her room. I am surprised to see that Fausat’s room is tidy and neatly arranged. There is no time to express my surprise to my cousin. Her hand clamped on my wrist, she drags me, determination all over her face, to the window.



***************************


OUTSIDE THE OYELOWO HOUSE


I nod at the man that holds the door open for me and step out into the harmattan. My car is still warm from the drive down here. The meeting had lasted for only a few minutes. I had been rattled by the man’s terms but there had been nothing else to do but accept them. I open my car and settle in the welcoming confines of worn black leather. A loud drumming begins in one of the consoles beside my gear box. I pick Henry’s call.

“How far?”

“He gave me the job.”

A shout of excitement, followed by effusive congratulating deafens me and makes me forget my foreboding for a minute.

“I know say im go give you the job. You get skills na.”

I throw my head back on the headrest of my seat.

“The job get as e be.”

“As how?”

“Don’t worry when I come we will talk.”

“E bad?”

“Not really sha. E just dey somehow.”

“Okay na. I dey office now. I go drive come your house after work.”

The call with Henry over, I return the phone back to the console and lean back in my seat, my attention on the white brick style house outside. My eyes go up the building and stop at a window. Two pairs of eyes watch me with careful interest from the half open window. One is haughty and the other one, openly interested. I straighten in my seat and the eyes withdraw from the window. I breathe deeply and reach for my ignition. I turn my key and make my decision.



*****************************


ANGELA


“Oh my God,” Fausat says, still under the window sill. “He saw us.”

I nod absentmindedly, my mind still churning out answers to the questions that had sprung up a minute ago. “I guess.”

“You guess?” Fausat asks, eyes round as she crawls on all fours on her deep blue rug to meet me on the bed. “He saw us. He was looking at you…like…like he knew you.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know him.”

Fausat rises to her feet and sits beside me.

“See? He already likes you.”

I give Fausat an incredulous look and then sigh.

“You are ridiculous sometimes.”

“Now, you will have a boyfriend,” Fausat says, looking very pleased with herself. “I’m…gonna ask him if he can be your boyfriend.”
I storm out of Fausat’s room and head for my room. Inside, I turn the key in the lock and settle on the bed in deep thought.

What is my father up to?

Umari writes at www.umariayim.com

Sapphiredamsel:
Virgo, please and please say no more. Love ur blog stories more and more.keep it up. Cant wait 4 d 27th

Thank you love. Look forward to sharing the next update on the 27th too. X

skolob:

her response to you has said it all. she came to solicit for followers and that she has gotten

i knew there was something fishy......
chapter 1...frontpage, chapter 2...frontpage. I was begginning to doubt the existence of other writers on this section. The tamisho name was becoming a cliche

LOL!!! Pathetic. Solicit followers on NL? Yeah right.

I already had substantial following on my blog before I started sharing my second serial here, but you won't know that seeing that you just joined NL this month or did you?

At the bolded - Okay. You can stop spitting all over your shirt now. You will no longer see her name on the home page again.

brokoto: ok. I think I understand now. Thank you for your sacrifice of time and talent to keep us entertained. You have surely garnered more people for your blog. Be sure that I'm one of them. Its a shame you has to leave like this though. Cheers

Thanks dear. Cheers.