Hey guys.
This is a story I began a while ago and I'm going to post weekly for your reading pleasure and as a way of propelling myself to complete it. I'd like your comments, suggestions, evaluations and rapt attention.
Thank you.

(c) Tobi Abraham 2014

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Ep. 1

The soft purring of air-conditioner units and the whirr of money counters in the bulk room was unusually bothersome that day. I was having a terrible day and I knew better than to permit my feelings to interfere with my work; one sissy mistake and I would be shoved out. Fine, I wanted out, but not just yet, not with what I was down with.
The youngster I was attending to was unsmiling, he seemed rather in a haste to leave. I scrounged up a dutiful smile anyway and handed him the duplicate copy of his slip. He stalked off with a glimmer in his eyes. He had paid in N950,000 to some private holdings and his swagger was as though he owned the world.
‘Next customer please,’ I said.
A large stately woman lumbered towards me, a black polythene in her hand. A wave of garlic assaulted me as she sank into the chair before me.
She pulled out bundles of cash from the bag and handed me her slip.
As I entered her details into the machine, I found I kept making mistakes.
Her voice rang out ‘A… G … A … M… B… Agambala Eboferiore! Did you get that, love?’
I smiled. She did not smile back.
Just before I got to counting the bundles of notes, I took one last look around. Sansa’s cubicle was next to mine. She stood backing me. Oh the view! Her rounded behind which was further accentuated by her tight plaid skirt was in my face, just beyond the glass partition. On her finger sat the sham engagement ring. It had been a while since I had her …
Mrs Agambala snorted and I fell from cloud Sansa back to my cubicle.
That was when I heard it, the crack of automatic weapons. My heart lurched and suddenly I knew it was what had been bothering me.
Hooded men tramped into the bulk room and brandished their deadly weapons in our faces.
‘Down, everybody! Get down! On the floor! Get down!’
I dropped to the cold tiles wishing I had one of those alarm buttons under my desk. Was this how I was to die? In spite of all my labour?
Three hooded men stood over us. ‘Ngwa, all of you behind the counter, come out.’
We crawled out on all fours.
They collected our phones and herded us to the main banking hall and merged us with those who had been rounded up there. The hall was big, so they had us lay prostrate on the ground.
More people poured in from the stairs. Mr Abayo, the CEC, had bloodstains on his sky blue shirt. The man was naturally obstinate, served him right.
‘Now, gentlemen and ladies…’ one of the hooded men began, he seemed to be the boss. ‘…don’t try to be smart, I repeat, don’t try to be smart. If you cooperate, nobody will die.’ His voice was definitely refined, although masked well.
Mr Alir the Branch Manager walked gingerly down the stairs, hands about his head, a rifle trained on the small of his back. By the look on his face, I could tell that he did not get the chance to depress the small red button, the slowcoach. Not as though the police would have come anyway…
Alikama, Kome, and Sansa, my colleagues lay beside me and were quivering like leaves in a dry summer gust. Madam Agambala looked like a sack of groundnut on the tiles, her arms like great boughs of an oak tree. In spite of myself, I grinned at her chattering teeth and the saliva that drooled out of her mouth.
Suddenly, my face smashed into the ice-cold tiles and a million stars exploded in my head. It was over, I was dead, and free.

Ep. 2

It was the foul stench of damp boots that fired me into reality: I was still alive. One of the men had slammed a foot into the back of my neck.
‘You think say you get sense shebi? When I say make you put your head for ground you no hear. Next time, I go gun that your head for you. Ewu!’ He spat and walked away. His guttural tone made me chilly.
Moments later, I heard him bellow again, ‘…You dey tell my Oga say you no go open wetin?’ A thunderclap followed, or maybe a slap. Whatever it was, I knew it was for Mr Alir.
Meanwhile, a jackhammer rumbled away somewhere in my head and my swollen lips throbbed painfully.
When feet clattered away in the direction of the strongroom, I knew Mr Alir had given in.
The atmosphere tensed up as the remaining four men trained their weapons on us, you could hear a feather drop. Someone sneezed. I squeezed my eyes tight and held my breath, expecting a barrage of bullets. It didn’t. I relaxed and projected the distance of the culprit. Madam Agambala!
She sneezed again. And again. Each time with increasing intensity.
‘Biko, cover your mouth!’ Someone hissed.
Madam Agambala started to shiver, so violently I could feel the earth beneath me tremble. I peeked at her out of the corner of my eye. What was wrong with her? Did she want to get us killed?
Just then, her neck jerked up at an awkward angle, and she started to foam at the mouth. I raised my head in horror and my heart raced… high fever, vomiting, muscle spasms… Is that what I think it is?
I suddenly preferred to be eaten by a python. I looked around frantically, three of the men were already drawing closer. One of them had lifted his hood, it was the youngster I attended to earlier.
‘Wetin do this one?’ they said to each other.
Another turned to me, ‘What is wrong with her?’
‘e … e … bo…’ I stuttered and saw my nemesis making for me, he had been at the other end of the hall. Those boots again? Tufia!
He was almost on me when I released it, ‘EBOLA!’
They backpedalled instantly, crashing into each other and scrambling around like children at the playground.
Reflexively, I sneezed. Someone else sneezed. In half a minute, three dozen people were sneezing and writhing fitfully on the floor.
I was too busy wriggling; I did not know when they snuck out through the security door.

Ep. 3

Call me Clean. Or Maclean. It doesn’t matter.
My dad named me Maclean when I was born, and as I grew up, the kids had their fill jesting me, Maclean! Maclean! Toothpaste!
On my first day at the township school, I introduced myself as Mac, but by recess everyone was looking in my direction and snickering. And each time I couldn’t get the urchins to understand that ‘Maclean’ wasn’t a detestable name after all, I threw back the rage at my father.
I hated my father for being poor. I was the first of 17 kids, being that my father wanted a girl who eventually came in at number 17. Time and again, I wondered why my chi allowed me to be born into the Ugo family. I was a great kid, brilliant, good-looking and all, and as such I should have been availed the honour of choosing my own progenitors (which would certainly have been the White House family!)
But as the first son of Alex Ugo, I spent my childhood peddling wares: garden eggs, dried fish, watermelons and the rest. It did not end even when I went to my Uncle’s in Warri to complete my secondary education. In fact, I had to do some real hustling to get through university. That’s history now though. I’ve got a grip on my personality now, you can’t bully me anymore even if hearing my name makes you raise an eyebrow.
Shortly after my NYSC in 2013, I got a job with TrustMond Bank, a merger between Guaranty Trust Bank and Diamond Bank. For no particular reason, my father died in my second month at work. It did not take long for my homeboys to find their way to my place in Asaba where I stayed and worked. Others would call from time to time to ask for the possible and the impossible. ‘Maclean works in a multinational bank; he’s got the dough!' They said. They never stopped to ask how much a cashier at TrustMond earns. If you have someone there, you should stop to ask them. And what happens when they deduct all that tax stuff. God help you if you took the car loan.
That’s why I will tell you a couple of things. First off, if you need help, get help, and get it in the right place. How do you know the right place? Hear me out.
After cleaning out my desk Friday October 15 2014—the week after the robbery, my buddies at TrustMond—Shaggy, Tobo, and Kome—and I went to our newest hangout Club Royale in Okpanam. Club Royale was one of the top nightclubs in Okpanam where the rich and influential hung out. Sansa couldn’t come because she had to go to her aunt’s. We had pressed Kome into coming, telling her that life was not all about church, that she needed to loosen up after all the stress. She changed her mind at the last minute. The stress part was true. It indeed had been a heated week. TrustMond officials had flown in from Lagos to observe the renovations that were taking place after the failed robbery. They reshuffled the staff and laid off quite a number. Kome, Sansa and I were among the lucky few retained. Alikama and Jenky didn’t get so lucky.
At the club, we secured a comfy booth, ordered drinks and got talking about stuff that average people talk about: the itchy hands in government, latest cars, fashion, Ebola—this cracked me up as I recalled the incident at TrustMond during the robbery. I had thought that the likes of Genevieve Nnaji and Nse Ikpe-Etim were the Prima Donnas of motion picture, until I met Madam Agambala. In spite of her size, her performance that day was topnotch—you’d have thought she had the EVD for real. The essential thing was that she saved our hides that day. And her inestimable connection was why we could hang out in a top class club like Club Royale tonight.
After the robbery, Madam Agambala and I exchanged contacts and shortly afterwards, I became her personal accountant—I don’t know what buttons she pushed. It was then I got to see her act it out over the phone with one of her numerous aristos. In no time, millions of Naira slipped into her account. I also got to know that she was of Gambian descent.
The club was now rapidly filling up and the live band had switched to up-tempo music. Tobo got up to dance. Kome rolled her eyes and said she wasn’t interested, that she wanted to go home. Shaggy looked at me and shrugged. You heard the lady…
We heard a cheer from a corner of the arena and found out that it was a drinking contest. We forgot about Kome and joined in.
Being who I was, I won two of the contests and got showered with rounds of drinks. As Shaggy and I stumbled back to our booth, we stumbled upon a sight that jarred our glazed eyes—Kome was on the dance floor, flailing wildly to the music and drunk as a sailor. A crowd was cheering her on and offering her more drinks.
Sometime after 2am, embarrassed, and bodies glistening with sweat, Shaggy and I towed a smashed Kome into his Lexus. Tobo had since eloped with a guy whom she claimed was an old friend.
As Shaggy drove us home, he explained that he needed to go home to his wife, that he was sorry. He winked at me as he dropped us off in front of my apartment.
I was still wondering how to contain the situation, considering the army of homies in my apartment when my phone rang.
Sansa.

Well done OP

Ann2012:
Well done OP

Thanks a great deal Ann2012. Happy Easter!

Hydronium:

Thanks a great deal Ann2012. Happy Easter!

Same to you

Ann2012:


Same to you

I hope I'll see you here often.

Ep. 4

‘Hey dearie, how’s it going? Where are you guys?’ Sansa's voice was as smooth as freshly oiled wheels.
The night was quiet and eerie and I had an arm around Kome to keep her from flopping to the ground. ‘We just left the club … anything?’ I began to wonder why I picked the call.
‘No, nothing, just wanted to say hi.’
At 2am? Who does that? I tried to contain my disgust. ‘You should be asleep now.’
‘Yeah, just wanted to find out how you are… hope you did not get in trouble with anyone tonight?’
‘No, I did not. You know I’ll be fine, right?’ I hoped she did not pick the sneer in my voice. At that point, Kome who I had been holding up groaned. Horrors!
‘What was that?’ Sansa quipped. It sounded more out of curiosity than concern for my safety.
Now I regretted picking the call. ‘…I think someone opened a door, one of my brothers…’ I covered the mouthpiece and with another palm covered Kome’s mouth, she was drooling heavily.
‘Where are you? What about Tobo and Kome?’
Why’s she asking about the girls? Then I knew. Sansa was stalking me. Why else would she have called at two in the morning but to find out if I wasn’t hanging out with her rivals?
‘Listen Sansa, you should go to bed now. I’m just getting in, I don’t want to wake my pals…’
‘Oh you’re home? Darling—’
Bleh! Kome threw up, the force blasted my palm off her mouth like the safety valve off a pressure cooker.
‘What was that?’ Sansa snapped.
‘Sansa, you know how it is—’ I feigned vomiting into the mouthpiece.
She did not buy it. ‘Was that you?’
‘I have to go now Sugar, take care—’
I pushed the end button and sighed. She knew. Sansa was that intuitive, she could smell a rat from a mile off. If I were thinking right in the first place, I shouldn’t have picked the call.
Warm foul-smelling slime dripped off my hand, and my insides crawled as I imagined a million germs swarming all over my hand, I nearly lost my nine bottles.
With extra effort, I dragged Kome inside and asked my brothers to vacate the bedroom. The sleepy-heads grumbled as they trudged out. Kome started snoring the moment she hit the mattress. I shook my head and wondered how only two bottles could have made someone this drunk.
After using the bathroom, I joined my brothers in the sitting room and stared out at the single shaft of light sifting in through the window. I thought of a life without women, money, work and death.
Sometime past 6am, with the rays of the sun surging in through the windows, I concluded that life without death was worst of all.

Please note, I updated Ep. 3.

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Ep. 5

By the time service was over on Sunday, I regretted having been fooled by Shaggy and my brothers into wasting several precious hours which I could have spent resting. Work was to resume the following day, and as with TrustMond, you didn’t need a gut feeling to know that it would be another hectic week.
Church had nothing to offer me, I was certain, at least after that service. Someone once told me that I could find help in Church, that there was someone who could solve my problems. The man I saw in that service however tried to rid me of the few notes in my wallet. Fundraising, he called it. And he went on and on, telling stories of how the heaven once opened and money fell out and stuff. I would have emptied out my wallet a few months back when things were harder and I was choking on my family responsibilities. But I had found a way to pocket some extra change, so things were looking up. Tough days are over, baby, I thought to myself.
Shaggy and I were among the first to file out of the ‘cathedral’ and we got talking as he drove us back to Okpanam. He asked what I did with Kome. Nothing, I told him, I am not a pervert. He grinned and said Sansa called him that night to find out about our whereabouts and he’d told her that Kome had to spend the night at my place because blah blah blah. I would have punched him in the face had he not been driving so fast, weaving through traffic like Crash Bandicoot. I clipped my seatbelt, and gripped the sides of my seat. Now Sansa would come for me with the force of a brakeless train.
I tossed heavily that night. I dreamt that mother was sick and while I was tending her with herbs, Sansa showed up with a baby in one hand and a machete in the other.
Monday morning, I braced for impact. I was right. Sansa did not as much as blink in my direction. Same with Kome. Kome’s reaction was most surprising and I was still wondering about it when the HOP rang me up and demanded in a gruff tone that I showed up in his office right away. Asides that the man never liked my guts, he especially did not like that I was Madam Agambala’s personal accountant.
I checked with my colleagues and made nervously for Mr Abayo’s office. His door creaked opened like a live skeleton having a fit on a hardwood floor. He was behind his table peering into his monitor screen through wire-rimmed glasses. He waved me absently into a seat and after what seemed like an hour, he removed his glasses and massaged his temple.
“Ahem, I’ve been wanting to see you for a while but I’ve been a little busy.”
He opened a drawer, slid out a folder and smacked it on the table in front of me.
“First, I found out about your shady deals—”
My pulse spiked. Chimo! Which of them?
“—and I plan to made a huge mess out of it.”
Since the robbery, I had been moved to Marketing, and certain clients whose accounts I supervised, Madam Agambala for instance, did not check their account details often, so at opportune times, I scraped some thousands of Naira off their payments and altered it on the system, although on paper it remained unaltered. I felt they had so much money to worry about a few missing thousand. I’d been doing this for the past two months, and it was how I had been able to cope with demands.
I never thought anyone would find out, but as I went through the documents in the folder before me, it was evident that Mr Abayo’s lasso had encircled my neck. I would be sent to jail. My mother would die of heart attack when she heard. My siblings would starve to death. I would never be that philanthropist I dreamed of.
Thoughts of me in slimy bug-ridden cell being bullied and tossed around by menacing-looking hoodlums with broken incisors and tattoos all over filled my vision. I never thought it would end this way.
“You know how much trouble you’re in, shey?”
I just stared, the way a deer stares into the headlights of an oncoming vehicle, frozen, numbed by fear.
“The police—”
The door opened. I fell off my seat.

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Ep. 6

Mr Abayo ignored me as I slid off the seat to the ground. He merely reached behind me and collected a sheave of papers from someone and the door creaked shut again. I realized it was Lydia, one of the customer service agents. Mr Abayo scanned the document while I scrambled back to my seat and began a barrage of apologies.
“I’m sorry sir. It won’t happen again sir, I swear. E ma binu…”
I tried the little Yoruba I knew. I’d heard that you could better empathize with people when you spoke their language to them.
He turned to me, his lips pulled into a smirk.
“So you know how much trouble you’re in, eh? A copy of this document—” he picked up the folder and brandished it “—will reach the Branch Manager soon. By God’s grace, the police will be involved, unless…”
Unless? Hope! I cocked my ears and ignored the beads of sweat trickling down my face onto my sky blue top.
“Unless you do something to buy your way out.”
Mr Abayo leaned back into his swivel chair and crossed his legs.
“I have a proposition for you.”
When the door rattled shut behind me ten minutes later, I was a plant on which a can of herbicide had just been emptied. I headed straight out of the premises and kept on walking.
Mr Abayo had a ‘way out’ for me: he wanted ‘us’ to fleece Madam Agambala. He already had the plans laid out. It’s very easy, he had said, all you need to do is a little documentation, besides, there’s a 7% cut for you from the proceedings.
Something nagged at me as I signed the agreement that I was being tricked into a deeper and hotter part of hell, but I listened to Mr Abayo. From his explanations, it was clear that I did not have a choice anyway.
Thirty minutes later, I found strength to return to my cubicle. I was thankful, at least, that was all he found out about. As I cleared my table at the close of work, Kome walked up to me. I thought she had noticed my looks and was coming to empathize with me, so I mentally prepared the usual ‘I’m fine’ string of responses.
Her eyes held some emotion I couldn’t immediately comprehend.
“Maclean, my religion says to forgive, so I forgive you.” She said.
I glared at her. “Over what?”
She squirmed and turned to look at the large flatscreen TV out in the main hall. It was visible from my cubicle and Channels TV were just beginning the 6PM news. Kome was obviously unwilling to talk about whatever it was, and that was not my problem; my hands were full already. I was going to tell her off when she whirled round and stared in my face.
“You took advantage of me… I was drunk and helpless, and you took advantage of me. I was a virgin—” Tears spilled down her eyes and her face, a sorry mask, “—you could have been man enough to… to take me when I was not drunk.”
She spun on her heels and marched away.
The stapler I had wanted to put away fell off my hand and clattered to the marble desk. Ke ife onye a na ako? What’s this one talking about?
I sank into my seat and wondered what sort of a day this was.
I vividly remembered that night, I helped Kome use the bathroom as she was too sloppy to stand, and afterwards I used the bathroom myself. Then I went to join my brothers in the sitting room and did not sleep for a while. What was Kome getting at? Was she still drunk?
Then something clicked in my mind. I recalled a hazy dream I’d had that morning when I finally fell asleep where a lady was in throes of sexual delight. Or was it not a dream?
Whatever it was, I was certain that I slept and awoke in that same position at about midday, so it couldn’t have been me. Or could it have been one of my brothers? Ezi okwu!

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Ann2012:
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Thanks Ann2012 for your support!!

Maclean don enter ham patapata,,


Im brother's know wan gri oo




Tanks for the update

Ep. 7

After a long sleep in on Saturday morning, I was helping myself to some breakfast in the kitchen when Cletus my immediate younger brother walked in. He had been playing PES in the sitting room with the others.
He grunted a greeting and when he saw that I was displeased with the state of the kitchen, he picked up a broom and began to clean up.
“Bros, that visa thing don almost ready.” he spurted after some moments.
“Visa?”
He turned to face me.
“You don forget? That Malaysia levels na.”
I rolled my eyes. He once told me about a business opportunity over in Malaysia, as informed by a friend of his. I didn’t know that he followed it up still.
“What kind of business opportunity did Eke say it is?”
“He say we go dey help immigrants them do documentation. The money make sense o.”
Documentation? Strange.
“So wetin do visa?”
“I just need small money,” He said and rubbed the top of his nose. “Like 50k… to finish the registration. Eke dey help me with some of the other expenses.”
“I don’t trust that guy o. Remember what he did to you last—”
“But this one different na!”
I shook my head. “I still don’t think you should go. Just collect your money back and let’s get you a job—”
“You want make I die for this country with una? Lai lai! I swear, if heaven fall, I go still go.”
He dropped the broom and walked out.
I sighed. They’d clearly brainwashed him about how much he would make. I was glad he wanted to make some money and help the family too, but this just didn’t feel right. I needed to find out if fresh immigrants were allowed to work in that department.
Over the next few days however, I forgot all about it as I was busy shutting down my other clandestine ventures at Trustmond which included poaching of bank equipment, creating dummy accounts for yahoo boys and so on. It was sad to see all that money go. From my calculations, these ventures made up around forty percent of my total income, Mr Abayo having bunged the other twenty-five percent…
On Thursday 17 February 2015, sometime after I ‘closed shop’, Yitze Chukwuanu—‘big boy by all standards’ I called him—walked into my office. He had been out of town for a while and was one of those who often cajoled me to leave my bank job and come to ‘where the money is’. He needed to make a fund transfer to an account in Switzerland. We were pals and I knew him to be a good ‘hand-greaser’ so I decided it would be my last.
When I saw the amount involved, my throat went dry.
I walked him to the door and told him I was ready to join him. When he saw the serious look on my face, he nodded and gave me an appointment.
On the evening of the appointment, I met him in a lounge in The Legends Club. There were four others with him. We sat listening to the highlife band until a shapely waitress set glasses before us and proceeded to serve from a bottle of Champagne. The men smacked their lips hungrily as she modeled back to the bar. I guess I would have looked too but for the pressure of the moment.
“Yitzy, all this small small pikin wey you just dey bring up and dan…” one of the men, a short stocky man with a picture of Popeye on his T-shirt broke the silence.
Yitze ignored him and turned to me after taking a swig of his drink.
“So you don ready Clean?”
“Wetin make I do Yitze?” I answered, as bold as I could.
Yitze and the men proceeded to ask questions about my parents and family and if there was any one with disability among us.
Their faces beamed when I said there were nineteen of us and three had defects, one was visual impaired, another was epileptic and needed attention almost always. The last had Down syndrome.
Yitze downed his drink and lit a cigarette.
“As una plenty, if one miss, e no go too pain like that.” The man with the armless T-shirt said.
Yitze leaned closer to me. “You go fit delete that one with Down syndrome? No worry, we go show you—”
My head steamed like a locomotive boiler. What? They wanted me to kill Arinze?
I downed my drink and pushed up from the cushion seat. The one with the armless T-shirt made to stop me. Yitze winked at him to leave me be.
“Yitzy, I say all this small small pikin wey you dey bring…” Popeye’s voice faded into the background music as I walked out into the light rain, shoulders hunched and hands pocketed.
Whoever needed to get at any of my siblings would have to go through me. I did not have money enough to take care of them as I ought to, but like my father, I would give a part of me if I had to, for anyone of them.
But again, others were doing it. Why shouldn’t I? All that hundred thousand Dollars Yitze wired the other day could be mine.
I thought long and hard, I didn’t hear my phone ring. It was 09:34PM when I brought it out to check the time. I had missed eleven calls from Onyeka, third born from me. Two text messages were waiting to be read. The first, from Onyeka, had been sent over an hour ago. It read,


BROS YAWA DEY O
CLETUS PACK SAY HIM DEY GO MALAYSIA
ABEG SHOW FAST.

Due to the blood rush, I never got to read the second message. I wish I had.

skubido:
Maclean don enter ham patapata,,


Im brother's know wan gri oo




Tanks for the update

Great to know you're following. More great stuffs coming up!

Make den leave ham make im enter Malay na,


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Hehehe

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Ep. 8


Cletus had left home when I arrived. His phone was unreachable, as was Eke's. I phoned all his friends whom I knew. They hadn't seen him.

I made a quick calculation and dashed for the car park. The last bus had left. I asked if anyone had seen Cletus. Someone had seen someone like him.

I went back home and combed the house along with my other siblings for any document that could tell us where Cletus was headed.

When we found nothing, we concluded he had to have left for Lagos to catch a flight.

For the first time, we prayed.

But I was still worried. I sat up till daybreak thinking and breathing capsules of prayer every now and then. Once, I dozed off and dreamt of a chick wandering away from a mother hen who repeatedly squawked for it to return to safety. At once, a large black hawk screeched from nowhere and made a swooping dive for the chick. The mother hen was rising to the occasion when I started.

I felt apprehensive that I hadn’t spoken to Cletus—that I hadn’t taken him serious all the while. I’d done quite a bit of asking around and had been told that there was no way amateurs would be allowed to work in the visa department, much less a Nigerian—because of our disrepute. What immigrants did mainly was janitorial services. Or for the desperate ones, selling their kidney. Was that what Cletus was up about? Or drug trafficking. For which the penalty was death. Death.

I shuddered. Cletus would not die on my watch.

By 5am, I packed a small bag. Luckily it was a Sunday morning, I joined the first bus and was in Lagos by 11am.

I headed straight for MM2. Checked the queues and lounges. No Cletus.

A flight was leaving for Abu Dhabi airport by 1.30pm. I tried to get into the departure lounge but of course the security officials wouldn’t let me. I checked the Air Ethiopia lounge, perhaps, he was to fly through that route.

Then I remembered. Eke was my friend on Facebook. I could probably get his phone details from there. It wasn’t there.

I tried Facebook messenger and there was Eke, in all his glory.

Eke, wey Cletus?

Bros I hail o

You dey mad? Wey my brother?

Bros chill na

Cletus dey Okay. Notin do am

Tell am make he dey come area now now

*lol smiley*

You dey mad abi *furious smiley*




Eke did not respond for five minutes. I was fuming.




Bros, Cletus dey owe me money

Aw mush?

500k




If I were a kettle of boiling water, I boiled over at that point and quenched the fire. I was visualizing Eke, in his customary gait, chewing gum between his brown incisors. I was wringing his neck and sweat was dripping furiously down my shirt, cool as the airport lounge was. The family sitting on the other side of me were white with terror.




500k for wetin? I go give you your money. Tell Cletus make he dey come hauz now now




He sent his account number. FCMB. The brat. He had the gut.




If the kush enter, you go see Cletus for hauz in the next 30 minutes. *blush smiley*




If I had been in my right mind, I would have known that Cletus could only be home in 30 minutes, if he were in Asaba. But I was a kettle boiling over. I turned off the backlight of my phone and laid it aside.

I waited a few moments thinking of what to do. Of course, I didn’t have 500K. Then I realized I should have had Eke tell Cletus to call me.

I picked my phone and typed it in.

He replied with a lol. The madman.

Then said,

Bros, as Cletus money no complete, he go first enter Italy. Later I go range make he enter Malay.

Italy?

Wetin he dey do for Italy?

Hello?

??

*furious smiley*

You no go answer?

Where you go? Your real father!

*splayed fingers smiley*




I waited. Watched and watched for him to return online.

Idly, I surfed to his Facebook page and marveled at his elegant lifestyle. In yachts, kayaking and all. This same Eke, all within a year or so?

As at 2012, Eke was so broke, he was almost always in my house to eat dinner. This same Eke who I beat silly at PES 12. This Eke.

In one of the photos, I saw a sign behind Eke. It read Milan.

I didn’t know what route flights took to get to Italy, so I googled ‘how to get to Italy’.

As I scrolled through the results, my eyes fastened on a newsfeed.

‘20 drown as they cross the coast of Libya for Italy.’

My mind plunged into chaos.

I googled ‘immigrants from Nigeria to Italy’. And there it was.

Immigrants would go through Libya and by way of the Mediterranean Sea, sail through the dangerous waters to Italy. When I saw the death toll per year, I shrieked.

Clearly, I was looking in the wrong place. Eke would not sponsor my brother’s trip and since Cletus was desperate, Eke arranged for him to go through Libya—the cheaper and unfortunately deadlier route. Where could I possibly start looking? There were myriads of car parks loading travelers to Libya and its environs. What was I even doing here? For a twenty-four-year-old to have turned off his phone, it meant he didn’t want to be found.

After sitting silent for a long time, I sent a text to Onyeka and later forwarded it to my mum.




MAKE UNA PRAY FOR CLETUS

NA ONLY PRAYER FIT SAVE AM NOW.




It was about 7pm when I left Lagos for Asaba. Work resumed the following morning.

I had tried my best. From this point on, Cletus was on his own.

Ep. 9


More trouble called the following Wednesday when Madam Agambala came to bank some four million Naira. Incidentally, my phone was stolen on my way back from Lagos. Madam Agambala was all "I’ve been trying to reach you. Shouldn't you reach out to your customers?"

Later, her palm grazed mine as she handed me an envelope and said to get a new phone. By close of work the following day, she called to ask if I’d bought the phone.

"Yes Madam. Very grateful."

Then she said she needed to see me.

“Where?” I asked.

“My place.” Her voice was deadpan.

“Today?” My head began to spin.

“Yes. Now. There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

The line went dead and my armpits grew moist. Had she found out about the missing money? Or Mr Abayo’s scheme?

My phone beeped. She had sent in the address. Somewhere around Ezenei Avenue.

I crammed the remaining items on my desk into the drawer, packed my bag and dashed out of the bank.

The next thing I remember was sitting in a taxi and glaring at a sign that said ‘Akwukwu-Igbo’. That was when I snapped—I had gone miles in another direction. The driver claimed to have asked me where I was going and he began to holler. I threw him a five hundred naira note and crossed to the other side.

Minutes later, I was in another cab bound for Ezenei Avenue.
I sighed and tried to collect myself. It couldn’t be that bad. No, if Madam Agambala had noticed my treachery, she would have spilled the bag when she came to TrustMond earlier, or she wouldn’t have given me some money to buy a new phone. I made a dozen cross signs across my chest and mumbled Psalm 23 over and again, mindless of the pokerfaced driver spying at me through the mirror.

Madam Agambala’s house was a sprawling brown mansion on the other side of the Benin-Onitsha express road. I broke into a cold sweat as I slipped past three fiery canines—things she would probably set me up with after she found out what I did with her money.

I was led into the living room and there she was in a flowing gown sprawled over a leather cushion and munching on a snack.

The only people I had seen around the house were workers: gatekeeper, butler and one other liveried staff I couldn’t place, chef maybe. I had read from her files that she’d had husbands in the past. If there was one here, he was probably lounging or away travelling.

“Welcome Mr Agu. You look so worn out. You’ve not been taking care of yourself, have you?”

She did not have to tell me that. Each time I observed my unshaven face in the mirror, I knew I was not who I used to be just months ago.
I said I was fine though. She smirked and waved me to a seat. The large flatscreen TV wasn’t disturbing but she reached for the control and turned it off.

“So this Internet transaction thing…” her voice tailed away as she adjusted her rump on her seat.

It was as though someone emptied a bath of cold water over me. I suddenly realised how cool the room was. The knots in my belly began to untie. Internet transaction… Chukwu, whoever you are, Daalu oh.

The butler came in with a bottle of wine and glasses and proceeded to serve me. I did not touch the glass.

Then she delved into it. She was considering other methods of banking which she had seen on TV. Why hadn’t I told her?

She asked about my family. How many are you? 19! What? What does your father do? Dead. Oh, condolences.

After a long session of questions, she squirmed out of her seat and came over to the cushion next to mine. The seat was wide enough, but it took her a long moment to wriggle into it.

“Mac,” She had never called me that. “As an elderly person, I know better.” She took a swig from her glass and leaned towards me. “You are a fine man, and you need someone to take good care of you. I—I can do that. Money isn’t a problem, Mac. I’ll take good care of you and all your siblings…”

As I hurried down the street ten minutes later, I could see my world crumbling around me. I needed money, yes. I had had sex for money before—as an undergraduate. But this? This was different. A sugar boy? With a pudgy woman who probably had lots of issues with her life? No, this was different. I didn’t told her that though, I only told her that I would consider her proposition, to which she said there was nothing to think about and gave a sensual smile. She also tucked another envelope in my bag and said she would see me on Friday at the club.

As I flagged down a taxi, I felt the envelope, it was weighty but it failed to stir up any exuberance within me. I eased into the front seat and the driver named his fare. Alright, let’s see how much is in this envelope, is it enough to take me far away from this city? I thought.

Then, my eyes rested on the rearview mirror and I froze, the envelope half out of my bag.

A pair of eyes were glaring at me. I’d recognise that look anywhere.

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Interesting

Well done OP