Jolly Bad Fellow

“HOW CAN YOU LOSE WHEN YOU CAME HERE WITH NOTHING?”

I had heard Mr. Ajayi, my Philosophy lecturer say those words more times than Thomas Edison attempted to invent a light bulb. Each time, his husky voice carried the weight of pride and sagacity he obviously felt when he asked the rhetorical question. At the time, I shared his sentiment and would listen in admiration as spilled more words of like pseudo-sagacity in a songlike manner. 

Two years later, I do not consider it much of a rhetorical question, I have pondered and wondered; I came here with nothing, but not even the deep ingrained words of Mr. Ajayi could erase the deep sense of loss that I now feel.

“Ifunnaya!”

A familiar bellow, now remembered in slow-mo[1].

You know, if she wasn’t my mother, I would have bellowed some cuss words and a long grumble for the umpteenth time. It was as though my name was permanently stuck on the tip of her tongue. I don’t always take count but this was the fifteenth time she was bellowing my name in the last three hours. I gulped the not so polite response that so desperately wanted to be disgorged and instead bellowed back;

“Yes mummy!!!”

“Come and greet your Uncle Kachi!” she responded in a similar tone. Scrap that, she commanded. I often wonder why she felt the need to remind me that my relatives or family friends where mine.

“I’m coming!” I blurted.

I had heard the name Uncle Kachi a lot in recent times. My mum and siblings never hesitated to gush over his good deeds in our family. Uncle Kachi did this, Uncle Kachi did that but I had never met the jolly good fellow. Somehow, I was always missing in action or absent when he came around, it probably explained the urgency in her voice as she called, not that I cared.

I walked down to my mum’s shop, it was one of the row of shops built at the edge of our large compound. I could have sworn the sun was out to get me as it scorched down the dry earth. Squintingly, I scanned my surroundings; the compound was large enough to accommodate the three structures in it; the bungalow in which we lived, the row of shops and the most recent but stagnant building that had been under construction for three years. Describing it as stagnant is probably not the best since some construction recently started much to the graciousness of this same jolly good fellow-Uncle Kachi. Sometimes, I wondered whether there were still such generous people on God’s thanks-to-humans-not-so-green earth or these acts of generosity came at a price to be paid sooner or later.

It seemed the bare earth absolved more heat from the sun than it left for our roasting; my weak leather slippers were not having it so my feet bore the brunt. I could hear their loud laughter and muffled conversation as I approached the shop. As I would every time there was someone to greet in my mum’s shop, I stood in front of the door which was directly opposite her chair and gave her my sternest do-you-realize-you-are-stressing-me?-look. The visitor who is usually opposite her from the side would have no view, thanks to the small cubicle in the shop obstructing their view. I summoned my best smile to greet the jolly good fellow;

“Good morning Uncle Kachi” I greeted airily, my cheeks was starting to hurt from my forceful smile

“Scholar! Good morning dear. I hear you are the bookworm of the family and…” he was still talking but I was too distracted evaluating his appearance. He was wearing his signature black senator piece; I had been told by my siblings that he never wore a different colour, he always showed up in the same style and colour. It was obvious he wasn’t in lack so that ousts the option that the black senator piece was all he had. It was probably his best colour. No, it was certainly his best colour but how many people wear their best colour so religiously it seemed like a ritual? Not that I cared under normal circumstances but he seemed to be the man of the moment in my family.

“…be my Lawyer someday abi?[2]” his deep toned masculine voice brought me back to reality. I stared blankly for a split second waiting for my brain to recognize and convert whatever acoustic pattern he had released into the atmosphere to linguistic information. Oh what complex beings homo sapiens are and I really loved biology, it’s a wonder I didn’t opt for the sciences.

“Oh sure!” I replied as my brain did what it had to do swiftly.

“Ha, Nka bu ogwugwo!, O nagu pieces!”[3] I trust my mother to cut in. She says the same words every time she introduces me to anybody. Each time the sense of pride in her undertone made up for the slight irritation it caused me. More than anything in the world, I wanted to make my mum proud.

“Ngwa, nwam ga shiri beans n’oku biko”[4] she said in a softer tone; her signature errand voice.

I remember walking out now in slo-mo not knowing how much this meeting would influence the future events I am about to uncover. 

 

4TH APRIL, 2021

I had spent two years as an adult. 

Not that I considered it so much of an achievement but I was living a time I once imagined and yearned for. In retrospect, I wonder what I was thinking, what I really expected adulthood to be like; for one, it was nothing like I ever imagined. Growing up, I and my friends fantasized a lot about becoming adults, we envied the freedom and independence we saw adults around us enjoy- rather, we thought they enjoyed. I sincerely thought that as an adult, there was a divine access to money given to you; I thought the freedom came naturally. Contrarily, the only thing that seems to come naturally is the panic of growing older. The realization that in no time, I would have to fend for myself, live on my own, pay my bills and oh for heaven’s sake that of another.

I had just turned 20. The Big 20.

It was both exhilarating and terrifying for the same reason; for the first time, I couldn’t be addressed as a teenager. Eighteen and Nineteen were good, because I was still in my teens, now I have entered the ‘ty’ years. Exciting. Terrifying. 

I said my prayers and decreed birthday blessings as I do every year. These New Year prayers were different from my regular ones, not because there was any special technique to it but because of the awakening they carried. A New Year. Hopefully my best year yet. Ha-ha, little did I know.

Birthdays are a big deal for me for a lot of reasons, top of which is that it is just once a year and I take out time to celebrate with family and friends. This year was a little different. The Academic Staff Union of Universities (ASUU) had just declared a warning strike and school activities were halted. Most of my friends had returned to their homes but I was the school bug who believed the warning strike would end in two-weeks and things would get back to normal; here I was on the fourteenth day wondering why I ever applied to a Federal university. Oh I know; my mum could not afford the cost of a private univer…

My phoned beeped and brought me back to reality. It was my Mum.

“Hello mummy” I said somewhat drily.

“Happy Birthday Nwam!!” her excitement drew me out of my moodiness immediately

“The Lord will increase you! You shall be the best amongst your equals…” she went on and on with the blessings while I replied heartily with tens of “Amens” oh I love this woman

“…and whatever you lay your hands upon shall prosper in Jesus name!” she concluded with vigour

“Amen!” I responded with the same vigour.

“Ehen, send me your account details, your Uncle Kachi sent you something, hehe.”

Phew…Uncle Kachi. I hadn’t seen him since our first meeting five months ago but I couldn’t hide my excitement, who said money can’t buy happiness. I know what you’re thinking…why describe a bout of excitement as happiness but who cares? 

“Are you serious? Aw, I’ll send it after this call” I said giggling.

“Be laughing, call him now and thank him” she was back to her mother tone. The typical let-them-know-I-raised -you-well pitch.

“Yes ma, send me his number” it was a good thing she couldn’t see my facial expression as I said that.

“Ifunnaya! You mean you haven’t even called all this while? That man has been a blessing to us, learn to be appreciative!” she chided. I could feel my irritation rising, but I had to keep my cool.

“I have heard you, I’ll call him”. 

There it goes, the first time we had a real conversation. He was a smart man and I was quite intrigued, I have always had a soft spot for smart people. He seemed quite as interested in me too; we talked about my ambitions, my grades in school, and my plans for the strike period which I found pretty annoying. I asked about his career, how he made his money, his family and most of all why he had taken such interest in my family. I’m not really one to hold back when I’m intrigued.

His family resided outside the country, in his words;

“I have a lovely wife and two beautiful children, they are in the United States; that’s why I travel back and forth quarterly to see them. I have businesses here in Nigeria and abroad so it’s pretty hectic” he explained.

“Oh wow, I can imagine. I have an honest question, just something that intrigues me…” I said

“Oh sure, go on” he replied nicely

“Why are you so invested in my family?”

Ops…that came out blunter than I intended so I felt the need to expatiate.

“I mean, it’s great and all, but I just really want to know. As far as I know we are not blood relatives even though we call you uncle, you recently showed up in our lives so I’m just curious” I expatiated as his laughter cut in.

“Well, maybe I’m just a good person who likes helping” he said still laughing

“Maybe you’re not” I resorted laughingly. “I’m serious” I said with a straight face.

“Well, your dad was an old friend of mine and…” I stopped hearing after that phrase. My dad. He died four years ago just before my final exams in Senior Secondary school. I was a wreck, I loved him so much and I didn’t understand any of it. The cause of his death was unknown. We just woke up one morning to the news that he slumped and died on duty. The doctors did their bit and found nothing. He was so full of life the day before. I cried everyday for months, I wanted answers so bad but I got none. I prayed and begged God to bring him back but he was gone. Just like that. This man claims to have been his old friend but I never saw him in that period and months after- not until five months ago.

“…we were so close and I just want to be there for his family” he concluded. How do I explain that I didn’t hear any of it and I didn’t even care at that point? I just wanted to end the call and cry my eyes out; instead I said;

“ok.” Numbly.

“Enough of the sad talk, it’s your birthday. Happy birthday once again” he said in an effort to dampen the dead mood.

“Thank you” I replied as drily as ever

“When are you returning to Lagos?” he asked

“Next week” I replied

“All right, have a great day” he responded

“You too. Bye.” I said as I ended the call.

 

THE STRIKE PERSISTED. 

I had been home for three months. In retrospect, a part of me blames the system for future events that took place; I should have been in school, studying, writing exams, hell being with my peers but I wasn’t because once again the system had failed me. I wasn’t one to stay idle so I had tried out a few things; online courses, reading non-academic books for the first time in months, volunteering and the likes. I had applied to a few firms for internship placements but all I got were rejection mails; the gut-wrenching feeling every time I saw the somewhat mocking message from those that cared to respond;

We thank you for your interest in our firm. However, after an intense selection process, we regret to inform you that your application was unsuccessful. We wish you the best in your future endeavours. I bet there was no regret whatsoever. Regardless, I kept sending out applications because I couldn’t deal with…

“Ifunnaya!” My mum yelled…I couldn’t deal with this precisely. Staying at home while your counterparts in private institutions progressed academically had to be one of the most draining effects of the strike action for me.

“Yes mummy” I responded in a low cold tone. Those days I was always in a sour mood and just wanted to be left alone.

“How far? Your Uncle Kachi is hosting a house party for his new house in Victoria Island and is inviting you guys” she said, as she stared at me with a glint of excitement, probably hoping for reciprocation. I stared back blankly.

“Okay” I replied

“What? You don’t want to go?” she asked looking irritated

“Why? I do.” I replied

“So why do you look so uninterested?” she asked again

“Urghh, mummy, do you want me to start jumping around?” I responded snorting with laughter

“Yes” she replied rolling her eye as we both burst out laughing. We understood each other well.

Uncle Kachi and I had since gotten back to talking terms; for what it was worth, I didn’t have anything against him. I wish there was someone to blame for my father’s death or the changes that followed it, but at the time, there was none. Nothing, no one. I would have asked him to tell me more about their relationship but I didn’t want to know, it only brought sad memories; this was beside the fact that I had a gut feeling he didn’t want to tell either but I assumed it was for the same reason. Sad memories.

 

LIFE ON THE ISLAND WAS DIFFERENT IN A LOT OF WAYS. 

I had heard someone describe the third mainland bridge metaphorically as a demarcation between the high class and the middle-low class citizens. Life on either part of the bridge was glaringly different not just in the appellation- ‘mainland and island’ but in the way of life, the cost of living, the views and structures as well as the people. The mainland was mostly populated by people of the middle class and lower class who were referred to as the aje pako[5] in Western-Nigeria parlance. Life was both difficult and easy depending on the perspective one was examining it from. The cost of living was relatively lower on the mainland for the simple reason that it was the mainland inhabited by the majority of low income earners in most of the ghetto areas in Lagos. It was coarser in comparison, seemingly busier with a lot of bustlers on the streets; It seemed to embody the hustling spirit of Lagos in a harsher way, one need only experience the bus stops in Lagos to grasps the expression- OYO lo wa[6]. The individuality of the hustle was glaring in every way; no wonder people said Lagos was not a city for the weak. This is not to imply that there were no well to do people on the mainland; in fact there are a lot of them only that the concentration of hustling Lagosians seemed to outweigh the relatively wealthy ones. 

The Island was a little different; the only explanations for the higher cost of living were the geographical location and the quality of people that inhabited it. I always tried to act the part every time I ran into a celebrity at the mall or at a salon; these were people I only saw on my screen and social media platforms. The children here were known as the aje butter[7]; attending international schools with annual fees that could cover my tertiary education in a Federal university. Thinking about the disparities brought the natural unfairness of life into perspective. There are so many people born into realities they did not create or contribute to. Good or bad, one had to take the circumstances of their birth as they find it and concentrate on creating the future they want.

We were driving to the mall for an evening shopping in preparation for the house warming party tomorrow; both my siblings chatted with Uncle Kachi while I basked in the solitude of my thoughts and the satisfying feeling of watching the road slide past as we sped on the unusually traffic-free road; it was a Friday evening in Lagos, we probably should have been worried. We picked a few food items and packs of expensive drinks at Shoprite The Palms Victoria Island; Uncle Kachi did the card swiping and we headed home. 

Saturday was chaotic for me, not just because I was not a social butterfly taken to social gatherings but because of the caliber of people that attended the house party. I wasn’t entirely surprised; I expected that a man of Uncle Kachi’s social and financial status would have howling- alcoholic bourgeoisie in his circle. The stench of tobacco, the sound of long loud drunken laughter and chatter was unbearable and still managed to creep into the confinement of my room. I would have escaped the uncomfortable feeling if my siblings were around but they had been sent home with the driver at 4pm. I lay on my bed and tuned in to Netflix on my phone to watch ‘Suits’ for the umpteenth time, I could really use the distraction of a Harvey Specter-like chicanery. Someone knocked and I was startled for a split second but before I could ask the person to come in, a stranger walk in, he reeked of alcohol and tobacco. I couldn’t make out who it was because it was dark but the stranger had a tall manly frame. I could feel him approaching and I panicked.’

“Who’s there?” I asked with a fear riddled shaken voice. I could feel my heart pounding as I sat up and scoured the bed with my hand in search for my phone. 

“Shut up” the intruder replied with a familiar deep tone

“Uncle Kachi?” I was bewildered by now

“I said shut up!” he said as he pounced on me and reached for my throat. Oh my God what is happening? He was obviously drunk but this was beyond terrifying.

“Uncle Kachi please” I begged as hot tears welled up in my eyes and I struggled to breathe

“Nnamdi, I said shut up” He said with a lower tone that suggested fury. I was confused. Nnamdi? The only Nnamdi I knew was Nnamdi Okafor. My father. 

“What? Uncle Kac-chi?” I asked in an attempt to draw him back to reality. “I’-mm not Nn-nam-di pleas-see, this is Ifu-nn-aya, you’re sc-a-ring me, plea-sse st-top” I begged wide-eyed as I gasped for breath.

“I-I ca-n’t b-b-re-a-th-ee  pl-l-ee-a-ss-ee!” I said and started kicking, twisting and writing for air

“Leave me!!” I screamed and woke up with a start.

Oh dear baby Jesus. It was a dream. A nightmare. Thank you Lord. Phew. What the hell?!

I had had bad dreams before but this topped them all for all the terrifying reasons. I was in the villain’s house and my father was his victim only this time, in my body. I was probably over thinking things because I started hearing voices. For Pete’s sake, one night could only have so much terrors. 

I reached for my phone to check the time; I must have pushed it to the floor during the dreadful nightmare episode. As expected, it was on the floor; it was 3: 45 am. Mike Ross and Rachel Zane were having a moment but I didn’t care; I exited the app, got up from my bed quietly and walked towards the door to ascertain I wasn’t going mad or needlessly paranoid- bruh need-fully. I wasn’t. There were voices. I wanted to turn on the light but the fear of seeing a stranger in my room stayed me. I couldn’t make out what was being said but I could tell it was more than one person.

My next move was probably a wrong one; maybe I should have tiptoed back to my bed, lay under the sheets with my eyes shut till daybreak, but what if something was wrong, what if we were in danger. Uncle Kachi was a man of high social status and it wasn’t out of place to think he could be exposed to danger especially after a social event with men of similar status. I knew enough about the dirtiness in cabals to know that trust was fickle and loyalty, conditional. I quietly opened my door and peeped, with my ears poised for eavesdropping. The voices were from my Uncle’s study just outside my room. I walked briskly across the hallway to the corner outside the study but opposite the door leading to the stairs. It was left open. I leaned in to hear what the persons inside the study were saying. I could hear Uncle Kachi’s voice, it didn’t sound muffled or strangled which was a relief to me.

“How in the name of all things sacred did he get access to the secret system?” Uncle Kachi asked

“I’m as surprised as you are. Since Nnamdi, the secret system has been more secured than ever” the stranger replied. Nnamdi? It was too much of a coincidence that I just had a nightmare with my father as the intended prey and Uncle Kachi the predator. I leaned in to hear clearly.

“Nnamdi worked closely with me, so his suspicions did not come as a surprise to me. It’s unfortunate he decided to be one of those overzealous EFCC officials. Contrarily, Ojioku’s discovery is more daunting, it just shows we are more exposed than we thought” Uncle Kachi resorted. Did I mention that my father worked with the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) as a crime investigator? He did. My heart was racing now and that was because of the flood of emotions rushing through me. Curiosity, fear, anger…

“Exactly, it’s a good thing we received intelligence from our security officials when we did. Honestly, I never trusted him and I know you had reservations about him so I was surprised you invited him to your house warming party. Immediately I saw him here, I sent instructions to the security to stay alert for intrusion. How he got through the first two security stations is beyond me, he literally outsmarted us all, we just had a stroke of luck catching with him.” The stranger explained.

“This is all too much to take in, how does his being invited to my party affect all these, how did he get access, hell, how did he even know the location. How many people know?” Uncle Kachi resorted somewhat panicky?

“The cave has a very strong security system that requires my finger print and face ID to be unlocked, how did he get any of those?” he continued

“Come on, think about it, you hosted a house party, you drank with wine glasses, and your finger prints were obviously on those glasses. All he had to do was get one of them and retrieve the finger print.” The stranger explained. Uncle Kachi was apparently dumber than I thought. What did he do to my father? I just had to find out. I leaned in taking a mental note that I was now close and should flee immediately I got the information I wanted.

“Oh my God, I really thought things like these only happened in Hollywood movies. How could I have been this careless? I wonder how many we have left lurking around. Ok, even if he got my finger prints from the party, what about my face ID?” He quizzed

“Hehe, Don, this is the 21st century. We now have deepfakes technology, he could have deep faked your face and the system recognised it.” The stranger replied

“What? Deep what? If our security system is this porous, what exactly is the point of it all?” He questioned in fury.

“Don, you’re shouting, we can’t afford to be heard by anyone” the stranger resorted. I shivered.

“I think what we should be concerned with now is the way forward. How do we contain the exposure?” the stranger continued.

“Well, he has to die.” Jesus

“If word gets out that I have been diverting government funds or that I have such percentage of the national treasury in my possession or that I have been the mastermind of the most coordinated fraudulent schemes in this country or that I have access to codes only the President and Ministry of Finance should have or that I am a drug lord, I’m toast. WE ARE TOAST. FINISHED! I need not remind you that access to the cave is access to all the information they need to destroy me” Uncle Kachi snarled. Christ. I could feel my legs weakening. I should have left at that point but I didn’t. I had to find out what happened to my father. This man was a beast.

“Yes sir” the stranger replied

“I could as well bid my political ambitions goodbye. Too much is at stake. Nnamdi was my childhood friend and he didn’t even get as far. He only had reasonable suspicions and was going to turn my case in for investigation, yet he was eliminated painlessly by lethal injection. I expended so much on those doctors to cover all the tracks and falsify the results. I have no affections for this fool” He growled. My body almost gave way. I drifted. A million things were running through my mind at once as tears rolled down my cheeks. I heard some things about torturing the unfortunate man until he disclosed all the necessary information and allies they had to know before killing him. What I would not do to strangle this man. He was the cause of my trauma and I called him Uncle. I slept in his house, I considered him family. My family considered him a helper, little did we know he was only trying to pacify his conscience, if he had any? What was it all for? How could one person be this evil and greedy? How do I relay all this information? 

I was so lost in thought I didn’t realize when the connivery ended and the stranger got up to leave, I didn’t even realize I was leaning on the door by this time. I came back to reality when the stranger opened the door sharply and I almost fell into the room.  I shrieked as I tried to regain balance.

“Christ!” Uncle Kachi explained. He gaze followed me as I stood up straight with fury and hate in eyes. Every ounce of my being wanted to rip him apart but I knew I didn’t stand a chance.

“Who’s she?” the stranger asked confused

“Ifunnaya Okafor, the daughter of Nnamdi Okafor whom you and your cohorts mercilessly murdered!” I blurted out in fury before Uncle Kachi could reply and before I had any time to think about the implications. Their next move confirmed my fears that I had made a disastrously wrong move. Now that I think of it, I should have just feigned shock and confusion and claim to be a chronic sleep walker or something excusable, now they knew I knew their secrets and I couldn’t live with that. I felt a sharp thud on my head, accompanied by a long loud ringing sound in my subconscious before everything blacked out.

I woke up some minutes ago, with a banging headache. I could tell from the smell of blood on my face that I bled from the impact of the hit. I lay still as I recollected the events that led to the present and got alarmed. I could tell I was in a moving vehicle but I couldn’t move my body, my hands, legs and mouth were tied and it was pitch black, I tried to sit up with the rest of my body tied but instead slammed my head on a surface. Damn it, the trunk!

I do not know what I am more consumed with; fear, uncertainty, curiosity or anger. What were they going to do to me? What are they going to tell my family? How do I get out of this? I am thinking about all the undignifying things that could happen, how I am about to lose both myself and the chance to make these men suffer for what they did to my father. 

This is the present. You and I know the same things now. If I get out of this alive, I’ll continue this story.

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[1] Slow motion
[2]  A Nigerian parlance for “Right?”
[3]  This one is a bookworm! She reads a lot! –in Igbo language, (Eastern Nigeria).
[4] My Child, please go and put beans on fire
[5] (Literally meaning One who eats dry snack-plank)
[6] A Yoruba  expression meaning “you are on your own” OYO is an abbreviation for “On Your Own”
[7] Born with a silver spoon; born into wealth (literally- one that eats butter)