i'd started out hoping to ensure she didn’t steal from me but I’d ended up lusting after her. But she failed to notice my subtle moves: brushing my hands against hers, smiling till my facial muscles ached and winking at her often.
At some point, she said, “You smile an awful lot, you know! It just doesn’t seem right in Nigeria of today.” Then, “My pastor would love to display you on the pulpit as an illustration of the countenance to wear all the time no matter how bad things are.” We both laughed at that.
As we shopped, I was impressed with her bargaining skills. She was well known in the market and spoke Igbo throughout. We conversed easily as the day wore on. She asked me so many personal questions their answers would be enough to write my biography. She said little about herself (for instance, I learnt she was a teacher) but she spoke about her husband every chance she got. In fact, that was why I eagerly answered her questions. I had no interest in learning how nice and loving her husband was.
So, a day after moving where I hoped I would be left alone, I had succumbed to the charms of another female, this time, a married one!
The day after our shopping excursion, Mama Chinonso, whom I’d learnt her real name was Anastasia woke me up again, this time by 6:30 a.m. If this was going to be a pattern, I’d rather she did it at closer quarters from the other side of the door, I thought.
She had on an azure skirt suit and a handbag to match. Her feet were encased in two and half-inch sandals and her makeup consisted of red lipstick and grey eyeshadow to match her shirt and sandals. Her hair was neatly pulled into some kind of braided bun.
“Whew!” I exclaimed. “You look like an air hostess.”
“Maybe I can apply while on board. I’m going to Lagos to see my husband. I’ll be away for two weeks. By then, Chinonso and her brothers will be on holidays and I’ll bring them home.”
Two weeks! I was gripped with panic. It was then I noticed the black suitcase on her welcome mat. What will I be doing till she returns in two weeks? Why in h#ll did she have to be away that long? I should offer her a ride to the airport.
“Please, don’t go!”
“What?”
A horn blew and she turned. “My ride is here,” she announced, all smiles. “Here’s my key in case you need anything. I have yams which will probably rot before I return, some soup in the freezer and you can watch as much TV as you want. The subscription will expire in ten days anyhow. Bye and take good care of yourself.”
I was in a daze. She pressed the key into my right palm and moved to pick up her suitcase. I was rooted to the spot. She was waving back from the Audi that came for her before I realised I hadn’t said goodbye. I hadn’t even said thank you for the food and free cable viewing she had offered or carried her suitcase to the car.
“Idiot!” I addressed myself. “Shameless idiot! Begging a married woman to cancel her trip to see her family! Idiot, idiot,” I repeated, hitting myself on the head.
“Nna men*, you’re a total f#ck-up!” I continued berating myself as I entered my flat. “Back to business! Gbado anya* on the mula*, forget about women.”
Thankfully, the families living upstairs were either stuck-up or my “good name” had preceded me. They barely responded to my greetings. After a while, I got fed up and ignored them altogether.
To say that I missed Tasia (my pet name for Anastasia, I couldn’t bring myself to call her Mama Chinonso, not while she looked so hot), to say that I missed her would be an understatement. It was worse than anything I’d ever been through. The first few days were horrible. I could hardly eat, move or sleep. I couldn’t get her out of my mind and the specifics of my thoughts were well, unprintable. I wondered if that was how it felt to be under a spell, although I wasn’t making any effort to break free.
By the fourth day, I had an unexpected visit from my younger sister, whom we call Razor due to the sharpness of her tongue. I call her CIA because she’s the most secretive person I know but you can’t hide anything from her. She’ll ferret it out somehow. I hadn’t told her my new address but she wormed it out of someone who heard it from the young man who helped me move. How she knew who to ask I cannot imagine.
Razor is seventeen months younger than me. That would place her age at 27 but she doesn’t look a day older than 16. She is a spitting image of our late dad: short, fair-complexioned with the eyes and agility of a cat. She gave up school after her O’levels, complaining that it was a waste of valuable time. But she is more knowledgeable than most people I know (she certainly knows a lot more than me) because she’s an avid reader and well travelled.
Much of Razor’s life is a mystery to me and everyone else. Her residence is a secret. She’s never in short supply of cash and fashionable clothes but she doesn’t seem to be working anywhere. I stopped prying when she made it a condition for bailing me out when I’m in the red.
Razor picked the lock of the back door and let herself in when I didn’t answer the front door after a few knocks. She took in the mess I was and assumed I was mourning because I’d lost a bundle on a Ponzi scheme. She ordered me to get a bath (yes, she does that too, giving orders and getting compliance even from her elders). Her tone brooked no argument and I knew she was crazy enough to drench me with water where I was if I didn’t move.
While I was bathing, she made some oatmeal in my kitchen and you guessed it, she ordered me to eat it when I came out. She then opened all the windows in the living room, dusted the furniture (which consists of a dog-eared black leather sofa, two arm chairs in a similar state and a centre table with a fading and cracking green formica top). When she was through, she told me to come and sit with her on the sofa.
“Tell me why you want to kill yourself.”
“Don’t be stupid, I don’t want to kill myself.” I hesitated but I thought I might as well volunteer the information because she’ll get it out of me anyway. “I’m in love.”
She exploded with laughter.
“Don’t deceive yourself. You are too devious to be in love.”
“Is that what you think of me, your own brother?”
“I think you met a smart girl who won’t let you get under her skirt and you’re confusing your frustration for love.” She resumed her laughter.
“I think you should leave. If you have such a low opinion of me, why are you here?” I made to stand.
She held my left hand in a vise-like grip which said, “Sit, I’m not through with you.” I hate this girl. I hate that she is this strong. I’ve never been able to best her in a fight and believe me, we’ve had quite a few, even as adults. I sat back.
“Tell me all about it,” she said in a somewhat placating tone. “Who is the lucky lady?” She meant this last part as a joke but I didn’t care. I needed to talk to someone in any case to help me process my thoughts.
“She’s my neighbour and she’s married.”
“That’s a good one. Karma is a b*tch!”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Think of all the girls you’ve broken their hearts. It’s your time to pay.”
“I don’t believe in karma,” I protested. “I’m a Christian.”
“Sure, you’re a Christian when it suits you, but you go around promising girls marriage and letting them down. Which commandment of the Bible tells you to do that?”
“You’re not a good one to preach because I am far better than you. What I do is known, but you are into something deadly that no one can pinpoint.”
“Does that make you feel better, that my sins are more or, as you say, worse than yours?”
“I am a Christian and I will prove it to you.”
“Go ahead, I’m all ears!”
“Not today. Come back in one month and check my life. You will see that I am a Christian in word and action.”
“Wanna bet on it?”
“You’re on!”
“5K* a piece. I’ll be watching you three weeks from now to the month. Any slip and you pay me in cash, no excuses.”
“That’s paltry. Let’s double the wager. I’m tired of the life I’m living anyhow and if you want to pay me for changing, that is fine by me.”
“Wouldn’t that be just up your alley? Wayo man! I’m out of here.” She stood and picked her purse from the centre table. “Count me out of your betting sh*t. It’s none of my business what you do with your life.” And she left the way she came.
That conversation had taken an unexpected turn. I couldn’t go back to brooding but I couldn’t decide what I wanted to do: devise a means to get intimate with Tasia when she returned or become a better man as I’d boasted to Razor that I could.
Tasia was supposed to come back four days ago (17th of December). I cleaned her apartment the previous day as a way of saying thanks for the help she rendered by giving me access to it. There was more food there than she had let on and I’d run through the lot: there was stew, rice, ice fish, some chicken, three kinds of soup, eight yams and some grains in small buckets. When she called after five days of leaving to know how I was, I told her I was emptying her freezer and pantry. Her response was: “Be my guest!” That was the day after Razor’s visit.
I was still thinking of what to do with my life, not only because I wanted Tasia’s love and respect, but because I wanted to show my evil sister, Razor, that I could turn a new leaf if I meant to. I was running low on cash. Ponzi business was not living up to the hype about it and the losses were piling up. The gains were no match and some people I was scheduled to be paid by had told me to take a hike. I needed to do a balance sheet of the profits and losses from all my Ponzi “investments” but I was scared that the pain would be too much if everything were catalogued in black and white.
Many people think I bought a car from Ponzi (besides my former neighbours who alleged I was a ritualist). But it’s a guy I helped get a visa to Austria some years ago that sent five cars and I reported to him people were underpricing them because of the poor economy. He told me the least he would take for each and I got the oldest of the lot, a 1998 Toyota Carina, quite cheap. Our elder sister, Nonye’s husband paid for the heavy duty stuff during our mum’s burial, so I wasn’t in the red after. Instead I gathered all the cash I got as condolence gifts from friends and groups which was about 250K* being the only son, and bought the car.
It’s true I paid a year’s rent on this nice flat but now, I’m wondering if it was such a good idea. Where will I get the money to furnish the flat and pay the next rent? As I meditated after Tasia’s call, I knew that those concerns were even far. The immediate question was: How am I going to sustain myself from now? The Ponzi business promised so much and I gave it my full attention. But from the look of things, the whole thing is fizzling out. (Right now, no small scale scheme lasts up to three months before collapsing. The most is a few weeks.) I needed to find a way to move forward.
“It won’t be nice for Tasia to come back and meet me idle. Won’t make a good impression,” I reminded myself. I’d told her I was a budding musician, which had been the case two years ago. I even had a band called Egwu Ndi Muo Ozi (Music of Angels). Gospel music was our genre with highlife and R and B thrown in according to the occasion.
Before you shout, it was a smart business decision I made years ago. Most people in these parts love gospel music even though they may not really give God the time of day. So some folks like me play it quite well without any personal devotion to God. It’s an art, you know. You master your art and you can perform convincingly. Sometimes, I wondered if my inability to get a break had anything to do with my Jekyll and Hyde personality.
We used to do gigs but when I went into yahoo yahoo*, the band more or less disbanded. I found the yahoo thing distasteful. I didn’t want to be telling strangers I love them to get their money. I thought that Ponzi was cleaner, straight up, no personal ties, no heartbreaks. But all na wash!*
It was time to try the music again. It’s a hard life till you get a big break but hardwork never killed anyone. I needed to call my guys, revive the band and start featuring at events as before. It didn’t take too much convincing to get the fellows on board again ’cause they were on their butts like me, hard hit by Ponzi deals gone bad.
We were a bit rusty but we gathered at my drummer, Goddy’s family compound, where there was plenty of space for rehearsals and got a job before we dispersed that first evening: a wake keep in two days. Each member had come with his own instrument and we rehearsed again the next day. We planned to do our usual songs and a few new gospel ones introduced by our keyboardist, who is in his church choir.
But I needed serious backup. Because we’d been out of the scene, we had tough competition from younger guys with better equipment. Some had girls who did backup vocals and danced. So the jobs weren’t frequent and our patrons didn’t always pay at once. I’d thought I could run taxi services with my car but the run-ins with the road safety corps, motor park touts and government Task-Force-This and Task-Force-That meant I got next to nothing for all my trouble. So I gave that up. I thought of looking for work with my degree certificate in Psychology but that didn’t seem too appealing unless I had a top politician or rich man to write a note on my behalf.
I still wanted to look good to Tasia. I was glad she called, no matter how briefly, which meant she hadn’t forgotten me. So I felt I should concentrate on making something of myself. Which drove me to God on the 16th of December since my efforts weren’t bearing much fruit.
It was kind of awkward, I mean, me talking to God. How long had it been since I’d done something like that? Don’t get me wrong. I’ve bowed my head when public prayer was made, I may have even said a few words of prayer alone sometimes but praying a heartfelt prayer? That I can’t readily remember doing. There was one occasion, though, way way back, when my secondary school vice-principal threatened to report a bunch of us for cheating during the WAEC* Literature exam. I prayed for hours. I promised God I’ll be a pastor if he delivered me, I’ll even go as a missionary to the north*, to China, wherever, if only He quashed that case. The vice-principal saw us the next day hanging around his office and reprimanded us
“Stupid children, you want to blame me for your misfortune in life? I didn’t report you but if you carry on like this, mark my words, you will surely get into trouble.”
He then chased us away and we ran to our classroom where we drew caricatures of him on the board and laughed our hearts out. I never even remembered my tears and prayers the previous night.
When I brought my mind back to God in the situation I was facing, I didn’t know exactly what to tell him, so I made him a deal.
“If you get me something doing, something reasonable, I’ll pay my tithe.” That sounded lame. “Faithfully. I mean, I won’t skip any.” Not good enough. Then I got scared. As strange as it sounds, it seemed like God was listening to me and responding through my thoughts. Why would He listen to me, a sinner? What right had I to talk to Him? Yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that He was there, and was in fact, eager to have that conversation with me.
I ran outside. I wasn’t going back to that apartment alone. I felt like Jacob when he dreamt and saw the ladder going from earth to heaven. I remembered that story from Sunday School. In my fearful state, I called my sister, Razor!
“Razor, you dey town?”
“What have you done?” Arrogant girl! I might have a history of asking her to intervene when I’m in trouble but it’s in bad taste to bring that up now.
“Abeg, come my house now now. Plan to sleep oh!”
“Buy me suya, I dey come.”
I immediately regretted the call. Why didn’t I call a believer or a pastor? Truth be told, I didn’t know any of those close enough. But Razor, my devilish sister?
“What exactly do I want,” I asked myself. Am I ready to change or do I just want some financial stability? Why involve God and run when He seems ready to answer? I was very confused. But somehow I felt that Razor will see the situation more clearly and help me out of the muddle I’d created, as always.
“She should be getting here soon,” I tried to assure myself. “But I don’t know where she’s coming from, how can I be certain she’ll come before nightfall.” The time was 5:40 p.m.
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