The Congruence VIII

I stood at the same spot for a couple of minutes trying to process what just happened.

Did I just shake hands with Chief Agbabiaka? The owner of Agbabiaka Group of Companies?

“Yes oooo” Deola responded, with a mischievous grin on her face.

I thought my question was in my head, I didn’t even know I voiced it out.

I counted the wad that he had handed me and it was twenty thousand Naira…crisp N500 notes. Deola dragged me back to our room…I was still dazed and confused.

That night, Deola came clean with me and confirmed all my suspicions and others' insinuations. She told me the story of how she was fortunate to meet Chief Agbabiaka when she was at her wit’s end. Her parents were about to become homeless and she was going to forfeit her University admission the second year in a row because there was no money to pay her tuition and get her registered.

According to Deola, this was a man God sent to help her and her family out of the hydra-headed money problems they had.  

When the man later requested that they should be dating, she just couldn’t say no. The man had done so much for her that she needed to pay him back somehow…and since what he requested was available, she handed it over on a platter of gold.

“Was I not dating a young boy back then?

How did that help my situation or solve my problems?

Was he not sleeping with me for nothing?

Did I not allow him deflower me based on blind love and empty promises?

This same guy took a hike when we thought I had become pregnant…I saw the way he treated me. The professed love dissipated fast.

Thank God I wasn’t really pregnant…I would have been in real trouble.

With Chief, it is a convenient and beneficial agreement

It’s the same commodity; I just had to learn to use it to get out of the abject poverty that plagued my family”

“But isn’t that close to prostitution?” I interjected

Deola looked at me in astonishment but continued

“Was I standing on the roadside when I met him?

Was I out to trade my body for money?
Of course not

It was a meeting that fate orchestrated. I was busy sipping from the bitter cup that life had handed me and simply walked into an oncoming vehicle’s path.

It was Chief Agbabiaka’s car…his driver almost ran me over. It was so scary, I heard a screech and the car bumped into me but not enough to hurt me…I actually thought I had died.

I couldn’t stop crying as I sat on the floor, in the middle of the road. The driver was equally scared, he thought it was worse. Chief had to step out of his car to pull me up and talk to me. He told me to ride with him. He wanted to take me to the hospital but I wasn’t hurt…not even a scratch. He then ordered his driver to drop me off wherever I was going.

He asked what my problem was that made me cross the road without looking out for oncoming vehicles. I couldn’t say much as I kept crying. He gave me some money, handed me his business card and said I should come see him in his office. That was how I met chief and the rest is history.

You may not want to accept this but every woman does it…some are just done subtly.

Every woman trades what she has for what she wants.

Some claim to only sleep with their boyfriends because that’s who they want to marry…isn’t the potential of getting married what they are exchanging for sex?”

“But He is married; the whole world knows his wife…what if he doesn’t marry you?” I asked again

“Well, I don’t know but even if he doesn’t, he would have changed my status to the point where I won’t marry a pauper and end up like my parents

Whatever happens, it’s a win-win for me”

We talked for a long time that night and Deola opened up to me some more. How chief completely changed her life. How she had been to the United Kingdom, the United States of America, even a weekend visit to Paris courtesy of Chief. All the money and gifts, how she was the one paying for her 2 younger siblings’ education, how she was the one paying her parents’ rent and taking care of her father’s health bills after he suffered a stroke.

Deola must have noticed the way I was looking at her and said

“I still have my dignity; I don’t hop from bed to bed or date anybody else

If Chief ever let go of me, I’m still way better than most of these campus girls jumping from one broke boy’s bed to the other

Some of them have slept with countless guys for nothing…but I had to do what I had to do and I have no regrets whatsoever”

I sighed heavily as I processed the information. Most of the things she said made sense to me but I wasn’t sure I could ever do it.

The following day, I paid Mr. Sesan the money he had demanded to fix my score…I remember raining curses on the money before taking it to him. I felt like he robbed me but I was helpless.

I still had a lot of money left; I don’t think I had ever owned that much money in my life, before that day.

I took Deola out for lunch because I didn’t know what to give her and while we were eating, she asked what I was wearing to the weekend party.

“I’m not sure I want to go o

I just said yes because I couldn’t bring myself to say otherwise

I was caught up in the moment and overwhelmed so I had to say yes to Chief”

I could tell Deola was not very happy with what I said…I quickly begged her not to be mad at me and that I would think about it.

“Better…if you choose to go, I have the perfect dress for you. But I won’t let you see it unless you are going and until we are leaving” She responded

“Haba! Let me see the dress now” I whined but she insisted that she wouldn’t show me.

All week I was devising a way to avoid the party without incurring Deola’s anger. I didn’t want her to see me as “knowing how to eat from it, but not wanting to be part of it”.

I later decided to tell her that my mum asked me to come. I would stage it as if I got the call that morning and since she knew my mum’s condition she wouldn’t stop me from going.

Friday evening, after we got back from our classes, Deola told me to come with her and we drove to a beauty salon off campus. It was a pampering session as we went through the entire beauty regimen…hair, nails; it was my first time having a professional manicure and pedicure. I looked totally different in a good way and almost couldn’t believe my eyes.

When we got back, Deola made a call…she didn’t tell me who she was calling but it wasn’t long before I could tell she had called Sister Grace. She said she wanted to say hi and find out how mama was doing. She also added that she needed my sister’s permission because she was thinking of visiting her uncle that weekend and wanted me to come along. My sister granted the permission and they talked some more; Deola then passed the phone to me...

PART 7                                                                                            PART 9

Picture Credit (c) blackgirlsguidetoweightloss.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental   

© 2017 Lanre Olagbaju All Rights Reserved

The Congruence VII

Sister Grace responded that my mum was critically ill. They had thought it was Malaria and were treating it in-house…but she didn't get better.

My mum passed out the day before that and they had to rush her to the hospital.

The hospital almost didn’t take her as they insisted on a twenty thousand Naira deposit for them to admit her and give her a bed.

Sister Grace and my elder brothers rallied round and raised the money. The hospital later diagnosed Typhoid but it had become chronic and they would need to treat my mum with prolonged antibiotics and also a Laparoscopic gallbladder surgery; so they needed to bring more money for treatment to commence.

It was from the hospital that she called me earlier that morning because she didn’t know who else to call….but unfortunately, her phone was not charged and it died after I picked up.

The doctor had come back after about an hour and when he saw that nobody was making any effort to get the money the hospital asked for, he asked Sister Grace and my brothers if they wanted their mother to die…the mention of death was what prompted my Sister to leave the hospital to go look for help. One of my brothers also left in search of money while the other one stayed with my mum.

At this point I had also started crying, I could tell my sister was just chasing the wind and hoping that somehow help would come forth. I asked if her boyfriend could be of help but she said he was out of town to go source for funds from his people as his business was not doing too good

“How much does the hospital want?” asked Deola, who had been quiet, but with a somber demeanor, all along.

There was no answer for a while and she asked the question again.

Sister Grace, after noticeable hesitation, answered and said it was one hundred and fifty thousand naira. My heart almost exploded when I heard the amount needed.

Deola stepped away for a few minutes to make a call…she told Sister Grace she wanted to talk to her uncle. After the call, she drove us to the hospital, talked to the doctor for a while and wrote a cheque/check for the full amount. The doctor was skeptical about taking a cheque/check so Deola made another call and had the doctor talk to whoever was on the other side. The way the doctor kept saying “yes sir, ok sir” was enough to suggest he was talking to an influential person.

That was how my mum’s treatment commenced in earnest. The moment the surgeon they were waiting for showed up, they took care of the Cholecystectomy first which took about 3 hours and from there, my mum was moved to the ICU.

I didn’t know how to thank Deola, I wasn’t sure if she loaned us the money or gave us. Sister Grace could not hide her tears…a mix of joy, fear, confusion and gratitude.

We stayed there all day and by evening, my mum came round…she was so happy to see me.

She thanked Deola copiously and showered prayers on her; one of my brothers that was around kept looking at Deola like she was from another world. I could tell what was going on in his mind.

“This small girl?

One hundred and fifty thousand Naira?

Just like that?

Money that 3 hardworking adults could not raise...God dey o”

I decided to stay and return to school on Monday…Deola said it was a good idea but she had to leave for school.

Before she left, she took me in her car and we went to a supermarket close by to get things for my mum. She bought milk, beverages, blood tonic, fruits and all those things you would take to someone recuperating at the hospital. She also gave me a thousand Naira (in case I needed anything) and advised me to come back to school early so we could figure out how to resolve the issue that originally brought us to see my family.

I didn’t know how to thank her so I hugged her tight…without using words, I tried to express my gratitude to her for being such a good friend and for showing kindness to my family.

“What are friends for?

I know all you’ve told me about your mum and everything she’s been through.

I saw the deep pain on Sister Grace’s face and what mama’s death would mean to every one of you.

I had to step in, so I called my “Uncle”. He was on board and gave me the go ahead

It was the least I could do.

Money is useless if we can’t use it to help save lives” was Deola’s response
 
She dropped me at the hospital but this time she didn’t come inside, she said she didn’t want my mum to start thanking her again.

By the time I left for School on Monday, my mum was able to sit up and she had started taking fluids. She was still weak but we all could see that she was getting better. I was so happy…I felt eternally indebted to Deola. Even my mum promised to come to our school once she got discharged from the hospital. I told her not to bother as we would come over to see her.

Deola was not around when I got to school. I checked our room and even our department, there was a lecture going on for her set but she wasn’t in the class (Deola was not hard to pick out among a crowd. She had a way of standing out). Her car was parked in front of our BQ but she was nowhere to be found. I tried calling her from a call center but she wasn’t picking up.

She showed up later in the day, I was sitting on the bed when she walked in. She said she had to go see her “uncle” before the hospital presented the cheque/check; to be sure that there would be no hitch. Then she told me to come meet “someone”…

“Who?” I asked, curiosity eating me up from within

“Just come with me” she replied as she pulled me up and dragged me out of the room.

There was a beautiful Mercedes car parked across the street where our BQ was and there was a police officer standing by the car…that was the direction Deola was dragging me. I started to slow down my pace but Deola urged me on. The tinted glass of the back window went down slowly as it “exposed” the occupant of the car…it was Deola’s “uncle”.

It was Chief Agbabiaka…a well-known, super-rich business man. I had seen his face on TV many times and in magazines that showed off rich people’s parties and homes.

“Oh my God!” I screamed while trying to cover my mouth with my right palm. I quickly went down on my knees to greet him

“Good evening sir” I said with a shaky voice…I was totally confounded.

“How are you my dear?” he said, with the deepest voice I had ever heard in my life, as he extended his hand for a handshake.

He asked how my mum was fairing and all that…he seemed to know a lot about me. Deola used that opportunity to inform me that he had picked up my mum’s bill. I almost cursed him while trying to pray for him to show my gratitude.

He didn’t stay for long and as he was about to leave, he handed me some money. I knelt again to thank him and he said

“Your friend will be attending a party with me and some of my friends next weekend, if you don’t mind, you can come along”

“Ok sir” was all I could mumble as his car drove off...

PART 6                                                                                            PART 8

Picture Credit (c) nigerianmonitor.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental   

© 2017 Lanre Olagbaju All Rights Reserved