Category: Relationships

This year will mark the centenary of the city of Port-Harcourt. Thus, in terms of seniority, the city is older than the contraption called Nigeria which will ‘mark’ its own 100 years of amalgamation next year. Many commentators have written about the propriety of celebrating Nigeria’s centenary. What is there to celebrate about the forceful union of the Southern and Northern parts of the country by British colonialists purely for administrative purposes without considering the wishes and desires of the indigenes of the land, they have wondered. They might have a point considering some of the problems this forced ‘marriage’ have caused which we are still battling with nearly a hundred years after it was consummated.

Anyway, this piece is not about Lord Lugard’s creation that has become a problem to its people and the world at large. This is about a lovely city which was born out of necessity and has today become something those who conceived it can be proud of. A little background info and history will not go amiss here.

Unlike most other major towns and cities in the country that developed from hamlets and villages founded by the local indigenous population, Port-Harcourt was a purpose-built creation of the then British colonial administration in the early part of the 20th century.

After coal was discovered in Enugu in 1909, the administration then needed a port to export the product to Europe. Diobu or Iguocha, an area originally inhabited by the Ikwerre people, was chosen and by 1913, construction of a port town began. Seeking a more cosmopolitan name for the new town, Lord Lugard, the then Governor-General of Nigeria renamed it Port Harcourt in 1913, after Lewis Vernon Harcourt the then Secretary of State for the Colonies.

From such small beginnings, Port-Harcourt has today grown into one of the most vibrant and bustling cities in the country. I spent some of my childhood and formative years in the city and I can tell you it was one of the best places in the country to grow up in. Back then, it was a peaceful, quiet and neat place full of trees and other greenery hence the nickname, ‘Garden city’.

Today, the city has lost some of its innocence and it’s suffering from a malaise afflicting many major cities and towns in the country: overcrowding and overstretched infrastructure. Due to population explosion and perhaps, poor planning most of the roads are a motorist’s nightmare because of the heavy traffic jams which is nearly at par with that of Lagos. Housing too is over stretched thus making accommodation expensive and not for the poor.

The administration of Governor Chibuike Amaechi, in trying to resolve some of these problems announced plans in 2009 for the creation of a new city to be called the Greater Port-Harcourt City. It’s a laudable plan which when implemented, will help decongest the city centre and improve the quality of life of the residents.

Indeed, this is an idea that needs to be emulated by other states particularly heavily populated ones like Lagos. Lagos is long overdue for decongestion because of its huge population which has placed enormous strain on the available infrastructure. Thus, the creation of satellite towns that will reduce pressure on the city is something that needs to be considered as a matter of urgency as the population keeps growing each day.

In its 100 years of existence, the city of Port-Harcourt has witnessed steady growth from a small colonial port to a bustling, commercial centre and the hub of the nation’s vital oil industry. It is one centenary celebration that a lot of people like me who have fond memories of the city will not begrudge. This is unlike that of Nigeria’s centenary which the Federal Government is planning to mark in a big way. To me, it’s a waste of funds and an exercise in futility. The government should focus on improving the lot of Nigerians rather than celebrating colonialism and the subjugation of our forefathers who fell to the British military might.

Or it could build new towns and cities for with vision and proper planning, the country would have had more purpose-built cities like PH and Abuja. But that dream has been impossible due to the rapacious looting of public funds by those in positions of authority and their cohorts who cart away our resources to Europe and the U.S and lately Dubai and Asia-the newest destinations for the country’s looters and money-launderers.

“So you are married! But you don’t look it,” he stated, his eyes going over the blue T-shirt and skinny jeans I had on.

I found his comment amusing.

“So, how do married women look?” I asked him.

“Well, they look stressed and harassed most of the time, especially the ones with kids. You look cool and calm,” he said in an admiring tone. We chatted for a while before he left.

To me, he was just a customer I had to be polite to for the sake of business, but I did not know I had made quite an impression on him.

The following week, he called me on the store’s landline.

“What gift are you getting for your sister this time?” I queried after he had introduced himself and remembering what he had come for the last time.

He laughed.

“No gift this time,” he stated. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“Is that so?” I noted, adding: “Don’t you have anything better to do than be calling to just hear someone’s voice?”

“You are right. I’m on leave so I have a lot of leisure time right now,” he explained.

“Good for you. But not everyone is so lucky. I’m a bit busy at the moment as there are a lot of customers to attend to. So, bye,” I stated and tried to hang up.

“Hey, hold on a minute. I’ll be in your neighbourhood later in the day. I was wondering if I could take you out for lunch or something,” he quickly stated.

“Well, Mr Max, thanks for the offer but as I said I’m busy. Besides I don’t do lunches with strangers. Have a nice day,” and I dropped the phone, a bit annoyed. Thinking he was one of those young men who liked to date married women for monetary gains, I dismissed him from my mind. Though, he called several times after that day, I refused to speak with him.

About a month later, I went to the bank to transfer some money to one of my suppliers abroad. It was a large sum of money and I was directed to one of the managers to help with the transaction.

I opened the door to the manager’s office and sitting behind the table was Max!

“What are you doing here?” I queried, surprised to see him.

He looked shocked to see me too.

“I work here,” he stated, offering me a seat.

“I didn’t know you worked in this bank. I come here often,” I said.

“I was transferred to this branch after my leave. Besides you never gave me a chance to get to know me,” he said a bit accusingly.

“So, what can I do for you, Madam?” he asked. I told him what I wanted and he quickly attended to me.

Before leaving, I said:

“I’m sorry about the abrupt way I treated you the other day. I thought you…”

“I know. That I was one of these hustlers in town,” and he laughed.

I smiled, glad that he had taken it in good faith.

He called a few days later and we began to speak regularly on phone. I got to know a bit about him. He had been married but his wife had died in a car accident two years before, leaving behind a little girl of four.

“My mother and sister help look after her as I’m too busy with work,” he stated. I felt sorry for him, that he had to lose his wife so young.

At this stage, Max and I were just good friends. I grew to like him with time as he was such an amiable and likeable person. I remembered the arrangement I had with my husband though and tried to keep things platonic between us. I was not ready to lose everything just for a fling.

Things however changed some months later. It was a Saturday morning and I was in the store when Max walked in with a little girl in tow. It was Lola, his daughter.

“This is Aunty Amanda. Greet her,” he said.

“Good morning, Aunty,” she said, looking up at me with her big, innocent eyes.

“Hi, Lola!” I greeted, bending down to hold her.

“She’s so cute,” I said.

“Yes. She must have taken after her mother,” he stated, smiling.

“You are not bad looking yourself,” I said and we both laughed.

He explained that he wanted to spend some time with Lola as it was his day off.

“I had told her about you and she insisted on meeting you and inviting you to join us on the outing,” he said. I initially wanted to turn him down but seeing the little motherless child touched my heart and I agreed to the date.

Max drove us to a theme park in town. It had lots of games for children and Lola ran around, playing excitedly on some of them. Later, I watched as Max pushed her on a swing and seeing the closeness and love between father and daughter affected me strongly. Call it the maternal instinct, but at that moment, I felt this strong urge to have a child of my own, a little girl like Lola that I will dress in pretty clothes, plait her hair and do other things that a caring mother did.

For one of the few times, I felt sad that I did not have a normal marriage with my husband. ‘How wonderful it would have been to have a couple of kids that we could take to places like this, have fun together as a family,’ I thought glumly.

“So, how’s your husband?” Max asked sometime later as we had lunch at a nearby eatery.

“He’s fine. He’s out of the country right now on business,” I stated.

“It looks as if he travels a lot. So, how do you cope in his absence?” he said.

I shrugged.

“I’m used to it. Besides, I have my own business to run so I’m quite busy as well,” I explained, with a forced smile.

He looked keenly at me for a while but said nothing.

Days after the outing, I still could not shake off that broody feeling, that strong desire to have my own baby. I knew my arrangement with my husband did not permit that but I kept thinking, what if it happened by accident? Perhaps, we both got drunk, slept together and I got pregnant? Will he ask me to get rid of the baby?

I thought about this a lot until it evolved into a plan. My intention was to seduce my husband and hopefully conceive.

So, on the night of his return from his trip, I showered and put on one of my sexy nighties, a short pink one with thin straps.

My husband was sitting in bed, working on his laptop when I entered his room. He looked up in surprise when he saw me.

“I thought you were asleep. Is there anything you want?” he asked.

“Yes. You. I want my husband.” I slipped the straps of the gown over my arms and it slithered down on the floor. I stood naked, waiting. But instead of desire, the only reaction I got from him was anger.

He jumped up then from the bed, his eyes flashing with irritation.

“Amanda! What do you think you are doing? Get hold of yourself! And go to your room. Now!” he ordered, fuming…

•To be continued

•Watch out for the concluding part of Amanda’s story next Saturday!

•Send comments/advice to 08023201831(sms only) or psaduwa@yahoo.com

After my boss had talked for a while about the terms of the proposed marriage between us, I remained silent, too stunned to say anything. ‘What kind of bizarre proposal is this?’ I thought, watching him as he continued to eat and drink as if everything was normal.

But what was normal about a man asking you to marry him yet with so many strange terms attached to it, in a so- called contract? Back in my hotel room later that night, my mind mulled over his words.

“After our wedding, we’ll live together like a normal couple, except for one thing: there will be no intimacy between us. We will stay in separate bedrooms. Also, we can’t have children. We can always adopt if you care so much about having children, but we can’t have kids of our own.” He paused for a while before continuing. “This arrangement will initially last for seven years. If at the end of that period, you choose to end the marriage, you will be paid a substantial amount of money that will set you up for life. If you choose to stay with me for life, then you will be my sole heir. You will inherit all my money, properties and other assets.” Then looking keenly at me, he added: “Another thing, though we can’t sleep together, that doesn’t mean you can keep lovers outside our marriage. If I find out you are having affairs, I will immediately terminate the contract, throw you out and you will be left with nothing.”

My initial reaction was to say; “Hell, no! No way will I marry you on those terms!” But as if reading my mind, he quickly stated:

“I won’t blame you if you run away now and never want to see me again. But, Amanda, think of the bright side of things. If you accept this proposal, you will benefit immensely. All my wealth and resources will be at your disposal. You will live a life of immense luxury beyond your dreams and never lack for anything. Designer clothes, expensive jewelry, holidays anywhere in the world, just name it. All these and more will be yours. I will also take very good care of your family and they will never lack for anything. Think about it…”

So, that night, I sat for a long time thinking. In all my 28 years on earth, I had heard a lot of strange things but this must be the weirdest of all. What kind of union would that be if the couple involved can’t sleep together, have children and other things that come with marriage? Besides, what kind of man was my boss that he would make such a proposal? Was he in a cult or what? There were tales of some men who join cults or some societies who had to abstain from certain things. Was my boss involved in a cult? Was that the source of his wealth at such a relatively young age?

And why me? With all the ladies out there, many of whom threw themselves at him, why did he pick me? He couldn’t be in love with me as he said he did not believe in such things. And how did I feel about him? I liked my boss and if circumstances had been different, he was the kind of man I could love and cherish. But he did not want my love. All he needed was a wife in name only. It was as simple as that. Was I ready to commit myself to such a cold-blooded arrangement? How would I cope in a marriage without love and affection from my husband?

It took me all of two weeks to reach a decision. It was solely made by me as I did not confide in any one including my mother. I knew she would not approve of such a marriage despite all the perks that came with it.

But watching her one evening at home as she struggled to get up from her bed, to use the bathroom, I knew I had to do something. The sickness had made my mother become lean and weak. The once vibrant woman who was so hardworking and full of life was gone. In its place was a weak, pitiable figure I could barely recognize. It was obvious she needed very good medical care which I could not provide with my wages alone. My beloved mother who had sacrificed so much for me and my younger brother was fading away before my eyes. I couldn’t just watch her die.

“You’ve made the right decision, Amanda. You will not regret the step you have taken today,” my boss stated when I told him later that week I would marry him.

“I will take good care of you and ensure you lack nothing,” he assured me. It was closing time and most of the workers had left. We were alone in his office.

“If you say so, sir,” I stated quietly.

“Just call me Bennie. We will soon be husband and wife so don’t you think it sounds silly for you to be calling me, sir?” he said in a teasing tone.

I smiled and called his name for the first time…

 

Meeting Max

After our wedding, Bennie kept to his promise about taking care of me. It was like he could not do enough for me. He showered me with all sorts of expensive gifts and ensured I lacked nothing. He also took care of my mother’s health. When the doctors he consulted advised she should be taken abroad for treatment, Bennie made all the arrangements and had her flown to the U.S. My younger brother, Johnnie went with her so she could have a familiar face around her.

I had to resign from my job after we got married as my husband didn’t want me to continue working.

“I don’t like the idea of my wife working in the same office with me,” he stated.

I needed something to do to keep busy as I hated staying idle. So I told him about having a boutique where I could sell top quality clothing items for women. He agreed and gave me the money to start off the project. Everything went well and in a few months, I was the proud owner of a classy boutique and store in a choice part of town. It quickly became popular among the chic, sophisticated ladies in town due to the kinds of goods I stocked. Money rolled in and I couldn’t be happier. Though Bennie provided well for me and gave me lots of money even without my asking, I felt a certain satisfaction in having my own income.

Life was good and at this stage, I had no regrets about marrying Bennie. Okay, there were certain things lacking in our marriage. There was no romance, passion or sex. But I convinced myself that there was more to life than all that. Afterall, I had gained so much from the union so if not having a love life was the sacrifice I had to make for all the material blessings that had come my way, then so be it. I bet you must be thinking at this stage that I was one cold-hearted woman.

Don’t get me wrong. As a young, healthy lady, I had normal desires and needs but I was also a pragmatist who liked to face the realities of life. Having struggled so much in life, it would have been stupid of me to give everything up for the sake of love and romance. At this stage, I had convinced myself I could live like a nun as long as my mother was well and alive and I had all the comfort I needed.

That was what I told myself and things would have continued this way if fate had not intervened in the form of Max. He had come to the store one afternoon. Some of my shop assistants had gone out to eat as it was their break time. I was standing at the shoe section, taking stock of the items there when a voice spoke behind me.

“Please, could you tell me the colour of shoe that will match this bag?” He held up a brown leather bag. It was an expensive designer one, the type I usually reserved for my well-heeled customers.

I studied the bag for a minute then glanced at the stack of shoes on the racks.

Picking up a high-heeled pair in the size he wanted, I gave themr5r5r5r5r5r5r5 to him.

“I think this will go well with the bag,” I stated.

He thanked me and left. After he had paid at the cashier, he came over to where I was arranging some clothes on a rack. He thanked me again for helping him make the right choice.

“It’s a birthday gift for my younger sister. You women can be so fussy over the right colors that match and so on.”

“I’m sure she will like the gift,” I stated, smiling at him.

Then he asked:

“Are you a sales girl here?”

I looked at him coolly for a while before telling him I owned the place.

“Is that so? You look rather young to have such a big, classy place like this. Your parents must be rich,” he noted. I laughed at that.

“Actually, it’s my husband who is rich,” I told him.

“Husband?” he stated, a look of disappointment in his eyes…

•To be continued

 

•Don’t miss the rest of Amanda’s story next Saturday!

•Send comments/advice to 08023201831(sms only) or psaduwa@yahoo.com

Somewhere on a Nigerian campus- 2002

The four friends in the black Jeep had had a great time at the party and were on their way back to their campus in the early hours of the morning. They had written their last papers the previous day and in a few days, they would all be leaving school for the last time. The party had been their way of ‘cooling off’ from all the stress of their final exams as well as hanging out together for the last time.

Except for the one driving, the others were slightly drunk. As they drove along, they spoke in slurred tones of some of the things that had gone down at the party. The main topic was the fight that had broken out between one of their classmates and another boy over a girl.

“Men, that Derek is a fool. Why would he fight over a girl when there are so many out there,” one of them at the back remarked.

“Do you blame him? That babe is really hot! Is it her mesmerizing eyes? Or those ‘killer’ curves of hers?” said his back seat mate.

“Don’t tell me you’ve been ‘scoping’ her all this while,” the one in the passenger seat in front stated, turning round to look at his friends at the back.

This led to much teasing of the one at the back seat who had made the remark.

They had just driven past the library sometime later when it happened. As the driver turned into the road that led to their hall of residence, he ran into a dark figure that had run across the road. It was a dark spot as there were no street lights there.

“What was that?” the guy in the passenger seat asked the driver. Their friends at the back had fallen asleep and were dead to the world.

They both got down and rushed to the figure on the ground. It was too dark to see properly but they could tell by the dress it was a female. She lay still, not making any sound.

“Is she dead?” he asked his friend.

“I don’t know,” he replied as he bent down. He shook her gently on the shoulder but got no response. “Maybe we should take her to the clinic,” he stated.

“We can’t. What if she’s dead? We will be charged for murder,” he said, a frightened tone in his voice. “Let’s go. There’s nothing we can do for her.”

The other guy reluctantly got up and they went into the car and drove away. As they left, the prone figure on the ground groaned a little then lay still once more…

Ten years later…

The banking hall was crowded as usual that Friday morning. Don, a tall, slim man in a blue shirt and black trousers, stood at the entrance, wondering how long it would take him to transact the business he had come for. He made his way to one of the queues and was taking his place behind the last person on the line when he heard his name.

He saw a young lady sitting at a desk in the open space behind the counter waving at him.

He went over and stood by the counter. She looked strangely familiar though he couldn’t remember where he had seen her before.

“Come inside,” she invited him, pointing to the small opening near the wall.

The lady called Helen turned out to be a school mate of Don at the university. She had in fact been a course-mate and a friend of his cousin Tasha who had been two years his junior.

“Sorry, I didn’t recognize you. You look so different,” he stated, looking at her closely. He could remember her as a somewhat skinny girl with a pimply face who always wore her hair in braids. That student of many years ago was in sharp contrast to the pretty-looking, confident lady in a dark suit with her hair in a long, sleek weave. She had put on some weight which suited her.

“I understand what you mean. Sometimes I hardly recognize myself when I look at my old pictures,” she noted with a smile.

“You are looking really fine,” he stated in an admiring tone. “You work in this bank?” he asked, looking round the office.

“Yes. I’ve been here for about four years.”

“That’s good. Hope you are enjoying the job…”

They sat chatting about school days and old friends they had not seen for years.

“What about Tasha? I’ve not seen or heard from her for a long time,” she stated. Don told her she was based abroad and was married with kids.

Later, after she had assisted him in his transaction at the bank, she saw him off to his car.

That was when he noticed the limp. She walked as if one of her legs was shorter than the other and it affected her gait. Since it could not have been caused by high heeled shoes as she was in a pair of flat pumps, he wondered what could be responsible. He could not remember her walking that way back in school. He got into the car and before starting the engine he glanced at her legs then up at her face. She noticed him staring and sighed.

“I know you must be wondering about my leg. It’s a long story, something I will tell you some other time,” she said.

“Let’s meet up for lunch one of these days then,” he stated. They exchanged numbers before he left.

Shortly after, Don travelled out of town on official business. It was on his return that he got a call from her.

“Oh! I’m so sorry! I know I should have called but I’ve been really busy at work. You know how it is,” he said apologetically.

“Is it just work or it’s something else?” she asked in a teasing tone.

“Like what?” he asked, sounding puzzled.

“Like girls, perhaps. You used to have quite a reputation of being a ladies’ man back in school,” she said.

He laughed at that.

“That was then. I’m a changed person now,” he said. They chatted for a while and before hanging up, Don invited her for dinner.

“Who were you talking to that has put such a big smile on your face, Helen? That is making you look so happy,” asked Tina, a colleague who sat close to her.

“I’m always happy,” she replied.

“I know. But today, you are glowing. Tell me the secret,” she persisted. “Or is it that tall, fine bros that came the other day? Is he your new boyfriend? Gist me now!” Tina asked again.

“Mind your business!” Helen said, getting up and walking towards the restroom.

“Hmm. Stingy girl. What’s wrong in giving me a little gist about the guy? Na wa oh!” Tina said to herself before resuming her work. Some days later, they went for dinner at a nice restaurant not far from her office.

“Why are you smiling?” Helen queried, looking across the table at him after they had placed their orders.

“I’m comparing that skinny little girl on campus all those years ago with the beauty I’m looking at now,” he said, smiling at her. “Whatever happened to her?” he asked.

“Well, she grew up. I was in my teens back then. And teenagers grow up,” she pointed out.

“You are right. It’s a good thing you didn’t look like this back then. You wouldn’t have escaped,” he stated.

“Escaped what?” she said, taking a sip of her drink.

He pointed at his chest.

“Me,” he said, grinning broadly.

“So, I was right then. About your bad boy reputation,” she said.

“Yeah. We did a lot of crazy stuff in those days. We were young then…” he said, his mind going to a certain incident that happened on a dark, moonless night all those years ago.

It was about a week later when they met up for drinks that she told him about the accident that broke her leg.

“It was exam period and I had two more papers to write so that evening I had gone to the library with a friend of mine. She had however, left just before midnight, saying she was feeling sleepy. I stayed for another hour or so before deciding to return to my room,” she stated. It was on the way to her hall that the accident occurred.

“Everything happened so fast. I was close to the library and I remember crossing the road when a car came on high speed round the corner and knocked me down. It was dark at that place. Anyway, I must have been unconscious for I woke up the following day at the school clinic. I had a lot of bruises all over my body and my right leg was broken as well.” She added that her parents later came and took her to another hospital where they tried to set the bones on her leg. “They really tried. But the damage to the bone was much. So, by the time the leg healed, I ended up with a limp,” she said.

“I’m really sorry to hear about this. It must been terrible for you. Can you remember the day this incident happened?” asked Don curiously.

“Of course. It’s a day I can never forget,” Helen stated, telling him the date.

“And the car that hit you? Can you remember it and the person driving it?” he asked earnestly.

“I told you it was dark. I never saw the driver of the car. But I remember the car looked big, like a jeep…”

At her words, a cold chill like the type that descends on one about to have a fever, came upon him. He stared at her, looking dazed.

“It can’t be. No way…” he kept muttering to himself.

“Don! What’s the matter? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost!” Helen said, looking worriedly at him…

To be continued

What caused Don to react that way to Helen’s tale? Find out next Saturday!

Names have been changed to protect the characters’ identities

Send comments/suggestions to psaduwa@yahoo.com or 08023201831

It all happened so quickly that before I knew what was happening, we were on the bed, tangled together…

Obviously, Timi seduced me. But at my age, shouldn’t I have had enough self-control to resist, you might wonder. But what grown, hot-blooded man could see a naked woman, with the kind of assets Timi had, and resist? Even a monk would have fallen to such temptation!

Anyway, that’s how Timi and I became lovers. Initially, I just saw the affair as a fling, and Timi as someone to keep me company on lonely nights as my wife was so far away. I loved my wife and family and I didn’t want to do anything to hurt them. But I had reckoned without my errant heart. Before long, I had fallen madly in love with Timi.

I spent most of my free time with her and I didn’t like her being away from me for long. Because of her, my visits to Lagos to see my wife and family reduced drastically and whenever she complained, I would tell her it was due to pressure of work.

At the end of her service year, Timi wanted to return to Lagos where her parents lived to look for work. But I was against the idea as that would mean our being separated. The thought of her going so far away from me filled me with dread. My life would be completely empty without her.

“I will get a job for you here, in Port-Harcourt,” I told her.

I was true to my words. Shortly after, I spoke to the branch manager of a bank in the city who was a tennis partner of mine at the club. Within a month, Timi had been offered a job at the bank.

By this time, she had left the corpers’ quarters she had been living in and moved in with me.

“What if your wife comes to visit you unannounced?” she asked, a few days after she moved into my house.

“We will cross that bridge when we get there,” I stated, holding her close in my arms and kissing her. My wife had only visited me twice in the four years I had been living in the city and she had informed me well in advance on both occasions.

Living with Timi was wonderful. She was quite caring and always concerned about my welfare. As for me, I loved her to bits and could not imagine life without her. I had no idea what the future held. I was just happy to spend my days and nights with her, to love and be loved by her.

I was careful though, to keep the affair with Timi from my wife. Once in a few months, I would travel to Lagos and see her and the children and act the role of a good family man. But most times, I couldn’t wait to return to my sweet Timi, to hold her close to me.

Things went on this way for about a year. Then a day came when things came to a head. It was a Saturday afternoon. There was no work so we were both at home. I was watching a football match on TV while Timi was in the kitchen, helping Johnson prepare lunch.

“Lunch will soon be ready, honey,” Timi said, coming into the living room and sitting on my lap. She planted a kiss on my lips but at that instance, I was more interested in the action on the TV screen than in her caresses.

“You and football,” she grumbled as she got up to return to the kitchen.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it!” Timi said, making for the door.

I could hear her speaking with someone at the door, then she came back in and announced:

“Honey, there’s a woman at the door asking for you.”

I got up to see who was at the door. Standing there, a sour look on her face was my wife!

The showdown

The sight of my wife at the door, arriving so unexpectedly without warning, so shocked me, that I just stood there, gaping at her. Then I came to myself and said:

“Mary, what are you doing here?”

She brushed me aside and came into the room, dropping her traveling bag on the floor.

“What kind of question is that? Is that the way to welcome your wife who has travelled all the way from Lagos to see you?” she demanded crossly, surveying the living room as if looking for something.

“I’m sorry, but you gave me quite a surprise. You should have told me you were coming. I would have sent the driver to pick you at the airport,” I stated.

“Do I need permission before coming to see my own husband?” she asked, going to sit on the couch.

“I know, but…” I started to say when Timi came into the room.

“Honey, lunch is ready. Should I serve it now?” she asked, coming to stand by me and holding

my hand.

Seeing Mary, she said:

“Welcome, ma.” Then she asked me with some curiosity: “Is she your sister?”

Mary stood up.

“What’s going on here? Daddy Michael, who is this girl?” she asked.

“Em…This is Timi…” I said.

“And I’m his girlfriend,” Timi quickly added.

“What?” she exclaimed. “So, all the rumours I’ve been hearing are true. That you’ve been living with a girl in this house. How could you?” she shouted angrily at me.

“Mary, calm down. Let me explain,” I said.

“You say I should calm down? Is that all you can say? Anyway, this nonsense must end today! Little girl,” she addressed Timi, “I’m giving you ten minutes to pack your things and get out of this house. If you are still here at the end of that time, I won’t be responsible for my actions!”

“And who are you to order me around in my man’s house?” Timi demanded, in an equally angry tone.

“You still don’t get it? Well, let me tell you since you are so thick-headed. I’m his wife and this is my home. So, get the hell out!” she screamed at her.

“What?” Timi exclaimed, looking anxiously at me…

* * * *

“Look, Mary. Try to understand the situation. What happened was not planned. One thing led to the other and before I knew it, I was in really deep,” I stated. We were in my bedroom later that night. We had spent the past few hours or so arguing over Timi and what I should do about her. I had refused to allow her leave the house after Mary’s order to her to pack out. “She has no where to go. Give me sometime to make alternative arrangements for her,” I had told her earlier.

“What situation do you want me to understand? That the moment my back was turned, you went and brought in a girl into my home. A girl that’s about the same age as Kate, our first daughter? Francis, you should be ashamed of yourself!”

“I’ve said I’m sorry. Besides, you are partly to blame too for the situation,” I pointed out.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, glaring at me.

“Well, if you had moved here with me, this wouldn’t have happened. It’s not easy for a man of my age to live alone,” I stated quietly.

“So, you are now putting the blame on me. Instead of accepting your mistakes and cleaning up the mess you’ve created, you are looking for a scapegoat for your misdeeds. You are really pathetic!” she stated.

“It’s late so stop shouting. Do you want the neighbours to hear?” I told her.

“Let them hear! I don’t care. At least they will know the kind of man you are; one who can’t control that thing in his trousers!”

“Mary!” I cautioned her, glaring at her.

She glared back before resuming the quarrel.

I laid on the bed, silent, listening with half an ear to what she was saying, how my wandering eyes will put me in trouble one of these days, that did I not think of the children and the many years of marriage we had had before jumping into bed with any thing in skirts?

Timi was in the guest room and I wondered whether she was asleep. She had been unwilling to move from my bedroom and I had had to plead with her, assuring her that she would be back once my wife was gone.

Two days later, Mary returned to Lagos. Before leaving, she had given me an ultimatum:

“The next time I come, somebody will..

•To be continued

What was the ultimatum that Mary gave her husband? Find out next week!

•Names have been changed to protect the narrator’s identity. Send comments/suggestions to psaduwa@yahoo.com or 08023201831.

While crimes of any sort including kidnappings should be condemned by any right-thinking person, the rich in the country have their own share of the blame for the sorry state of affairs.

One reason for this is the manner they flaunt their wealth. In a country like Nigeria with so much poverty, disease and other developmental challenges staring us in the face daily, it smacks of the highest level of insensitivity for those with money to ‘show off’ their riches so flagrantly.

It’s even worse when all this ‘flaunting’ is done by our elected leaders. It’s an open secret that those in elective positions in the country, like governors, senators, House of Rep members and other representatives live above the people-many live lifestyles of immense luxury and extravagance while most of the citizens whose interests they are supposed to represent live in grinding penury. They live in multi-billion Naira mansions, fly around in private jets and helicopters and drive exotic cars that even the Queen of England (one of the richest women in the world), doesn’t drive. To them, the word ‘modest lifestyle’ doesn’t exist.

And the sad thing about this is that most of the money used in funding their flamboyant lifestyles which they flaunt in our faces, are public funds, money that is desperately needed to develop our country. Looking at their lifestyles, one would think that Nigeria is a country with the resources of the U.S and China combined instead of a resource-rich but poor country still battling with the challenges of a developing country.

Land of show-offs, tax evaders

Nigeria must be the only country in the world where a man will announce to the world that he is a rich man. In other climes, especially in the Western world, the opposite is the norm-the rich live mostly modest lifestyles and hardly flaunt their wealth. The reason for this is obvious: to avoid drawing unnecessary attention to themselves and because of the taxman. For over there, the rich are heavily taxed and flaunting your wealth is an open invitation to the taxman to come and take his ‘cut’ of your wealth.

Here, though, most of our wealthy class don’t pay taxes, at least not as much as expected, considering what they make. It’s the ordinary workers whose taxes are deducted at source from their meager salaries who are the real tax payers in this country.

Besides tax evasion, the rich in our midst have no idea what wealth is meant for. To them, it’s just for living a life of affluence and grandeur: for acquiring the good things of life such as big houses, expensive cars, designer clothes, foreign holidays to exotic places, an Ivy league education for the kids and so on…

Nothing wrong in living the good life if you can afford it, have worked hard and genuinely earned it (and not by looting public funds or through other unscrupulous means).

But there’s more to wealth possession than the above. One man who understood clearly the real purpose of wealth was Andrew Carnegie, an American billionaire industrialist, philanthropist and at one time the richest man in the world. Carnegie believed wholeheartedly that the rich should use their wealth to enrich society, stating publicly that ‘the rich have a moral obligation to give away their fortunes’- that those with great wealth must be socially responsible and use their assets to help others. This belief was stated in his book, “The Gospel of Wealth.”

He did not mean charity but philanthropy- his idea being to use his wealth to give people the opportunity to help themselves. He did this by providing funds to build libraries, schools and other training institutions. In total he funded more than 2,500 libraries throughout the UK, the US and Canada and at his death in 1919, he had given away $350 million out of his wealth.

Though small in stature at only 5ft 1in tall, he was a man with a very big heart indeed!

In Nigeria today, we have a lot of Carnegies, but what do they do with their riches? Apart from a few who are humane, the majority do nothing but live ostentatious, flamboyant lifestyles, endlessly seeking after the pleasures that their money can buy, acquiring frivolous items like private jets that add no value to society. And all this smack in the middle of millions of deprived, hungry and needy countrymen who have lost hope in the system.

Are you then surprised that kidnapping and other crimes are on the rise? The chickens have surely come home to roost!

Now the rich live in fear. They can’t even drive their expensive cars on the roads anymore for fear of armed robbers or kidnappers. Has it thus, not become glaringly obvious that for the rich in the society (especially the ruling class) to have a peaceful environment to enjoy their wealth, they must care about the poor, the teeming masses in their midst? The days of ignoring them, pretending that they don’t exist must end.

From history, we know what happened in societies that ill-treated the poor masses among them, while the aristocrats wallowed in their profligate lifestyles. The French Revolution that took place in 18th century France, which led to the demise of the Royal Family and other members of the ruling class, is a good example. Let’s learn from history and avoid the looming catastrophe hanging over us.

•Concluded

In a few months time, I will be 64 years old. At this stage in my life, one would expect that I would be free of such relationship issues like heartache, betrayal, lack of trust and other matters of the heart that lots of people face in life. But it’s not so. A few months ago, I was stabbed in the back, betrayed by someone I loved with all my heart and soul and invested so much in.

The traitorous person, the snake who has caused me so much pain is none other than my wife, Timi. Timi was my life, my sunshine, the one who made me wake up with a smile on my face each morning. I believed she loved me too and would be by my side for the rest of my days. How wrong and naive I was!

Looking back now, perhaps I should have known this would happen considering the differences between us especially the age gap. You see, I met Timi when I was already in my mid-50s; that was eight years ago. She was very young then, about 23, just fresh from school and as pretty as one of those models one sees in those glossy magazines. How did a young girl like that with so much going for her, end up with a man like me, that was old enough to be her father?

It’s a long story and I think I should start from the beginning…

We met when I was still working, before my retirement. It was in a government parastatal and I had been posted to our office in Port-Harcourt a few years before. I was a very senior staff then, the second in command at the office. There was a day I had gone out of the office to see someone and on my return, I had met the receptionist having an argument with a young lady. She was dressed in the white and khaki uniform of the NYSC.

“Madam, I’ve told you several times but you’ve refused to listen. My boss said we don’t have any vacancies here. We have enough youth corpers serving here and we don’t need more. So, please go!” she ordered.

“Please, aunty, try to help me. All the other places I’ve been to rejected me. Where do I…” the young lady was saying when I intervened.

“What’s going on here?” I queried.

They both turned in my direction, the receptionist quickly standing up on recognizing me.

“Welcome, sir!” she greeted cheerfully.

I looked at the young lady, then turned to the receptionist, who was called Vero.

“Is there any problem?” I asked again.

Vero explained the situation to me, all the while glaring at the young woman.

“She keeps pleading to be taken to serve here, even after I’ve told her we don’t have any space left.”

I studied the young lady, noting how distressed she looked. I asked her name and after she had told me, I said to the receptionist:

“It’s ok, Vero. We can take one more person. Take her to admin and tell the manager that she can serve here,” I said, turning to go to my office.

“Oh! Thank you sir! God bless you, sir!” she stated effusively, genuflecting.

“It’s alright, Timi,” I said, leaving the reception.

That was how Timi came to do her youth service programme in my office.

Some days later, I travelled to Lagos to see my family over the long public holiday. After my transfer to Port-Harcourt some years earlier, my wife had refused to relocate with me to the Garden City.

“You were transferred to Lagos from Calabar just three years ago and now you are moving again. I’m not going anywhere!” she had declared. I didn’t blame her. Any woman would be tired of moving from one city to another like a nomad because of the peripatetic nature of her husband’s job. In the past, she had always been supportive and understanding and had gone with me wherever my job demanded. But as she noted, this was one transfer too many.

“Omos has just settled in her new school and it won’t be fair to uproot her now and move again,” she had explained. Omos was our last child and was in senior secondary school. I had four children. Two of them, both boys, had left the university and were already working while the other one, another daughter was in her final year in the university.

So, based on that, my wife and the family had remained in Lagos and I had gone to PH alone, living like a bachelor again. I visited them some weekends or during public holidays.

On my return from this last visit, Timi, the youth corps member I had accepted to serve in our establishment, came to see me.

She arrived with a ‘thank you’ card.

“There was no need for this,” I said, as I admired the hand made card.

“I had to sir. I was really desperate that day and you came to my rescue,” she explained, smiling broadly at me.

“I couldn’t bear to see a pretty lady like you looking so miserable,” I said as I studied her closely. She was dressed in a nice blouse and black skirt and she looked more relaxed and calmer than she did on the first day I saw her.

The following day, I had closed from work and my driver was taking me to my club to unwind after the day’s work. I saw Timi standing by the bus stop near our office and I told the driver to stop.

“Where are you going, Timi?” I asked from the car window.

She said she was going to see a friend at Rumuola before heading home.

“I’m going in that direction. We can drop you,” I offered.

She got in and we drove off. Along the way, the friend she was going to visit called to inform her that she had to leave home for an emergency somewhere and she should wait for her at home.

On explaining the situation to me, I told her to come with me to the club and she could see her friend later.

We spent some pleasant hours at the club. I chatted and drank with a couple of my friends who had just finished playing a game of tennis. I also played regularly but mostly at weekends. I loved to play golf too at the nice golf course on the posh estate belonging to a top oil company where the club was located.

After that, Timi, who loved to swim, expressed the desire to visit the club regularly to use the pool. I arranged membership for her and some evenings, after work, we would head for the club together. That was how we began to spend time together but as just friends.

 

Another level

At this stage, I just saw Timi as a young, pretty girl with a friendly, cheerful disposition. As a man, I found her very attractive but I never had any intention of getting entangled with her. But things changed about five months after we met. I had a very good friend, who was a top government official in the state. There was a day he held a party to mark his wife’s birthday and I was invited. My wife could not come to PH that weekend and since I didn’t have any date, I asked Timi if she could accompany me as my date.

She agreed and we attended the party together. She was dressed in a blue evening gown and she looked very lovely.

“She’s beautiful. Is she your new catch?” another friend of mine, Calvin asked, as he watched her chatting animatedly with another guest.

I shook my head.

“She’s doing her NYSC programme in my office. She’s just a young friend,” I explained.

“Young friend indeed! Francis, you are talking as if I don’t know you,” he stated in a sarcastic tone.

“You think everyone is like you, that can’t resist anything in skirts!” I fired back, moving away to chat with my host who I saw approaching…

After the party, it was quite late. I had given my driver the day off and since Timi lived in one of the suburbs, which was a bit far from the venue of the party, it was agreed she would stay in my house located in one of the GRAs that night.

My houseboy, Johnson who did the cooking, cleaning and other duties around the house, had slept when we arrived at my place. I showed her to one of the guest rooms and gave her some things she would need to make her stay comfortable.

I was in my room getting ready for bed when there was a knock on my door. Timi was standing there when I opened the door. I noticed she was wearing one of the old T-shirts I had given her to sleep in that night. The top was short and it left her smooth, sexy thighs on display. I quickly looked away from the tempting sight.

“Is there anything you need?” I asked her.

“Actually,” she began, then seemed to change her mind. Then she asked if she could come in.

I let her in, looking at her curiously.

I went to switch off the TV set and when I turned back, I could not believe the sight that met my eyes.

There was Timi standing there stark naked as the day she was born. By her feet was the T-shirt she had been wearing.

“What the…? Timi, what are you doing?” I queried, my eyes fixed on her tantalising body. She placed a finger on her lips, walked towards me and wound her arms round my neck…

 

•To be continued

What happened between Timi and the narrator that night? Read the exciting details next Saturday!

 

•Send comments/suggestions to 08023201831 or psaduwa@yahoo.com

Surplus wealth is a sacred trust which its possessor is bound to administer in his lifetime for the good of the community.

Andrew Carnegie: 1835-1919, American Industrialist, Billionaire and Philanthropist

I travelled out of town recently to Port-Harcourt and Delta State on a private visit to see family members and some others I had not seen for quite some time. In Warri, I ran into an old school mate of mine. We attended the same primary school in Warri back in the day and we had kept in touch intermittently over the years.

The guy, whom I will call Rukevwe (for security reasons, he doesn’t want his name mentioned in this write-up), is now a big player in the oil and gas industry. And it shows in his lifestyle. He has a very nice collection of some of the most exotic cars in town, lives in a big mansion and wears only designer outfits. But when I saw him last week, there was a noticeable change about him. Instead of driving the latest ‘machine’ as car freaks love to say, he was going around town in an old-looking car that had seen better days. Also gone were the designer clothes, Rolex watches and crocodile skin Italian shoes.

I stood gaping, open-mouthed at the old car, the old T- shirt with a few holes in it that looked as if a rat had had part of it for its dinner and the faded jeans he was wearing. Thinking that a great disaster had befallen him and he had lost all his wealth, I asked with some trepidation in pidgin:

“Rukevwe, wetin do you?”

“Nothing o, my sister. Na condition make me be like this!”

He explained that it was the fear of kidnappers that had made him and some other well-to-do people in the oil city to tone down their lifestyle.

“It’s suicidal to flaunt your wealth these days,” he noted. “Doing so will invite the evil eye of the kidnappers. You can’t even trust anybody now. It could be your staff, friend or even relative that can give info about you to those people. So, to stay safe, we live an average lifestyle, pretending that we don’t have any money. It’s a sad situation we’ve found ourselves in.”

His words echo those of an interesting personality I interviewed recently. He spoke of how some rich friends of his now live in fear and are afraid to drive their expensive, multi-million naira cars on the streets for fear, ‘they can be killed by armed robbers or even by their own drivers!”

In other words, the fear of kidnappers is the beginning of wisdom for the rich and powerful in the country. No one is safe anymore as the recent kidnap of the octogenarian mother of the Finance Minister, Mrs Ngozi Okonjo- Iweala, shows. Also, earlier in the week, Nollywood actress and Special Assistant to Governor Rochas Okorocha, Nkiru Sylvanus was kidnapped in Owerri, the Imo State capital. No one knows who is next.

And this begs the question: what’s the point of accumulating great wealth that one can’t enjoy in peace? Has being rich become a curse and a disadvantage in Nigeria?

Events in recent times prove so. The spate of kidnappings is on the increase especially in the Southern part of the country. The rich are their main targets as they have the wherewithal to pay the high ransom often demanded.

That things like this are happening in our society today, is not surprising to many. In the past decade or so, the gap between the super-rich and the poor has been steadily increasing. Today, it’s so wide that though, we live in one country, it’s like we are in separate worlds, far apart from each other. The few rich live in one world, cocooned from the harsh realities of life in a Third World country; while the teeming poor, numbering in their millions, live by the special grace of God, struggling for a meager existence, unsure of where the next meal will come from.

Such a situation of social inequalities is a breeding ground for envy, resentment of the poor against the rich and crimes of all types and magnitude. Like kidnapping for instance. Its perpetuators, (many of whom are unemployed), in their warped way of thinking, see it as the only means of getting their hands on some of the riches the wealthy have accumulated, so they too can live ‘big’ and belong to the upper class in the society.

It’s a way of thinking that is fueled by our materialistic society of today, which worships money more than the Almighty God, and many employ ‘any means possible’ to acquire wealth…

•To be continued