Christiano Ronaldo stands in front of the goal post in the first image. The second image pictures the ball hitting the goal post, even with David De Gea standing as the goal keeper. Ronaldo has beaten him to it.
These are the paintings on my ceiling. Sadiq has lived up to his reputation by replicating my exact thoughts on the ceiling of my office. I love to swing around in my chair, looking up at the ceiling, willing it to invigorate and inspire me during tough times, when I feel like everything is falling apart. It has never failed to motivate me to keep believing I can always score another goal in life. No one steps into my office, takes a look at these images, and leaves the same.
Today, I feel different. The images have failed me for the first time. Instead of confidence, I feel disgust. If not for the height of the ceiling, I would have gladly ripped off the images, if not for anything, but to vent my frustrations.
I am alone in the office. It’s past 8 p.m. My workers are gone, including my gate man. They rush after close of work to leave. I don’t blame them. They have a home to go to.
All I have is a house.
I am a 40-year-old man, and very well known in Lagos as a successful contractor. I always get the job done. My reputation precedes me wherever I go. I own a state of the art building which I call my ‘living quarters’ replete with a cook, gardener, gate man, and driver. My office is tastefully furnished; the work of one of the top interior decorators in Lagos. It oozes power.
I own houses which I put up for rent, and own several other businesses birthed by my contracting jobs. Everyone envies me and believes I am a happy man. After all, aren’t I rich?
Wasn’t it yesterday, Tunde called me on the phone, and categorically said,” Leye Badmus, you are living large, you are the man!”
What an irony! Only I know that my life is empty. In spite of all that I own, I am an extremely unhappy and lonely man. My business gives me some measure of satisfaction and safety, but this afternoon, I received news that has plunged me into this state of despair, which I will undeniably indulge to the fullest.
In the last one month, I have lost two very mouthwatering and rewarding contracts. Bidemi called to inform me.
“Leye, your proposal was inadequate. It fell short of expectations. Didn’t you do your research before tendering your proposal? It was way below perfection which is so unlike you. Didn’t it pass through your desk before submission? Are you losing your Midas touch? I’m coming to the office to see you.”
“I’m out of town,” I lied.
I don’t feel up to seeing anyone or hearing any further complaints. I’m keeping a tight enough leash on my emotions. Don’t need any form of trigger.
I drag myself out of the chair, making my way out of the office, walking down the stairs lethargically, and getting around to the car park. I had earlier dismissed the driver because of my need for privacy tonight.
I drive past the gate as it electronically closes behind me. I know as I make my way to the nearest bar that I am going to get drunk tonight. This is why I need a place I am not known. Somewhere I can misbehave with no fear of recognition.
The first bar I find on the corner of a street is exactly what I need. The name of the bar aptly fits my mood. It says, ‘Drink and forget your sorrows’. The place is crowded. The bar can’t accommodate everyone, so plastic chairs and tables are arranged outside in no particular order. Large flies are having a field day, perching on the rims of glasses, as hands swat against them in anger. I pick a table for two and sit as loud music from the speakers hits my ears. It’s Teni’s new single, ‘I wanna be a billionaire’ playing. The crowd sing along and I can observe the wish and longing for wealth clearly visible in their eyes. If only they know.
A young lady approaches me wearing a tight mini skirt and a tube top, a wig too big for her head, artificial lashes too large they seem to hide her eyes, and bright red lipstick plastered on her lips.
“Customer, what can I offer you?” she asks, as she bats her eye lashes at me.
“Three bottles of beer,” I reply.
“Ok. We have nkwobi, isi ewu, asuu, peppersoup…….”
“Just the beer,” I cut in abruptly.
She walks away, but not before throwing me a dark look. I know I was rude but I told her what I needed. Couldn’t she just let me be?
She returns with a bottle of beer and a cup.
“I will bring the rest when you are through with this,” she says with a tone that sounds patronizing.
I look up to see her smiling, the hard look gone. She is staring at me with interest.
“Customer, just call me for anything. I will take care of you ok. You no sey big man like you no need wahala.”
She walks away, winking at me.
I stare at her, as she provocatively swings her buttocks from side to side. She turns around to find me watching her. She smiles, but I look away. I have no interest. I have seen all the parts of a woman I need to see, yet, I feel empty. She must have realized my social status due to my persona. I wear the look; the look of wealth. It follows me wherever I go. If anyone had told her that for a year, I haven’t been with a woman, I am certain she wouldn’t believe it.
I have met women of all classes and shapes. They are drawn to me like bees to honey because of my wealth. I consider myself average looking, but with a quiet disposition. My friends refer to me as a man of dual personality. In business, I am a sharp, action packed, goal getting, make things happen kind of guy. But outside of that, I am super private and retreat to myself.
I come from a family of eight children. I am number five, the fifth son. Growing up, there was nothing special about me. I was neither the first son nor the last child. I was equally not the most brilliant child in the family. Nothing spectacular stood me out that will require so much attention given to me. I was simply caught in the middle. I was always quiet. Sometimes, I stayed in my room a whole day without anyone calling out to me or missing me. My mother called me a ‘quiet, sensitive child’. In school, I did nothing special, so no one paid me attention, either.
All that changed though when I made my first million at twenty-five. Suddenly, I had people around me. My siblings suddenly began paying me attention. My mother called me ‘omo dada!’ I started making friends, too. The women equally began coming. I dated a lot of women. At first, it made me happy, but as I grew older, I realized it wasn’t happiness I felt. I was simply living the life of a young millionaire. Was I content? No!
Over the years, the friendships grew, the women increased, yet, the emptiness remained. I have given and given and given but what have I received. Nothing!
I almost got married to Agatha. The date for the traditional marriage and white wedding was set. A week before the date, we had a misunderstanding. I wanted us to visit Yankari games reserve in Bauchi, and then travel overseas for the honeymoon.
“Why?” Agatha screamed. “Let’s go to Paris and London.”
“Calm down, Agatha. It’s nothing to argue about. We can just stay for three days and then travel to wherever you want to. It’s always being my dream to visit Yankari games reserve with my wife.”
“What dream?” she shouted. “I’m not interested in your dream. I want to go overseas and that’s final.”
“We will go overseas, Agatha. But think about me, too. We will be doing things together for the rest of our lives. It starts from now.”
“I don’t care about your ‘together’. This is what I want,” she flung back at me.
“Don’t you think you are been selfish? If we love each other, we should do things together,” I replied. “You are being very insensitive to my needs.”
“Insensitive my foot, you should love me and that means giving me everything I want.”
“What about what I want?” I shouted for the first time.
That was five years ago. Unfortunately, that was the end of the relationship. The first time I heard of a relationship breaking up because of toothpaste, I thought it absurd. Mine ended because of a difference in opinion concerning where to travel to. Such little things that seem so trivial, but actually make or break! I have since dated other women. The long human hair, perfectly made up face, well-manicured nails, smart dresses, and high heels no longer appeal to me. They all want what I can give but no one thinks of what I need.
I signal for the third bottle of beer. The young lady has since moved on to another man. She clearly sensed my disinterest. For the entire year I have stayed off women, my mother has been questioning my manhood. The last time I visited her, she gave me no breathing space.
“Even if you won’t get married, can’t you get a woman pregnant?” she argued. “Ah baba mi!” she shouted dramatically with her hands stretched towards heaven. “Shanu mi! This boy will not kill me. My friends are making jest of me. What’s the point in making all this money, if there is no heir to take after you? They say you used your manhood for money ritual. Don’t disgrace me, Leye! Take this shame from me. Prove to them that you are a man. Hook a woman now! What’s wrong with you, tori olorun?” she finished dramatically.
I barely made it out of the house. She doesn’t understand. I need to know that I matter to someone, that I’m important, and that I’m loved. Oh, I need a hug so badly.
At this point, the feeling is so strong. I’m in desperate need of a hug. The act of holding someone tight, feeling their heart beat, and warmth. The feeling is overwhelming and overpowering. It starts from the tip of my toes, coursing through my veins, reaching up to my head with a clear message screaming loudly: HUG! I feel the throbbing in my head. It lashes out at me. The seconds stretch, and my thoughts run wild. The voice screams louder in my head. I place my hand on my forehead, groaning loudly. I am losing my self-control. I don’t believe it when the tears stream down my cheeks. I, Leye Badmus, the highly successful man is just a lonely man. I have no one to love me. I matter to no one.
I quickly wipe away my tears before anyone sees me. With my misery mounting, I stagger to my feet, dragging my footsteps to the car so I can drive back home. Any thought for my safety as I intend driving home in my drunken state is gone out the window. Do I have anything to live for?
Approaching the car, I observe a young man dressed in ripped jeans and a tee-shirt, probably in his mid-twenties, leaning on my car with headphones on. He is nodding his head rhythmically to the music playing through his headphones, I presume. He doesn’t see me coming. He is so engrossed with what he is doing. He has the look of having no cares in this world. I envy him his youth and the aura around him. He can simply walk around without people throwing themselves at him and expecting a lot from him. He can be himself and have people love him for who he is and not what he is. Oh, if I could trade places with him, I will gladly take his youth and be in my twenties again! Away with this money and attention that hasn’t given me what I crave for the most - Love.
I honestly can’t explain what happened afterwards. When I think about it, I feel like I was remote controlled but in reality, it was emotions playing out, over clouding my sense of control.
I walk up to the young man, stare at him in the face and grab him, embracing him tight in a vice-like grip, with my head on his shoulders. I don’t hear his shout of alarm, or feel his struggle to extricate himself from the hug. I don’t hear the crowd gathering or their shouts of protest as they look on, wondering if I have gone mad. I hold on tightly to him. He is my lifeline.
I lose sense of time, as I embrace him, while he holds himself stiffly. Eventually, my senses creep back in. I let go of him, and he scrambles away at the window of escape I grant him. My apology dies on my lips. When I look back, the crowd is still gathered. My gaze lands on the lady who served me. She picks her way to me, with two men beside her.
“Rich man with big problem!” she says. “No wonder you couldn’t pay me attention. Abeg pay me my money. Na so you for don run. As you package yourself, you dey do credit market abi. Nonsense!”
In my distress, I had forgotten to settle my debt. For the second time, I apologize. She wears a look of disgust. I shiver in shame. That’s the last look I see. A punch from my right, lands just below my jaw. I see stars before I sink into darkness and crash to the ground.
- - ------------------------------
I wake up with a start. It is pitch black. I look around cautiously but there is no one in sight. The bar and the environs, is empty, bereft of people. I can feel a migraine coming on. Everywhere hurts. I manage to get up, but not before I throw up, spilling contents to the ground. I feel better afterwards.
I get into the car and turn on the lights. A look in the rear view window reveals a swollen face and black eyes. They must have pounced on me after I lost consciousness. My three piece Saville Row suit is a total write off. My phone is gone, as well as my wallet. Thankfully, my keys are still in my pocket. They must have known that no one drives a 2019 G-WAGON, without having a tracking device attached to it.
I turn on the ignition and shakily drive off. The time on the dash board shows its 5:45 a.m. It’s a Saturday. I don’t need to be in the office. My secret is safe with me. My staff at home are paid enough to keep it that way.
I drive out of GRA, Ikeja. Soon, I’m on third mainland bridge. The traffic is light. By 7:30 a.m., I am at Lekki phase 1, on my avenue, five houses away from my house. I have been here, seated in my car for the past thirty minutes. For some reason, I don’t want to step into my house. I know if I walk into my elegantly furnished house, with no one to talk to except my servants waiting on me, I will flip. I need a drink so badly, something to make me forget. Just how can I get it undetected, I wonder?
A knock on my window brings me out of my reverie. A woman in her mid-thirties, clad in a pajamas is standing by my window. I roll my window down a little bit. I don’t want her to see my face, so I turn my face away slightly. I don’t know what to say. What does she want?
“Is everything ok with you?” she asks with a voice so silky and smooth.
I pause in shock, and turn to stare at her openly. For a very long time, no one has asked me that question.
“I have been watching you from my window upstairs. That’s my room,” she explains, pointing at a duplex opposite me. There is a window at the top.
“You haven’t moved from this spot in the last thirty minutes. You obviously don’t look all right. What is the problem?” she asks again.
I stare at her. I don’t notice her facial features. All I see is the look in her eyes; a look of interest, of curiosity, of innocence, of boldness, of wanting to know and not being afraid to dig deep. It’s a look of strength. Strength like I have never seen before.
“I…I…I need,” I stammer.
“Why don’t you step out the door? Come in to my place. I can prepare tea for you, probably throw in some breakfast, and we can have a conversation,” she cut in with a smile on her face.
That smile breaks down all my defenses, breaks down all the barriers. My shame at my appearance fizzles out. The smile so genuine, beckons to me, giving me hope. For the first time, in a very long time, I feel different; like a heavy burden is lifted off my shoulders. I feel rejuvenated, like a new day has come. The sun is definitely shining brightly.
As I unlock the door and step out, the smile still remains on her face. I walk beside her and ask myself the question, the most important question. I have scored several goals. Can I score another goal? Can I score the goal of companionship, of love?
I allow a smile break out on my face. It’s a smile from the heart. Nothing is impossible.
...........
Tracey Chizoba Fletcher, born to a British father and a Nigerian mother, lives in Lagos, Nigeria. A staunch believer in the right representation of Nigeria's rich culture and values, her writings are a testimony to promoting this in the right light. She is the Author of Feminine Shades; a collection of short stories, throwing a beacon on the sensitivities of the female gender, her Crime Thriller, The Chase - which was shortlisted for the Phoenix Quill Writing Contest, her fantasy fiction, The Wrong Turn, and her recently published romantic suspense, Love and Money.
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