Chapter 41 SWEET

SEGUN

Nostalgia has never been my thing, but I suddenly find comfort in it, as my mind draws me into memory lane, back to when I first came to Nigeria.

The moment I stepped foot on Nigerian soil, I noticed a lot of things about the people, top of which were huge religious patterns and tribal inclinations.

After touch down and the usual clearance at the airport, Mr. Faseun's driver was already waiting for us, so we all got into the car. I was exhausted, but intrigued by the surroundings.

I expected us to get to Mr. Faseun's house -- tops twenty minutes -- but we spent about an hour in traffic, and the toots of horns and cussing sailed through the tightly shut windows of the car we were safely cocooned in. Mr. Faseun had turned to me with a wide smile on his face and said. "Welcome to Lagos!"

I saw quite a number of buses painted yellow and black, from which half-dressed men hung from, shouting at people. Mr. Faseun explained that the buses were the major transportation in Lagos, and the men shouting were conductors or bus men, and they were informing people on where they were headed.

I marvelled at how artful these men were, hanging from the buses, and not falling from them.

I also noticed there was at least one church on every street we passed. I was willing to bet it had more to do with the worship of money than the actual worship of the creator.

When the driver finally drove through the gates of Mr. Faseun's house, I knew he was loaded.

His house is an edifice. A huge twin duplex that sits almost on the banks of a lake in one of the quiet neighborhoods of Lagos.

Choice cars I'd only seen in the movie - fast and furious, littered the expansive compound.

So I took back what I thought initially.

Mr. Faseun wasn't just loaded, he was filthy rich.

He gave me a suite - said that's where I'd be staying. It was a large bedroom with an adjoining sitting room and a huge bathroom that housed a jacuzzi.

The whole thing was bigger than my house in Detroit.

How on earth Mama got to know someone as filthy rich as this man, confused me.

Over the next few days, Mr. Faseun took me to a boutique and told me to pick whatever I wanted. I didn't feel it was necessary, but when he began picking out items for me, I knew if I didn't wade in soon, I'd become a poster boy for Clark Kent, and it'd be all my fault, so I reluctantly picked a few clothes.

I was already staying in his house, now me picking up clothes on his tab . . . that was a blow to my ego, but I'd swallowed my pride and kept quiet.

You know what they say - a beggar has no choice. Although I was living more like a prince than a beggar.

The next thing Mr. Faseun did, was give me a new identity. This included a new name and a set of documents to go along with it. He said my Spanish name flagged me as different, and I readily agreed with him.

I was to be called Segun Scott.

An indegenous Yoruba name that would make me fit in, since I was to be seen as a relation of his.

I later learnt Yorubas were one of the dominant tribes in Nigeria.

Little did I know I was actually taking up my real name - my real identify.

He said if anyone asked why I stood out like a sore thumb because of my accent, I was to tell them I'd lived all my life in the United States, which was partially true, but with a slight variation.

My new name became a problem for me because I wasn't used to it. Whenever I was asked what it was, Aureliano would readily spring to my lips, and I'd shake away the memory of who I was and try to wrap my head around who I'd become.

Was it a mystery I forgot my new name?

I remember carrying around my ID card and kept checking it to remind myself of this strange new name, just to make sure it stuck.

One incidence remains stuck in my mind like a loop.

I went for a routine medical check up at the hospital Deuce manufacturing company uses. While seated in front of the doctor, she'd asked what my name was and I blanked out.

I just didn't remember my new name.

I couldn't very well tell her I was Aureliano, neither could I bring out my ID card, because she'd have thought it strange, so I'd just stared at her like a deaf and dumb.

I expected her to get impatient and tell me how I'd wasted her time, instead a strange thing happened . . .

Pity flicked in her eyes and she'd smiled and patted my hand that was clenched on her table, and said "Don't worry, you'll be fine."

It was so fucking humiliating.

After that day, I made it a point of duty to remember my name. Luckily it stuck after I made an effort.

Working at Deuce manufacturing company was another matter altogether. When Mr. Faseun introduced me to the staff, it was with glowing accolades.

All the females looked at me like they'd just seen the holy ghost, and the guys . . . well, they avoided talking to me altogether.

Once, I walked up to one of them, trying to make a new friend, the man in question lifted a brow and spoke in some strange language. I knew he'd just insulted me, judging from the way the others around him had sniggered, but I'd let it slide.

I voiced my worries to Mr. Faseun, but he brushed it aside, saying they were jealous of me because I had a lot to offer and they didn't.

If only he knew.

I quickly found out he had the uncanny ability to wrap people around his little finger if he so much as pleased, and he did - a lot.

I continued trying to make new friends, but whoever I talked to would either look blankly at me, or they'd shrug and walk away.

Going back home after work was no different. There was no one to talk to. Mr. Faseun was never at home, and the times he was, he'd shut himself in his study.

He didn't have a wife, neither did he have kids. He had a housekeeper who came to cook and clean everyday and leave. She was like a mouse. She'd move around silently doing her work and minding her business, which was good, but when I was home and tried to initiate a conversation, she'd scuttle away.

I found it odd, but I gave up and tried to accept that was who she was, and let her be.

By the end of one year, I was already over it. Over Nigeria. I wanted to go back to the United States. Even if it meant continuing in the drug business, I didn't mind, at least I'd be able to see a familiar face there.

Unfortunately, Dipo had moved back to Africa with his parents even before I left for Nigeria, and there was no way to contact him. Matter of fact I pushed him away after graduation, and even though he tried severally to reach out to me, it was an exercise in futility.

What he didn't know was that I was protecting him. I didn't want to stain him with my sordid job, but what I didn't bargain for, was the searing loneliness that plagued me once he travelled.

I decided to visit a bar, one friday evening, on my way back from work and make alcohol my buddy, seeing as no one else wanted to be.

I ordered my usual, sat back and was launching into a pity party, when I heard a familiar voice.

" ---- so I'm telling you man, that quotient is absolutely incorrect."

That voice.

I knew it.

Without thinking, I'd gotten up and walked to where a group of guys were seated, chatting amongst themselves.

Lo and behold, I couldn't believe the person my eyes landed on.

"Dipo?" My voice had come out sharper than I'd intended, but it had its effect, because his head snapped up on hearing his name.

"The King?" He'd gotten up then and we grabbed each other, and hugged it out for some seconds, parting each other on the back and whooping in excitement. We were both jubilant at seeing each other once again.

By the time we moved apart, all the loneliness had fallen off from me, immediately replaced with a feeling of warmth.

"I thought I'd never see you again." He held my arm and practically dragged me to sit beside him.

I couldn't believe I was seeing him again after one year. "So you're Nigerian?"

"I told you so many times I'm from Nigeria." Then he'd shook his head and chuckled when I was about arguing with him. "I'm sorry to say this, Aureliano, but your head was so far up your ass, you didn't have time for anyone but yourself."

He was right. I was so damn selfish. All I thought about were my needs. When the business with Roxy started, I'd pushed him away. At first, out of resentment, but later out of the need to keep him safe. His family had been too good to me to drag him into whatever mess I was in.

As I looked at him, I noticed a great change. He radiated an air of confidence. There was no hint of shyness or awkwardness that had plagued him back in the States. He seemed absolutely cured of it.

There was also something different about his face.

Then it hit me.

He'd gotten rid of his glasses.

He was like a totally different person altogether.

I didn't know I was staring. That led me to blurt out what was on my mind. "You look . . . different."

He'd laughed before replying. "I've been working out, and I guess all those lessons of yours finally got to me."

But I knew what it was.

He'd never really had much confidence, but now he was back in Nigeria, on his own soil, he exuded it. And I understood perfectly, because I was almost getting to the point of who he once was.

I felt like a fish out of water.

"Do you know Femi is also around? He's also Nigerian as well." He'd looked around then, but not being able to find him, shrugged. "Probably off chasing some girl . . . or maybe two."

We'd both laughed, because we knew Femi was a chronic womaniser.

After awhile, he introduced me to the other guys at the table. One of them had turned to me and said something in a language I didn't quite understand. I'd looked at him blankly, and everyone had burst out laughing.

I felt like a fool all over again. That feeling of warmth I'd felt initially, dissipated like a leaking balloon.

"You're a real JJC, Aureliano." Dipo had said, turning to me. "Guess it's my turn to teach you a few things."

Over the next few weeks, he stressed that pidgin English was practically the lingua franca in Nigeria, and proceeded to teach it to me, and a bit of yoruba as well. He said since I was going to be resident in Lagos, I needed to learn them in order to relate with other Nigerians.

It was then it dawned on me the reason people had looked at me blankly when I tried to initiate a conversation with them.

They didn't understand a lick of what I'd said.

Guess my accent was different from what they were normally used to. So I tried hard to fit in by speaking pidgin English to my colleagues.

You know what they did?

They laughed - in my face.

One of them took pity on me - Feyi. She sat me down one day and told me I was trying too hard. I needed to let it come naturally. So I stopped trying and began listening to her instead.

And in no time, I got the hang of it, but then Feyi got it into her head to want something more from me. Something I couldn't give. So I took from her instead. I took her time, and I enjoyed her body. Well, she enjoyed mine as well.

One thing had led to another, and . . .

Well you know how that ended, right?

Then she had to leave, because she brought to the open what we were doing on the down low, and that was against company rules.

Next came Tola, and that didn't end well either, and she had to leave as well.

I went through women like a washing machine goes through clothes.

I don't even want to remember what went wrong with my head, and why I couldn't keep lil boy in my pants.

It all stopped one day when I laid eyes on her.

Eve.

She, with the sweet, no-nonsense disposition. I think I was hooked the day I met her. She wound me round her little finger the first day I set my eyes on her at the club.

Her scent, her face, her body, just . . . everything about her was IT for me.

"You're thinking about her again, aren't you?" Mum's voice breaks the spell of memories as her face pops up above mine.

"How can you tell?" She must be pychic, or maybe it's a mother's intuition.

"You've got a smile going on your face."

Am I that transparent?

"You forget I've watched you for seven years now, son, so I know you." Instead of replying, I look around, only to see two of her staff on hands and knees, cleaning the floors, while some are hard at work, cleaning the windows.

It's an hour to go before she opens up Bowl 'N spoon and she's got them feverishly making sure everything is clean and in order. I'm so glad I took a chance on her, because she's very hard-working and she's making a nice profit from this place.

She runs it like a well-oiled machine.

I expect her to continue talking about Eve, but she surprises me by changing tangent instead. "So this Roxy girl you told me about . .. . " Her brow furrows and one hand finds it's way to her hips and gets anchored there.

It's her go-to stance for when she's talking about something serious. I'm learning the little quirks about her.

"What about her, mum?" I grin as I watch her look around sharply.

"Don't ----"

"Call you mum here, I know. I just wanted to get you all riled up. I love to see that look of fear pop up on your f---"

"Olusegun Phillip Scott, stop trying to make fun of me. I am your mother." Her eyes round to almost saucers, as she realizes the folly of her words.

So I wait for it.

It starts with a tilt of her lips . .

Then a smirk . . .

Now she's smiling.

She throws her head back and lets out a guffaw, and I can't help but join in.

When we calm down from our laugh-induced high, she wipes the corners of her eyes and her face changes to one of seriousness. "You're miserable without Eve, you don't have to hide it."

"I am, mum." I nod, forgetting my promise of not calling her that. She better get used to being called that 'cause now that I've found her, I'll sing it for the whole world to hear if possible.

She smiles and places her palm against my cheek. "And you say Roxy won't let you two be?"

"I'm not worried about her, though. Roxy, I can handle, it's Eve that's got my knickers in a tight twist."

She shakes her head. "Poor Eve, she went through so much. The death of your child, and almost getting married to the same man who caused her accident, and then finding out it's your father." She shakes her head again and sits in the chair facing me. "So what if she can't give birth again. Ever heard of adoption? I hear nowadays, someone else can carry the pregnancy for the couple in need of a child. What's it called, um . . ."

"Surrougacy." I proffer.

"Okay, and son, I'm really dissapointed in you. After all she's gone through, after what you two have gone through to be together, you still doubt her love for you? Can't you see she has eyes only for you?"

"But . . . she said nothing when I confronted the two of them. She clearly chose him." My blood begins to boil as I remember her silence.

She shakes her head as she gazes at me with an emotion closely resembling pity. "Oh Segun my son, you weren't there. You didn't see what I saw. Shortly before you came, something got her angry. She had fire in her eyes when she stood up and shouted at the young man she was with. Suddenly, she rushed out of here like someone . . . or something was chasing her. The worst of it is, the young man began smiling, but when he caught me staring at him, the smile slid off his face. He picked up his phone, and rushed after her. Something just didn't feel right. I think you should put your manly ego aside and go after her. Have a talk with her."

Anger surges through me, fast and furious. "If he hurt her in anyway, so help me  ----"

"Oh stop all of that nonsense, now go look for her and clear up this mess once and for all."

Hope blooms in my chest at her words. Hope for a future with Eve. If she'll let me, I'll gladly kiss all her pains away.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, bringing my day dreams to a stop. I sigh and bring it out. This time I check the caller, but I don't recognise the number.

I decide to pick it anyway. "Hello, Segun speak---"

"Hello, am I speaking to Aureliano?" A deep male voice fills my ear. It sounds familiar, but I can't remember where I heard it. "This is Eve's father. Is she with you?"

Pin pricks begin to sting me all over. "Good morning, sir. Is something wrong with her? Why a----"

"We can't find her. She and Ebere went to a club last night and as they got in, Ebere said she went to the toilet and she never came back out. Some minutes later, she got a text from her saying she was going back home, but she still hasn't been seen, nor heard  from since, and her phone is switched off."

My hands tighten around my phone as my heart beats a loud drum in it's cage.

A few seconds later, Ebere's voice fills the speaker, and she sounds panicky. "Segun, I think something has happened to Eve. I can feel it in my bones. Please do something. I know you two--"

"I'm on my way." I say immediately, and cut the call. I turn to mum and voice words I never knew I would say. "Eve is missing. I'm going over to her place."

She nods, worry filling her eyes. "Hurry, son!"

As I walk away, wondering how and why this is happening, I hear mum's voice carrying over to me.

"Oh Dotun, why?"