CHAPTER THREE.
CHAPTER THREE
PRESENT TENSE
"Yes …. he wants to rule this country. He doesn't know that I'm aware of all his operations with the DSS. Let's help him with the logistics on terrorism. Yes. He's passionate about ending that problem. It killed his lover of many years. Insecurity is one of his high points on the scorecard for winning the election. Please, leak satellite feeds into the DSS server. They will find them. The Niger Republic unit …. yes, the Tuareg unit should come to play." A maid came into the study without knocking.
"Chief …." She ventured but was hushed by the finger touching his lips.
"I will call you back, Chief. Domestic issues," he said ending the call. He placed the satellite phone on his desk. A Thuraya XT-Pro. Otunba Olanbiwonnu walked toward the servant with open arms and led her to an armchair, sat, and allowed her to loosen the rope of his trousers. She promptly lowered the pants along with an orange pair of boxer shorts. She knelt and looked into his eyes as she rapidly flicked his knob with a long tongue. A remarkably long tongue.
If there was one thing Miz Williams had in no small measure, it was the spirit for the hustle. She was able to recognize her limitations and acquired the uncanny knack for using people and her environment to satisfy her caprice and vanities. In three years,
she had attained a social status that was a far-cry from her erstwhile class in the ghetto, with an NCE in Social Studies and English language, she became articulate. With one and a half million followers on at least three social media platforms, she was seen as an influencer, especially on Instagram. Tinuola knew most of the notable and fledgling fast-food joints and restaurants in Lagos and Ibadan, and went out of her way to create unsolicited visual contents on them which brought in a flood of clientele to such businesses. The advertising and manufacturing industries took notice and she consequently became brand ambassador to many companies. You need a promo on products ranging from comestibles to kitchen appliances, call Miz Williams. Cost effective. It was like magic.
Yet, it all began with a 'fake life' until she hit paydirt. What she thought was success paled down to nothing in comparison.
Lekan was a genius at the creation of scenes and settings using Adobe Photoshop 11.0. He was Miz Williams' bosom friend. Quite unsurprising, their relationship; she needed fake scenery, Lekan needed to worship that fine ass. One kept getting while the other kept hoping. Their current project was a yacht cruise from one exotic coast to another. Lekan had the 'coasts' but there was no luxury yacht. Tinuola wanted a live yacht not an App provision.
Perhaps she was being 'followed' by Kazeem's friend, but here she was on his Instagram page. Lovely as ever in a green and gold bikini. On the main deck of a luxury boat. He looked curiously at the lines from bow to stern, he could have sworn they were familiar. The cabin, galley, and head. How could it be? The K.O. A superyacht. His father's birthday gift to him two years earlier. A bribe for catching his hand on Ifenkili's breast.
This boat was bearing Miz W. on the hull close to the stern. Superimposed? He wondered. Kazeem considered the sleek body on the deck chair, on the large bed inside the cabin, and felt the initial stirrings of an erection. She was going to the Amalfi coast in Italy according to her post. Her coast-to-coast series. Complete with fancy restaurants after docking.
"We will meet in Amalfi, bitch," he sniggered.
It was night. The hangar, along with others, was in partial gloom. The security guard flicked a light to his cigarette to reveal a bearded face, the great door of the large hanger was opened behind him. The sound of a fire engine's siren was audible from a distance. The man spat into the night and walked casually away towards the lights of a distant hangar.
They were watching from the side of a parked van as the guard's footfalls receded.
"Let's do this quickly. I don't want to lose my job," one of them whispered to her.
The three persons left cover and ran silently in sneakers to the yawning hangar. It was slightly dark inside but they could make out the impressive shape of the Bombardier Global 7500. One of the men was wearing blue coveralls and he pushed a boarding ramp to the awesome aircraft and pulled down the airstair. He went inside briefly and came down, and pushed the ramp out of the way.
"Go in and be quick. You have twenty minutes. The security has gone to eat with his friend, he'll be back in half an hour. I want us out of here before he returns," he advised nervously.
Tinuola Williams and a young man holding a digital camera moved up the airstair into the jet. The lights were on inside the jet.
The lens and the flashlight captured various sections of the posh interior even the customized sleeping room with Miz. Williams in several proprietary postures.
The door to the cockpit opened suddenly and the duo froze. The camera dropped from the photographer's hands to the thick carpeting of the craft. Miz William's mouth hung open but became a pout as she smoothly groomed her straight natural wig with two gentle strokes of her hand. Her legs struck a regal pose while she looked at the intruder with her blue eyes. K.O smiled at her quick recovery from the initial shock.
"Glad to have you aboard, Miz Williams. I'm a gushing fan. Where's the next stop? I'm captain Kazeem Olanbiwonnu at your service, ma'am," he said with a flattering smile, moving towards the beautiful young woman who was now slightly reclining in the
leather seat.
"Thank you, captain. I'll be stopping over briefly in Nairobi, Kenya for a pedicure, I recently noticed the suggestion of Athlete's foot," she said making a face and a flicker of her false eyelashes. At this time, the photographer had crept out of the cabin.
"Just so you know, I have placed a call to the airport police. I'm pressing charges," he said gently as if struggling with his breath coming to a seat across from her, his large hands folded carefully on his lap. They both stared at each other with placid expressions. They both sighed in unison.
"I will have you charged for attempted rape, it would look good for the electorate," she said coldly. Dully.
"And by the way, just so you know, you can't win the election."
"Why? If I may ask." He leaned back into his seat, stretching his legs and staring balefully at her. She suddenly laughed at his discomfiture and restrained anger.
"You are too clean, too neat. You need some dirt on your hands."
Kazeem became confused and he leaned towards her.
"You will fail to the glory of God!" She pronounced gravely. Like a damning prophecy.
"Really?" He now became curious.
"Let me run your campaign." Another flicker of those sweeper eyelashes. It was now his turn to laugh.
"I have a followership of over two million." She stated with intent.
"I have a competent agency doing just what you are proposing." His sarcasm was quite
obvious.
"Yet, you are not connecting with the people," she submitted coolly.
"How do you mean?" A frown of surprise touched his fine features.
"You have only been dealing with the demons in the high places," she said nodding her conviction.
"Is that so?"
"Let's go slumming. My friend will shoot the process. You will tell them what you will do." She said rather sweetly. She left her seat.
"Tonight?" He asked in further confusion.
"Yes, of course. A poor man greatly appreciates the rich man who cares to know how he sleeps at night. You will proffer remedial measures. That's how you're going to win. Leave the rigging to the people. They know what to do if they are convinced." She concluded like a preacher.
"I'm shocked I didn't think of it. I know the right place to start. Let's go." He told her like she was an old friend.
She was not offended or irritated by the heathen paraphernalia; a clutter at the shrine. Her focus was on the purpose of her visit with her uncle. Mazi Okeke busied himself with the appraisal of his niece. She was sitting restlessly; tapping her feet on the red earth.
"I want him to become great," she said resolutely.
"Even after what he did to you? He abandoned you, Ifenkili." He said irritably.
"What I did to him was worse. He did more than the average man would. After my sin, any man would have cut me off completely but we still relate almost as if we never separated," she responded animatedly.
"His father touched you, remember? He also took back the bride price, did he not?" Okeke countered.
"The truth is I seduced him just to spite Kazeem, besides, he didn't serve me divorce papers."
"Why would he, when you're still fucking him?" He barks irritably, frowning at her large belly.
"We still love each other and I'm still the one he's seeing. It's been four years for godssakes! And don't forget what I did to his house. You heard him on TV, didn't you? He still loves me. Make him unstoppable," she delivered with authority.
"OK. It's alright, my child. Your father was a great man. He did things for me only a good brother would. I owed him a lot. What exactly do you want?"
"I've been with some politicians who thought they were using me. I want him to be greater than all of them put together," she says with a malicious glint in her eyes.
"You want him to be a ruler."
"Exactly!"
"He has no experience. They see him now as a romantic fool who has no place in
politics, besides, he's too young."
"Age is irrelevant."
Okeke grunts, rummaging in an old cloth bag for something. He produced kolanut, split it into five lobes and threw them before him on a goatskin.
"He has a good heart towards the people and wants to serve them." She nods continuously, looking intently at the hands of her uncle as he shifted the lobes on the skin.
"Yes. Just like your father. It will be a refreshing change from all these bastards shamelessly looting the nation's treasury."
"My sentiments exactly," she says smiling.
"It is done. Do you still offer him food or drinks?"
"Yes. When I visit with him or he comes to our house, I do cook for him. He loves my cooking."
"Then it's done. We will strengthen him against the wickedness in low and high places. If he's weak he will not last long even if he becomes the president. He will possess the eyes of the spirits and find favour with them. They will be with him and reveal a lot of things to him physically and through dreams."
"Won't that affect his mind?" She became worried. Okeke laughed.
"You're indeed a good woman and I see you still love him. He will not go mad. They will relate with him as equals and as friends. These spirits are the ones serving as kingmakers. They will elect and empower him but all his children must come from only
one woman and he must not eat shellfish from the sea."
"What if he did?" She asked nervously.
"They will leave him in anger and the consequences are monstrous."
Right atop someone's neon-lit wooden verandah, he stood, fearless of the possible collapse of the old planks. Just below his position, he gazed down at the crowd in canoes, holding various forms of illumination. It was an incredible night campaign. Quite unprecedented. They were silent as if waiting for God to speak to them with a thunderous voice. But the first decibels were a crackle from the megaphone. He abandoned it with a slight show of irritation. The camera zoomed in from a canoe.
"I must apologize for this intrusion and having to rouse you from sleep and your rest. Ẹ ma ṣe b´inu simi. I will be very brief. Someone told me that the man who truly wants to help you must know you indeed even how you sleep at night. So don't be surprised if I decide to sleep in the home of my new good friend tonight," he said in a loud voice, hugging a man standing next to him. The people shouted their disbelief.
"I know quite well that a lot of promises have been made but I'm making a covenant tonight with you good people of Makoko, one that will stand without fail for at least four years. In four years your pain and hardship will come to an end. You will be relocated in the first instance to a resettlement camp …." The people roared in outrage. He waved frantically.
"Can development and improvement come without your movement?" The protest continued.
"After three years you must come back to your waters. The new buildings will be standing on concrete pillars like those of a bridge, complete with schools and places of worship. Don't worry, your landlords will make it cheap and affordable for you. I will personally make sure of that. Remember, it's our covenant. You can continue with your fishing and trading when you return. I will come here and buy your fish. Don't be afraid, the fish will not be driven away by the construction. And if they are, they will return just like their master fishers. The people laughed.
"And to show my good faith, tonight I'm buying fish worth five million naira, but please, don't deprive yourselves of your catch. My campaign manager, Miss. Kasamotu Ramotu here, will be doing the purchases for me until I get my money's worth." The crowd roared. Miz Williams gawped at him. She never dreamt of being reminded of that name. And the new task was daunting to say the least. She must mingle with these people. Kazeem ran his fingers over his mobile phone. Briefly. The message alert came to the fore. Miz Williams was more shocked by the moment.
"I know how precious this environment is to you. In fact, I was here some years ago with a friend …. she died recently in a bomb blast ….." his voice broke in agony. The crowd murmured sadly.
"We both ate Kokata here from a canoe. She showed me how a people could be loved unconditionally. I really do miss her…. good night, my people and a happy night rest.
Let us go and prepare for our common future. It must come." He concluded in his
parade commander voice and waved to them. The crowd roared once again. The camera wrapped it for the night, capturing his grief and regret. They were both emotional though for different reasons. One, for the loss of a friend and the acquisition of hundreds. The other, for the realization of the benefit of an uncanny instinct. The utilization of the elements in her environment.
In the backseat of his Hummer H3, Tinuola was busy trying to overcome the exposure to the cold sea breeze and the air-conditioning. She looked up at the man sitting beside her with something next to reverence. She cleared her throat meaningfully. He smiled sensing her assessment.
"What troubles you, Tinuola?"
"How come you know my given name?"
"You mean Ramotu?"
She nodded.
"I have my sources. Once you interest me, I'll have you researched. I have a heavy folder of you in my office. Your childhood years, not to mention your days at the College of Education, are my favourite subjects in the folder, especially your days in the college," he said winking at her and stretched his long legs, yawned and reclined in the leather seat.
"Your account number, I memorized before our little meeting in the plane. You posted it when soliciting for donations on your blog, remember?" He chuckled sleepily.
"I knew we'll be friends, so I came prepared. It's my nature to choose my friends and not the other way round …. Suleiman," he called.
"Sir." The driver responded smartly.
"Let's buy Miz Williams a new car and apartment in the morning."
"Yes, sir."
Tinuola merely smiled. She was indeed a mistress of her environment. Things were falling in the right places. Permanently. She made a point of it. She could begin to see the traffic on her blog and on her Instagram page. The video was already online, courtesy of a fisherman's child but devoid of the finesse she was noted for. She would push it to the decent cable news stations. Channels for instance, even on her YouTube channel. Now, the campaign according to Miz Williams has begun in earnest. 'Kazeem; the Man of the People.' 'A night in the slums.' 'Kazeem and the Thousand Fishermen'. 'The Makoko Covenant.' She could see the captions already. She knew BBC Africa would use it. Tinuola looked at the now sleeping man, and she felt a strange pull. Regrettable that he belonged to someone else.
Three weeks after the strange campaign, K.O was on the internet; YouTube as a matter of fact. He had never watched himself speak publicly and he silently gave himself a pat
on the back for such a remarkable extempore delivery. He so much loved Miz Williams' work on the social media, especially the #tags and challenge. K.O was leading by a
landslide in the online polls. Portions of the debate were everywhere on YouTube.
He watched as Ifenkili moved on the massive bed. Kazeem laid down the iPad on the nightstand and moved closer to fondle her breast. A lactating breast.
"Mmphm. You're not sleeping, K.O," she mumbled.
"I have you on my mind. Again." He squeezed a nipple.
"Liar. I see you online."
He pushed downwards to cup and squeeze a butt cheek with both hands.
"Let's do it from the back. I mean anal." she said giggling silently.
"Whoa, whoa. Don't overreach yourself, Ifenkili. It's just two weeks since the delivery."
"That's why I want anal, so you can enjoy it." She said stubbornly.
"Susie's spirit is here again, the sex tape," he said looking shocked.
"I don't want that spirit exorcised." She pulled her panties, knelt and leaned forward placing her head on the bed in an impressive presentation.
"Do it!" She said imperatively.
"Olive oil is in the bottom drawer." She indicated with her hand.
He slowly pulled a drawer on the nightstand and produced a bottle of refined olive oil. Wondering who the spirit is with.
From his campaign headquarters in the penthouse suite of the Beecroft Towers,
Kazeem marshaled his team, working on strategies. He stood gazing through the glass to observe the sea view and traffic hundreds of metres below. Traffic was like a long
trail of soldier ants.
"Sir, won't you go to the South-south?" A bespectacled man in shirtsleeves.
"No. I'm sure they've gone there already. I will not compete or fight that way but break fresh grounds. I'm also certain they will vote for the right candidate."
"You think so?" A female holding a pencil to her red lips. Nervously.
"With resource control, I'm sure they know on which side the butter is spread on the bread." K.O laughed, turning to the room.
"This resource control thing, how are you going to go about it, or is it just another campaign promise?"
Kazeem exhaled. "It's for real, Michael. My intentions are simple. I gathered that there are Tank farms in strategic locations with crude in Delta State. So, place the state-owned modular refineries close to oil wells and Tank farms and link them with pipelines. Meanwhile, the flow stations are there regulating the amount of crude to each refinery. I also know that there are existing small refineries approved by the Federal government but we all know the reason for their existence; to enrich some private individuals. Now, there are six oil-producing states, they will pay taxes to the central government. This arrangement does not affect offshore oil wells and rigs and their operations. They are Federal government properties. NNPC will oversee them."
"How will the Federal government be sustained?" The nervous female.
"Good question, Christie. The central government will encourage further prospecting for oil and solid minerals. The northern states have solid minerals that are not exploited
officially. The fact that they are secretly being sourced and sold to Asians is an open secret. After all, they are Northerners, what do they know? Yet, they know a great deal more than us. The central government will expand operations and collect taxes. So, at the end of the day, resource control is not just a South-south thing. And don't forget foreign lending." K.O laughed.
"Look. My friend, the whole idea is not for private enrichment by stealing from the people. Nigeria is not a private estate owned by a cabal of rogues masquerading as rulers. She belongs to all of us!!" He said with sudden animation.
"But this will make the governors to be very corrupt since they will have access to the crude oil and its refinement."
"Yes. And we'll haul their corrupt asses to prison during or after their tenure for the diversion of state funds and tax evasion. That's about forty years in prison without a provision of bail or appeal." Kazeem said with a mean expression.
"Frankly, the presidents have had their share of oil loot, let's try state governments for a change. If the presidents cannot be jailed when they leave office, surely, the governors could." K.O laughed.
"How about the cases of pipeline vandalization and oil theft? How are you going to tackle that?" Christie, gaining steam.
"I'm already discussing the issue with AeroVironment in the U.S. It's a drone company.
I'll give them the final word when I win the elections. They will help to establish a military-grade drone station in Lagos that will monitor all the crude and finished product
pipelines including gas harnessing. We will not leave the security of the pipelines in the hands of former militants just to placate them and keep them from taking up arms in the Niger Delta area. We must stop gas-flaring in this country. The drones will be armed with missiles that will not cause damage to the pipelines but the rogues. That aspect I have strongly emphasized with the company. Maybe they will use chemicals or electricity which will stun or kill the trespassers without destroying the pipelines. This can also be effectively used to combat terrorism and kidnapping …." He paused with an expression of sadness written on his pleasant features.
"It will save the Nigeria Army from further embarrassment in the hands of ISWAP and Boko Haram insurgents. They will provide details later. This monitoring and management will be paid for by the state governments as part of services rendered by the central power." K.O sighed and adjusted his tie.
"Interesting, sir. Tell me, how is your government going to remedy the constant strike actions and demands of medical doctors and other health workers?" Michael again. He exchanged a brief glance with the female, others gazed speculatively as their leader deftly fielded questions.
"Mike, you're tougher than the moderator at the Sheraton debate, but I like your inquisitive mind. You could swing a Chief of Staff position at this rate. Yes. It is very clear that no medical doctor would want to embark on such actions if he has no
backup."
"What backup?"
"Simple. A fresh doctor is most likely hungry because he's yet to own his own private hospital. The established doctors would readily go on strike and refer patients in public hospitals to their own clinics. I will consider removing doctors with such backups from service. Then again, it will stop the incessant theft of drugs and equipment from public hospitals. The remedy or what I will call the government's backup is to build more military hospitals all over the country, and upgrade existing ones. You'll agree with me that military doctors and nurses will not go on strike. With adequate campaigns and advertisements, we will make the military very attractive to medical students. And gradually, we'll turn these hospitals into public ones. And God help the civilian doctors who are constantly breaking the Hippocratic oath! The government will see them as saboteurs of the national development; they would have in that context, created a state of emergency and must be dealt with accordingly. Reason this, Oladapo Olaitan Olanipekun a.k.a. Dagrin died as a result of this madness at LUTH. The doctors resumed work the same day he was buried, even after paying a heavy sum of money. Can you imagine that the account office and pharmacy were open but no doctor? It is wickedness how they killed a budding rap star. It is criminal negligence! You see, we must know that no meaningful development is unaccompanied by destruction in whatever measure. To build cities, slums must be demolished. To construct roads, the trees in a forest are felled. To establish sanity in a ruthless and corrupt system, the evil
perpetrators must go. It's a cleanup exercise. "
"Won't your government be seen as autocratic or dictatorial?"
"Yes, but look at what democracy has done to us, how selfish we've become, how we abuse this freedom to the detriment of the poor masses; those who cannot afford foreign health services or even private clinics in Nigeria. We serve the people, all of them, not a privileged few. This brings to my mind the aspect of education. It is callous what these perennial actions on the part of ASUU are doing to our education system. The government should issue a stern warning concerning this. Lecturers on strike must be given an option, protest if you will, but with dialogue. Representatives should picket at the National Assembly while lectures are going on. And they must wait on the government, seriously considering the students whose academic destiny they must not toy with in the course of pursuing their disguised personal goals. After all, they complain about infrastructural decay and poor equipment in the universities. The government is aware and will attend to it. But what are the universities doing with their internally-generated income? They have made education very expensive on their own without the government's permission. They must give an account. Most of their children are not schooling in Nigeria, so they can afford to go on strike. You see, democracy or unionism should not be used as a weapon to destroy this country. The warring lecturers should be sacked and vacancies announced by the government! Michael, you'll be shocked at the number of PhDs teaching in secondary schools or working in places not congruent with their educational accomplishment. Don't even mention the volume of
Master's degree holders. These ASUU bastards are arrogant and full of themselves. If you think or believe that nobody can do whatever it is you're doing, then you are
confused and would be surprised at the number of persons that can perform that same task, so well too. So, we should be advised that as we fight or agitate, or advocate for our rights, we should be sure we're not infringing on the rights of others. We must be constantly aware of that fact. This world does not revolve around these people. If you get too cocky, then you must be shown the other side of the coin. And I do not mean it sexually," he said with a wink at one of the female staff.
Kazeem touched her bare shoulder and let his hand slide down the curve.
"I hope you won't sue me for sexual violations, Amaka," he said jokingly and looked into the P.O.P ceiling, among the light fittings, and froze. A tiny red light blinked.
Somewhere in the building, in a small room, that looked like a closet for the maintenance people, two men were inspecting several glowing monitors. In black and white.
One of them hissed, staring irritably at his fingers, and blowing into his manicured nails.
"He's noticed."
"We cover our asses, that's all," the one said with a shrug.
"How, Eddy? He knows it's us."
"Of course, he knows! He's not an idiot. That's why we chose him, remember?"
"So, what do we do?"
"We leak it." He said slowly like he was talking to an imbecile. Complete with hand gestures.
"Leak what?"
"Your ass." He lost his cool.
The first exposure was on Fresh FM and the OAP couldn't resist a replay. Then weeks later, listeners began to make requests. Incessantly. The musical genre was not entirely new or strange but it wasn't what already had a standing fan structure. But it grew all the same. Ultimately, the series of nationwide concerts gave rise to the rock band called Ulterior Motive. Kazeem couldn't help himself, for he was a fan of hard rock. He loved the fact that the lead singer and guitarist could sing on stage and not the poor miming the idiots in the music industry do these days. They seemed to believe all the fans wanted was their pretty faces and the way they jumped about the stage like monkeys with boils on their backsides.
Raymond Stone was particularly touched by the humility of Candidate Kazeem, as he fondly called him when he asked him to the stage during one of his band's concerts in Lagos. Kazeem bowed and waved to the crowd. One hundred thousand strong. He had single-handedly sponsored the show. The chant of 'Kazeem' rents the atmosphere.
Miz Williams sat behind the circular pink light of her little studio in the new apartment. She sat for a long while staring stupidly at her Logitech webcam and this strange video file on her email. She had played it twice and was wondering what to do when her
phone buzzed. An unknown number. She swiped the cue.
"Yes?"
"I'm sure you have the feed and must have seen the content." The caller croaked like a frog in season.
"Yes."
"Use it wisely, Miz Williams."
"OK."
"Good luck. Keep up the good work." The line went dead.
She sighed and dialed a number.
"Lekan, I'm sending you a video file. Make it look like a motion picture on a glass building in New York with pedestrians watching it. Make it viral. It has to come from an unknown source. Everybody knows I'm working for him; they will think it was staged instead of a leak …. Thank you so much, I will send you some money…. Trust me, you know I'm a big babe now."
The Morning Show; a cable TV programme began a serious debate on the leaked tape in less than twenty-four hours after the leak.
The show's female anchor; Ozzy Maduka was very excited; it was written all over her as she introduced the three commenters on the show that morning.
"Good morning, good people. Tokẹ, I must say that you're looking great in red this morning. It becomes you."
"Thank you, Ozzy. You're not looking bad yourself." One of the female commenters.
"You're welcome. Let's examine the highlights: A new turn in the presidential elections in Uganda, the incumbent; Balinda Damba has decided to contest the outcome in the courts. His opponent, Mr. Balondemu had won the election by an unprecedented margin last week. An earthquake claimed fifty lives yesterday in Osaka, Japan. We'll be showing the footage in a little while. And back home, Mr. Kazeem Olanbiwonnu has been involved recently in a video leak, so to speak, and the whole drama has been so controversial. The man has been silent on the issue. Not even a Tweet. A school of thought seems to believe the whole episode was orchestrated. I have my doubts though, but Toke, what's your take on this one?"
"We must examine this issue rather dispassionately lest we are accused of being partisan or biased for Candidate Kazeem, so to speak. Let's look at the elements, first, the camera was overhead, and initially, Mr. Kazeem was off-camera before he walked into position. The audio was good though. The man mentioned some very sensitive areas or aspects of our country's development that no one would want to discuss openly in such a way. For instance, his critical comments on the health sector and the ASUU strike actions. He even called them ASUU bastards. Quote and unquote.
Again this direct statement, I quote; 'To establish sanity in a ruthless and corrupt system, the evil perpetrators must go. It's a cleanup exercise.' One wouldn't fail to imagine what 'must go' implies. Also, one mustn't overlook his gesture towards Amaka, so the video said. I think he was most likely not aware of being recorded."
"I like your cautious 'most likely', Toke. How about you, Bassey, what can you say on this issue?"
"I am willing to stick my neck out on this one. The man was definitely not aware of the camera. I think it was installed in that office perhaps to ensure security or something. If you have watched the video"
"Who hasn't? The video has gone viral."
"Yes. Then you must have seen the change in his expression when he looked directly up towards the camera. The man was stunned momentarily and almost immediately dismissed his aides."
"Yes…yes, I observed that, Bassey."
"Now, there is another point. Was it actually released in America as the tape suggested?" Ozzy is in confusion.
"There was no indication of time or place. The room looked like any other room in a corporate setting. Remember the case of some students indulging in sex in their hotel room in Dubai the other year?"
"Yes, Ozzy. They were not aware of the CCTV camera in the room."
"Exactly. The girl would have thought twice rather than be so exposed to the world.
That video also went viral. It was so embarrassing to everyone concerned."
"We may have to call someone in New York for that. I have contacts out there. The thing is that it had gone viral, and Nigerians in the diaspora and African Americans have reacted critically to the 'leaked' or 'not leaked tape'. Many thought that Kazeem was on point while some felt he was exposing his hand too early in the poker game, to use an expression of one of them. Let's take a look at some of the interviews right away."
The main screen popped up to the left of the commenters, with two smaller screens like a Zoom meeting.
"I didn't see any wrong in what he'd said. That man would do no wrong by me. Certain things must be done, and it will take a real man to do them. Nuff of these greedy bastards. I think them stink asses should be flushed out." A black man, probably Nigerian with an accent.
"The level of corruption back home is too appalling, and it requires drastic measures. It's rare to have a politician without the 'business as usual' thing. All the systems are down. We need a man who will tell us it's all systems go. Kazeem looks like the man. I think the tape was for us in the diaspora, it's a wake-up call to all of us. We must support this man. I'm a businessman, and I see a good franchise in the making. I can see a computer game app in my head right now. I'm serious." The man laughs and dived into a limousine.
"President Jonathan had the opportunity to stop terrorism which he inherited from Obasanjo, but the guy chickened out. I remember the U.S. and Britain were prepared to
offer technical support which he kinda declined. Now, here is a man, a true visionary, with solutions. Nigerians should listen and be wise this time. If he says he can put an end to this Boko nonsense, then let him. To me, this man is an icon like Mandela and Nyerere, and what have you. I and my family want to come back home to a better change." A man probably in Anchorage, Alaska, going by the thick clothes he's hugging close to himself. And the puff of frigid air.
Facing the crowd was a slightly strange experience judging from the episode of the other night. It was his first event back on the campaign trail. Kano was playing host to Kazeem and his Fulani running mate; Bello Gidado. He was feeling the heat and feared a bout of thermic fever. For the past two hours, he'd been talking and fielding questions screamed at him. He was surprisingly fluent in Hausa. He must leave anytime soon or else.
"I will spend only one tenure in office." He mustered.
"Za ku bincika aikina kuma ku ci nasara a ƙoƙarina bayan shekaru huɗu. Idan na yi matsayi mai girma a kan katin ƙima, sannan kuma kawai zan yi takara bayan hutu na shekaru hudu daga siyasa mai aiki." The crowd cheered in a state of near-hysteria.
"That was quite generous and bold of him, I must say." A fat man in a long robe puffed smoke from a cigar. It billowed close to the nose of his companion. He reached for the remote controller and froze the visual of the campaign on the flatscreen TV.
"Maybe he's right after all. Those seeking re-election must first step aside to be assessed by the people." A lean-faced man wearing a grey French jacket, sipping cognac and waving off the smoke.
"And where is that done?"
"He wants to change a lot of things in this country, the little upstart."
"Should we be afraid?"
"I don't know," the fat man said with a shrug, staring at Kazeem's frozen face.
"I think we should woo him to our party." With another sip of cognac.
"He is not interested. We have made overtures."
"He wouldn't agree because you made it clear that he will be in the queue. Let's tell him that he will be our party's candidate." Another sip.
Sweating like crazy, Raymond Stone, leader of Ulterior Motive stormed backstage and threw his guitar on a pile of crates and metal cases. Rivulets of sweat flowed down over his deathhead necklace. He threw his wig on a chair beside him and kicked like a child in a tantrum.
"What's up, Ray?" A member walked in with drumsticks.
"My boots are too tight, my feet hurt like hell. I'm going to have corns at this rate."
The female drummer erupted in laughter and sat heavily on his thighs.
Raymond slapped her bum wrapped in shiny tight pants.
"You're getting fat, babe."
A young woman intruded backstage holding a recorder. A Zoom H2N.
"What do you want?" Stone yelled irritably.
"An interview."
"You're crazy. You know I don't do interviews." His voice unexpectedly dropped a few
decibels. The drummer pulled back to study his face. She made a jealous pout and turned toward the journalist.
"Which paper?" She asked with a mean expression.
"Pulse magazine," she responded looking in the direction of the wig.
"Wrong answer." She smirked.
"Terri, easy." Huskily.
"You know I don't grant interviews, then why are you here?"
"Just wanted to see your fine face, I'm a strong fan. I even ran a two-page review on you last month." She said shyly but excitedly.
"Wonderful but I missed that edition. Wrong timing anyway, as you can see. I'm fagged out. The concert was a high-voltage thing and I'm with my lover," he said in a gravelly voice.
"Are you two going out?" She ventured.
The duo laughed and called for security. As she was being led away by four hefty men wearing black, the reporter depressed a button to stop a recording. With a smile, as if she knew she could whip up something from this nothing.
Tare-emi was violated by Ed's men after the abduction. They took her to a safe house in Minna. Her violation had been methodical and with a blend of hate that was not perceived by the victim. She had never been taken that way and she loved it. It was like a ritual. Cultic. And she was happy to belong. At no point in time did it occur to her that her life was of no consequence to her abductors. They had made a nympho out of her, she was oblivious to the fact that she was acting under influence. A potent sex drug. She was being had when her ransom was being negotiated. Her husband had recognized her sex-crazed scream and moaning and nearly had a heart attack. As she was losing consciousness, she muttered something about not going back to her husband. Her last conscious thought was that she at least was wearing a new and clean pair of panties.
"I can't deliver the money in person," Magazo managed after a while.
"And why is that so?"
A voice croaked from the speaker of his office phone.
"Look, you southern bastard, I cannot and will not deliver in person!" He screamed as he paced in the large office like someone with soldier ants in his pants. The moans of the girl still rankled. He unconsciously reached for his crotch.
"Very good. Then she dies."
"I can't expose myself!"
The line clicked off. He suddenly picked the porcelain depiction of the Holy Kaaba and threw it across the room with a cry of frustration. It smashed against a wall. He froze at the sacrilege and quickly prayed to Allah for forgiveness. Lesser men had been killed for such religious offences.
That night, he had a dream. A naked Tare was performing fellatio on him, to enable erection before sex with one of his other wives, in a twosome.
'He couldn't get it up with other women unless I was present,' Tare had revealed to her abductors; her intuitive response to encourage them. The ransom had been put at one billion in Nigerian naira.
To say Ed was insane would have been a terrible understatement, but his intelligence was unquestionable. A sudden demonic expression came to his beautiful face, he was indeed effeminate, when he ordered the beheading of the victim. Sharia style.
With unimpeachable loyalty, an operative lifted a gleaming machete and on the descending arc, Tare screamed. The fear and the horror on her face were frozen in time.
"Stop!!" Ed held up a hand.
"Let's go southwards, the candidate is coming to the north."
Kazeem decided to attend the private meeting simply out of courtesy and not curiosity, he knew what the agenda was. As he drove straight from the campaign grounds at the stadium, he received a voice message on his mobile phone.
'RM tonight. ID more TC at your end.' Simple yet cryptic, he thought as he nailed the Ferrari 812 GTS. towards the venue.
Sitting quietly in his car he watched as they drove in convoys into the grounds of the NAF Conference Center and Suites on Kado, Abuja.
With his car parked in the street, he walked leisurely into the hotel and made for the conference hall following the direction tags.
Kazeem smiled secretly to himself and toyed with the idea of a sudden bomb blast. And all the pretentious vermin; eating Nigeria up like termites, would be gone for good. But not yet.
Soon, they were all seated. The top echelon of the People's Emancipation Party. They exchanged fake greetings and threw in some half-hearted pleasantries and corny jokes. Some of them even laughed without shame at the lame jokes like drunken sailors.
"At this time, we must formally welcome our special guest in the person of Mr. Kazeem Olanbiwonnu to our midst this afternoon. His presence here at this time, that is, fresh from his campaign at the stadium, tells us that he is a real businessman who knows the true value of time. Welcome, sir. You must be very tired, so we'll go straight to the reason for this gathering. Alhaji Bashir Faisal, our BoT chairman will continue from here. Welcome, once again, sir."
Kazeem mumbled something and smiled pleasantly at them. His eyes were busy taking in every significant detail possible. The hall was carpeted red and large. The intricate design of the chandeliers. The lace and red damask table linen. The fabrics of their
expensive garments. Their sitting postures.
From his copy of the department's research on them, he knew everybody; their
families, business bias, extra-marital affairs, party designations, portfolios of office, et cetera. But, to them, he was a ghost. Everybody knew he was Otunba's son. Nothing more, apart from the obvious. For some moments, he was lost in thought and missed part of the chairman's opening speech, but he suddenly realized that everyone was silent and seemed to be expecting a remark from him. Kazeem shifted his gaze from one to the other. There were fifteen of them in the hall. The women leader and secretary to the board was looking calmly and pointedly at him. The dossier had said concerning Sadiya Muhammad; 'Dangerously conservative but could lean whichever way when there is a suggestion of sexual gratification, husband; Sambo Muhammad, brother to the flag-bearer, is technically impotent.' He shifted in his seat and slowly ran his left hand from the wrist to the tip of his index finger along the tip of his nose and winked. She looked away briefly.
Zaharadin Yahaya; a sitting senator, grunted impatiently as he reached for a bottle of spring water.
"I do not need you to win the election though my party is small yet, we do not want to be defiled by your 'loot and let loot' ideology. Perhaps if Mrs. Muhammad would agree to run with me, I will reconsider."
"Now, you insult us, ko?" Zaharadin bangs his bottle on the table.
"Take it as you see it, Senator but we cannot see eye-to-eye on this one. At some
point, you and your party will want to manipulate and control me, that's what I do not want to contend with because, at the end of the day, you will say I bit the finger that
fed me. Money and more money is not my end game. That's not the reason I became a politician. I just want to do right by the people."
"I see. We know you are rich. But is it not your father's money?"
"Senator, that was uncalled for." Sadiya assumes animation.
"Why? Are you considering his bait?" Zaharadin was upset.
"I see your point Mr. Kazeem but in Nigerian politics, the president is greater than the party. So, I want to allay your fears concerning control."
Kazeem turned to Alhaji Faisal, the last speaker.
"Yes, because the party leadership is short-sighted. No leader is greater than the party that fielded him. Without the backing of the party, there can't be a presidential candidate. The party chairman is supreme. Your greed has blindfolded you to that fact," Kazeem countered irritably.
"In fact, if the president insists on pursuing an anti-party agenda, he's disowned by the party and the BoT. Let's discuss this when I return to Lagos. A virtual meeting would be adequate. I have a migraine at the moment. I think it's the constant travel. I will send you the link and passcode." He concluded, getting to his feet. The party chieftains leaned back in their seats, knowing when they have been decently dealt a slap on the face.
Fresh from the bathroom, he decided to examine the snippet of the tape Ed had sent him that afternoon containing a scene from the abduction operation and if he hadn't been briefed on the contrary, he would have believed. It was a perfect fake. The scream was real and he wondered how Ed got that. The man is a genius. He watched as Ed gave the damning command and the rising and the descent of the machete.
The head of the girl dropped and rolled on the floor with its face in a fixed deathly grimace. It was shocking. The camera zoomed in on the body twitching in death throes.
A gentle knock came on the door of his hotel suite; he promptly deleted the file.
"Who?" He responded as he walked down the short corridor in a toweling robe. He opened the door knowing that there were at least ten armed agents from the department on that floor and the ones below and above. They were just there unbidden. Perfectly blended with the environment. Even the maids.
Sadiya was beautiful, there was no doubt, being half-Egyptian was another plus. And Kazeem instantly knew what brought this night visit.
"Welcome, Hajia. I take it that you've accepted my offer." He said with a boyish smile.
"Absolutely, Kazeem. How is the migraine? I brought medicine," she said as she walked into the suite. All chiffon, satin, perfume, and bangles like a belly dancer. He smiled, also knowing the nature of the cure.