TOLU'S LETTER

I got my phone number back two months after Maria's visitation. I figured there was no point hiding away anymore; if the police wanted me, they would have gone to the phone company to get my address and they would have arrested me by now. Joseph probably threw my phone away before the police got to them and that's why they have not come after me. But, in retrospect, I think the reason I got the line back was because of the call I received the next day after I got the line back if you believe in fate.

'Hello,' the person on the other end said when I picked the call. 'Is this Mr. Paul?'

'Yeah?'

'My name is Patrick.'

I was silent for a couple of seconds trying to remember which Patrick it was. 'Yeah?'

'I am...was Tolu's friend.'

'Tolu?'

'Yes. He gave me your number. He asked me to call you.'

'Yeah? What does he want?'

The voice on the other end hesitated. 'He asked me to give you a letter,' the voice said. 'I am at Jibowu Park in Lagos trying to send it to you. Do you know Bonnyway transport? I am sending the letter through them. You can pick it up in Jos by noon tomorrow.'

'Where is Tolu?' I asked. 'Can I speak with him?'

'The letter will explain everything,' he said. There was another hesitation. 'Pick it up tomorrow and you will understand everything. But you have to pay bus for the service. I don't have the money to pay from here.'

'Why would I want to do that?' I asked.

There was another pause before he said: 'This is important; it's a matter of life and death.'

Something in his voice caught my attention. 

'Okay,' I said. 'But where is Tolu? Is he okay?'

Silence.

'Hello?'

Silence.

I check my phone. The line was dead. I redialed the number. The network told me the phone had been switched off. 

Who is this person? I thought. Is he a fraudster? A kidnapper? And where is Tolu?

I got to the Bonnyway Bus station the next day before noon. I paid a thousand naira to get the letter and walked out of the park feeling excitement and fear tearing my heart at the same time. I tore the envelope open, and a folded sheet of paper fell out of it and floated to the ground, reminding me of Maria's appointment letter. I picked it up and noticed the greasy stain on the edges of the paper. 

I opened it with trembling hands and my eyes found the date on the top right-hand side of the letter; it told me the letter was written three months ago. 

My eyes moved downward:

Paul,

If you read this letter, it means I am gone. I have asked my new friend, Patrick, to write this letter because I think I have a day or two to live. We are on the way to Libya, trying our luck for Europe. I got sick two days ago from eating meat that must have been poisoned. I have gone to the toilet close to thirty times after eating the meat and I know I am dying. Our truck broke down yesterday and we are waiting for another to come, but I don't think I will be following them. Most of the other passengers are afraid to come close to me and I am too weak to continue on the journey.

I apologize for running off the other day. I was scared of the gang, and I left for the village that night. I have been in the village until the idea of going to Libya and crossing the Mediterranean came up. Well, it's another bad idea as the idea of the kidnapping—as you can see.

I am not afraid of dying though. In fact, death seemed to be easier than living in our country, don't you think so? Our leaders send us to early graves and send their children to study abroad.

Forgive me, Paul. I hope you forgive me, because it will mean a lot to me.

Goodbye,

Tolu.

This was written under Tolu's name: He died the next day.

I folded the letter slowly and placed it back into the envelope. Tolu's face came to my mind and remembered the first day we met. He was full of energy, and no one would have believed that his life will be snuffed out six months later.

'God,' I muttered. 'Another potential, wasted.' 

The tears fell in spite of my resolve not to let them out. They flowed freely, warming my cheeks and neck, and some splashed on the front of my shirt. I walked home in that blurred vision, knowing that's how most youths in this country go through life.