“Hello mate” was what I heard when I was carried away by the PS2 on my phone.
“Hello” I replied without looking up.
“Is the seat taken?” he said with an American accent, and that was what distracted me from my phone.
He was actually referring to the seat on the opposite end of my table.
I looked up and saw a somewhat tipsy looking man, bald head, clean shaven, and on his feet, very heavy and gigantic boots which seemed heavier than those worn by soldiers.
It was dark but I could say he was not looking bad.
He sat on the plastic chair even before I replied his question. Well, I did not even reply him, “Why did he bother asking if he was going to sit anyway?” I thought.
I gave him my full attention waiting to rebuke him if he would make advances at me, since I knew that it was one of the ways men started a conversation with ladies they like.
It was not remotely possible that I looked like a woman even in darkness for a man to have thought I was.
That he had to speak with phonetics and American accent to impress me was enough for me to start gathering momentum to rebuke the gay in him.
“Why are you sitting alone and taking soft drink? You should have something strong” and that confirmed it for me. “He is gay.” My naive mind concluded
I felt it was a subtle way to buy a drink for me, at least I know that line in movies. Men use it on girls all the time.
I was about to be vehement in words with him when he proved to me how wrong I was. “You look like the brother to my ex girlfriend so I was compelled to come closer”.
I was so ashamed of myself, even though I did not say what i intended.
I was ashamed nonetheless.
It also occurred to me that he was not faking his accent after all, and with that I allowed myself to be impressed by his command of English.
“My ex made me what I am today: A drunkard. I came here to drink. I don’t have a penny but the manager of this place knows me. So even if I don’t have money, he gives me drinks.
I am always drunk for that is the only way I don’t get suicidal. Before you say anything, I know it is not good. There is nothing you will say that I have not said to myself so please….”
“I was not going to say anything anyway” I said. “Great” he replied.
We enjoyed some minutes of silence while my eyes were fixed on his furrowed forehead that extended to the either sides of his head. Being that he had a clean-cut it was easy to notice.
That was the first time I saw a young-adult with furrowed head and forehead. I have only seen old men like that.
I Imagined how much furrowed his face looked anytime he got angry.
“I left for the United States many years ago. My girlfriend facilitated the process because she was already there.
When i landed, I realised, though she had a job, she had male clients as side hustle if you know what I mean”.
“I do know what you mean” I replied.
Well, i didn’t like what she was doing but since I was only new there, it wouldn’t have been nice to start running her life. So I let her be but worked hard to be on my own.
When that happened, I called her, sat her down, and told her I knew what she was doing so if the relationship would continue she had to stop.
She accepted but I found out she didn’t stop and I was not going to stay with her as appreciation for bringing me over. The filth was choking me. So I called it quit.
She threatened me like she owned my life but I did not take her seriously. By the way, I didn’t have the plan to return to Nigeria.
I made sure I had assets in Nigeria but it was based on eventuality but I never ever thought of returning.
I was in front of my apartment that morning when they arrived. Two policemen and I swear to you they didn’t allow me go back inside even for a second.
I had money in my apartment (I cannot remember the amount he told me but from the conversation I knew it was enough to set him up in Nigeria).
How could I have known that my coming out of my apartment would be the last time I saw inside of it?. There, immediately I was taken away to be deported.
It was my girlfriend that set me up“.
I was sitting there and listening to him narrate his story and I did not want him to stop talking because I was enjoying his English. His aptness, diction, and phonetics were pleasant to hear.
I judged and beat myself up. Instead of listening sympathetically I rather felt entertained by him and I tried to decipher but that part of me that wanted to be entertained had the better of me.
“When I landed Nigeria with my only possession being the clothes I had on, I reached home dejected and rejected.
“I asked my widowed mum of my house and lands so that I could sell and start life but my mum’s response crushed me. ‘What house?. What land?’ ‘I sent my younger brother money to build a house and buy lands and he did. He even sent me pictures’ I told my mum. ‘I always sent money to you through him for your upkeep too’ but she said she had never got money from him in my name.
“My blood pressure skyrocketed immediately but I had to give myself some hope that maybe just maybe he kept it away from my mum.
I didn’t have a phone but my mum called him that I was home and I needed my things, I asked my mum to pass the phone to me so I could speak to him.
He was so excited to hear from me and said he would hit the road the following morning to see me.
My younger brother talking to me in that manner dissipated my fear and I was already planning the business to establish.
He didn’t come as he promised but called and begged me to give him till weekend that work wouldn’t let him.
Of course there was nothing I could do but be patient.
Weekend came and left yet he didn’t show up and even stopped picking his calls afterwards.
I called him with another number and he picked but when he heard my voice he ended the call.
He texted me later that there was no money nor land.
The text lacked remorse. It hurt me badly that I broke down in uncontrollable tears.
I wanted to end it all but for the sake of my poor mother who would have followed me immediately, I couldn’t do it and even after five years I have not felt any less hurtful.
My ex is still in the United States. Her younger brother too.
So you can imagine my shock when I saw you. You look very much like him.
You remind me of my pains. Not like the pain ever left but you are a reminder”.
As he said that, he bit his lower lip and made a fist with his right hand, placing it on the table. His knuckle directly facing me and shut his eyes and began to mumble only God knows what.
I became apprehensive but as a man, I acted normal.
“No, not a chance. I won’t be beaten because of some guy who lives in the United States that does not know I exist.” Was my silent thought.
So I took the only bottle on the table which happened to be the only improvised weapon around and held it tightly under the table with both hands.
I didn’t grab the bottle to use it on him, I grabbed it just in case.
I was not going to sit around for some man to hit me with a bottle because I looked like his ex’s brother, I just
had to be proactive.
There was only but one reason I picked up the bottle and held it under the table: To prevent him from having the only weapon around to harm his ‘ex’s younger brother’.
No! I don’t fight. I was not going to fight him even if he wanted to.
The last time I fought was in primary five. Even when Kayode and I were fighting that day, all the time I swung my hand to hit him with my fist, none came close to landing on him.
He kept moving backwards without replying a blow. It was a complete waste of swing from me. The painful part was that even though we did not touch each other while fighting we were punished by receiving 60 strokes of cane each on our buttocks from our classroom teacher.
It was definitely a wasted fight, wasted energy and a painful punishment for a fight that was not a fight at all.
Imagine for over fifteen minutes that we were fighting, Kayode did not touch me and i did not touch him. It was a draw, harmless fight. What kind of fight was that? Well, that is by the way.
So I kept watching this man stiffen his body in pains. I knew that apart from his fist the only thing he could use on me was the bottle which I was drinking from. So I made it unavailable for him.
At least that moment I also shared his pain, somehow. While is blood pressure was rising because he saw someone who looked like his ex’s brother, my blood pressure was also rising because I was scared I would lose a tooth by his fist. Maybe four teeth because his four knuckles were prominent enough to cause serious damage.
I did not expect a man who had nurtured pain for a long time, seeing the younger brother to the very person that caused him pain to let his fist easy on him. Five years of pain was in the fist he dropped on the table so it was only natural that I had to be worried for my life.
The only passage out of where I was sitting was by him, and if he did not allow, then, through him, and that was a concern for me. “Of all days it has to be the day you are cornered that you have to look like this man ex’s brother” I said to myself still trembling inside.
A sudden movement from me could result to a sudden fist on my jaw. I did not want my jaw shifted and surely it was not the time to tempt a wounded lion so i had to sit put, indecisive.
When I looked at his knuckles still directly facing me, I struck a deal with God.
Being that it was a Saturday night, I asked God to make the man keep his iron fist to himself and I would go to church the next day.
I would have gone to church even if I did not have an encounter with the man but I ran out of ideas so I brought up that deal.
With that deal, I asked the man with fear: “What is it?” If I were the third party or I was somewhere listening to someone else asked him that question I would have said it was a stupid question. The man was clearly in pain. That was what it was. Even a blind man could see it. I knew that but I asked nonetheless.
The idea of asking him that question was to determine what his fist was meant for. Luckily he told me what I wanted to hear: “I am fine. I will be fine.”
You cannot imagine the relief I felt. As a result, i slowly but confidently returned the bottle I was holding back on the table after emptying the remaining content in my mouth.
There and then my fear was replaced with sympathy for him, I then placed my hand on his shoulder and was fondling with it and he cried comfortably.
He stood up after some sort of relief and wiped the tears off his face with the back of his palm and told me he was going inside to get some drinks for it was his evening routine.
I could not but ask him “what would you have done if I were your ex’s brother?” and he replied “but you were not”. “What if I were though?” I insisted “but you were not though” he won’t bulge.
With those responses I realised that it would be disastrous if the man was to meet either his ex or his ex’s brother.
The funny part is that I will not recognise him even if I see him today. Perhaps if he speaks I will, but then, i cannot remember his voice. Though one thing I know for sure is that if good English was the one and only criterion to get a job in Nigeria that man could top the list of the most wanted in the labour market.
Sanusi Lamido Sanusi and Chimmanda Ngozi Adichie are the two Nigerians I love listening to speak but my! that guy was great
“Where is he now?. Is he still wasting away? Is he still alive?” I ask myself these and many more.
By the way I also kept my end of the deal and went to church the following day and prayed for him.
