DREAMS PART 2

My name is Francis Itohan, and I’ve lived all my life in an environment that characterized the epitome of affluence and poverty. Development was minimal, poverty was rampant, and insecurity was undeniably present, famine was a regular, injustice resided in the neighborhood, kidnapping was now on the loom.

Weird as it could be that some don’t have good water to drink the others use a tank of water to wash their cars every morning, while some don’t have transport fare some roll in convoy, while some can’t find a place to lay their heads others build bungalows for dogs, while some are looking for food to eat we most organize buffet and at the end wasting these foods, while some don’t have clothes to wear others fill their wardrobes with what they will never wear, with insufficient police officers to guide the populace some keep thirty in their compound. The rich could do whatever pleases them and go away with it because justice resides with them.

Of these two one would wonder which I belong; none, I was in the middle class in a society that draws energy from the lower class to enrich the upper class thus suffocating the poor. Growth was restricted in all aspects of life, social, mental, religious, academic even physical. It was suffering and smiling all the way down. Growing up was fun at my level because I don’t have to think too much of where it was coming from, my parents need to get it. From my nursery through primary to secondary and lastly to the university I’ve always been the genius that everyone knew. I was the best in all thoughts of life apart from money. Read all the books in the world on how to get rich quick and discovered they don’t work in our society. Nigeria is greater in diversity than the “think and grow rich and rich dad poor dad” thing. One thing works in this country; if you can’t beat them join them. The truth is you can’t beat them.

I’m an epitome of frustration. The world seems to hate me and I don’t want to run to church because of hunger. Our fathers and mothers seem to be good liars because with their toners of story this country called Nigeria was once a good country. How did it depreciate to this level that it has lost all her flavours.  They all bought milk at 30kobo, when Volkswagen beetle was N300 and it was free education all the way. I don’t know if some of you remembered there were little or no armed robbers in the villages. And they all had jobs when they finished secondary school not even university. They lived in a jungle with no crime but brought us to a city which urbanism has destroyed.

Many mothers were teachers, nurses or traders creating time for their children but suddenly all these issues I’m talking about became dreams impossible for the present day young Nigerian to achieve. 

The accounts department packaged my money and gave me. I counted it in shame as I walked out of the company. I didn’t know the next step to take but I know I must stay where I am. I looked around and saw a more frustrating Lagos.  Since the death of y parents life has changed from being average to below poverty level. I feed from hand to mouth and savings was an abomination to me. What do I even have to save though? I resorted to a relocating but I won’t tell my landlord before he arrests me because of the eleven months house rent I owe. It was a long trek to ikeja from my office but to me it was a stroll. I got to khalif’s house and saw him drafting a proposal. He is also a jobless man but a better street boy than me. He lives on lies and he is capable of doing everything. From estate agents to oil and gas, sales rep, he even arranges affidavits and fake documents all in a quest for survival. He bought two sachet of water for me. It was chilling, which helped to quench the thirst generated from the sun. Who are you writing a proposal for I asked? I’m going to Abuja he said. What for…… guy I don tire for Lagos. I want to be close to the source of the national cake. I bought the idea and asked if I could come. Why not he answered with the assurance that we have an accommodation with an old friend of his who lives at Mpape district in Abuja. 

The next day, we took night bus to arrive Abuja in the morning. It was a ten hour drive and when I saw the glamour in the capital city I knew it was a venue for your dreams to come true. The wide roads and beautiful landscapes caught my attention and the way they smiled like they had no problems was attractive. I pitied my landlord; he is waiting for me to come back. He should sell the lantern and half mattress I have left in the room, I don’t care. As we alighted from the bus and stepped on the roads of Abuja, I knew I was a millionaire. I brought out ten naira from my pocket and walked to an aboki to buy Benson. I lit it and walked to the street to meet Khalif who was making a call. It was the third drag before a truck parked beside me and a man came out saying I’ll be paying a fine of five thousand naira for smoking in public. I was surprised at what he was saying thus I built a deaf ear. Two policemen walked towards us and told me to cooperate else I’ll be charged for ………. Something I can’t remember. I quenched the cigarette at this stage and started pleading.  Sorry man your fine is five thousand naira. Haaa for just smoking ten naira cigarette! My complains and appeals worked no magic, and the next point was Utako police station. The whole dream of becoming a great man in Abuja is going down the drain again. 

We were four in the cell I was kept. There I met Mustapha; a son of a retired general and my dream changed