7 Lies. A Collection Of Short Stories By A.Adesanya

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. 7 LIES A C O L L E C T I O N O F SH O R T S TO R I E S ADELEKE ADESANYA © PUBLISHED ONLINE @ HTTP://KIIBAATI.BLOGSPOT.COM 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 1 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. MONDAY, DECEMBER 24, 2007 Author’s Comment When I started this project late last year, I just wanted to write. That was not an easy goal, especially with the day job so I set my self a target; twelve short stories before December, at the rate of one submission per month. The collection was to be titled 12 Lies and Other Stories because one of the stories I was inspired to write will have that title. 12 Lies as a story has however developed a life of its own and will now become a chapter in a fictional novella I intend to finish next year. As you can see, I was able to write seven stories and my mind is already into other projects. So I am renaming this blog 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories. I thank all the bloggers and readers who have taken time to visit this blog and read my work. I also appreciate your kind comments (which encouraged me) and criticism (which enlightened me about my weaknesses). Special thanks to a particularly harshly critical blogger who am sure will prefer not to be named. Because of your reviews, I have come to my senses and will still be keeping my day job J Please dear reader, when you read these stories, if you feel like expressing an opinion or a comment, you can still use the comment box or send me a mail at kiibaati (at) gmail (dot) com. I love you all. 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 2 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. CONTENTS Page The Vagrant 4 The Legend of Andrew Zubair 9 16 Call Me Delicious A Night with Friends 20 The Area Boys Strike 26 The Test 33 39 Blind spot 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 3 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. The Vagrant I watched the sphere of red blood widen from my left breast, broad and free, until you could not tell the source of flow. I felt no ache; just a numb feeling that started from my toes and is spreading all over my body, towards my head. I am lying in the snow with my back flat against the ground. Like a film reel, images from the past flash before my eyes as I experience what an imaginary onlooker may rightly call death throes but is really not different from an overdose of morphine induced bliss Two Years Ago quot;You have to leave now, Tade,quot; she said. quot;I am married now and this has to stopquot; I am sitting on her husband's sofa, butt naked, drinking his best chardonnay, laughing hysterically. Fifteen Years Ago quot;Tade, do you love me?quot; quot;Buki, do you still doubt it?quot; quot;I can never get you to answer straight. Are you evading me? quot;A moment ago, I was sure you are the one doing much of the dodging. Now if you would come back inside, I will show you the best I know of declaring uninhibited love Fourteen Years Ago quot;Hello, Tadequot; quot;Hi, babyquot; 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 4 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. quot;It's me, Bukiquot; quot;Of course I know it's you. Did you think there was any one else?quot; quot;Am sorry, I didn't mean that way. Anyway, we need to talk.quot; quot;We are talking right nowquot; quot;I mean face to facequot; quot;Buki, I can't stand the suspense. Say what you have got to sayquot; Ten Seconds Later quot;Buki, are you still there? quot; quot;Yes, I amquot; quot;Then do your talkingquot; quot;Tade quot; quot;Yes?quot; quot;Am Pregnantquot; quot;Bitchquot; I dropped the phone. Five Years Ago I dialed W-I-S-D-O-M on my cell phone for the quote of the day. A second later I got a text message. quot;There is nothing like a good or bad death. But there is a good life and the vagrant life. It depends on the choices you makequot; I deleted the message immediately but could not forget it. Thirteen Years Ago quot;Buki, how could you have done such a thing? How could you have gotten rid of our baby? Without asking for my permission? How dare you? quot; 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 5 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. And I slapped her. Ten Years Ago quot;Buki, I still love you. You have to understand that what we share is different. I don't love her; I am just doing this for my political career. She is the emir's daughter and marrying her is my guaranteed ticket the Federal House Of Representatives. But don't worry; I'll be there for youquot; quot;Tade! Tade! Tade! Do you take me for a fool? How come it's now easy to say I love you when I can see it means absolutely nothing? You don't love her but you have already impregnated her. And she gets to keep it, plus a wedding ringquot; quot;Stop it woman before I descend on you. You are beginning to piss me offquot; Five Years Ago quot;Hello, it's mequot; quot;Ah, Chief The Honorable, congratulations oh. quot;I am in Ibadan on businessquot; quot;All the junk magazines are carrying the news quot; quot;I thought maybe we could see each other againquot; quot;About wining and dining at you second wedding...quot; quot;Hello, Buki, hello.quot; She hung up on me. Three Years Ago She wrote me a letter. quot;I don't want to see you again. I am leaving for Canada with my Baby. Yes, she is still alive. She has grown up to be a smart young lady. She has been dead to you and you are dead to us. 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 6 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. Don't come after me or you would make me do something I will surely regret. I don't want your money or power. You have taken so much from me. I am writing just to let you know I want you to leave us alonequot; Two Years Ago I slapped her again and again. Through her tears she said, quot;Is that what makes you a man? To forcefully take a woman? Rape me, in my matrimonial home? Tade, you have outdone yourself!quot; I laughed. Twenty Minutes Ago quot;Hello, it's mequot; quot;You, who? Is that Tade?quot; quot;Yes, am in town, just thought I'd give you a call...quot; quot;Tade, don't tempt mequot; I laughed. Five Minutes Ago I rang the doorbell and heard Buki ask, quot;Tade?quot; quot;Yesquot;, I replied. The door was opened by a white Caucasian male, about six feet going seven, with the build of Hulk Hogan, belly bulge and all. And then a thunder storm of blows. He kicked pushed tossed me out of the house back into Manitoba's winter. He was talking partly to me, partly to himself. 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 7 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. quot;You have guts. You have guts. You come to my home, a cop's home, you rape my wife. Then two years later, you come back knocking at my door. They say you are an ambassador now. You are supposed to be in Bolivia. Bet nobody knows you are here. Surely, neither your government nor family knows you are here. I'm not gonna arrest you, not today. You are getting none of your immunity. Today, you get a red neck vengeance. And when am done, am gonna write you up as the vagrant that been going round this neighborhood. You may be god all mighty in Nigeria but you're a bleeding vagrant in Manitobaquot; More punches. Then he stopped and walked into house, leaving me in the falling snow. I was crawling my way away when I heard the first gunshot. I turned around, and then realized the first shot was just to get my attention. He was aiming to shoot me from the front. I didn't hear the second shot; I only saw the solitary bullet flying towards me. I thought of some last words but all I could think of was one word. Vagrant. 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 8 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. The Legend of Andrew Zubair In all my teaching experience, in Suruleria University and elsewhere, I have never heard of the chronicles of an academic career to rival that of Andrew Zubair in its ability to inspire. It is the story of a young man who found out that doing what was just enough was never going to be sufficient but going for the extra notch leads to astounding scores. I remember when he first came on campus, with all his worldly belongings in a nylon bag. He was dressed in what might have been military extras, a khaki trouser that was once black but was now light grey, leather hand me down shoes that might have had battlefield experience and a black t-shirt. Over the next four years, this costume he wore always till you began to wonder whether they were really clothes or body paint tattooed on him in that peculiar design. The son of a soldier father and itinerant trader mother, he had an important goal in mind. Even before he completed his admission process, he was at my office to extract the fulfilment of a promise. In those days, the government of the city of Suruleria instituted a scholar scheme for outstanding students in the university entrance exam. The first five best students get to receive tuition free education and a yearly honorarium, sufficiently generous to cover other essentials, for the entire period of their degree course. That year, A.Z as I came to know him, had come fifth in the entrance exams and came calling to claim his entitlements. There four others like him but they were so unlike him, in poverty, in single mindedness, in tenacity. It was my first year as Student s Affairs Officer and those were 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 9 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. trying times for the funding of education in Suruleria. How was I to tell this indigent scholar, that he had been sold on a myth? For then, there was a new government who did not care much about honouring promises. In the blink of an eye, all in the name of economic reconstruction, a hunk of funding was cut off from the education sector. Over the next few years, the austerity measures were tightened till soon it became tough call getting sufficient funding to pay salaries; at the end, the academic staff had to be right sized. Endowment of scholarships was a luxury we could not always afford. Somehow, I was able, with accustomed tactfulness, to convey to this skinny young man with small head and big bulging eyes, that the scholarship he won had been scrapped. I remember he told me that he had postponed his further education twice when he got previous admission offers without a scholarship, so this disappointment was a pathetic. But I found the verve to advise him that if he could somehow come across a way finish the sophomore year, he could compete on merit basis for a yearly scholarship for the best three students in each class in the coming year. His eyes lit up like huge megawatts fluorescent bulbs when he heard these. Yes, he would go for that challenge. He had a little cash saved over the past few years; he would be able to pay for the first semester. If only he could get a job on campus. I promised to help. Two weeks later, Andrew Zubair accepted appointment as a janitor. I dispatched the other four also but they were not so indigent, had parents who could sponsor them. I never saw them again. For some time, I forgot about AZ also. It was all part of my job to tell them (students) the fact as it is. If in the process, I am able to inspire a few and solve some problems, I am just doing my job. 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 10 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. But during the preparation for the next annual budget, I had the presence of mind to ensure that three annual scholarships were provided for in each class set as was the custom in previous years. Well, we get to propose but top management dispose. Five scholarship slots were eventually approved but they would be competed for at each level by all the departments. The news of this slight change in the modus operandi of the scholarship scheme was not disclosed to the student populace until the beginning of the next year. Our good friend, A.Z, by the way, by then had topped his class but was sixth when graded across departments. The disappointing news (for A.Z, that is) about the change in the structure of the scholarships was announced via the Student Affairs Department notice board. The also-rans were advised to strive harder as henceforth, only five scholarship positions will be available across all departments each year. So we started another new year with new conflicts, new challenges, and new problems. Only we strive to cure them with the same old solutions. AZ was now in his second year, and as I learnt, was doing well at his janitor job. He even got promoted to Janitor grade II. Being a janitor is not exactly sexy but it kept him in the school. I was amazed that he could juggle his fulltime job with janitorial responsibilities but a guy had to do what he had to do. At some point, I would sometimes wonder how AZ might have felt about all the disappointments meted to him. Whatever were his misgivings, he did not allow them to affect him as he once again led his class, this time coming fifth across departments. Unfortunately, the trustees of the endowment fund set up to 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 11 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. finance the scholarship did not live up to their promises. They claimed that the funds were invested in stocks which had performed badly in the capital market. As a result, it was prudent to limit the scholarships to the best three students, instead of five. The University management accepted these recommendations in full and implemented it. Thus, no scholarship was offered to AZ in his third academic year. I was at the staff club, nursing chilled beer and hot spicy pepper soup with my colleagues when I heard of his third year results. His head of department, who was elated, ordered a round of drinks for everyone. AZ had scored all A+, a perfect 5.0 GPA for that year, in some cases scoring 100% in some courses. It was a first time in the history of Suruleria University. I told myself that was no stopping AZ; he will finally get the scholarship he deserved in his final year. I heard that when the news first reached the students, there was a spontaneous procession through the centre of the Campus, with AZ being carried shoulder high. He had become an unlikely hero of some sort, an icon of resilience. The Campus Press Corps interviewed him and AZ was guileless enough to declare that he was motivated to achieve the feat by the desire to earn the annual scholarship so that he could quit his janitor job. That month s edition of The Campus News carried a banner headline, He Got All It From A To Z! You can imagine my peculiar discomfort when it became my lot to announce that there was a suspicion of fraud in the management of the university treasury department and moneys endowed to fund the annual scholarship, amongst other such funds, might have been looted. A panel of enquiry was set 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 12 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. up to determine the circumstances involved in the purported disappearance of the funds, whether due process had been followed in the management of the funds, to identify persons culpable in the matter and to make recommendations for better management of such funds as well as to suggest action to be taken against officers of the University that were found to be fraudulent or negligent. In short, there would be no scholarship for Andrew Zubair in his fourth and, as it was, his year. The Student Union took up his case and threatened to boycott lectures if the scholarship was not granted. In response, I was directed to inform the student body that the full weight of the University s byelaws as well as Suruleria s criminal legislations will be brought to bear on any one who foments trouble. AZ was smart enough to disassociate himself from all planned protests. There is a lot of wisdom in the sayings that an orphan should not get wounded at his behind, where his arms can not reach to nurse it and that one does not ask for who killed his father until he has learnt how to wield a cutlass deftly. Personally, I suggested that the Student Union put its money was its mouth is by sponsoring AZ for a year but they appeared unmotivated so to do. So AZ kept his janitor job. If a man could embody temperance, it was AZ. As if the emotional effect of his failure was not enough, he became the butt of disparaging comments from all sides. It was his bad luck, ill fated ness, negative karma that was his undoing. Why would someone named Andrew not come to church? Imagine; if he was a prayer warrior, all the hosts of heaven would have come down to fight his cause. The Muslims washed their hands off him; after all, it must have been his secret sins that he was now making penance for. Even the Kegites Society, Ilya Suru added 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 13 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. a new prayer to the coterie of their customary rites: May your case not be like that an uninitiated student, who passed his exams A to Z but never got the prize on prize giving day. Mayan! AZ was not distracted by all this. Indeed, it somehow seemed to strengthen him. He finished his final year on top of his class, and as the overall best graduating student. He continued to report at his janitor job until he went for youth service. I did not see him often after that and we did not converse person to person till the graduation ceremony. On the graduation day, the crowd was agog. The legend of Andrew Zubair, of a young man who did what he should do but whom life dealt unfairly with in return, had spread abroad by word of mouth. A few days before, a soft sell magazine had carried his story with a front page rider. The report was made up of half truths and bare faced lies because the editor relied mainly on hearsay and popular rumours but the naked facts were still evident. So all of Suruleria came to see this myth-i-fied man they had read about. As the class valedictorian, he expressed the usual courtesies to the dignitaries present. If he felt awkward about the crowd gazing at him like he was daemon, the paparazzi snapping away ala rock star, his comportment did not show it. In his speech, he thanked the school, perhaps tongue in cheek, for educating him, not only in academics but also in life, and expressed a desire to be part of the future history of the school, as well as he was part of its past. Done with his speech, he walked towards his Excellency, Prime Minister of Suruleria to collect his scroll, graduating with Bachelors Degree in Mathematics, First Class. I 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 14 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. did not pay much attention to that part of the ceremony; it was a boring rite. I expected that the usual handshakes and a short photo session. So I turned on the radio on my cell phone and listened to the latest premier league result via my Bluetooth earpiece. But I noticed the clapping did not subside. Indeed, the crowd had risen in excitement to give a standing ovation. Many were snapping away with the camera on their cell phones. I could not see the dais through the standing crowd so I asked my partner, who was also standing, what had happened. Excitedly, she replied with a smile from here to there, The Prime Minister has just announced the appointment of AZ as a junior minister for youth development... 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 15 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. Call Me Delicious I sat in a corner in Mr. Bigg's, waiting for her. She said she'll wear a red scarf and all afternoon I have been seeing red cars, red danger signs, red lipsticked lips of teenage girls, a Red Cross van with its ringing siren For the first time I had the time to notice that mud was some shade of red. My brain must be in the red like my bank account was. This could be my big break as I imagine it. After years of trying to be an online fraudster, I, as thick as I am in the head, gradually came to realize that I am not going to get rich that way. We were just too many teenagers trying to hoodwink supposedly dim-witted white men with the same scheme of scams. So maybe I turn my mind towards honest labour. Now what am I good at? I can read and write and speak good English like six million Lagos teens. Tick. I am physically fit, I gym sometimes. Tick. I have a nice smooth face; you are eighteen only once. Tick. I can't sing and I know it. Tick. I can't dance and I know it. Tick. I am lazy and I know it. Tick. I love the company of women. Tick. It took me but a couple of minutes to discover I certainly could pursue a short career as a stud to a rich and bored sugar mummy. It cost me fifteen naira to send a text to a tabloid newspaper. Delicious I am a 19 year old body builder with an appetite for life. Maybe it's because I lost my mum at an early age or because I grew up an only son amongst seven sisters but I have this huge crush for older women. If you need another man when Mr. Legal is not around, I can be your driver, swimming instructor, gardener, 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 16 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. date, lover, whatever I want to entertain you when you are bored and tickle you when you are not. And in between, I just want to be there if and when you want a man around. You don't have to smother me with mother love, unless that's kinky to you. We would just take care of each others needs discretely like good friends. If you want to be my mummy, call me and I'll be your sugar. And I promise, am delicious! It must be the ganja, am not normally as expressive as this. I sent the text anyway, counted the seconds, minutes, hours and days till the next edition hit the stands. Bought one, leafed through the magazine and saw my ad. It looked smaller than I expected and for a second, I wondered if nobody will see it. Well, they did see it. Same day I got a text. Go and read ur book, stupid boy. Sandra. Now, what was her problem? The magazine's Find True Love page was full of teen girls looking for Mr. Rich Dark Tall and Handsome and nobody begrudges them. So why should Sandra be on my case. She kept flashing and calling but I'd saved her number and didn't pick it. Psycho!. I got a lot of other texts saying I need Jesus. Must be Sandra's friends. Then nothing. I prayed to Jesus that my ad will attract just one Sugar mummy who will sponsor me and I'll be a good Christian, read my books, go to university, and keep only one girlfriend apart from sugar mum, stop smoking hemp and stop yahoo hustles . 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 17 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. And then Jesus heard my prayer. I mean, my phone rang. The lady had an accent like those women who act been-to roles in home videos. Been-to as in been to America, Europe or wherever rich people go to for holidays, education or when they want to escape persecution from their political enemies. 'Hello' quot;Hi, can I talk to, em, delicious' 'Hi, that's me. You must have seen my advert' 'Yes. You came across as sexy and intelligent' I laugh. 'I hear that all the time. Ah! Just kidding! You know, you sound cool too. And am not just saying it to get fresh with you.' She giggles nervously. 'Tell me about youquot; she said. 'I am six foot two, slender like a pole and well built. My only flaw is, I am as ugly as a frog. But if you kiss me, I might become your prince charming' 'You are charming me already. I'd like to see for my self. When can we meet?' quot;What about tonight?quot; 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 18 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. quot;No. Let's not rush it. Next week Friday. Around six PM. At Mr. Bigg's __________. Is that cool with you?quot; quot;Yeah .quot; quot;I'll wear a red scarf. See yah!quot; And she dropped. So here I am waiting for the past four hours. They are closing shop now. Gotta go home. May be she came without the scarf to check me out then changed her mind. Maybe she freaked out and didn't come. I'd never know. The only thing I know is, I gotta go home. 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 19 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. A Night with Friends My friend, Ayo, was the soul of any party. Listening to him tell a tale is like watching a practiced hand pour lager into a tumbler, the tiny bubbles rising up to form a glistening and inviting foam head, like an umbrella top shaped cloud. We were at my place, The Beer Parlor. It was Thank God its Friday Night, company executives in their three piece suits filled everywhere, drinking and talking noisily as they awaited the start of an Euro Cup Match on the 36 inches flat screen television hanging on the wall behind me. A few bachelors came accompanied but like most other Fridays, it was unofficially the Gent s Night at The Beer Parlor. Ours was the VIP table as Ayo would call it. Actually, it was just the closest to the television set. On my right and left were Afam and Zikeyi, both engineers in the Oil industry. Ayo was an insurance executive. Our quartet s friendship dated to our college days when we used to live and read together. They were still single and free. Sometimes I envy them. Ayo s sex life, for instance, was probably as interesting as what you could find strutting into the revolving door at one of my Night Clubs on Ladies Night. Ayo was telling us why he has also decided to employ a personal driver. You will not imagine what I go through sometimes, and am not just talking about the traffic , he continued, while drawing stick figures on the chilled film surrounding his tumbler with the tip of his mid finger. You know I was telling you about my new madam . We all laughed. Ayo had a new boss. He had told us about Dorothy, Ayo s Chairman s eldest daughter. The twenty four year old Oxford alumni had just 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 20 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. returned from her scholarly endeavors and daddy had seen it fit and proper to impose her on Ayo as his assistant so that she will learn about the business . Ayo knew better; he could recognize a next chairman in the making, even if she was light years away. We sometimes joked that Ayo could enhance his career prospects by mowing her lawn, in spite of her obvious aesthetical challenges. Sometimes, I wonder if he already has. What is so funny? he asked, looking askance. Any way, my story is not even about her. You see, one day I was driving home from work when, lo and behold, I saw her, this particular damsel, in distress. Her car had malfunctioned and the driver was lost regarding what to do. Plus it was one of those days in September when it rains as if it was not raining; you know those on and off drizzles that make you wonder if the rainmaker in some village was confused. So, here I was driving by, and considering that in my circumstances, a little eye service could go a long way. So that was how I went out of my way and ended up dropping her off at her suite in Apapa, like a proper gentleman should . He drank down his half empty glass, looked at me and said, raising it up, Is this cup leaking? I signaled a waiter to take care of that. Ayo continued. As I driving back to the other side of Lagos where we the masses live, I ran into a police checkpoint along Apapa Road. Those guys, they were causing a traffic hold up almost a mile long but business was good. They had barricaded the road with disused tyres and set a few on fire to serve as light beacons. Must have been half a dozen of them, they even had an agbero, a street tout who was collecting, on their behalf, neat and crispy fifty naira notes from commercial vehicle drivers as they drove by. That way, if trouble comes, perhaps in the form of a 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 21 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. special police task force happening on their operation, the agbero will disappear into the adjoining streets leaving no evidence of their extortionate activities. I had almost driven past their barricades when one of them asked me to stop. I looked up at him as if to say, What are you? He was a lanky young man, maybe still a teenager. But he had hungry eyes like a mangy stray dog. Even in the darkening evening light, I could see his uniform was wet dirt road dirty. His black uniform hung on him like he was a scarecrow. And he reeked of something cheap; a mixture of dried sweat, stale beer and cigarette breathe. I parked by the roadside and gave him my vehicle particulars even before he asked for it. It was always better to give these goons what they want and fast too. The boy cop stared at them so long, I wondered if he couldn t read. When he was done with staring, he asked me to open the bonnet and I did. What followed was a first experience in the checkered history of my life in this Lagos. Boy cop brought out torchlight, picked a piece of stick from the road side and proceeded to wash clean the dirt off the chassis number in the engine of my car, using spittle as a solvent. Yes, he spat at it, hoping to find a mistake versus the particulars. You know how they like stupid arguments like that is supposed to be .I was just looking at him, cool and calm like salad in the fridge. It vexed me plenty that he spat at my car. But they were many and some of them carry guns, so I was down for whatever. When he was done, he barked that I opened the booth for inspection. I complied, it was empty anyway. Boy cop audited the booth like it was a crime scene. Done with that, he started drilling me with such detail; he must have crammed a checklist. Fire extinguisher? Yes. Spare tyre? Yes. C Caution Sign ? Yes. 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 22 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. Etcetera, etcetera. By this time, I started to wonder for which of my sins were the gods of the road punishing me. It was getting late, about 9.30 ish. But why didn t you just settle? Afam asked. To settle in local parlance means to offer a bribe. I would have , Ayo replied, laughing, But this guy had such a hard look on his face. He would probably have charged me for attempting to compromise an officer of the law . We all joined in the laughter. Me, I was bursting at the seams. He continued. And when he was done with drilling me, he now requested for my driver s license. I gave him a photocopy, but no, he was not satisfied, he wanted the original. Now every driver in Lagos knows you must not give a policeman your original drivers license. He will simply hold on to it until you pay up. Boy cop said we have to go to the police station. Why? I ask. Produce the original? Boy cop asked back. I should have twenty four hours to do that Are you a lawyer? You can get one month to bring it at the station But you have seen the photocopy I replied, and then we started arguing like two kindergarten kids. You have to show me You have seen the photocopy It is not clear! It is! ..And that means you are driving without license and fake particulars Fake? What do you mean? I have been using this car for three years What do I mean? You know english and law? I will impound your car and charge you 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 23 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. By then, the two of us were causing some disquiet. It was getting rather dark and some of these goons had guns. I started to worry about my hardheadedness. Visions of me on a newspaper front page flashed before my eyes. Company Executive Shot by Police Stray Bullet . Other drivers were passing by, leaving me to an almost certain tragic fate. Some remainder of my commonsense prevailed. As calmly as I could, I did an about-face. Please, Sir (the idiots love the Sir word), this misunderstanding has gone on for far too long. I appreciate you are just doing you job professionally, as is expected. I apologize for being too forward. I said. And you wont believe me, as implausible as it seemed, Boy cop just chilled. He was cool about it all, saying trash like he has been risking his life since morning because of people like me; I can not know how difficult police work is, the police are my friend I was just saying yes sir . I then suggested that we start going to the police station, hinting that we can talk more as I drive along. I was relieved when he agreed. At least, we were leaving the check point. As soon I started the car, he told me that I should drive towards Ojo police station. I said nothing but in my mind I wondered what an Ojo cop was doing in Apapa. But I had my plan. The road was now free as we left the road block behind. I pressed down on the accelerator like crazy, heading for Lagos Island, doing 130, maybe 140. At first, Boy Cop tried to make small talk till he noticed that I was climbing the Third Mainland Bridge. He asked me to turn back. Maybe he thought I made a mistake. But when I accelerated even faster, he brought out his cell phone and was trying to call one Ramoni, saying I was kidnapping him. I drove on till we were midway 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 24 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. through the bridge. There and then, I stopped the car on a wholly deserted portion. I just stared menacingly at him without a word. Even I was scaring myself with eerie way I was silent, like some crazy serial killer in a badass home video. He tried to open the door but I had activated auto lock. He stared back at my bulk and chose his options carefully. Any unnecessarily stupidity could have resulted in a broken neck. His. I took the cell phone from him. He wanted to struggle but thought better of it and just let go. Quietly, I removed the sim card from his phone and returned it back to him. I put my hands into his pocket and took back my documents back. If you saw how placid and cooperative he was, you would think he had just found Jesus. I opened the door and let him out. As he walked away head bowed, resigned to his circumstances, he started to remove his shirt. I guess he wouldn t want an area boy to find him in uniform on the bridge at that time of the night. What a way to treat a friend , I said, turning round my chair to face the television. The Euro Cup match was just beginning. Which friend? retorted Ayo, Since that time, I have not been to Apapa. I don t want to run into any friends. And I tell my driver; whenever they stop you, give them fifty naira rather than any document and so we can move on 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 25 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. The Area Boys Strike You see, I am not a politician and so I don t have to be talking to the Press. But if I ever do (talk to the Press), it will be to educate them to understand that Agberò is a voluntary social insurance organization. My selection was free and fair. I did not seek power; it came to me. When, five years ago, our erstwhile leader, Rasheed was chosen to fill a political office, he chose me as his substitute. To assure the politicians that the change of baton was done without rancor, we invited them to witness the change of baton ceremony at which all our members pledged allegiance to me, and I to the State Governor. And for a long time we maintained the peace until a new police chief was appointed for the city. He was from the hinterland and did not really know Lagos, socially or politically. Lateef, that was his name, later went before the Press and declared war on Agberò or Area Boys. To him, we were just organized criminals, just like the mafia. Let me explain. A former education minister in this country once stated that only about ten percent of secondary school leavers proceed to the universities. Where do the remaining ninety percent end up? she wondered. I think she can not understand her problem because she was asking the wrong question. Unlike her, I am not great with statistics but reality tells me the water pot started to leak before it got to the river. At the current dropout rate, getting the young ones properly educated is like fetching water with a basket. Some will fall by the way side to start one apprenticeship or the other; tailor, mechanic, electronics repair, musicianship, traditional medicine practice, you name it. They will learn a trade. Those are the ones 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 26 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. with lucky destinies, with correct heads, as our people will say. Some of the rest will become thieves, either of the petty or armed variants. And nowadays, with the internet craze, more and more are becoming adept at online fraud. And then, some will become Area boys. They join the public transport business, otherwise called Agberò. When they have buses, they become drivers. When they don t, they serve as conductors. When they don t get even that, we still engaged them. Really, not everyone can be fully engaged all the time. Bus owners are not buying new buses anymore; they prefer to refurbish accidented vehicles. It s cheaper and the business is not really as profitable as it used to be. Hardly are these vehicles roadworthy for more than six months. At best, an investor will purchase a fairly used imported bus which can last only two years on Lagos treacherous roads. So from time to time, some buses must breakdown. Meanwhile, the boys must be accommodated, whether engaged or otherwise, or the devil will find errands for them. So they hang around the neighborhoods and keep the peace. There are conventions to which we all subscribe. When drivers pick up passengers at road junctions, in the spirit of espirit de corps, they pay a fee to the area boys in charge of that vicinity. Also, from time to time, special levies are required by the upper echelons of our organizations. These taxes are borne indirectly by commuters and go a long way in keeping the peace. As I said earlier, Agberò is a purely voluntary social insurance organization which practices an indigenous form of communal socialism. So when Lateef first came and started spitting fire, we thought it was as usual. Government people like to play to the gallery. They insult us in the Press but they come back to ask for our 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 27 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. help to make the city work. Some the armed robbers paraded by the police were usually actually handed to them by us. We know these things and we keep quiet because it takes two hands to wash clean and discretion is part of maturity. But this time, the police meant business and so caught us unprepared. Armed anti riot officers raided motor parks and bundled our members away in handcuffs. Plainclothes security operatives stormed bus stops and inner city hang outs to arrest our Agberòs with ample incriminating evidence of malfeasance. Even homes of some of our known area leaders were invaded and searched and my men were charged for possession of charms, arms and ammunitions. In less than one week, we had more than a thousand men behind bars. The police had declared war and they called it Operation Sweep. They even declared me a wanted person. At this point, I realized there was wisdom in retreating and left the city for my rural hometown outside Lagos. With the initial success of the police campaign, Lateef became an instant hero; just add water to taste. He was going from television to radio station, hugging the microphones. The Press was full of his praises. Transport fares within Lagos had reduced by half because extortion by Area Boys stopped. The police came out with statistics to show that crime rate had fallen significantly. Lagosians across all social strata expressed relief in safer streets. Even career politicians began to fear the rising popularity of the new Police Chief, who was not known to have political affiliations. But the crescendo of hosanna began to falter soon enough. First to hit the headlines was a bloody fight at an abattoir. Apparently some ill lead area boys were seeking to extort money from butchers, since their normal rendezvous at the motor 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 28 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. garage was out of bounds. Resistance from the butchers and rising tempers at being slighted lead to an armed struggle between the two warring groups. The consequence was startling in fatalities and gore. Tempers and daggers should never mix. But that was just the beginning. It was like an unruly army of mercenaries were let loose on the city. Unengaged area boys, not a few in the painful throes of cold turkey, were caring out poorly coordinated looting, just to make it a day. A pack of boys will just happen like stray mad dogs on a Shopping Mall and start a raid. Predictably, they fell to police fire power, like ripe cocoa fruits being struck by a sharp knife. Many of these incidents happened in broad day light and were covered by a life audience. The TV stations got the shops to give them their close circuit television footage and, for the first time, Lagos was watching crime and sudden death, live, like some sick virtual reality show. Gradually, Lateef started to get flack for crime being out of control. He went on air once again, hugging the mikes. He promised to be tough on crime and he was. Lagos has never seen so much violence in the streets before. Shops started to close at five in the evening and night life petered out. I like to think the level of crime was not really higher that before; only, that it was so much in your face. And that fed fear which lead to mass hysteria. People started to say he was too inexperienced to handle the big city. But Lateef s greatest undoing was self inflicted. To maintain order, he requested and got in reinforcement of officers from other states. Officially, it was the practice that transferred policemen get paid their relocation allowances after a month of resuming at a new location, although actually, it sometimes 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 29 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. took up to six months before they got paid. In the past, it didn t matter, Lagos was a generous city and a policeman who wasn t spendthrift could survive wholly on tips at the many good road duty points. An otherwise pious officer need not compromise himself in any way to get a piece of the deal. The Agberòs collect the takings directly from bus drivers and pass the proceeds off to the senior officer on duty. And the police will, in like spirit, look away from time to time to allow area boys settle in-house matters internally. Our world is a sort of stock exchange in which favors are traded. In one move, Lateef behaved like the proverbial tortoise that ruined his mother s burial party. When he banned Agberò, he got rid of the conduit for taking care of the morale of his men. In addition to this, he declared war on corruption, and unlike others before him, he meant it. Then he brought in hundreds of poor unpaid policemen to the city without adequate plans for their compensation. It is like smoking at a fuel station in a munitions dump. Initially, the officers tried to make ends meet by carrying out stop and search on all vehicles, private and commercial, (in the past, commercial vehicles were left off from police checks because of our mutual understanding) intending to extort money. This, you could imagine, increased the city s traffic bottleneck crisis by some measure. But the commercial drivers were not willing to pay up since Agberòs were not around to enforce cooperation. The conflicts kept getting worse, leading sometimes to fisticuffs. At least one death arising from a police stray bullet was reported. At this point, commercial drivers went on strike to request that Agberòs be allowed back on the roads. Issues came to a climax when the police trade union went to Press to threaten an indefinite strike in support their commercial driver comrades. 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 30 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. It was at this point that the governor and my former boss, Rasheed, who is now a commissioner, stepped in. They sent a message to me through my third wife that I should come back to Lagos. I arrived quietly but the newspaper boys somehow got the news and dared Lateef to arrest me. So I went to police headquarters myself, as a man of peace. After arriving unharmed, the idiot ordered that I be put in handcuffs. He called in the Press and played to the gallery, calling me names, showing no respect. He has no career prospects in this state. Apparently, the governor saw me on television and sent his aides personally to get me released and bring me to the state house. All the politicians were there, all trying to soothe frayed nerves. All begging that we sheath the sword and let bygones be bygones as if I started this palaver. All of them, saying the same things over and over again. I just held my peace, I am not a politician, I don t talk. Then I was taken to see the governor and Rasheed. They were alone, drinking beer, laughing and celebrating. Rasheed filled my glass and asked How was the village? The governor asked if I enjoyed my television interview. They laughed and I joined them. Rasheed said to me, If you start appearing on television like that, you will soon be a commissioner I laughed at that. Governor told me that Lateef is coming to join us. That I should not mind him, what happened earlier in the day was just politics. I should behave like an elder brother He went on and on. And then, Lateef arrived, not in uniform, but in an agbada gown. It was the first time I will see him in mufti. He prostrated for the governor and sat down with us. So we made peace. 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 31 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. Agberòs did not decide to go on strike. We did not plan to cause trouble for anyone. We always cooperate with government and the police. That is why my chieftaincy title is amuludun, He who brings mirth to the city . They said we should leave and we left. If I was the kind of person that talks to the Press, this is what I would say. But I am not a politician; I don t talk to the Press. 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 32 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. The Test My name is Helen and I am HIV positive These words ran on in my mind a zillion times, like the penance teachers used to give us in primary school. I wish I could be allowed to write those words a billion times, so I can let go of Tony s hands and run away from here. But I could not. We walked into the laboratory facility arm in arm like two lovebirds about to wed. I should be happy he is coming with me but all I could think of was me in front a camera, a half a dozen microphones, flashing lights and me saying My name is That is how all those adverts advocating against discrimination of HIV positive people used to end. They try to show that AIDS patients are ordinary people in different walks of life; not necessarily prostitutes or drug addicts. They try to show that being HIV positive is not the same as having AIDS. And HIV is not necessarily a death sentence. But as we like to say, actions speak louder that words or should I say social discrimination is thousands of decibels louder than any tolerance advocacy, for now. Madness is a normal human condition but nobody wants it in their family. By the counter was a nurse, about my age, putting final touches to the painting of her lips. It was about half past four: soon she will close for the day. She d probably drop by at her boyfriend s place on the way home. The mischievous sprite got the better of me. Excuse me I said, My name is Helen ______ and my boyfriend is Tony _____. We are checking up our HIV test result . She raised her shaved eyebrows in exaggerated distress, pursed her flaming red lips and scampered off without a word, as if we were two dangerous gnomes. I glanced at Tony standing arms crossed beside me, and threw him a mischievous smile. Either he 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 33 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. had just caught a cold or the air conditioner was working too hard. No, it couldn t be the a/c, I thought, as he wiped away another tiara of sweat from his brow with his bare hands. My smile was turning into a grim grin so I turned away to hide it. It is funny the different ways we react to some things. Tony is my boyfriend; okay, more like he wants to be. We are both early-twenties medical students at the University of _______. He is kind of cute, the kind of guy I am into. The last son of US trained academicians, he grew up well established in the upper class. They lived in Ibadan GRA, in an old colonial masterpiece that was their family house. The house, on an acre, with a gym, a pool and a tennis court, is virtually an empty nest now as all his siblings were scattered in far flung cities of Europe, America and Asia. Yes, his family was highly connected but he didn t need it; he aced his school certificate exams and got admission on his own merit. Unlike his elder ones, he chose to study in Nigeria so as to be near his parents in their old age. If Tony was prince charming, then I must be Cinderella. For me, growing up in rural Lagos was not rough but it helped me to decide that I wanted to do with my life. My parents practiced tough love; if I wanted something, I had to earn it. I earned a lot, including merit based scholarships. My life is now easy but it never was free. I got introduced to Tony through our mutual involvement in safe sex activism during our pre-medical school days. You know those fair weather societies that share glossy leaflets about safe sex and STDs, give out free condoms and mouth the mantra, Simple as A,B and C . But real life was not that simple. For one, the only HIV positive individual we could meet through the club was Linda, an employee of an international foundation 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 34 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. promoting AIDS awareness and she didn t even look sick. And as much as we talked the talk, it was hard getting anyone to come forward for voluntary testing. The unspeakable fear of being ostracized, if the result came out positive, was a dreadful deterrent to even teenage virgins. Up till now, as I noticed on the test forms filled by the laboratory attendant for myself and Tony, the common practice is to discretely refer to HIV tests as the XYZ test. There are some things we know and others we simply believe. But a personal encounter beats the memories of the mind or the faith of the heart. I had heard of the what and how of HIV quite early and unlike many people, I actually believed it was real. Commonsense taught me that the best protection was a cold bath taken at the appropriate time; it works best not before or after sex but instead. But with time, I too had done this and that, got the scar, but promised I won t do it again until I met another guy and the cycle continued. This was the way I lived until an incident showed me how my life was playing out, like I was looking at a mirror and seeing the future. It was just after secondary school, the matriculation exams were done with and I was waiting for admission into university. I had an admirer, a medical intern at General Hospital, _______ (I guess am a sucker for men of the stethoscope!) who kept inviting me to come visit him and catch some fun. So I gave some excuses at home, arranged unimpeachable alibis and went to see Mr. Man. Well, later that night, while jaywalking around the General Hospital in the company of young house officers, we encountered a scene that is familiar in many hospitals in Nigeria. Along the corridor were a band of Christian intercessors, hands entwined to form a human chain around a 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 35 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. bedridden patient who lay on a raffia mat that was spread on the cemented floor. The prayer warriors, with their eyes closed, were praying in other tongues while their leader exhorted them to bind and cast out the yet nameless spirit that held their patient bound. I was concerned. It was late in the night and from the chill of the night, I sensed that it could drizzle later. Yet obviously this particular patient will have to make do with the stars for a roof. I thought that, at worst, perhaps the patient could not afford a bed space. Since I knew that there were still unoccupied beds, I naively asked Mr. Man if it was something he could arrange. And in response, he narrated to me the case history of the patient I will learn to remember as Iranti. She was a sophomore student of Mass Communication at the University of _________. Apparently after a very exciting October-rush first semester, she fell ill during the subsequent holidays and was brought by her parents to a hospital ran by a Pentecostal Christian denomination, whence she was placed on admission. After a month of being hospitalized, with little signs of remission on the severity of the diagnosed pneumonia infection, she was referred to the state run General Hospital. The moment Iranti arrived; a virology specialist reviewed and decoded the illegible ciphers penned in her case file by the missionary physicians. He ordered the medical interns to wear double surgical gloves, put on surgical masks to take her blood sample for an XYZ test. Confirming his theoretic diagnoses with laboratory evidence, this latter day Pontius Pilate washed his hands off the case and closed for the day. As is the practice in most cases, the doctors at this government facility did not consider it part of their responsibility to inform the patient of 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 36 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. their diagnoses or the chances of fatality. Such menial tasks are best left for the lowly nursing attendants. In the meanwhile, Iranti s church members continued to exorcise evil spirits. She would spend the night on the hospital corridor en route to the infectious diseases section where she would be eventually quarantined the next day; the medical officers in that section have closed for the day. By the next day, her mother would be told of the fatality of her illness. The prayer warriors will leave and not return. Even her family will not visit again. No one will pick up her bills, do her laundry or bring home made food for her. She will die like she has already died in their hearts. Mr. Man felt I was being irrational when I left abruptly the next day. In my mind, I saw myself and not Iranti on that native raffia mat, surrounded by the impotent prayer warriors. But that was then and this is now. And this is me and that is my sweet Tony waiting pensively, determined to be valiant in this new trial of love I have laid before him. Really, I would have preferred that he wait for me. But because I was a not a virgin, that argument was not, to Tony, a strong one. So if I said, Since we both don t have any thing to hide, it is better to start our intimate relationship by first confirming our status. And sweet Tony agreed. I must be crazy. Things men are willing to do for It was only afterwards that it crossed my mind that I was actually putting my relationship with him at risk. I have never had the test before and my past is not exactly squeaky clean. If I was to test positive, I could not afford the anti viral drugs even if it would safe my life. But I went along anyway; d rather die of knowledge than of fear. But what if he tested positive Well, maybe my love isn t so blind. And so yesterday we drove to a hospital laboratory far away 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 37 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. from campus. The test is free on campus but it was better to be discrete than sorry. Tony, looking very romantic, told attendants that we are about-to-weds and we wanted to do all the normally required tests. What a way to put it; but it covered all the bases. I even got to do a pregnancy test even though I was menstruating. And today, we came back for the verdict. After waiting for over twenty minutes, we began to wonder if something was amiss. Then the doctor showed up with the laboratory attendant in tow. I would like a word with you both in my office he said, gesturing in that direction. My mind was all jumbled up. God , I thought don t let my worst nightmares come to reality! Tony held my hand and followed the doctor who walked ahead of us. We both sat down and waited like condemned convicts awaiting sentencing. Dear God, why me? , I felt like asking. My mind was going crazy. This test didn t look like a good idea anymore. Meanwhile, the doctor paced up and down, carrying what was apparent our case file and appearing busy, as if he had all the time in the world. Minutes ticked slower than I ever thought were possible until a second medical doctor joined us. They, the two medical officers, both sat down, and then the first doctor said, Sir and Madam, because you are about to wed, it is very important we discuss this with you as it will affect you later when giving birth. Rhesus is a condition 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 38 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. Blind spot I did not see her coming. Funto is a friend from way back when. As toddlers, we used to play ten-ten, hide and seek, and quot;Mum and Dadquot;... if you get my drift. Even then, she preferred company of we guys to other girls. By the time she got to secondary school, she already had a reputation. At the football pitch, she was the cheerleader. In class, she was the rare female Guv'nor. We had only one functional society, the literary and debating society and she was its soul, if you get what I mean. There were mischievous rumors that a certain teacher was hitting on her but I ll never know because I could never ask. I was satisfied being associated with her. She was the happening girl and I was her guy. That alone put a few stripes up my sleeve in terms of street credibility. In many ways, she was a young girl in a hurry. While we stayed on in the new sixth form, Funto cleared her O'levels and gained admission to study law. Well, naturally, I saw less and less of her. But during the holidays, we would meet, take long walk and play catch up on what had happened since we last talked. She did most of the talking because she had a lot to say. Yes, she won the oil exploration company scholarship. Yes, she is still topping the class. Yes, she contested for Miss Campus(?) and won(!). Yes, she is in a straight sight of a first class... I don't know whether it was inferiority complex but I gradually felt I did not understand what this mythical goddess wanted with a mere mortal like me. Meanwhile, I gained admission to study mechanical engineering. During the June 12 crisis, she joined Campaign for Democracy 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 39 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. and hit the streets. Got on first name terms with activists I only see on TV and read about in the dailies. I stayed at home and read my handouts. When the country came back to normalcy and we got back to school, she dabbled in student union activism. I guess she had a fetish for competitions because soon after she contested for Student Union President and won. Somehow, in spite of it all, she still managed to graduate with a first class. Crazy thing was, once she got out of campus, she decided to put the whole thing behind. She didn t want to be a lawyer any more and instead, opted for journalism. She served with a major daily and raked up a storm with her cynical interviews and irreverent pen. Anyway, as her name had already become a well known brand, it was no miracle that she appointed the Politics Editor of a major blue striped suit economics magazine, available by subscription only to it s enlightened but well heeled clientele. She wrote her first book on public policy and a second political economy. By then, when I see her on television, she was being introduced as a political analyst and commentator on public issues . I was just finishing my masters, specializing on an obscure facet of mathematics imposed by my professor. We used to meet, walk and talk and she told me of her troubles. Her parents were putting pressure on her to settle down . You see, she came from a home where tradition ruled, in which her Mum was always a full term home keeper. Funto s success was welcome but it was not considered complete unless she also could change her surname and her title. And Ms. was not good enough. Oh yes, she had suitors, too many by the way. Indeed, a popular playboy, steeped in inherited wealth, had offered oftentimes to banish poverty from her lineage. I would listen to 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 40 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. her troubles like a Fulani maiguard would listen to the radio. After my Masters, I joined the University as a Lecturer. The pay wasn t great but I set my eyes on winning one of the coveted fellowships in a couple of years. She was appointed a Special Adviser on poverty alleviation by one of the South-South governors. But Funto and I got closer. She would visit me at my official residence on some weekends and we would walk, talk and discuss everything, from the impact of globalization on the macro economy of South Saharan countries to the salacious mating habits of a particular popular actress. It was just like in high school, except that now, she came with a security detail. I rarely visited her. She had an apartment in Abuja but when in Lagos, she stayed with her parents in the house she built for them in highbrow Gbagada. However, because of duty demands, she had become a long standing patroness of five star hotels across the nation. When I was due for my annual leave this year, I wanted to use the opportunity to finish an article I was writing for one of the recognized journal in some obscure part of China. (That was one of the problems with academics in Nigeria, only foreign journals are recognized.). So I asked to stay at her flat in Abuja. She humorously invited me to come and eat. I however did not turn up as scheduled and arrived late in the night. As I was let in into the residence by the now familiar state security agents, I heard Funto voice raised in heated conversation with a male voice. I could hear her shouting, Please leave. Respect yourself and leave . And he was saying, I am not a fool. Je ne suis pas un imbecile! You can not be playing had to get forever It was, his Excellency, the Governor. 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 41 of 42

May be freely distributed. Commercial publication is prohibited. I think, then, that he noticed my presence because he turned round, glared at me like something to be hunted down, and left in a huff. Obviously, I had walked into a delicate moment. I went up to Funto, who was now in tears, and tried to comfort her. In between her sobs, I heard her say, This is your entire fault. Am I not good enough for you? If you would stay, will they be coming to price me like a hunk of beef? What do they see that you can t see? I guess, I did not see it coming. 7 Lies: A Collection of Short Stories Page 42 of 42

7 Lies. A Collection Of Short Stories By A.Adesanya

by adeleke adesanya on May 13, 2009

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7 Lies. A Collection Of Short Stories By A.Adesanya — Document Transcript