It was a little past 6pm and Kola was fuming. The crawling traffic as he approached Third Mainland Bridge was only one of the reasons he was this angry. It was Christmas Eve and the other board members had decided that it was the perfect day to have a meeting. The meeting had been largely unproductive and he had spoken in clipped tones throughout. He had had no reservations about showing his annoyance. It was the day before Christmas for Christ's sake!
He wondered if these men didn’t care about spending time with their families after an entire year of meetings and proposals and business trips. They probably didn’t. He had often heard Kunle say that they hadn’t gotten this far up the professional ladder by yielding to such sentiments. Besides, their families couldn’t complain, they enjoyed all the benefits. If any wife was aggrieved, a surprise trip was just the thing to fix it.
Talking about wives, Tinuke would give him an earful. Kola frankly wasn’t looking forward to it. She had been upset that he had to go to work at all, but he had reassured her saying that it was only a short meeting and that he would be back before 6 so they could make dinner together and do something nice for the children before bed, then proceed to wrap up gifts to put under the Christmas tree. It was a tradition they had upheld for the 12 years they had been married.
But then, if Kola was being honest, there was a lot to be grateful for. He could talk about board meetings and business trips and even be upset about it. He could boast of a loving wife and children and Christmas traditions. He remembered a time when he wouldn’t have dreamt of these things.
He was well on the bridge now and he could make out the black river of plastic and filth and the hundreds of wooden shanties that was Makoko, the place he had spent much of his childhood. He had heard someone say one time that its very existence was an irony. A community infamous for its squalor yet facing one of the most expensive neighborhoods in West Africa. His past wasn’t something he liked to think of much less talk about, but perhaps there was just something about today that brought all those memories flooding back.
He had been 6 when his parents had died. He had only faint memories of what life was before they passed. What he did know was that his life changed radically afterwards. He had been passed from one relative to another for the next two years until he had finally landed with Uncle Bewaji. He couldn’t remember whose bright idea it was to hand him over to this uncle. He was lazy, a drinker, a gambler and everything in between. Maybe they reasoned that giving him an 8 year old orphan would have instilled in him a semblance of responsibility. They should have known better.
At that time, Uncle Bewaji had taken up residence in Makoko. Kola remembered the day he arrived, his belongings tied in a rice sack that aunty Bola had generously provided. The journey from Abeokuta to Lagos had been harrowing enough with the noisy traders and bumpy roads and the tied goat that had stared at him as he sat on one of the baskets in the lorry. The goat had been very quiet, a function of the hopelessness it had felt maybe. Whatever it was, he knew they had a shared sense of kinship.
Nothing could have prepared him for the anomaly that was the living condition in Makoko. The stench was so foul, it made his little eyes water. After narrowly escaping falling into the wastewater that lined the streets while getting into the canoe, he had sat shaken in the corner while Uncle Bewaji chatted enthusiastically with the transporter. People always said that with time, its inhabitants got used to the smell, Kola never did. Each morning, he awoke with the same trepidation that he had felt on his first day. He couldn’t get used to seeing pieces of shit float by as he took a canoe to school every morning.
He was always hungry. Hunger was a faithful companion. His uncle had ignored him most times. He was too busy placing the next bet or drinking at Iya Risi’s bar. On the days he ate, most times, it was bread or fish or both. By the time he was 14, Kola had had enough bread and fish to last him a lifetime. Till this day, he didn’t eat fish.
One particular memory stood out for him. It was Christmas Eve in 1996. He had been very excited on this day. Why? He was going to open his savings box. For 6 months, he had worked judiciously. Brother Murudeen, that’s what everybody called him anyway, one of the transporters had offered him an after-school job rowing canoes. He worked three times a week, paddling inhabitants back and forth until his arms ached. Each time he wanted to give up, he was consoled by the fact that on Christmas Day, he'd have saved enough to buy one piece of roasted chicken from Sule’s stand.
He had found a beverage tin and nailed it shut, with only a small slit on the lid where he could squeeze his earnings and had hidden it amongst his clothes, far from the prying eyes and wandering hands of uncle Bewaji.
Every other day, he’d drop a coin into his kolo and shake it with excitement as it grew heavier. He had checked a few days before just to make sure it was still there. He had neglected checking it for two days because his uncle was unusually at home. Probably broke or hiding from all his creditors. He had played with some of the neighborhood boys until he noticed his uncle leave the house. Finally, It was time to count what he had in his stash. Upon carrying his tin, he discovered it was lighter than he remembered. Maybe he had forgotten how it felt the few days he hadn’t checked.
He had borrowed a plier to tear open his tin and had cut himself in the process. It didn’t matter. All he had on his mind was the chicken he was going to buy from Sule. When he finally got it open, He was beyond dismayed to find that most of his money was in fact gone. The only explanation being that Uncle Bewaji had gotten to it first, skillfully pried it open and made off with most of the contents. All that was left were a few coins. Kola remembered vividly the anguish and hurt he had felt that day.
The next day, on Christmas, he had met his saviors, agents from the New Hope foundation who had come to the slums and selected him and a few other boys to sponsor starting the following year. They would never know how grateful that boy covered in lapa lapa was.
“Oga we don reach” His driver's voice jolted him from his thoughts.
“Ahh thank you, Uche. Help me park the car in the garage, then come inside, let my wife give you something for your family.
“Thank you Oga, God bless you.” Uche happily responded.
As he walked towards his front door, Kola stilled himself for Tinuke’s reprimanding. It was almost 8.
Rather, he was welcomed with a kiss on the cheek and delighted shouts of “daddy’s home” from his two children. He smiled. Maybe the Holy Spirit had ministered to Tinuke.
Later that night, after dinner, as they all sat in the living room, Kola cleared his throat,
“Guys, I’m thinking we should do something a little different this Christmas. Maybe a little visit and gift giving in Makoko.”
Tinuke smiled, she definitely knew where this was coming from.
“Daddy, where is Makoko?” His son asked.
“You’ll see soon enough, but first, let me tell you a story.”
KUFRE-MFON EFFIONG-ROBERT.
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