Albert Okeke: A Londoner scammed by Nigerian lover
By Taju Tijani
I have known Albert Okeke all my adult life in the UK. Tall, lanky, cool headed, easy going, diligent, handsome, soft spoken, conservative, ardent traditionalist, submitting, unfashionable and untypical Imolite. He is the antithesis of an Imo indigene. Imolites are known to be strong headed, cocky, noisy and creatures of an eye-for-an eye. Al does not possess that fighting spirit. He lives for peace and will always go for an extra mile with trouble makers. He has this effeminate nature that speaks to his upbringing in Mbaise where he spent his kindergarten and juvenile years before the usual great exodus to Lagos.
I met Al in an office along Upper Street in Islington. We worked together for six years. We enjoyed every minute of our time with this famous London Council working with the Housing Team. We used to spend our lunch time at the big C.L.R James Library in Dalston. Al was well loved. He was a delight among our female colleagues for his attitude toward life. His resignation and effeminacy were a winner among many women who fancied this gentleman. He was dutiful, punctual and always ready to answer beyond the call of duty assisting whoever needed his help. But Al is a troubled soul. There is something aching him. Then……
“Teejay, I will want you to come to my place in Lewisham next Saturday. It’s quite important. I just want to share something with you.” Al threw an invitation. I nodded and smiled at him while banging on my work laptop to complete an assignment. Then I turned and called back his attention. “Al, wetin dey happen for Lewisham on Saturday,” I queried. “Nothing much by brother, it’s just an issue with this Nija girl o,” Al answered. “I just need a second opinion from a man like you.” “No problem, I’ll clear my diary for that day.”
It was a wintry Saturday in late October. A kind of day you want to stay longer under the duvet and do some soul searching. But I must see Al. So, Lewisham, here I come. I took a bus from Edgware Station all the way to Lewisham bus garage. I captured a seat at the upper deck to catch a bit of London glitz, riches, naughtiness and glamour. You could tell that London is truly a melting pot of diversity. Siting side by side were shops owned by the South Asians, Arabs, Eastern European, Africans and the West Indians. I took in the opulence of Park Lane with its shopping outlets for vintage and prestige cars like Maclaren Mercedes Benz, Rolls Royce and Ferrari.
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My phone rang. Al informed me that he was waiting for me at the bus garage. Sitting quietly at the side street was Al. He came in a grey Mercedes Benz. He wore a polo shirt and a pair of jeans trouser. He had a red cap emblazoned with the alphabet A. He smelled nice. He smiled at me as I walked towards him. He embraced me warmly and we disappeared into the tree-lined neighbourhood of Al.
“Teejay, my man, everything is ready. Your favourite grilled plantain (boli) and brim fish are ready. I have also chilled your Guinness and fried some meat in case you want that too. I have prepared jollof rice and your favourite leafy salad. So, feel free. You are at home,” Al wetted my appetite as I collapsed into the burgundy leather settee. The family pictures in the living room revealed a background information about Al. I saw his boyish picture with a huge Afro hair and platform shoes. I saw a pretty young woman with two beautiful twin girls on her lap. She radiated calmness and joy.
“Old, boy I don enter one chance o for Nija o,” Al started as he chewed on his cola nut, garden egg and atare. He held a small glass of gin in his right hand and poured libation to his dead ancestors for wisdom and protection from the beyond. He shared the cola nut and atare and I ate them with amusement. Yes, Al is a culture fanatic. He is fond of starting discussions with cultural ritual which is typical of Ndigbo. “What happened old boy, any problem with Amaka?”
“Haiii…Haiii…Haiii, Amaka don do me finish. That girl don kill me.”
“Man up abeg wetin you mean now?”
“Teejay, you know that I hardly hide anything from you. Twelve years ago, I travelled to Nija on holidays. I was outside our compound with my cousins and uncles. Then I saw this beautiful young girl passing by. My cousins and uncles looked at me and we all smiled. I made fast enquiries and there the story of my relationship with Amaka begun. She was in SS2 then. I decided I will train this girl and later marry her. Once she knew I was from London, she fell like a pack of cards. I gave gifts, bought her expensive things and put her on monthly stipend.”
“Hmmm…..I’m listening. Go on.” I encouraged Al to pour out his soul. He went and brought out her picture and gave it to me. Amaka is a beautiful girl. Tall, long hair, beady eyes, perfect set of teeth, pouting lips, curvy body, and firm, huge breasts. I studied the picture and shoved it aside.
“Then what happened.”
“Teejay, she finished her youth corps service last year in Nasarawa State. I then travelled to Imo to celebrate her graduation party and use that opportunity to remind her parents of the marriage plans I mooted three years ago. I paid for all the graduation expenses. I never knew something was coming. I never suspected anything until…”
The grilled plantain (boli) and the brim fish combo were so delicious I requested for another round. I was on my second bottle of Guinness. Al was once married. After 28 years of marriage, the relationship collapsed. He lived with his twins and raised them up in his expansive three-bedroom house in Lewisham. He was a doting father. The wife wandered away but returned occasionally to see her twins. Al kept to himself and avoided London women like a plague. He worked hard and sent money to Amaka believing that she will live with him after retirement in his Owerri house.
“Teejay, after the party, I asked Amaka to return with me to my house. This girl gave all manner of excuses. I rejected them all. I was getting annoyed thinking the unthinkable. My uncles and cousins were waiting in my Lexus Jeep 350 expecting to see Amaka with us. Then she started crying. I felt embarrassed and could not figure out why she was crying on a happy day.”
“Amaka’s phone rang severally. She looked at the caller but would not answer. I was curious to know the caller. I then asked Amaka to give me her phone. I saw messages from a particular man. Who is this man? I queried her. Then a car pulled over and a young bearded man stepped out. He called Amaka. She left me and went over to meet him.”
“Amaka come back here…come here right now…are you? I ordered. Suddenly…”
