Party of the elite

Mr. Abdullah was not happy that they left, was not happy that he had to refund the money even though he kept ten percent to himself. And because Edegbe was prone to snap at him, and Victor had led them to the side and told them not to anger him, Efe had talked to him, sugar coating the words, and telling him to find a place for them in Unguwan Rimi. He heyed and said houses were very expensive there, and since Edegbe was prone to talk about his millions, and Victor had led them to the side and told them not to tell him about their money, Efe had talked to him, and told him they would mortgage the house, although he was not sure he knew was mortgaging a house meant.

Unguwan Rimi turned out to be the number one GRA in Kaduna, a place where the rich and mighty resided. The roads were clean, the infrastructure jaw dropping. It was an answer to Lagos's Banana Island or Abuja's Maitama, an area where you can flaunt and spend rishes. It was rumoured to be the safest neighbourhood in the whole of Kaduna, inhabiting both Christians and Muslims. It was Muslim dominated, a habitation for government officials and rich businessmen.

And because it was a formidable place, and because Victor could not stop babbling as he drove, dressed in a suit Edegbe had bought for him, it was to an unpleasant surprise when the car came to an abrupt stop.

"What is happening?" Edegbe asked. He looked out the window and saw the men in kaftans and women in hijabs carrying plastic kettles, bringing out their mats under the blazing sun and kneeling on it to pray, kissing their forehead to the ground and muttering words. All the cars had stopped movement. The road, even the tarred one cars passed on were occupied with praying men on their mats. Some of the Muslim men came out of their cars to join the prayer, those that had big stalls where people gathered to buy something left their shops, keeping their customers waiting and prayed. "What are they doing?"

Victor looked back, surprised he was asking. "They're praying, Sah."

"Why are they doing it on the road, shouldn't they go to their mosques?"

"Sah, when it's time for their prayers, wherever they find themselves they pray."

"Efe, do you hear that? This is madness, they are disrupting traffic, an infringement of my human rights. What happened to the part that says in as much as you have the autonomy to be stupid, you shouldn't do it to the detriment of another person who has the autonomy to not be stupid?"

"I don't know," Efe answered truthfully. "Maybe it flew out of the window."

"You're just as insane as this people," he cussed. "How long does this madness lasts?"

"Sah, please mind the way you talk here, this people are very serious with their religion o. It should last for thirty minutes."

"So, we have to wait for thirty minutes. Thirty unnecessary minutes?"

"We wouldn't have to wait for thirty minutes if we didn't move," Efe said.

"We wouldn't have to move if you had done the research well."

"I would have done the research well if you had given me enough time."

"I would have given you enough time if you had agreed that my idea of coming here makes sense." Edegbe cracked his head.

"I would have agreed if your idea of coming here made sense."

"You came here anyway, whether you agreed or not."

"How can I refuse a salary increase staring at me in the face?" Efe cracked his knuckles.

"You made us spend more time than necessary."

"I wasn't the one that bought ticket from a senseless motor park."

"Are we seriously doing this? Trading blame?"

"You started it. I thought it was your new hobby."

"You," Edegbe stressed on the word, "started it."

From the driver's seat, Victor watched them. They stared at each other for a while, then averted their gazes.

Traffic started moving after thirty four minutes, after the prayer had ended and the men had rolled up their mates, after the driver's had got back into their cars, and after the traders had returned back to their shops and waiting customers. Victor drove steady and fast, a mixture that came with experience. He knew when to swerve, what car to overtake, when to overtake, whether to overtake, and when he did overtake, he did it with an admirable maneuvering. Hiring him was a choice, whose result Edegbe would bask in the pride of. Except he talked a lot.

Their realtor was already waiting for them when they pulled over, an expectant waiting. The interior of the house was much to Edegbe's taste, what he didn't like was the compound, but he did not want to move again.

"What do you think about it?" He asked Efe.

Looking around, Efe answered, "It's nice."

"It does not have a gym"

"I noticed."

When the realtor had asked Edegbe what type of house he was looking for, over the phone, he had replied, his voice loud so that Efe would hear, saying, "Anything that does not have a gym inside or outside."

The house also came with furniture, marvellously carpentered furniture, and Edegbe knew it was a house he would pride in. There was a study with a glass transparent door that slided automatically when somebody was near, and a little shelf by the side, a flower vase on top. There was also a mini library that had a few tens of books, and the room was well lit and ventilated that it did not have that musty smell of kept and unused books. Two plasma Tvs stayed on the wall of the sitting room, the DVD player arranged underneath and a set of home theater system stood beside it. The kitchen and the dinning was fused together, creating a big room. And everywhere was clean. The house was beyond exquisite, Edegbe bought it.

"Now that we are well settled in a place that offers luxury and security, we have a lot of work to do." He said, after the contract had been signed and after he settled in the chair behind the table in the study, smiling. He opened the window albeit the light and fan were turned on.

"Yes, Sir," Efe replied. "Mr. Abdullah would take us to the site tomorrow, I told him already. You know, he's upset we left the house and didn't hire the driver he offered, we should humour him."

"Do we owe him anything?" Edegbe did not like that he had to put the man into consideration.

"No, Sir, but it would be nice to be on a right foot with him." Efe said. Victor would have supported him, he would have gone on and on telling them they shouldn't anger the man, but he had been sent to buy provisions, and Efe knew he would drive the car with one hand to the steering, the other on the window, his elbow protruding outside, like he had first done before Edegbe raised his voice and asked him if he couldn't think. He had hurriedly brought his hand inside, clamped them down on the steering and focus on the road. He would also play some music on the car's stereo, the same way he had started to do before Edegbe raised his voice and asked him if he left his senses in Sabon Tasha. He knew the young man would find his boss difficult, and Edegbe was really difficult, but he paid fabulously. He was not a spendthrift per say, but when he spent, he spent without reserve, like he had all the money in the world.

"And I'm also looking at the portfolios of some lawyers, a business needs one."

"Get to work," Edegbe said, "and with your brain."

"But Sir, it is in between my legs."

Edegbe locked eyes on his groin where a bulge was visible. "You have a very big and naturally endowed brain then."

They laughed and Efe excused himself to go to the parlour where he brought out his laptop and typed on the keys.There was a notepad and biro by his side, and as he google he jotted things down. First came the farmers, those who actually had a degree in agriculture and had large farmlands, and had owned those farmlands for many years. It was easier to work with people that had experience, years of experience. He cursored on those who specified on rice.

Then came the rice. Efe could not believe he had to do something as researching on rice, coming across terms like binomial nomenclature and resistant varieties. He did not like it, the whole thing was a senseless idea. Maize would have been a better plant to invest in since the returns varied. It could be eaten whole, cooked or roasted. Or it could be grinded to make local akamu, or sold to companies that produced custard or Cornflakes, or Golden Morn. Even in Benin it was used to make corn cake, a replica of bean cake. The corn would be grinded, mixed with the required ingredients and cooked. The result was something himself and Edegbe bought regularly, if Edegbe was not in the mood to cook it. So it would make sense if Edegbe wanted corn. But rice? The tapped furiously on the keyboard as he continued with his research, Oryza sativa popping on the screen, the word angering him.

By the time he was done, he had gathered a few phone numbers, and his notepad was filled with ink on the first three pages. When he went into Edegbe's new study to show him, Edegbe looked pleased.

"Call them and see if we can have a rendezvous tomorrow." He said, pointing at the number.

"All of them?"

"All of them won't say they'll be free tomorrow, but call all of them anyway."

"But you still have to meet Mr. Abdullah tomorrow."

"Just do as I say."

"Yes, Sir."

"Is Victor not back from the market?"

Efe laughed. "If he can, he would spend forever showing off himself in a car, dressed in a suit."

"If a small scratch appears on my car, I'll just kill him." He swivelled his seat.

"I'll just kill him," Efe mimicked and they both laughed.

Victor came back, ogling at the house's interior with hawk like eyes, gawking at the glass door, going in and out of the study again and again so that the door would open automatically for him until Edegbe raised his voice and asked him if he was high on something. He then came inside and told them the waiting line had been long, he had waited and waited, and since the person before him was telling a very interesting story, he listened as he waited. People hailed him, thought he was a big man and hailed him, and he shook hands with them, and spoke Hausa to the Muslim men, and he was even going to give them some money, but he reali—.

"Stop." Edegbe held up a hand. "What's that envelope on your hand?" It had held his attention immediately he came inside.

"Ah, this?" He waved the paper, then stretched it. "Your neighbour said I should give this to you."

"My neighbour?"

"He did not actually give it to me, he sent his driver, you know how rich people behave, one chance and they'll want to show that they have money to oppress others." When Edegbe glared at him, he hurriedly added, "It's from the house besides yours."

Edegbe looked from the envelope to Efe and the latter took it. He ripped it open to reveal a letter. It read;

Dear Mr., it is with due pleasure that we welcome you to this neighbourhood. Your presence is not just felt, it wants to be acknowledged, and hence we hold a party to welcome you tomorrow night at Allahaji's house, by eight pm, courtesy of, we, your neighbours.

Signed

Ahmed.

Victor laughed. "Rich people. They just want to know how much money you have, so they can place you in the correct category."

"But it has not even been up to a day I arrived," Edegbe said.

"Sah, their eyes are very watchful o. And we'll, it's a party, these people like to spend—"

"Shut up and get out! Wait," he turned to Efe, "how authentic do you think it is?"

"Very. It has your address and his address and the address of this Allahaji. And it has the names for verification."

Edegbe turned to Victor. "Check if the names matches, and ask questions. Use your babbling mouth to ask questions."

And when Victor got to the door, he stepped forward for it to open, back for it to close and forward for it to open again, still in awe, until Edegbe raised his voice and asked him if he had taken tramadol or heroine.

"That guy is an example of what I thought Fela was when I first heard of him," Edegbe said to his retreating figure.

He did not want to go to the party, neither did Efe. Not going to parties was something they had unconsciously agreed on. But Edegbe knew this was something he should attend, knew that the acquaintances he would make would come in handy, especially since these were money men. It was wise to belong to the circle of people your class.

So, the next evening, at thirty minutes past seven, after his usual tedious bath, he picked up his gray suit and slided his hand into it, buttoning the front and enjoying the view from the mirror. He contemplated what wristwatch to pick from his collection for a while, before deciding on the Rolex brand. He took his lavender scented cologne and wore it on his clothes. He never understood the whole game of spraying colognes on the air and letting the precipitant fall on him. Efe said it was how rich people wore their perfumes, but he thought it was another streak of madness, a waste of his money. He preferred to spend his money on nice houses like the one he currently had. He glanced around his room, something he hadn't stopped doing since he stepped in. Saying it was beautiful was trying to mystify what it actually was, but Edegbe did not have the word for it. He had began to think of something but stopped. Of course, he had seen houses more beautiful than his, but he had never considered buying them, and so to finally own something this worthwhile was an ineffable feeling for him.

By the time he came out of his room, Efe was already waiting for him, and Victor was running towards them, his hurried footsteps thudding against the marbled floor.

"I peeked at them, people are already there o, men and women wearing expensive clothes and glittering jewels."

"Let's go," he said to Efe. "Lock the gate when we leave," he told Victor, "make sure you lock the gate."

"What about me, Sah?" Victor asked.

"The venue is just a stone throw from here, we'll walk there."

Victor shook his head, disagreeing. "This party is for you, you're about to step into the limelight, don't go by foot. I told you, they want to know how well off you are, if you don't show them, at least a tiny bit, they will never respect you."

But both Edegbe and Efe knew it was so that the young man would attend a party of the elite, at least once, before he died.