BOLD

 BOLD 

If we decide to stop today, we end up stopping tomorrow. Yet, tomorrow is inexhaustible; it's tomorrow …. it's tomorrow …. It's tomorrow … it's tomorrow. Always tomorrow.

– Yoruba proverb.

In the beginning, he felt he could hold his liquor. It was his very first time of drinking Cǐroc, 'crazy' vodka, even with the blend of mango. Smooth, yet packed a punch. His friends goaded him until he became drunk. Downed the fancy bottle leaving only two fingers. In the club. How he got home and crashed on his bed in his cozy bedsitter was a miracle. And he knew, without being told, that he would be late again for work in the morning. It was 1:00 am.

           CHAPTER ONE.

     PRESIDENTIAL DEBATE, SHERATON LAGOS HOTEL.

           PRESENT-DAY.

The backdrop; a clear electronic banner behind the four contestants representing the major parties, constantly shifts artistically perhaps to reveal the changing dynamics of human temperament, especially at a forum like this one. Peeve. Ill-concealed dislike and displeasure. Greed and unbridled ambition to acquire power. Behind each podium was an emotion for contention. The Moderator was seating before the obviously select audience below the stage where the participants stood shifting from one foot to the other. Except the one presently speaking.

"How can someone who doesn't have a family be entrusted with the leadership of Nigeria?"

"Is it true that you are still a bachelor, sir?" The female moderator asks in apparent confusion.

The men look with anticipation for the rejoinder. One of them; the one that must respond merely smiles. Annoyingly.

"I knew that it must come to this. The old tactic of mudslinging. Leadership involves creative skills and service to the people, the wisdom to give proper and unselfish directions for the polities to follow. As it were, I am not married, yet married." The other participants chuckled complacently licking their lips like well-fed cats.

"Please, clarify that statement," the moderator submits.

"I am not a bachelor as it is. True, I live alone most times. By native law and custom; I am not married but by statutes, I am, since I never divorced my wife. We got married at the Ikoyi Registry. We have a child between us. We live separately for reasons best known to us. We spend the occasional weekends together. She's a wonderful woman and remains the love of my life. The separation was not her fault but mine. It was me not carrying her along in my life's pursuits. She felt left behind and abandoned." There was a loud hush of understanding and empathy among the audience.

The moderator coughed lightly as if to clear a lump of emotion. The opponents looked away with irritation and contempt.

"Sir, what is your position on religion?"

"I believe in Jehovah; the Almighty creator, but I have no affinity for Christians or even Jews. No, not even Muslims or Oriental religions. I am convinced that religion is a divisive tool being used by the spirit principals of this world to ensure the destruction of this planet. I am detribalized and do not lean toward any form of religion. I treat people on equal terms and footing. No one is greater than the other when considerations are to be given. Poor or rich, we are all God's creatures and equal before Him …."

"You said you are detribalized, that means you are without roots and will be unguided by the particular mores and traditions of your ethnic society in terms of morality. An individual such as you will be reckless and unbridled ..."

"Chief Mabiakwu, that would be unnecessary, you have breached the protocol for this process. You do not engage while the opponent is yet to conclude and clarify his position."

The man smiles complacently.

"I see your point, Chief Mabiakwu ... were you not reckless and unbridled by your tribal mores and tradition when 10 billion naira vanished from the NNPC coffers under your watch in 2019?" He maintained an insulting smile, one that asked the recipient 'are you not an idiot?'

The opponent's face turned red in anger and shame. He nervously ran his fat fingers through the collection of heavy coral beads hanging from his thick neck.

"That's defamation of character, Kazeem Olanbiwonnu, and by the way, the whole affair was baseless! We will meet in court, you political greenhorn!" He yelled.

"I prefer not to have your kind of experience, one of gross corruption. Go ahead, make my day, Chief. You will be confronted with the ugly facts," he submitted calmly.

"Sir, how do you then pray?" The moderator, in an attempt to defuse the impending explosion.

"I pray to Jehovah. I believe in Him and do not believe I have to pray through any medium or spirit creature, especially since He's a jealous God, a raging and consuming fire. I see that Christians have exalted their Messiah so much so that I feel it is an insult to God. They believe the name of their Christ is above all names both in the heavens and on earth. It is crazy when you consider that Jehovah is a name in the heavens. And by implication, their Messiah is greater than God. This conflict remains unsolved. By so doing, I pray directly to Jehovah God. I make decrees concerning my family, relatives, friends, business colleagues, and the nation. I discuss it with Him. We are all the same, irrespective of our religious, political, tribal, and academic pretensions. All religions preach peace but no religion has been able to attain peace. I do not want to criticize any religion but there is a critical failure of all religions of this world. Given the atrocious activities of various cells of Islam in terms of terrorism; ISIS, ISWAP in Nigeria, AL QAEDA, et cetera. Peace and righteousness remain elusive and unattainable. And I believe these can never be achieved since people are yet to be seen as God's creatures having essential rights to live and live well. We see ourselves as religious brothers and sisters; which, risibly, is even temporary. The moment the 'brother' moves to another congregation or sect, he becomes an enemy. The dichotomy and unwarrantable rivalries between religions and groupings are appalling.

"I see …. sir, in terms of national development, mention the first few items on your agenda, what you would want to settle to do within one hundred days of assumption of office." The woman is now wearing a very business-like expression, perhaps placing the blame for the altercation of the past minutes on herself.

"One thing has been left undone for so long. I think it was due to unwarrantable fear on the part of past leaders and their immeasurable greed to finish this country. When I say 'finish' I mean, to wipe us clean of any tangible and intangible resources. The Ibo nation should have been involved in the technological transfer, the Civil war to a great extent brought out their innate abilities in terms of technology. They have the aptitude for great industry, but ethnicity, an unfortunate history, and religious bigotry have led us all to the mess we are in at the moment. Let's forgive ourselves and move on. Unfortunately, the foundation of our independence or the basis for the republic called Nigeria is faulty. Instead of our founding fathers, the so-called nationalists, fighting for nationalism they busied themselves with sectionalism and selfism. You see, it's no wonder that we are where we are now. Nationalism was never in the picture just a mere deception and the desire to divide this country even before it became independent. Nigeria was never designed to be united as a single entity. Nigeria was created wrong. And the tool was the Military. That was the only united front at the time since the Nigerian Army had all the ethnic groupings incorporated in it. The instrument of force was utilized. With all the evidence of wealth in this country, there is just one writing on the wall in the past 60 years; A failed and evil nation. If God decides to visit Nigeria as He did in the days of Abraham …. with His angels; He will not fail to see what has been written, confirm the reports He has received, and execute His judgment. It is that bad. So, still, in the same vein, the administration will select or recruit persons from the East for training overseas. Countries like China, Israel, the US, Germany, and Japan will be visited in the first instance. They will return after sufficient training in various fields of science and technology to transplant their acquired skills and knowledge. During the period of their training, structures and facilities would begin to emerge to accommodate them on their return. Such facilities would be the enabling environment for the said transplant. There would be no room for the despicable quota system or the god-forsaken zoning of anything. Merit is the key. The tribal entities and the mirage of a dominant tribe is the bane of this nation. We can never progress while still carrying this very heavy and unhealthy luggage."

"And how do you hope to achieve this vis-à-vis the politics of the National Assembly."

"That's how the people will know those who have come to serve them or not," the man said cryptically.

      INTERPLAY OF THE PAST WITH THE PRESENT

The young man pulled away discreetly from the gathering around the bonfire, the tentacles of the flame casting bizarre shadows on the knapsack. He tugged it forward purposefully as he disappeared into the bush. The sound of his footfalls was drowned by the bass and percussion music from the boom speakers of the Mp3 player. The crazy sound these youngsters listen to these days. Hip-hop and its gibberish. Jabber. Nigerian version.

He stopped suddenly under the bough of a young African teak. With deft movements, he unzipped the knapsack and brought out a thick rope, made a hangman's knot, and made two throws around the bough. The noose hanging down was a way bit high. He made up the trunk till he could wear the loop around his neck and let go.

They could still hear the sound of the music in the distance. A tall young man was seated on the sofa yards away from him. A sneer spreads across his long, fascinating face.

"You have lousy luck, my brother. You can't perform the simple task of taking your own life. You had to choose an infested branch. The only way you could have achieved your objective is to be bitten to death by termites," he said slowly. Absently as he looks at his long fingers and their clean nails. Lovingly. One would think they were prize possessions.

He moved almost painfully though it was more out of embarrassment.

"Do you know me? You brought me back to my apartment," he croaked. The man sighed.

"Yes. Have admired you all these years during your undergraduate studies. Now, as a postgraduate student, I think it's time to approach you. Your intelligence, looks, and carriage is outstanding. You have good organizational skills…... people tend to follow you, bro. That's what I want," he smiled, looking away from his fingers.

"Did you reel that out all by yourself or out from my secondary school yearbook?" He said sitting straight on the couch.

"And your terrible humor I might add. Perfect for the recruitment." The man's mien suddenly became serious.

"What recruitment?" He sniffed.

"DSS at this point, but we'll have to work seriously on your self-worth."

He shook his head slowly in disagreement.

"You have been stalking me," he whispered.

"Yes. You have been chosen," the man said straight-faced.

"Whose panties have you been sniffing?" He croaked.

"I think I should be asking you that question," the man leaned out of his seat with a stern expression, looking at him condescendingly.

Then his face crumpled in despair.

"Bisola Elliot. She's my reason for life …. I can't live without her and now she belongs to someone else."

"Who?" The man hissed.

He sighed.

"Professor Offiong Akpan. The lecher." A meek response.

"Bisola Elliot …... a female who couldn't have a decent pass in any course without dropping her knickers. That filth is the reason for wanting to destroy a great destiny. You're mad!!!"

A grave silence resonated with the last uttered word.

He got up suddenly and made for the door with lithe strides. He twisted the knob and eased the door open, looking into the opulent living room. His beautiful face showed deep-seated disgust and regret.

"We made a mistake. We can't use a weakling who couldn't tidy up his business. For god's sake, how can he handle public affairs? Goodnight, Kazeem Olanbiwonnu. Forget this meeting. We never met."

The door exploded as he exited.

It was twilight as the red Lexus ES330 screeched to a halt next to the curb and like hell trying to release its demons, the two rear doors swung out at once. By the offside door stood a man with green braids holding a sawed-off shotgun. The door on the driver's side spewed a grinning female wearing a yellow top and tattered black denim.

"Get the fuck in the car," she whispered harshly across from him. Kazeem stood rooted on the sidewalk, looking dumbly at the apparition with multiple piercings and pins on her face. Even in her mouth. She was too loud in appearance. Then the shotgun exploded into the air. Pedestrians fled for safety like rabbits into their warren. It gave him the impetus to glide quickly into the car. As the car roughly negotiated the bend, it dawned on him that this could be a possible kidnap; the bane of rich kids.

He sighed and looked boldly at the weirdo next to him and the braids made him sick. He leaned back into the velour seat. Something told him not to ask questions or reveal his fear. A smile came to him unbidden. Like a crazy impulse.

They drove out of the campus, beating the traffic lights across the grand sculptured entrance of the campus, past his favourite fast-food hangout. A delicatessen called

Kilimanjaro. With hefty submarine sandwiches and hamburgers like the mountain.

In his reverie, he didn't see the jab of the syringe coming. It hit him in the thigh. And it was "goodnight, Susie."

When he came to, he was naked and strung to a large crisscross wooden rack, facedown, with legs wide apart. He tried to break free but the cuffs bit into his limbs. He thought it was a hit by bastards trying their hands on domination. Like in the movies.

A loud yet monodic hum filled the …. warehouse. A door opened to his left and he could count ten figures in hooded robes. All black. The procession made a beeline for the intersection created by the curious wooden rack.

One after the other, they violently attacked his orifice. He screamed but it was unnecessary. The hum drowned the proceedings. An hour-long.

"Because you chose the chicken way out and are now a female, we've made you our woman tonight. Go and do the needful, settle your issues like a man," one of them hissed and spat on his naked butt.

Right on the nearest wall, the man was sitting on a wooden crate, toying with his long, manicured fingers, clearly disinterested.

"Won't you join the jamboree, Ed?"

He shook his head slowly.

"I would rather be fucked by him when his time comes," he sighed.

"Why are we conserving the nation's wealth only for some evil men to embezzle? It's laughable when you consider the fact that the ones conserving the country's resources are also the ones telling us that we are broke and need to borrow from international monetary agencies. We are being deceived …. so, I propose that the financial resources of Nigeria be used by the people, for the people, and be of the people, not wicked persons whose sole intent is to impoverish the citizens of this great nation. Nigeria is not owing them, so, why are we paying like this?" He was angry and concern was etched on his face. The debate still rages at the Sheraton.

"So what do you suggest as the way forward?" The moderator.

"Nigeria is blessed but these leaders are the curse working against the manifestations of the blessings. Nigeria can never be great as long as these evil men are at the helm of affairs. I call them evil because, despite their stupendous wealth, they still make it their preoccupation to steal and rob us blind. Some of them continue even after leaving office. They are systematically eating Nigeria up like termites! There is no other analysis for this besides wickedness. That's why they are a curse to this nation. We need to be cleansed of them."

"He's shot himself in the foot. I can see the headlines in tomorrow's papers; 'Presidential Aspirant Advocates Revolt Against Ruling Class'," whispered one of the participants. A Northerner. The man, called Kazeem shot him a baleful look.

"You were suggesting?" The moderator prompted.

"Yes. Let utilities be heavily subsidized and the poor masses be made happy. The financial experts are all alarmists! Yes, I know they will call me a financial novice but why do we keep borrowing with nothing to show for it? Most of the so-called dividends or benefits are virtual except roads, roads, and roads. Roadmasters! The oil resources of this nation are not enough for these people hence they keep borrowing. It's madness. Someone told me in confidence that the so-called subsidy removal is a lie fabricated to help them and the billionaire oil marketers. Why is it that the subsidy has never been completely removed all these decades? They teach and preach; telling us it is for our benefit yet; they never stop removing the subsidies on fuel. At least six or seven administrations have inexorably seen subsidy removals. It is a device to continually acquire wealth for embezzlement. Come to think of it; what is the reason for this subsidy in the first instance?" He asked with an air-quote on subsidy. Why are we exporting our crude oil overseas to refineries owned by these evil men, then import the refined product back to Nigeria? They then calculate the expense of importation, storage, and distribution. That is the subsidy they keep dangling in our collective face all these years. It is terrible and most wicked, especially when we have refineries in Nigeria, abandoned yet having overhead costs. Some refineries declare profits that were drowned by the losses affecting such refineries. You begin to wonder why they didn't declare an outright loss in the first place. The bosses at NNPC are receiving huge salaries for doing nothing, some of them earn over a million naira per month. 

Yet, the people's weak response at a resolution is destroyed. They see the establishment of modular or what they call illegal refineries in the creeks as a slap in the face hence they slaughter their operators. Instead of absorbing these creative persons into mainstream oil exploration, they kill them. I, Kazeem Olanbiwonnu, will see to resource control and encourage private enterprise to a considerable degree in the South-South if voted into office. Inshallah. The State has grossly failed, so far, in every ramification. To make matters worse, information got to me that some leaders have refineries in the Niger Republic just in case Nigeria breaks into several countries at the instance of war. They are relying on the crude oil stockpile in the north. We must embark on remedial measures. Why are our local refineries white elephant projects like the steel rolling mills at Ajaokuta? Why can't they restore the refineries they deliberately sabotaged, and rendered inoperable? No. They will not. After all, it was someone's brilliant idea, in the first place, to destroy the refineries and export crude oil for refining. Who owns the money from the crude, these men or the citizens? It must stop!! Let the people eat of their country's wealth for once and not served the platter filled with empty promises. The oil boom of the 70s is not the cause of our nation's poverty as expressed on the citizens. No!!! Not even the management of the funds at the time. Nigeria has never been so looted in that era as in these past decades of oil wealth. This so-called democratic dispensation. These men were driven by the desire for power and profit. We are a country of wasters. How can ex-governors be paid seven hundred million naira per annum for being indolent? What were their salaries while in power? Some of them receive this money even as senators. Double payment!! Their ignorance of the real use of power has brought us nothing but this present chaos. Democracy has been bastardized and perverted in the hands of these new-old leaders. For once, let the citizens be fed fat off their nation's wealth. The leaders should therefore apologize to the people and be grateful to them that they have not revolted in the name of a revolution akin to the ones in Liberia and Libya; seeking the blood of these wicked men and women. If we are being mesmerized, it must stop! They have succeeded in reducing Nigerians to a state of 'Beggars with cheap expectations.'.…They build a few roads and we jubilate and praise them, they restore electricity after months of power outages; we jump up and rejoice uproariously. At election time, they distribute bags of rice and salt and even give thousand-naira notes to some of us and we are so happy and want to vote them into power! It is a shame. This our descent into the abyss. When your votes are not enough to give them the 'landslide' victory they desire, they manipulate the rest. We should be atop the mountains yet, we are stagnating at the feet of the exulted places with contentment, confused as to what we really want. I weep for these people. There are sacrifices we have made in the past …. needlessly. Yet, they are asking us for more."

Suddenly, another door opened to his right to reveal a collection of topless females with black horsewhips. They descended mercilessly on him. A half hour. Bloodied, he screamed until he was dizzy and finally passed out.

His travail in their hands was beyond the passion of the Christ. Kazeem was still dripping with blood when the females rolled him out of an unmarked van by the gates of his father's mansion and sped off into the night.

He became conscious when an Alsatian, struggling against its leash, began to lick his naked body. The uniformed guard barked at his dog. Kazeem groaned and sat leaning on the gates.

Shivering, she kept her index finger in her mouth to keep from screaming as she watched the hooded gunman kill her parents. At the dining table. Two bullets each to the head. Pump-action shotgun. She taught she saw her father's brain tissue crawl from the edge of the soup bowl onto the tablecloth. She could see the malicious gleam to those reddened eyes as they coursed through the large dining area, his gun held against his neck over the right shoulder. She froze when she thought his gaze fell on her. He moved soundlessly to the table and picked a chicken lollipop from the large casserole, chewed speculatively for a few seconds lifting his head to the ceiling as if to assess the culinary skills of the woman of the house. And that was when the unexpected happened. The hood of the woolen anorak slipped. She saw the tortured expression of a vicious youth. Then he vanished from view. Left silently the way he came.

Maliah Akpan was spying through the small window overlooking the dining area from the kitchen. What struck her apart from the gruesome murder of her parents, was the

very cool and efficient exterior of the killer. Dark. Tall. Evil with cold eyes. Then she lost consciousness.

"You're living like a king, KO." The girl from the kidnap scene said making a move for his balls. Kazeem winced at the grip.

"I hope you won't kill me at this rate, Susie," he grunts as she migrated further.

She made a series of snapping sounds from her throat.

"No, I won't, but Eddy will if you are not measuring up." She smiled up at him.

"How am I doing then? You could choke on that thing." He found himself grinning like a child after seeing his very first female genital exposure. She slurped and gave a cynical laugh.

"That's not what I meant. He wants you to 'up' the game, that's why I have been detailed as your bodyguard."

"You're doing beautifully well at that, my …. dear ... friend." He shivered, gasped, and sighed tremulously. His facial muscles and veins contorted. She erupted in peals of laughter. Mockingly. They finally stretched languorously on the thick pile carpet below the large TV. Kazeem was lying face down.

"Your father really holds it," she said staring at the ornate POP ceiling designs of the guesthouse.

"Mnnumph. Otunba is indeed a mogul …. are you a gold-digger?" He sniffed.

She ran her fingers along the deep welts on his back. Produce of the bloody night. His features show the struggle not to reveal his pain by wincing or moving away.

"Yes ... I'm also considering working for De Beers," she said with a serious expression.

He turned to stare curiously at her. He guffawed.

"Crazy. I like your sincerity. Talking about digging, let me see how deep you are, Susie." She laughed then.

Kazeem was walking briskly and purposefully towards the huge building named Faculty of Humanities inside the Postgraduate College, he passed several students who hailed him but he ignored them. 

"Man Kazeem! My main guy, what's up?" a young man in a white robe and gold chains saluted him.

"Nothing much. How you dey now, Mega?" Kazeem mumbled as he went past, giving the man a 'thumbs up' sign.

"Later things now." He added.

"OK."

His face was a picture in anger and anxiety. Perhaps fear. The girl in the snack bar greeted, he barely managed a nod.

"Not a good time, eh, KO?" She grumbled.

"I have your favourite, you know. Cheese and beef burger."

Kazeem froze momentarily. And she giggled.

"I knew that would stop you, Foodie."

Then, a very beautiful girl appeared to his right and fell in stride with him. She was like royalty, tall and well-rounded in the right places. He stopped after a few yards.

"What do you want?" He barked. Her smile was …. heavenly, with sparkling white teeth. One of the reasons he fell in love. Corny, yet true, he had made it a daily routine to make her happy and elicit that smile. Some of us fall in love for no sublime reason. It's like a fatal mandate.

"You. What else would I want?" The smile didn't fade. Like a toothpaste commercial.

"Get lost. What we had is gone. Dead," he said in a harsh whisper. His rage intensified.

"Well, since we must whisper today. Let me …." She leaned closer and said something in his ear. Soto voce. She watched the interplay of guilt, shock, and fear on his face. She lost her smile then and made a gesture with both hands; spread out and back to rest at her sides.

Susie walked up and roughly pushed the girl aside.

"My eyes are on you, fucker," she said, making the two-finger sign. The girl vanished at the sight of the intruder.

"She saw me," he sighed.

Susie giggled. "I'll take care of that thing," she shot a thumb in the direction of the fleeing girl. Kazeem shook his head. 

"No. I will make amends in my way." His gaze was distant. And he hissed.

Lying naked and cuffed to the headboard of a hard-looking rectangular bed, she keeps pleading for mercy, a sixth sense telling her there is no turning back from the course she helped in charting. She writhed as if in pain or crazy excitement. A table near the bed bears a syringe and needle, and several packs of …... Vyleesi. So it read on the packs. Bisola was sweating terribly, rivulets crawled into her mouth which she blew into the room. She stopped suddenly and began to laugh maniacally.

"You can come and take what you want, you bastard!!!" She spat and spittle dribbled onto her chin nauseatingly.

"Come and get it!!!" That was the final prompt. Kazeem did a striptease as he approached the bed. The initial contact and entry were violent as if both of them were being inspired by fiery demons. She began to groan and moan in ecstasy, goading him on, taunting …..

"Very goooooood, harder!" She cried.

The girl clamped her legs fiercely around the small of his back and screamed the first wave of bliss. It was quickly followed by another. And another …. and she began to weep uncontrollably…. It went on for two hours, vehicled by an interesting cocktail; Cialis, Stendra, Levitra (100mg each,) and Predator; an energy drink. Kazeem was unrelenting in his thrusts. Measured. Metered. Deliberate. Calculated.

Precisely, at the height of one of those moments of bliss, his large hands reach out for her throat, and he throttled her with as much viciousness he could muster. She made guttural sounds as she slides into a quietus. Permanently. In bliss. He justified the murder with the fact that she had brought on the death of the innocent by her willfulness.

            PRESENT-DAY.

"Yet, I believe this country will be greatly exulted in due course because we have sacrificed enough." And with that, he began to sing Timi Dakolo's 'Great Nation. 'His clear yet, husky voice was an exact mimicry of Timi's. It was emotive, bringing tears to the eyes of the audience. And by an inexplicable reflex, they began to sing with him. Even the haters couldn't resist the pull of that moment.

"Here we stand as a people

With one song, with one voice

We're a nation, undivided and poised

We will take our stand, and build our land

With faith to defend what is ours

Here we are as a people

With one heart, for one cause

We're determined to rebuild and restore

Where freedom reigns and truth prevails

A land where there's hope for us all

A land where there's hope for us all

We're all we have, we'll defend our land

We believe in this nation, and we know we'll get there

We're all we have, we'll defend our land

We believe in Nigeria and the promise she holds

And that one day we'll shine like the sun

We're a great nation

Though we are many people

Different tribes, different tongues

We're united in our strength and resolve

To uphold the honour of our land

And for generations to come …. "

The chorus was delivered with the great skill of a trained choir. It was electrifying. Tears flowed unbiddenly.

        PRESENT TIME – REAL-TIME.

On the long and broad concrete walkway of the Kainji Dam, he cuts the appearance of an angel of death. Darkly. Still, but for the breeze teasing the tails of his long coat. What is missing at the moment was a fedora. Ed pulled gently, kind of lazily at a cigarette, and puffed into the humid air in a failed attempt to create rings of nicotine.

He looked sideways to the other two who waited expectantly. It was eight o'clock at night.

"I think we should call them now," he snorts irritably looking down towards the turbulence below them.

"What's the mode of transport?" One asked.

"Dark," Ed said into the wind, looking at the full silver moon. The man therein smiled down at him.

For a man his age, Rotimi Magazo had a wonderful gait. Like a boy of twenty. At sixty-five he was a man of many parts; he had his fingers in many pies hence his nickname. Spider. Like the arachnid, he controlled an empire straggled like the buttress roots of the African baobab. Right at the centre, he manipulated other empires owned by others who are not any wiser; the organized labour, National Assembly, cement production, lifting of crude oil, electricity distribution, transport, rice production, tomato and palm oil processing, market women leaders of various states, education (public and private), State legislators, The Presidency and domestic terrorism. The last was only whispered.

Yet, he was not known in public. His was a power hiding in plain sight.

He could be the casual beggar sitting on the corner of Martins Street in Lagos, the Fulani herdsman trekking with an AK-47 and his cattle, the grime-coated bearer of an RPG-7 chasing the Nigerian soldiers from their trenches up north, the frustrated pensioner hustling for an overdue pension on a long queue of old citizens, the idle fisherman mending a broken cast-net at the banks of a creek South-South, the Executive Officer in a massive office ensconced in a tall sliver of glass and steel in Lagos Island. Even his name was a deception to endear him to the West where he had many business concerns. Magazo was "here, there, and everywhere" as they say.

Many years ago, a notable journalist from the Tribune whispered and went ahead to publish a damning word. Two words actually. Words attributed to him. THE CABAL. The reporter vanished and was never found. Truth be told, Rotimi was one of the youngest members of the Northern power base formerly called The Kaduna Mafia. Yet, amidst all this intrigue and mystique, Magazo had a weakness. The voluptuous Ijaw girl he met on one of his forages in the creeks while inspecting an offshore oil rig.

A problem child he saddled himself with. He married her and immediately divorced his fourth wife; Fatimah.

After this marriage, those who were close to him began to see the humanity in him. A man they had seen as mean, evil, and greedy.

Magazo had an inner conflict. Was it love he was feeling or lust? In any case, it was clear to him that he loved that young body from the South. He hoped he would be liberated from the curse and the mental scars of the Sharo. Forever. With her, he did not need the rawhide whip that made him a sadomasochist. He only had to imagine her large breasts and the well-rounded backside to come in his pants. Tare-emi was his aphrodisiac while making out with other women and that made him viciously protective of her. She was just fifteen.

The angry sound of a chopper's engine can be heard in the dark sky. The weather is chilly due to the crazy harmattan up north. The aircraft hovers noisily above the white mansion as two men are being lowered into the compound from a rope ladder. One of the men grabbed the railings of a balcony and swiftly disappeared through the French windows of a bedroom. The chopper pilot fired bullets into the gatehouse as the other man landed in the yard and proceeded to the far wall. He quickly pasted what looked like plastique on the wall and moved back to depress a detonator.

The noise from the chopper drowned the explosion and a large hole was created. The chopper moved away into the darkness. The man saw two large dogs baying as they race toward him. He slowly reached for a side-holster and took two clear shots. The animals collapsed in a grunting and gurgling pile in front of him. That was when the front door opened and a tall man came running with a female on his shoulder.

Out through the hole in the wall, they boarded a black Toyota Sienna XLE and sped into the haze.

A muezzin's cry came up behind the tail lights. The sound of the car engine; is an accompaniment for the Minaret's call to prayers. It was dawn. The tactical had lasted exactly five minutes.