On This Day: 1965 Francis Agu was born in Lagos to the Catholic family of Fidelis and Virginia Agu from Enugu-Ngwo, Enugu State. He was a Nigerian TV and cinema (“Nollywood”) actor. Francis was best known for his role in Living in Bondage and the long-running Nigerian television series Checkmate.
The copper metal that fastened my upper limbs together behind my back was hurting me but I dared not complain. Unceasing slaps landed on my face and neck, these were terrible slaps by trained hands. Preye and Gbenga were not spared either. ‘Oga abeg’ were the only things we could say. Our constant pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears and like fuel added to fire, it seemed as if our pleas did nothing but ignite their burning anger toward us. We were made to sit with our backs against the wall as our stomachs received kicks as hard as rocks. I felt a rib break and I screamed in pain. Instant death would have been a better option than going through this ordeal. Preye’s face had swollen and looked almost unrecognizable, save for the birthmark on his left cheek. Gbenga on the other hand was bleeding from cuts inflicted on his body. ‘Oya stand up!’ one of the men barked. We could barely move, our hands had been handcuffed, bones broken, and faces battered. I silently prayed for death. ‘Una no dey hear say make una stand up abi?’ another officer bellowed. ‘Oga please’ Preye managed to mutter. ‘So una sabi beg’ the third officer who had been facing the wall since with the acronym SARS boldly written on his black polo said. He seemed to be the leader of the team. His grotesque face was enough to instill fear in people’s hearts. His arms were huge and muscular with unkept beards adding to the horribleness of his face. ‘When una dey scam people, una no know abi? Una own don finish be that’ he said. There was no point in pleading with them, their hearts were as cold as a stony ice. It was obvious that we were doomed. ‘Ah! I am finished’ Preye shouted with tears streaming down his face. ‘No, you are not finished, in fact you haven’t even started’ the officer with tinted hairs answers sarcastically with the others bursting into hysterical laughter. ‘Iku (death), Ijaya (intimidation), Akeke (scorpion), drag these things into the vehicle’ the leader ordered. If those were truly their sobriquets, then we were truly doomed. ‘One day, monkey go go market and e no go come back’ was a saying I heard all my life but never had I thought that it would be applied to me, not even on the day I started my career as a Gee – boy, a fraudster. Growing up wasn’t really a smooth ride, although we started out as a modest family, everything went topsy-turvy after dad’s death when I was 12 and so the onus was on mom to raise me and my younger siblings all by herself. We hawked all kinds of goods and did all sorts of menial jobs just to get by but could only eat from hand to mouth, sometimes having to scoop away the mucour on the leftover eba to eat. At the age of 20 and being the first born, I was determined to change our story and make mama smile. I had the dream of being a musician and making it big like Wizkid, Davido and P-Square but my idol was 9ice. For one thing, his music resonated with me, his deep Yoruba lyrics full of idiots and proverbs was something I could relate with. I started to enjoy his music from Gongo Aso Street Credibility and every other ones he put out, I even prayed on many occasion that his dream of winning a Grammy be actualized. However, he went silent for a couple of years without making music, then out of the blues he came out with a banger titled ‘Living Things’. The song gained massive airplays and it became my ringtone. I played the song whenever I wake and listen to it before going to bed. I paid special attention to the lyrics amongst which were: “Awon temi sa’se (my guys are scamming) Won sa’se loru moju (they’re scamming till daybreak) Lai f’oju kan’run (while losing sleep) Wire wire Kin sa ti lowo (the most important thing is to get the money) Money order Ole je come and marry…” The message was clear: The goal is to make money by any means while damning the consequences. The song even listed ways of making money through fraudulent activities like Wire Wire (Advanced fee fraud), Money Order Scam, Come and Marry (Romance Scam) and others. This new thought overpowered any moral left in me and I became ready to take the bull by the horn. Gbenga was my classmate in secondary school who comes last in every examination but now living large, spending money and buying cars. I discussed with him and he promised to help me. I got to know that he was a ‘Yahoo boy’ but I no longer cared, as a living thing I was determined to be wealthy through whatever means possible. I bade mama farewell and moved in with Gbenga in his rented two bedroom flat in the city, there I met Preye who was also with him. I quickly mastered differenr methods of knline fraudulent activities. Our life was a cycle: anyone who cashed out would be in charge of ordering food for the rest, when money isn’t forthcoming, we sell our cars and valuables while expecting a new client and so the cycle continues. I was just starting to find my feet in the game when on a bright Saturday morning we heard knocks on our door. Gbenga opened the door only to be hit on his face with gun, we had been busted! As we were being dragged to the vehicles, I could imagine mama shaking her head sideways with tears streaming down her face in disappointment as to what had become of her son. I had not even assisted her as I thought I would even though I didn’t tell her what sort of work I was into. I cursed myself for being influenced by that
My new home was a world apart from anything you can imagine. At home, emotions like love and care were alien to us. We did virtually everything together but we didn’t love each other. It was that phenomenon I call surrounded but still alone. Though in this family we were always in uniforms, and we ate so as to not pass out the next day. We were familiar with words like, cellmate, warden, hard labor, torture, intimidation, wickedness, and swear words like ‘ your papa’, the list is endless. And I was worthy to be in this family. During the day we had people who called the shots in there beat men till they almost bleed from their eyes and spat their teeth out like it were stones. At night the night singers not only feasted but held a concert but to our detriment. A can of sardine was more spacious for the fishes than it were for us in this room Thomas Ige!?” the warden shouted. “Yes!” I responded with the last good breath I could inhale. “Someone wants to see you, come here fast before I change my mind you idiot!” he spat. With the speed of a lightening I got there ready to leave. I didn’t care if it was Chioma ‘s mother who had come to assualt and cuss at me for what I did to her daughter, all I wanted was to be out of there. Turns out the room directly below us was the toilet of the chief warden. He had just emptied the contents of his pot Bellied stomach and it’s stench had risen up to our cell like it was burnt offerings offered to us. The word unbearable doesn’t come close to how our cell smelled, more reason I was grateful I was called out. It was my mother. She had come to see me as it was few days after my sentence. The shape of her eyes had grown some inches bigger. Her nose was also quite bigger. What gave her away was the map of dried liquid on her face. When she spoke it felt like she was the least perturbed that her son will spend a better part of his life with a new family that doesn’t include her. Gradually days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months and months to years. For 29 bad years I had lived here. On my 30th I was released. As I stepped my feet outside the walls of the prison, in my now less fitting trousers and shirts I had it at the back of my mind I was all alone. My mother was hit by a car in my 10th year of my sentence while I never knew my father. I had relatives who were more of strangers less of family before I went behind bars, so they never mattered. Believe me starting afresh takes courage and the beginnings are always the hardest. For the first few years, I was a Barrow Pusher, brick layer, bus conductor and sorts, slept in odd places while on those jobs. Let me not bore you with the details. On the 5th year I got a house. It was small but it was everything to me. A one room apartment in a face me I slap you house. When I moved, my neighbors were acting strange. Treating me with cool indifference. They wouldn’t answer me if I greeted them, so I got no chance to ask them anything further. One day as I got home I overheard them talking, I greeted them but they not only ignored me but stared at me in scorn. It was when I was unlocking my door that I heard it. “ see him” one said “ mtcheww see my brother leave o, if I was the devil there are some souls I’ll follow God to drag even if they repent tomorrow and become a pastor” the other one said. Then everything made perfect sense. 6 months later I got a job as a driver for Mr. Wellington. I know deep down that it was a miracle. Mr. Wellington was a man who worked with a radio station. He was not only rolling in dough but he was also an 800 pound gorilla in the state. Mr. Wellington had a pretty wife and the most witty, 2 and a half year old I have ever laid my eyes on. She was as cute as a button. My boss always treated me like a brother. He cared about me in ways bosses never did. His wife respected my opinion just like her husband while his cute daughter April always had a big grin on her face anytime she saw me. She would say “uncle tom I hope you are having a good day” in that little cute voice of hers. As time went on I and the Wellingtons became closer. My salary had been increased and I had moved to a better house. They were a miracle from heaven. On a fateful Saturday we were at the mall, I held unto April, while her mother was shopping . As we stood at an ice cream stand waiting, April tapped me and said. “Uncle tom there’s a woman that keeps staring at us.” she said as her eyes kept moving in a direction, “Who is that?” I asked anxiously. Then she shrugged. I got worried and keeping looking but I saw nothing weird. Just then a woman with a gun emerged. Everyone screamed and ran. I carried April to run to safety then I heard her voice. Stopping in my tracks, to make sure .Lo and behold it was Chioma’s mother with a gun.” Why are you not yet dead”? She inquired. She was pointing the gun at me. Before I could utter a word, she had fired a bullet. Then I ran carrying April to the car. Just as I was looking for the keys, I felt something wet on
It was a dry Wednesday noon with its moderation perfectly intact. The sun beamed less brightly than the day before, the midday wind came gently, seeking to please every form of vegetation which so easily bristled in its sway, and the chirps from the birds that perched on the branches of the guava tree in our compound was like a lovely vocalized serenade to me. The world outside of me was peaceful to a fault, but inside of me was a jumble of emotions. I was thinking about how to stop thinking about any other thing, and the thoughts of shutting the shutters of my mind terrified me. Yet, a less alive portion of my sanity was suffused with the peace that comes along with joy and relief. I knew that once I had checked my WASSCE results, I would be dispossessed of this medley of feelings, and I just couldn’t be patient enough. Ever since Chukwuebuka, my best friend and class mate, had called me to tell me that the board had released the results, I lost my patience. I was irate with the phone I was trying to use to check my results. Its network just wasn’t as fast as I needed it to be. It wasn’t reliable either because after several minutes of indicating that my results were being processed, an error message would still pop up afterwards: “No network. This could be because you do not have existing data. Check data,” the error message always read. I knew I still had an existing data bundle, but I just couldn’t bring my mind around any possibility that could have been preventing me from viewing my results. I could still log in on Facebook and send messages on WhatsApp, and more annoyingly, I could get any information I needed on my browser; anything, but my WASSCE results. I dialed Chukwuebuka’s number and I told him the hitch I was experiencing with accessing the results. He told me he was having the same problem as I was, and that the only reason he could think of was the fact that millions of students across West Africa were trying to access the results at the same time, hence, the server was overloaded. I grimaced for not thinking about that. I knew I was losing my sensibilities to the uncertainty of what the results would be. Chukwuebuka advised that we check the results late at night. I agreed with him at first, but after I hung up, that voice of dubiety nudged me to continue trying to access the results. After a thirty-odd try, it was displayed. My eyes first fell on my photograph at the top left corner of the displayed document. A cold shiver shot up my spine in a split second, clasped my heart, and wouldn’t let go. I didn’t even take the slightest notice of my shaking hands. On the left were displayed the subjects I had offered, and on the right were my grades for each subject. Gently scrolling, I took a glance on the right and on the left simultaneously. And on the sixth row, I froze, staring agape at the grade that had been scribbled in there. Disbelieving my sight, I lifted my shaky index finger and traced the row where the bold ‘E’ had appeared. “Chemistry!” I muttered breathlessly, hoping that by calling the subject’s name, it would be different. How could a science student get an ‘E’ in Chemistry? For three years, I studied Chemistry in secondary school, sitting exam after exam, but I never failed! Why now when it was most important? I didn’t make a ‘C’ in Chemistry and I planned to be called a doctor someday. I loved the way those blokes and dames in immaculate white lab gowns fingered the syringe before driving the needle into a patient’s veins. I loved the way they listened to every rhythm of life with those ear-bud-like instruments called stethoscope. I loved the style of their writing whenever they put down their diagnosis and medication for the patient. The unlearned could never read what the doctor wrote, but the pharmacist, just as intelligent as the doctor, could. I loved the profession. I always had, but of what use was my love with this disappointing ‘E’. I just couldn’t stop thinking about how doomed my life was with this failure. I wanted to cry, hit something hard with my balled fists, stifle and say that all was well. I wanted to do all of these at once. I became more confused than I was before checking the results. I began blaming myself for not taking Chukwuebuka’s advice of waiting until late at night before checking the results as if that would have made the results become any different from what I had already seen. “Chukwuebuka,” I said in a voice that was too weak to even be a whisper. “He must have done well. So, he will go ahead of me now.” And there it was, what I needed to crash into an abysm of despair. My knees gave way under my weight, and I crashed headlong to the floor. How could this be undone? I was asking myself as my phone buzzed in my hand. Chukwuebuaka was calling, but I knew I wouldn’t pick. I knew failure had nothing to do with success. It wouldn’t make sense if I began to bug Chukwuebuka with my negative energy, I thought. I had scarcely shut my eyes to sleep, or probably die, when the door was pushed open and I heard my name. The voice was all too familiar that I knew I had to pry my eyes open. However, I still didn’t find the tiniest of energy to get back up to my feet. Warm hands fell on my shoulders, quaking me. Mother’s hands! She called out my name, asking what it was that had gone wrong. I craned my neck to look at her, and in those motherly eyes of hers
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