My advice, be at alert, then, WATCH and PRAY. That’s what I did with Mr. Fine Boy.
Mr.Fine Boy, suited up and sharp looking. My landlord’s son was one of
those boys that knew was attractive. His shoulders were raised high with
an air of superiority. He drove the latest cars and used the latest
gadgets. For me, he was fun to watch. He lived in the apartment beside
mine, and his parents lived in another apartment in Ogba. Most times he
had his friends over, screaming and gisting in the evenings. I wondered
what he did for a living. He seemed too relaxed; he never went out in
the mornings. And yes, he was always on the phone.I had recently concluded my landlord’s son, Dike, was a business man. My analysis:
- Business men like Dike always talked on the phone,
- They had the power over their time.
- They laughed a lot, because there was too much money. Unlike me, I had the core attributes of an employee.
One evening, I came back home by 8pm. I usually arrived home by 10pm. I saw three cars packed in the compound, I was sure they were Dike’s friends. I went into my house, walked near the window to close it, because the noise of the generator was giving me a headache, when I overheard someone talking on the phone. The person must have been at the back of the house. I heard a foreign accent, and I tried to check who it was, but it was too dark to identify'Mr British accent'. The person was talking about a contract with the Nigerian government and said he had lived in Nigeria for the past three months. He needed some money to fund some parts of the project, which was to begin in two months. I suspected it was one of Dike’s friends and decided to close my window and go to the kitchen.
Two weeks later, on a Saturday morning, I heard Mr. British accent again, this time, I was going to pick the clothes I hung at the back of the house. I heard the accent near Dike's window; I looked through the window and saw Dike, he was the holding his iPhone and talking to someone.
I wondered why he was speaking with a British accent and remembered I had heard a similar accent two weeks ago. I know it wasn't my business but I had become more alert after what happened in my last compound. I would recount that story later.
I tried being friendlier with Dike and asked him questions about his job and his friends. The guy was always so ‘coded’. He was into business, what sort? He didn't say. I tried not to be pushy. I just watched Dike and his friends, with curiosity.
A month later, I came home to meet four policemen in our compound. The security man informed me they had come to ask for Dike. They wanted to know if anyone knew where he travelled or relocated to, as he was being wanted as an accomplice to fraud. In short, he was a yahoo, yahoo boy. We were asked to inform the police if we knew anything about his whereabouts.
Last week, Dike had knocked on my door, requesting to use my land line. He was whispering on the phone, and I pretended I was inside my room. I heard something about Togo and how the deal had failed. He spoke Igbo, so I wouldn't understand, but I picked out few words.
I really don't want to be involved with the police and Dike's troubles. Besides, I would have problems if his parents linked me to Dikes arrest. They had indulged my request to pay six month’s rent and use the remaining money saved for my rent to take care of my sick mum.
I desperately needed to wash my head, like they say in Yoruba, ‘Wash away all the bad luck charm’ as I was always caught in these kind of dilemmas?
Have you ever suspected that your neighbour was a thief, assassin, 419, child labour specialist or serious husband snatcher?(you know, all these kinds of people are someone’s neighbour o!)
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