Chapter 24: Chapter 24

CHAPTER 21

Teju was lonesome and he had started to become fidgety. He scanned the crowd for Sam. From a short distance, he could see Tiwa’s Dad among a small crowd of co-politicians. He was an obese man clothed in white agbada. He could easily pass for an angel. He was cracking jokes and they all roared in laughter. One would think he was Seyi Law or Akpos as his colleagues laughed with such energy, slapping each others’ arms and backs playfully.

The first time Teju met him, it was Tiwa who had coerced him to meet him. He was just back from Abuja for a short holiday with one of his girlfriends. He hosted him in his mansion at GRA. It was a big day for Teju. That was the first day he would meet a top politician from the capital. It was also the first time he would witness in a direct and clear objectiveness, the grandiose life which accompanied being a politician. Apart from the impression made on him by Tiwa’s Dad and his young, highly classed, spotless and American-accented girlfriend, the mansion, the airs, the type of cars, the security entourage and the mixture of both decently uniformed and half-naked house attendants made a better impression on him.

Without a proper request, Tiwa’s Dad had shown him around the interior of the mansion, and that for instance, was when he knew it was not only a President that had a presidential suite. After the tour, they sat in the sitting room which looked like a monarch’s hall with its highly priced sofas, the carefully arranged fluffy cushions, the decidedly embroidered chandeliers, the scarlet foot-sinking rug, the expensive woodcarvings, the tasteful paintings, and the body-cooling air-conditioner. When Teju sat in one of the sofas, at first, it was like sinking into a pit of hell, but then it became the cosiest sofa Teju had ever sat in.

It always seems hard to feel at home where one does not belong; especially when one does not have someone who would have had a mutual feeling if he or she was present. Probably Teju would have felt better if Sam was around. He felt like putting off his body like a cloak, leaving the premises while he scuttled away to where he really belonged. They spoke at length like men, though Tiwa’s Dad would have been a better conversationalist if he was a great listener. Perhaps, that was the problem with politicians, they do not listen. All they do was talk, talk and talk, like parrots.

Tiwa’s Dad had spoken about the nation’s politics, swerving from his personal history in politics to that of the nation’s, skipping and grazing the details in such a bizarrely disjointed pattern that left Teju curious. Sometimes, there were contradictions, but he would only argue if he was ready to bear the brunt of being on the bad side of the politician. And since his host was the type that seldom welcomed questions, he buried his curiosity painfully within him. His all-knowing and self-congratulating host only allowed him to speak about himself once throughout the two-hour lecture. Even a lecturer allows his students to speak more than once in a lecture.

Teju seized the chance to tell his host about his campus political activism, his natural flaccid passion for politics and his profound distaste for the sort of politics practised in the country. His host reasoned with him and he had quickly invited him to join the ruling party of which he was a member. He had even warned Teju vehemently about the treacherous foundation the opposition party was laid on. But Teju could hardly discern the difference between the ruling and the opposition party. Politicians abandoned a party for another party based on the prospect of winning and not based on democratic ideologies. When the people see a lot of politicians switching sides, they get cross-eyed in polling booths.

Teju strangely found it impossible to put on the sycophant demeanour people usually put on when they see a big man of the country. His mind travelled back to the time he still visited the people’s parliament at newspaper sales point. He would watch people chewing the names of politicians in their mouths along with something they would spit out sordidly, arguing and sweating like bottles of chilled beer coming straight from the fridge. Yet, Teju was convinced none of them would hesitate to be toadyish when they meet one of the big men whose names they chew nastily. Everyone was cowed by the overblown appearance of rich men. Consciously or subconsciously, they give these politicians who carted away their chances of living good lives the power and honour they never had in their closets.

Looking at Tiwa’s Dad again, jesting heartily with the dignified guests who had come to grace his daughter’s birthday party, Teju tried to see beyond the outer shell. Politics in the nation was such a dirty job, although, dirtier than people think. It seemed Tiwa’s Dad, with his shining teeth and opened fists, was a man cloaked in myriads of mysteries that deny the outward show.

The birthday party was not just a pedestrian party but a plush and royal-like feast. For some time, Teju found it difficult to believe that he was still within the boundaries of the nation. He could not stop to be in awe at the sight of the long and wide tables spread with steep tablecloths and heavily burdened with assortments of rich-in-nutrients foods in large silver-coloured buffet containers and designed ceramic plates. Each of these tables was stationed in each corner of the hall. And each table had at least twelve varieties of food from different cultures around the world, including Chinese spaghetti strictly served in a small hallow calabash-like bowl and eaten with chopsticks.

Teju steered away from the table where African ‘swallow’ foods like fufu, eba, tuwo, semo, iyan, amalalafu, amaladudu etc with richly garnished African soups, vegetables, assorted meats and fresh fishes were served. He joined the heavy traffic at the table where varieties of rice were served. And as Teju scanned the array of mouth-watering, sweet-scenting and hot-steaming foods on the table: jollof rice, fried rice, coconut rice, rice and beans, curried rice, chicken-flavoured rice, Ofada rice, Chinese rice, white rice and so on, he thought of heaven.

It was certainly true that heaven was on earth, as much as hell was on earth. It seemed it was a matter of luck to belong to the flamboyant side of life and a matter of ill-luck to belong to the blight side of it. But why was it that in the same country where millions of people were famished and are trooping into MMM and other Ponzi schemes in order to outlive the hardship caused by the turbulent economy, - not to speak of the great amount of them ending up in a trauma they cannot help to avert- a small fraction of people were hosting parties and serving bulks of various foods and drinks which was enough for UNICEF to successfully execute a FeedAfrica charity programme.

Teju was about to scoop a spoon of jollof rice into his plate when Simi pulled him and told him Tiwa was waiting for them. As he sauntered behind Simi, he wondered where the copious leftovers would go the next day. Teju would have loved to think the leftovers would go into freezers or would be distributed to beggars, madmen and women on the streets. But then, that was too good to be expected of politicians.

Tiwa was in a tight cream-coloured gown which was at least one and a half inches off her knees. And to Teju, and even with his wife by his side, Tiwa was looking sexually alluring. He could make out with her if she pushed hard enough. She jumped on Simi with excitement, hugging her so tightly. Teju was confused for a split second. He thought Simi and Tiwa were supposed to have seen each other earlier and exchanged long-time-no-see pleasantries in their feminine manner.

“Wow! You look so stunning!” Simi exclaimed as she looked and gently stroked Tiwa’s hair.

“Thank you so much!” exclaimed Tiwa, make a show of blushing, and then gave Simi a peck.

“I got something little for you, Tiwa” Simi said and gave her a pink-wrapped parcel.

“Thank you sweetie” Tiwa responded and gave her another peck before facing Teju.

Teju’s eyes met Tiwa’s for the first time, and it sent a stimulating sensation through his spine. He thought he was going to fall, but he pulled himself together. What he saw in Tiwa’s eyes- though he could not signify what it was- was certainly not superficial, but abyssal. That look was not borne out of being her friend’s husband. There was more to it, and it had always been that way.

Teju presented his gift with conscious avoidance of eye contact with her, as though he was a bashful schoolgirl in the presence of a flirting schoolboy. Tiwa gave him a warm hug, and a peck sweet like rainwater. Throughout his encounter with Tiwa, all the breaths he took were not willingly taken. He breathed his first voluntary breath when Tiwa disappeared into the overwhelming crowd with Simi. He wondered what that hug and peck meant. Even when he hugged and pecked his wife, he did not feel such eerie flow of current. It was like touching a naked electric wire. He took out his handkerchief and wiped off the little beads of sweat that had gathered on his forehead.