Rostrum
Anyone was liable to insinuate that he was psychologically suffering from myopia. If not, why would he abandon his workshop for an undefined odyssey simply because he yearned for a bigger venture? No wonder he had been putting on a wistful feeling ever since he founded the workshop, perhaps out of weariness, having forgotten that a journey of a thousand miles must begin with a step. Nevertheless, only the 34-year-old Dapo knew exactly if such step taken by him was consequential and the needful.
Dapo, a graduate of Electrical/Electronic Engineering who thought it wise to set up an engineering workshop after his long years of search for a white-collar job
proved abortive, was really an industrious and intelligent young man who appeared to be very dedicated to his professional handicraft. Fascinatingly, he was receiving an encouraging patronage unabated, because he was unarguably equal to the task.
The aforementioned abrupt change of mind transpired barely eleven months after he established the said workshop with the help of his lovable parents, owing to the encounter he had with his old-time friend, Tunji, in one of the famous joints situated in the city of Akure in Ondo State, Nigeria where he resided.
“Could this be Tunji?” He thought as he caught sight of him in the distance the moment he stepped into the joint.
It was about 6:13 pm on Thursday 17th of September 2015.
Tunji, seated at one of the corners in the joint in the company of his contemporary friend, Segun of the same age bracket, looked up, and also sighted Dapo. “Whom am I seeing?” He thought aloud, though wasn’t heard by Dapo who wasn’t yet nearby.
“What’s it?” Segun enquired.
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“The guy who just walked in appears exactly like one of my close pals called Dapo those days in the university.” Tunji cleared the air.
“May be, he’s the one.” Segun reasoned.
Within a few seconds, Dapo walked closer to where they were seated. The moment he got there, he became astonished having confirmed it was Tunji. Little did he know he would come across him again in his lifetime. “Tunji..!” He managed to utter.
“Oh my God,” Tunji exclaimed, dumbfounded, stood up hastily. “So it’s you, Dapo!”
They hugged each other passionately.
Segun smiled heavily as he observed the
reunion.
It was indeed a nostalgic moment.
Dapo was instantly offered a seat at the
round table. Prior to his arrival, Tunji and Segun had already emptied some
bottles of lager beer coupled with plates of pepper soup. He was enjoined to
join the chorus. “What are you doing in Akure?” He asked Tunji.
“I
came to see my friend.” Tunji replied, pointing at Segun. “Please, forgive my
manners.” He added, looking at Dapo, having acknowledged he was yet to make the
needed introductions.
“No wahala.” Dapo accepted.
“Please
meet Segun, my beloved pal,” Tunji rode on, gesticulating. “He also hails from
this state.”
Dapo being an indigene of Ondo State nodded
in appreciation.
“Segun,
please meet Dapo,” Tunji continued in a similar style. “He was one of the best
brains during our days in UniLag.” He enthused frantically.
Dapo
and Tunji were both engineering graduates of the prestigious University of
Lagos (UniLag), Akoka in Lagos State, Nigeria.
“He
is also a son of the soil.” Tunji landed.
Tunji
was a guest in the state; he hailed from a neighbouring province, Ogun State to
be precise.
Segun quickly straight out his right arm for a
handshake; Dapo complied. It was a warmth and pleasant greeting, “Nice to meet
you,” the former dished out amid the handshake.
“The
pleasure is all mine.” Dapo responded.
Tunji smiled. “Segun and I are both based
in Jakarta, Indonesia,” He intimated. “We import goods to Nigeria from time to
time.”
“Oh, really..?.” Dapo said, nodding.
“So, do you base here?” Tunji asked Dapo.
“Yea,” replied Dapo. “Ever since we finished
our NYSC about seven years ago, I have been here.”
“And, what have you been into?” Tunji
stylishly enquired.
“My
brother, leave matter for Matthias.” hinted Dapo who wore blue jean trousers,
black polo and brown leather slippers.
“Meaning…?”
Tunji, who put on black three-quarter jeans, grey T-shirt and white sneakers,
verified.
“Na
long story, my brother.”
Segun, clad in ash chino trousers, white
shirt, black plain shoes and a white face cap, shook his head in sympathy as if
he already knew the yet to be disclosed tale.
The incidental get-together lasted for about
forty minutes before they departed for their various residences. Prior to their
exit, Tunji and Dapo scheduled to meet the following two days at Segun’s place.
During the said meeting, Tunji and Segun who
were drug barons, succeeded in winning the mind of the pitiably looking Dapo.
Obviously, the gangsters needed not many words to convince the desperate Dapo
that their kind of business was the most ‘lucrative’. Therein, he willingly
agreed to follow suit.
The Indonesian based bachelors, who could
boast of anything money could afford, specialized in exporting such illicit
drugs as cocaine and marijuana to various European nations; at intervals, they
would import some of the illicit goods into Nigeria. They had been into the
ostensibly successful game for over four years without encountering any hitch.
Dapo, having gotten the needed modus and
operandi of the densely risky venture, made up his mind to sale off his
workshop to enable him raise the required fund. He consequently lied to his
parents that he was leaving the country for a European nation in search of
‘greener’ pasture. Afterwards, luckily or unluckily, to him, he succeeded in
locating to the Asian country. Indeed, he was psychologically myopic as being
speculated by those who learnt the silly decision he had taken.
On
the day of Dapo’s first move in the company of his accomplices, Tunji and
Segun, while importing some drugs into Nigeria, specifically on Sunday, 4th
of October 2015, the three were caught at the border with about 92.5 kilograms
of cannabis by the men of the Nigeria Customs Service (NCS).
Thereafter, they found themselves in jail in
respect of a verdict, having willingly pleaded guilty to the crime.
Fred Nwaozor - Novelist, Playwright
& Poet - writes via frednwaozor@gmail.com
N.B: This literary work is subject to copyright.
