Abiodun pulled up behind a row of cars in front of Peace Lodge, Otunba Oluawo’s mansion in Osborne Foreshore estate, in Ikoyi. The fence of the property extended the length of the street. There were cars on both sides of the road. Ojo suspected that it had something to do with the crashed plane – Otunba was the trump card behind the man’s party. That the old man could spare the time to see Ojo during such a crisis increased Ojo’s apprehension. Perhaps he would reveal Ojo and his daughter’s divorce in front of all his political associates, thus ensuring Ojo became a total pariah.
There were extra guards at the gate that Ojo didn’t recognise: police officers, army personnel, and thugs who openly carried unregistered shotguns and smoked their weed close to the law enforcement officers. A security guard bowed as he shook hands with Ojo and he let him through the foot gate.
Ojo walked slowly across the cobblestone compound towards the main building; there were seven buildings in total, with the main mansion taking centre stage at the end of a long driveway.
Standing in front of the door of the main house, Ojo considered turning round. Matilda had set him up and reported him to her father. The worst was done. Why was he here? To be told to behave himself? To be warned? To be fired as his daughter’s husband the way Otunba fired politicians who offended him? Perhaps it was time he held his middle finger up to her and to her family. What had they done for him, anyway? The old man had never sent a contract his way, introduced him to any of his powerful allies, or for that matter taken him into his confidence. If he turned back now and left, what was the worst that could happen? He had three million dollars in a bank account in the US that Matilda didn’t know about. He would survive without her family; only not in Nigeria.
His belly didn’t feel better for considering walking away. He pressed the bell and waited.
A servant led him through a large parlour full of men dressed in bulbous agbadas in animated exchange. Politicians. He was right, there was a political meeting going on at Peace Lodge. Perhaps he could turn back today and explain that he didn’t want to disturb the old man’s political affairs.
The servant opened the door to Otunba’s private parlour where Ojo had first met the man almost two decades earlier. He stopped. Otunba, sitting alone at the end of the room, stared directly at him from the middle of a sofa. On either side of him sat chiefs of the ruling party that Otunba had helped form. The men stopped talking when Ojo stepped in and turned to him. Ojo’s belly felt even weaker and his heart began pounding. He took a step forward and a man stood, gathering the hem of his agbada over his shoulder. Ojo balked as the man approached him. It was Muhammad Kano, two-time governor of Taraba state and now a senator. He held out his hands to Ojo. ‘Your Excellency,’ he said, smiling as he shook Ojo’s hands. The other men and women in the room got up too and walked up to Ojo, surrounding him, and taking turns to shake his hand, each of them addressing him as Your Excellency. Ojo looked past the politicians at Otunba, the only one still seated. The old kingmaker was smiling at his son-in-law.