23

A thirteen-car convoy led and trailed by police vans with screaming sirens stopped in a line between the two rows of cars parked in front of Peace Lodge. Uniformed officers and stone-faced women and men in suits jumped out and looked around at the hitherto peaceful surroundings that their flashing lights and sirens had disturbed.

Soldiers in bulletproof vests and helmets, guns at the ready, spread out across the road, their backs to Peace Lodge, and scanned the road.

A woman in a black suit, her hand on the door handle of a black Mercedes S-Class in the middle of the convoy, looked around one last time, then pulled the door open. Other agents in suits gathered round the man who got out and they escorted him to the already open foot gate to Peace Lodge into which no cars, no matter how important the owner, were ever allowed to enter. Two police officers removed a large aluminium strong box from the boot of a black Land Cruiser in the convoy. The box received the same protection as the man that had preceded it.

In front of the open entrance to the mansion, Otunba Oluawo stood and waited to receive the VIP who was being led up the long driveway in the cocoon of bodyguards. To Oluawo’s right, Ojo stood holding his hands behind his back, shoulder to shoulder with his close friend, Retired Navy Commodore Shehu Yaya. On Otunba’s left, stood a man in a black agbada, his eyes shielded by dark glasses; what remained visible of his face was stoic, and unsmiling. Other men and women flanked the four in the middle; they were dressed in expensive native outfits, with cowry beads around their wrists and necks. They were party bigwigs and Chiefs of the land.

The bodyguards and soldiers stood aside and a short man in a starched, sky blue dashiki and a red hat smiled, and with hands stretched out, walked up to Otunba.

‘VP,’ Otunba said, taking his hand. The vice president began to prostrate before Otunba, but Otunba put his hands out to stop him. ‘Welcome home. Abuja is really treating you well. Look at your cheeks.’

‘Baba, it is not so rosy in FCT. Molade is the only reason the cheeks have not deflated.’

‘Are you sure she is the only one cooking for you in Aso Rock?’ Otunba said with a smile on his face.

The two men laughed at their joke and the onlookers followed suit.

‘I brought a message from Mr. President,’ the vice president said.

‘It can wait until we are inside. Have you met my son-inlaw?’

‘No, I haven’t had the honour till today,’ the vice president said, ‘but I have heard a lot about him.’

Ojo bowed as he shook hands with the vice president. ‘Good morning, sir,’ he said.

‘Good morning, Your Excellency’ the vice president said.

‘And Shehu, you know,’ Otunba said.

The man in the black agbada who had been holding his hand out to shake the vice president’s, stood with his arm still outstretched.

The vice president and Shehu embraced before slapping their hands together and snapping fingers.

‘Old Navy,’ the vice president said, ‘I didn’t know you were in our party.’

‘Well, Ojo here is my close friend,’ Shehu said.

‘You mean, His Excellency,’ the vice president said. All the men and the women smiled, except the man in the black agbada whose hand had been ignored and who Otunba had not bothered to introduce.

The strong box was placed on the floor in a bedroom and its bearers left. The vice president, his aide-de-camp, Otunba, Ojo, and Shehu remained.

‘Open it,’ Otunba said.

The agent stooped by the box and unlocked it. She opened the lid all the way back and stood back.

‘How much?’ Otunba asked.

‘What you asked for,’ the vice president said.

‘In that case I take it your boss is happy with our candidate.’

‘We cannot afford to lose Lagos,’ the vice president said. ‘He has faith in you to deliver the state.’

‘And in my son-in-law?’

‘He has absolute faith in your choice.’

‘Good. We shall meet you downstairs to make the announcement.’

‘What are we doing about the deputy governor?’

‘What about him?’

‘He didn’t look happy just now. He already asked people to talk to the president.’

‘And so?’

‘He thinks he should be the candidate.’

‘The party caucus has decided. I will deal with him if he proves stubborn. Go and wait for me downstairs.’

The vice president and his aide left.

‘Ojo, bring one bundle,’ Otunba said.

Ojo gathered his agbada and held it to his body, then bent down and retrieved a cellophane-wrapped brick of hundred-dollar bills and handed it to Otunba who tore away the transparent wrapping. Some of the bundles fell on to the rest of the bricks in the box. He handed one bundle back to Ojo, and gave the rest to Shehu who began to arrange the money back in the box as neatly as he could.

‘That is for the journalists,’ Otunba said to Ojo who was holding the money in both hands awaiting instructions. ‘They are having lunch in the big dining room. It is important they receive their money before they finish, but you must not be the one to give it to them. Tell Lasaki to put five hundred in one envelope each, then go to the dining room and greet them. Shake hands with each of them, ask them if they are enjoying their meal, if they need anything, if there is anything you can get for them, and if they are comfortable. Then when you leave, Lasaki will enter and give them their envelopes. Do not answer any questions if they ask you. Just smile and tell them to enjoy their meals first.’

Ojo put the money into his pocket and left. Shehu turned to leave with him.

‘You wait,’ Otunba said.

When Ojo had closed the door behind him, Otunba, looking down at the money, waved his hand over it.

bí owó ò sí,’ he said. ‘There is no spirit like money. There is enough here to buy private jets, entire estates in Osborne, and still have enough change for hundreds and hundreds of Mercedes cars. And if you stand in front of those things and look at them, you will not feel anything. But when you stand in front of money like this, if your heart is not strong enough you can run mad. That is because of the spirit that lives inside money. Money is power, and yet it is just paper.’

Shehu had been looking at Otunba the entire time. Otunba turned to him.

‘You are his friend. He talks very well of you.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘You supply girls to your rich friends.’

‘No, sir. I run a catering service. I supply ushers.’

‘Call it whatever you want to call it. A man like you deserves more than the chicken change they pay you. Do you want inside or outside?’

‘I don’t follow, sir.’

‘Inside is government position. Outside is government contractor. You know he’s going to be the next governor and all this is mere formality. Our party cannot lose in this state; you have heard it from the VP - that is from the president himself. We have already won. When he enters the government house, what position do you want? Deputy governor is off the table, as are all the juicy commissions, but we can still find something for you. You know, here in Lagos state is the only place in Nigeria that you would find an Igbo man in the cabinet. You are from the north but we can still find you something. You follow now?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Don’t give me your answer now. Go and think about it.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘There is one thing I want you to do for me. From now on, wherever he goes, you go. Whatever he hears, you hear. Whatever he sees, you see. You never leave his side. You understand?’

‘I understand, sir.’

‘Good. And this is between us.’