Learning the Ropes

I glance through his Instagram post for a moment, reminiscing about old times and broke days. We used to be close friends until he relocated and we lost touch. Obviously he is rich now and living large too. I could tell. I sent a DM, he replies and tells me to come visit him.

In a peaceful and serene neighbourhood in Lagos Island. I get to the doorstep. Really nice crib. The door isn't locked so I open it and walk in. Naira Marley's music is playing loudly. The atmosphere is hot. Shirtless boys flock the house. Each rolling up weed sporadically with a big bottle of vodka stationed closeby and a laptop screen staring brightly at their faces. He is in their midst; my close friend. We greet and shake hands.

We talk about old times. All the memories we shared in the past. We laugh over a lot of things. He proceeds to pour me some vodka. And we talk some more. I ask him about his sudden wealth. He chuckles. As if it is some form of mystery that cannot be unveiled. I go on to express my desire to become like him. To have a nice crib of my own. Have money and live large too. He laughs calmly and advises me to stay longer in order to learn the ropes. Of course I'm definitely not leaving soon. So he rolls up weed and stretches it out to me and ingratiately I collect. I huff and puff repeatedly. Guzzle some more vodka and soon I start to feel light and dizzy. I remain motionless savouring the cruise.

Suddenly, I hear a loud bang. The front door flings open violently. Armed men in EFCC costumes raid the house, rounding up everyone. Some guys are in handcuffs already. I jolt from where I'm seated and attempt to skitter away through any visible exit, but I get unlucky. The butt of a gun lands ferociously at the back of my head and knocks me out temporarily.

Handcuffed and swooned, everything seem to start replaying in my head. Slowly. And in reverse. Like a tape being rolled back. Handcuffs begin to uncuff. And I rise and skitter back to my seat. The EFCC officers exit through the front door backwardly and in the same manner they had barged in and the door closes. Liquor escape from my mouth and return into the vodka bottle. And smoke back to the blunt. Then the chitchats rolls back. I backwardly walk out. Get to the doorstep. Out of Lagos Island, and back to the moment–glancing at his Instagram post. I drop a perfunctory love reaction on the post and resist the urge to ṣàlàyé or DM him.

Related posts:

Last week I was having lunch in Palo Alto with my former colleague, Richard Hua, and he reminded me of something I shared with him last year. It was a list of 10 lessons I learned from a dinner…

The stuff that makes the world go round and leaves us scratching our heads in confusion. It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? They say wealth doesn’t come from books, and if it did, I’d be a billionaire by…

When you know you can choose between right and wrong , you believe in a moral lawgiver. You believe there is a God. To every consequence there is a beginning. In these unprecedented times, I hope we…