ShortStory I Compromise

COMPROMISE

       

        That very way a warrior would feel having won a fierce battle at the warfront was exactly how Engr. Akin Balogun felt the moment he walked out from the ‘dreaded’ office in that fateful morning of Tuesday in the company of Mrs. Ann Oyibo.

        The office in question, which was situated in Abuja – the Nigeria’s capital territory – was his prospective benefactor. He had upon request been invited on merit for a holistic scrutiny; the invitation arrived his desk five days back. Having successfully responded to the call made by the office that could best be described as dreaded, he was thereof felt like flying far beyond the sky.

        Engr. Balogun was the Chief Executive Officer (CEO) of a reputable engineering construction firm – Cartez Nigeria Limited – domiciled in the city of Lagos, Yaba precisely. He had few weeks back, on behalf of the said company, submitted a quotation, requesting for an award of a contract regarding a proposed road construction. His demand was informed by a memo published in one of the national dailies, asking interested corporate organizations to apply for such vacancy within a week from the date of the publication.

        That very Tuesday being 10^th July 2012 was exactly the day his firm was asked to report to the Federal Ministry of Works, Abuja to face a panel for onward assessment. He had embarked on the trip via air with the company’s Secretary, Mrs. Oyibo who before the day had been profusely jittery over the anticipated outcome of the interview. But at the moment, having stepped out of the office after all said and done, the duo could perceive success. From their feelings, it seemed every required condition surrounding the awaited contract had been met by the revered Cartez Limited.

        “That was wonderful.” Engr. Balogun whispered to the hearing of his employee as they graciously walked towards the reception room.

        “Yes sir.” Mrs. Oyibo concurred. “I quite agree with you.”

        “I pray everything works fine.” The boss thought aloud.

        “Same here.”

        A contract worth of seventy-five million naira was involved, thus it was not needful to assert that such job was the dream of every promising entrepreneur, and Engr. Balogun wasn’t exceptional.

        Cartez Nig. Ltd. had spent over ten years in the system and had remarkable antecedents to boast of. Although every other firm invited for the interview could as well have such records to its credit, the said boss saw his as the most outstanding, probably owing to a few convincing responses he provided aptly while he was being screwed in there some minutes ago alongside his secretary. However, since the other firms seeking for the contract were not invited same day with his, he wouldn’t say for sure his chances of securing the ‘hot’ job.

        Therein, the duo headed for the Nnamdi Azikiwe International Airport, Abuja en-route Lagos State with heart full of joy, though apparently surrounded with mixed feelings.

        “Hello dear.” Engr. Balogun answered the moment he took a phone call from his wife.

        “Honey, how are you?” enquired Mrs. Balogun.

        “I am fine.”

        “Are you through with the interview?”

        “Yes, my dear.” he said. “As a matter of fact, we are on our way to the airport.”

        “Really?”

        “Yea.” he clarified. “We are already in a cab to the airport.”

        “So, how was the outing?”

        “Fantastic!”

        “Are you serious?”

        “Sure.”

        “Oh, thank God.”

        “Yes oooh!” the boss concurred, glanced at Mrs. Oyibo who was seated right beside him.

         The secretary smiled, nodded passionately in appreciation to the exclamation.

         “So, how is Lagos?” Engr. Balogun supplemented.

          They left for Abuja in the previous day being Monday, precisely at noon, so the few hours off the city of Lagos was a good reason to assert that a lot may have changed thus far in such populous and popular territory.

        “Lagos is still hot as you left it.” the wife replied.

        “Alright,” said the boss. “I will reunite with her soon.”

        “With who?” Mrs. Balogun inquired, couldn’t comprehend the figure of speech.

        “I mean, Lagos.”

        “Okay..” she responded cheerily, heaved a sigh of relieve.

* * * * * *

        “Hello sir.” Engr. Akin Balogun said as soon as his call was taken by the supposed recipient.

        It was about two weeks after his last trip to Abuja. He had called the office of the Minister of Works to confirm the fate of Cartez Nigeria Limited.

        “Hellooo,” said the call receiver. “Who is this, please?”

        “This is Engr. Akin Balogun,” he said. “One of the applicants for the proposed Ojoteka - Ifite road construction project.”

         “Okay,” quoth the receiver. “I think I can recall the name,” he added, took a breath. “You are from Cartez Limited, right?”

          “Yes sir.” answered Engr. Balogun. “Please, am I unto the director of works?”

         “Yes, you are.”

         “Okay,” he said. “I actually called to find out our fate.”

         “Mr. Balogun, right?”

         “Yes sir.”

         “I must confess,” quoth the director. “Your company did very well during the screening section.” He enthused.

         “Thank you, sir.”

         “You are welcome.” He responded, paused. “But, there is a little mix-up.”

         “What kind of mix-up, sir?”

         “Something really came up,” the director hinted. “And, it is beyond my control.”

         “Engr. Balogun was silent, remained attentive.

        “A serving senator is desperately interested in the contract.” He eventually disclosed.

        “A serving senator?”

        “Yes.”

        “So…?”

         “I am sorry.” uttered the director. “My hands are tied.”

         “What..?” exclaimed the applicant. “You mean, I can’t have the contract?”

         “Exactly.” The director bluntly clarified. “I am really sorry.’

          It would interest perhaps shock you to take into cognizance that the Senator in question, or his candidate, never appeared at the interview section neither could he boast of any engineering construction firm let alone a qualified one.

         “Sir, I can do anything to have the contract.” said Engr. Balogun. “Please, help me out no matter the conditions.”

          “It seems you don’t understand, Mr. Balogun?” replied the director. “I am referring to a man that brought me to the position I am now.” He added.

          At this point, the reality dawned on Engr. Balogun; hence, he became astonished, couldn’t utter not even a word.

          “Like I said earlier,” the director rode on. “My hands are tied.” He reiterated, paused. “I am sorry, Mr. Balogun, have a nice day.” He supplemented in a low tone, cut the call without much ado.

         The rest is history, please!

FDN Nwaozor

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ShortStory I See Me, See Wahala! (II)

SEE ME, SEE WAHALA! (II)

(True-Life Story)

        As I was seated firmly in the chair at the office where I had gone to confirm something, I hastily glanced at my wrist watch again; it read 1:33pm.

        Where I sat was the office of the Secretary to the officer I was about to meet, and the young lady happened to be the only one with me at the enclosed arena. I sat directly opposite her, patiently awaiting when I would be ushered in.

         The moment I dropped the call after my conversation with Madam ‘Sandra’, she stylishly looked at me and therein understood that all wasn’t well.

         No doubt, even a dummy could figure out the worries written all over my ‘ugly’ face. Acknowledging that the so-called Sandra already knew my name and personal contact, I kept wondering where she had culled such information from.

        “Is she a relative that I am yet to know?” I pondered, looked down.

         I quickly crossed my legs. “Or, could she be one of these sugar mummies?” I thought again, looked up.

         This time, I was inadvertently glancing at the building decking; it was a two-storey edifice but I was at the ground floor.

        “If she is truly a sugar mummy,” I thought. “How come she knows all these about me?” I asked myself, returned my head to the normal level.

        “What is going on that I am yet to know?” I thought once again, uncrossed my legs.

        “Sir!” the secretary called, but I couldn’t hear her owing to my thoughtful mood.

        “Comrade, sir!!” she supplemented.

          In the visitor’s note I filled, I presented my name as ‘Comr. Fred Nwaozor’; I guessed, that should be where she borrowed it.

        “Yes dear.” I responded confusedly, hurriedly rearranged myself.

         It was at this point I recalled that few seconds back, I sighted a guest walking out of the office; he was supposedly the person that needed to leave before I could be allowed to move in. I equally recollected that immediately after the guest’s departure, I witnessed the corporately dressed secretary receiving a call from the office’s intercom; perhaps the caller ought to be her boss. But the truth of the matter remained that, I observed all the happenings in a subconscious mood.

        “My boss wants to see you, sir.” She politely informed.

        “Okay,” I said, stood up pathetically. “Thank you.” I added and headed for the boss’ office.

        “Excuse me, sir.” She urged.

          I stopped, looked at her.   

        “Hope everything is alright?” she observed.

        “Yes, my dear.” I gladly replied. “Just that my day has been so stressful.”

        “Okay.” She said, nodding.

        “Thank you.” I appreciated, and reignited the paused motion.    

        “You are welcome.” She responded as she watched me walked towards the boss’ magnificent office.

         After having an extensive warmth discussion with the officer, I left the arena for a nearby eatery to have my lunch. When I got to the joint, it was about 2:50pm; that is, an hour and few minutes to the time I agreed to meet with Madam ‘Sandra’, which was 4:00pm.

         I quickly ordered for a meal, never wanted to waste a bit of my time in there since it was noted that I had to cover a distance of about twenty minutes drive before I could find myself at ‘Blossom Hot Spot’, the venue for the scheduled meeting.

        When the waitress served the meal, white rice and stew in separate plates coupled with bottled water, she as well noticed that I seemed troubled. When she asked for a reminder as regards the name of the drink I earlier requested, I couldn’t respond, thus it was obvious that I was outside minded.

        “Hello sir.” She called, intending to bring back my spirit.

          The call fell on deaf ears as I kept imagining what my fate entailed in regard to the fast approaching August meeting.

        “Hello sir!” she reiterated in a louder tone.

        “Oh, sorry!” I tendered, looking up to her.

         She apparently felt concerned. “Hope all is well, sir?” she thought aloud.

       “Yes,” I said. “All is absolutely well.” I supplemented, smiling in false pretences.

       “Okay,” she uttered. “Please, which drink should I offer you?”

       “Just get me a bottle of water?” I demanded, yet to realize that the meal was already served with water.

         The waitress stylishly smiled at my ignorance that seemed comic.

         How would I know that bottled water was already lying right before me when all I could think at the moment was what the agendum of the awaited meeting could be?

         However, I instantly recalled that I had earlier requested for a bottle of stout beer. “Please, forget about the drink.” I enjoined.

        “Okay sir.” She replied, turned and walked away.

          I guessed, she would live to remember the melodrama I just displayed.

* * * * * *         

          When I arrived at Blossom Hot-Spot at the stipulated time, I was ushered into the V.I.P’s corner by one of the female attendants upon Madam Sandra’s request. As I walked in, I caught the sight of her where she was seated all alone with just bottled water.

          Before now, I had contacted one of my buddies, John who resided in Abuja to alert him of the issue of the moment in case if things eventually went wrongly, though that was in a lighter mood. However, he took note of it and promised to watch my back.

         “Please madam,” I uttered as soon as I was offered a seat. “How did you know about me?”

         “I got your name and mobile contact from the hotel you lodged last night.” She notified immediately.

           I was mute over the revelation.

         “Are you okay now?”  She verified.

           I was still marvelled, thus couldn’t utter a word.

          “Please don’t bother going over there to quarrel with the receptionist.” she enjoined. “Because I am the MD of the hotel in question.”

          “Really..?”

            She nodded, smiling.

           “So madam,” I said. “How may I be of help?”

           “Are you the Fred Nwaozor I know?”

           “I wouldn’t know the one you know.”

           “The one that writes for various newspapers,” she replied. “And contributes to numerous radio and television programmes?”

           “I think I am.” I managed to respond.

           “Interesting,” she whispered. “So, which drink do you care for?”

           “Never mind,” I warmly replied. “I am okay.”

           “I want you to write a petition for me.”

           “A petition..?”

           “Yes.”

           “Against who?”

           “A serving senator.” she answered hesitantly. “I will pay you half a million naira.”

           “I am sorry, madam.” I said. “I am not a hungry writer.”

           “Will one million naira be okay?” She added, ignoring my response.

           “I am not interested, please.”

           “Two million naira?” she insisted.

           “I don’t think you understood me.” I told her. “I don’t do such thing.”

           She looked at me in silent awe, appeared weird.

          “I haven’t done it before.” I notified. “And I wouldn’t start now because of money.”

          “Okay, four million naira?”

          “I am so sorry.” I persisted, stood up. “You can try another person.” I suggested.

           “Don’t tell me you want to remain a poor writer?”

           “I can’t remember telling you I am poor.” I replied frankly while standing. “Did I?”

           “But you are.” She presumed unequivocally.

             On hearing the last clause, I hastily turned my back on her and dashed out of the venue, and therein headed for the airport to board a flight back to Owerri.

            The rest is history, please!

N.B: Names of characters and localities mentioned in the story weren’t real, except that of the author.

FDN Nwaozor

Executive Director, Docfred Resource Hub - Owerri

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Twitter: @mediambassador 

http://facebook.com/theMediaAmbassador

Opinion I Zuma's Courtesy Call On Okorocha: Matters Arising

ZUMA’S COURTESY CALL ON OKOROCHA: MATTERS ARISING

         

The last time I checked, the South African President in the person of Mr. Jacob Zuma was in Owerri the Imo State capital two weeks ago, precisely between the night of Friday, 13^th October to Saturday, 14^th October, 2017 over a courtesy call on the state’s Governor, Chief Rochas Okorocha.

          

Prior to his arrival, we were rightly notified that President Zuma was coming to sign a Memorandum of Understanding (MOU) between the Zuma Education Foundation and the Rochas Foundation College of Africa as well as engage his host, Gov. Okorocha in a few business discussions, particularly in the area of Aviation among others.

         

Let me take a little time to expatiate the second paragraph. Many may be wondering what is ‘Rochas Foundation College of Africa’. Rochas Foundation College that is deeply involved in rendering free education to orphans or indigent children in general, has been in existence prior to the emergence of the founder Chief Okorocha as the Governor of the Eastern Heartland. Recently the founder announced that when he clocked 55 years of age, the Rochas Foundation would henceforth be training at least 5 less-privileged children from each of the existing 55 countries on the African continent under the auspices of Rochas Foundation College of Africa. The project was thereof branded ‘Project 55:5:55’.

         

Another factor that informed President Zuma’s visit to Imo was reportedly the quest of Gov. Okorocha to ensure that South African Airline is flown from the Sam Mbakwe International Cargo Airport to other countries in the world, after the anticipated successful completion of the ongoing work in the airport. Probably, the governor wanted the South African number-one citizen to see for himself that the airport would be equal to the task soonest.

         

It’s noteworthy that President Zuma came to Imo, saw and conquered. He conquered because his presence was showered with tremendous accolades designed by the chief host of the gathering. The honour bestowed on the August visitor included an award of Chieftaincy title to his credit, conferment of the revered Imo Merit Award, erection of statue that bears his ‘handsome’ physiognomy coupled with naming of one of the newly constructed roads in Owerri after his name.

         

It’s equally worthy of note that the aforementioned accolades granted to the guest were thereof greeted with series of mixed feelings and what have you from several Imolites home and in the Diaspora. This is what actually necessitated this critique.

         

I want to use this opportunity to let us realize that one of the few individuals who made me to emerge as a good and unbiased writer today is my father. Those days, as a chap who had extreme passion for writing, each time I wrote or compiled a piece of any form, my dad would take time to scrutinize, penalize if need be, and score the write-up aptly. As a professional critic, he wasn’t ‘merciful’ over his doings towards making me become a sound writer/analyst in future, thus carried out his works strictly and diligently at all times. I never appreciated his unrelenting efforts until lately when I absorbed writing as my career rather than hobby. Lest I digress, I am only trying to bring to our notice the essence of constructive criticisms in our everyday lives.

          

Lest I forget, we are talking about the honour bestowed on President Zuma during his visit to Imo. First, I want to differ from the view of the amiable governor over naming a road after the said president. Mind you, I am not concerned if Mr. Zuma deserved the honour or not; rather I’m more concerned about the procedure through which such was carried out. Before a road is named after a certain personality, there are rudimentary processes required to be followed. A member of the legislature of the affected state or country, as the case may be, would be required to move a motion in that regard.

         

Thereafter, the motion on the floor of the House would be unanimously approved by the majority members of the parliament either via voting or otherwise. Then, the approved motion would be sent to the Executive Arm for assent. Such scenario took place some years ago when one of the major roads in Owerri was named after the late Nigeria’s President, Alhaji Umaru Musa Yar’adua. I could recall vividly that Imo was the first state to immortalize the departed president. The ‘Musa Yar’adua Drive’ is today graciously recognized by all and sundry in the state because the needed procedure was adhered to.

         

In the same vein, I am still bemused why the state’s Merit Award would be conferred on a guest without any prior notice in that regard. An award that is designed by the generality of the state citizens was granted to a certain individual without the consent of those who designed or founded the award. Such action did not unequivocally augur well for the interest of the state at large. Before a Merit Award belonging to a state would be conferred on anyone, there is equally a laid down procedure expected to be followed strictly by the concerned authorities.

        

Hence, the citizens were not meant to be taken unawares before taking such expensive action. When the award was being presented by the governor to the proposed recipient, the former stated ‘on behalf of the Imo people, I hereby confer this award on you’; this meant that the consent of the said people had been sought before the time.

          

I don’t want to discuss that of the chieftaincy title because I have come to acknowledge that titles are now given to the highest bidders. In other words, once you can foot the bill, you are automatically qualified to receive any title from your immediate traditional ruler or even the overall royal fathers within your territory. It suffices to say that the system of our traditional institution has obviously changed, thus I wish to reserve my comment over the issuance of a chieftaincy title let alone ‘Ochiagha Imo’ to President Zuma.

          

 However, Gov. Okorocha may have had a genuine motive over all these, but sometimes the way and manner we introduce our plans make them unpopular on arrival. An Igbo adage says ‘Iye emesiri amaa, ana kpoya nwanma’ meaning literally, what is well organized is called the child of beauty.

           

We ought to endeavour to carry the followers along while taking some pertinent and sensitive decisions so that even if the opposition comes with their not unusual antagonism in the long run, the electorate would stand firmly by our side. I really mean well for this administration. I truly want it to score at least eighty-five percent (85%) at the end of the show; that’s the reason I’m invariably concerned about all these.

         

The deed is already done, hence, it is important for us to accept where we have erred toward making amends where necessary. After all, to err is human. Think about it!

Comrade FDN Nwaozor

Executive Director, Docfred Resource Hub - Owerri 

________________________________

Twitter: @mediambassador

          

ShortStory I See Me, See Wahala!

SEE ME, SEE WAHALA!

(True-Life Story)

         It was about two years ago, precisely in November. In one of my trips to Abuja, the Nigerian capital city, I was impatiently standing along one of the major roads situated in the territory awaiting a cab that would convey me to my destination when a black Honda SUV Jeep with tilted glasses drove by and applied its brakes right before my presence.

 

        

          Since I stood alone and ostensibly in a lonely arena, instantly, I presumed I had eventually fell victim of the monster called kidnapping, thus my heart got choked in my tummy not until the windscreen at the driver side was lowered only to catch the sight of a very pretty and gorgeous light-skinned lady who seemed to be in her late forties. From my keen observation, she was the only one in the car.

          Although I was yet to realize her mission, at this point I needn’t be informed that she was up to something intriguing; hence, I thought it wise to relax my mind while the show lasts.

         “Hello handsome!” she cheerily exclaimed from the car which was parked at about 1.5 metres away from where I stood.

         Considering the greeting pattern, there was conspicuously no further need to engage a soothsayer because even a dummy could thereof comprehend the essence of the scene created by her majesty. Notwithstanding, I pretended I didn’t hear her speak.

         Sure, I looked cute and so did she. I was clad in black jean trousers, red-check T-shirt, golden shoes and a golden wrist-watch to match, coupled with a red baseball cap. On her part, she put on a blue dress spotted with white, transparent sunshade glasses and gorgeously retouched black hairs; but I could not at the time figure out her foot-wears. Probably, she was attracted to my cuteness.

        She dished out a dazzling smile without minding my nonchalant attitude. “Please, can I have a word with you?” she tendered, still seated in the car.

        I yet overlooked the request, stood still at my original position and stylishly fixed my gaze on her.

        She smiled again, gently kept the door open and majestically walked towards me.

        She was plump and about 5.4-foot tall. The sophisticated jewellery she wore made her appear not unlike one of the political stalwarts that resided in White House, U.S.A. She was seemingly taller than me owing to the high-heeled white sandals she was wearing. But, one unique and amazing thing about her appearance was that she wasn’t wearing any make-up from head to toe; she was just natural to my liking.

        When she got nearer to me, she removed her spectacles with her left hand. “Hi!” she said, stretching out her right arm for a handshake.

         This time, she was standing about twenty centimeters (20cm) away as she held her glasses in her hand.

         I ignored the offer and she calmly withdrew her arm. “Please, I don’t know you from Adam.” I managed to utter. “And as you can see, I am very much in haste.” I supplemented.

         She smiled. “You must be Fred, I presume?” she uttered as she wore a smiling countenance.

          I was therein deeply perturbed to my bone barrow on hearing her mention my name, though I managed to gather myself.

         “Never mind.” She urged, gesticulating as I looked at her in silent awe.

         “Please, who are you?” I inquired, seemed so curious.

         “I can see curiosity boldly written all over you.” she observed. “Well, I am Sandra.”

          I was attentive, hoping to hear further introductions and anything that could be of interest to me.

        “I reside here.” she added, referring to Abuja. “And you?”

        “I thought you already know about me?” I tendered submissively.

         She smiled. “Please, excuse me.” She said, turned and stepped towards her car.

         When she got to the Jeep, she dipped her hand into a bluish handbag kept on the other front seat and brought out a complimentary card. Thereof, she retraced her steps back to me. “This is my card.” she told me, stretching out her right arm. “Please, try and call me later in the day.” She added in a jiffy.

         I hesitantly collected the material, immediately looked at it and equally glanced at her face once more.

         She reciprocated with a more dazzling smile. “Please Fred,” she said. “Try and call me, okay?”

         I nodded. “I will try.” I managed to respond as I was once again wondered over where she culled my name from.

        “Please, where are you up to?” she enquired. “Can I give you a lift?”

           I shook my head. “No, thanks.’ I said. “I can find my way.”

         “Alright.” she surrendered. “Good luck!’ she wished, turned and walked to her car.

          When she entered into the car and jammed the door, she waved at me with her left hand and instantly placed her right thumb on her ear thereby reminding me not to forget to call her as she earlier requested.

         I eventually smiled and waved at her too.

         She equally smiled, wind up the glass and zoomed off.

        “See me, see wahala.” I thought the moment she left my presence.

          Later in the day, at 1:30pm to be precise, I called the number inscribed on the complimentary card. My plan was to return to Owerri that very day, so I needed not procrastinate as regards when to call her line. “Hello madam.” I greeted as soon as she took the call. “This is Fred.” I supplemented.

        “I know.” She replied, meaning she already had my phone number.

        “So, you already have my number?” I thought aloud. “Please, how did you get it?” I inquired as I became more anxious.

         “Can we meet at blossom hot spot?” she said, ignoring my enquiry. “The joint is located at Maitama road.”

          Since she already had some basic vital information about me, I needn’t hesitate in knowing more about her person. “Time?” I obliged.

         “Will 4pm be okay by you?”

         “Alright.” I responded. “I will be there by four.”

         “See you then.” She uttered, cut the call.

            To be continued, please!

            But, if you were in my shoes, would you have attended the proposed meeting at the so-called Blossom Hot-Spot? Think about it!

FDN Nwaozor

Executive Director, Docfred Resource Hub - Owerri

__________________________________

frednwaozor@gmail.com

Twitter: @mediambassador

http://facebook.com/theMediaAmbassador