The 12 parchments of Alignment.

Chapter One

The noise echoed louder from the basement, as the assailant hit the man's head with a bludgeon "I no do am , no be me steal am" the tormented pleaded in vernacular to the young police officer torturing him, more resounding noise from other inmates echoed from the stench of people wallowing in the dingy police cell. I tried to help the man from his tormentor but to no avail, as I tried moving further I awoke. It was a nightmare.

There are particular events in life, like this nightmare that are always unforgettable for the most of us; for me, they are four events in particular that I reckon. Sadly, only one of these represents a fortuitous event in my life, that perhaps is reminiscent of the general garb following graduation at Durham.

St. Andrews hall was lit to the brightest opulence, the clock was ticking towards 10:00 am , the occasion was the graduation ceremony for the 1994 set .

In his usual caste was Professor Richard Randle, his aged face marked with proportional pouches, recounting many years of rigor and atrophy. There he sat in the midst of the arraying professors and academia; wearing a blue suit, decked and covered in his academic gown.

In the meantime, every graduand exhumed in ecstasy, particularly on a day like this, explicitly looking forward to receiving their degree from the Sage.

Prof Randle, already in his seventies, and having seen more than forty graduations and matriculation, signs that he was once a lady's fantasy had fast eroded his aging body. He looked tired for the day, but his smile was a reassuring sense of calm. There was however concerns whether he would be available to grace the occasion due to his recent ill-health. As the de facto leader at Durham, Professor Randle's lasting eminence dwarfed Professor Brian Rogers our vice-chancellor.

Rumors still have it that there was no vice-chancellor elected at Durham without his support; among the academia, he was popularly called the sage of Wellington .

In his fading stature, he gaily climbed the podium, struggling to meet with the demands of day, of course today was just one of those he had seen in the last forty years; only different being that his body was not the same energetic and propelling figure of the years gone by.

In anticipation for the day, the crescendo peaked when Professor Randle, called the first ten overall and best-graduating students, I made third on the row call. I received my award with a beaming smile. I felt affinity with Professor Randle, now as member of the Leonardo and because I was also receiving my honors from a leader of Durham and one of the first intellectual élite to join the Leonardo Club. I graduated from Durham University with a first class honors in Law; apparently, joining the league of the prestigious Leonardo Club.

The honor was not the fortuitous event as such, it was seeing my parents sitting together and happy again, celebrating the fruit of their seventeen-year- old union.

Adding another twist to the graduation splendor, was the news that Professor Randle last public appearance ended the year I was graduated: retiring to his research base, contended with the title of Professor Emeritus.

Nevertheless, on a bright Saturday morning of April 21, 2012, was the day I etched another date to my auxiliary life, this conversely was a gross tragedy .It was a day that would set the course of my life in an extraordinary motion.

It was a bright summer, and I was looking forward to seeing the football match on TV with Shaun. I had bought a pack of beer to simmer with my mate as we watch the match. As a north London boy, I had always preferred Arsenal despite my father being a Tottenham fan. I was never tired of relishing the heydays of the invincible, something now a folklore.

As a matter of interest, Arsenal's failure was pathetic, but as a fan, you are attached as possible to your club. For the time being, my malady with Arsenal has been the melody of yester-years-blue boys of west London who now wrest the title of the most successful club in London with Arsenal.

As I drive pass Stamford bridge to my residence, I feel the spate of insults on the injury of Arsenal, when the throng of Chelsea fans are returning from a football match or when they are making jest of Arsenal's title ambitions; since I live in west London, it was my lot to suffer as one who lives among enemy lines.

The football match also served as a distraction on my part, the economic-meltdown had affected a lot of people, though I still had a lucrative job, I was not exempted from the bunch of prospective victims awaiting imminent danger.

In the course of listening to the analyses on Sky, I suddenly felt the vibe on my cell phone, before it rang, I touched the green symbol on my android phone .Noticeable on the screen was a Nigeria number, of course that meant only one person: my grandfather. He was the only relative I had in Nigeria, his number was saved on my phone but this was not his. The last time we spoke was a fortnight before this day. He complained of the usual rheumatism he had suffered for the past twenty-five years.

There was a woman's voice on the other side which by the way sounded a bit husky and shaky " hello Nwanem Eze" , "Yes" I muttered "Please who are you" I asked . "eh ndo, I am Cecilia your grandfather's sister " .Her Igbo accent resonating at the background. I recalled grandfather had a sister who was always with him, they were very fond of each other .I did meet her once, but that was a long time ago - I was just ten at the time.

After the exchange of pleasantries, she eventually let the cat of the bag; my grandfather had passed away in the wee hour of the 21st day of April 2012. I was shocked to my subconscious. The only lineal relative and my source of inspiration had departed this eminent life at the robust age of ninety two years, a man who had saw many fortunes and ominous days.

I had experienced the deaths of two close relatives already, namely: my dad and my mom; and now my grandfather, who have had the misfortune of bereaving his only son, a tragedy which he never recovered.

My experience with death has been hallow and shallow at worst. First, my father had died very untimely at the age of fifty, that was an hallow experience for me, because dad died in a plane crash whilst he was in Nigeria . As sudden death always brings shock I was entirely lost at my father's passing. Although, dad left my mother when I was sixteen I still missed his paternal role in my life. Tentatively, I could manage with that a little, because a decade before dad's death, he was distant from me, and the memories I hold of him these days are those of my teenage years.

On the other hand, Mother's passage followed four years after, and that was catastrophic in releasing the demons of depression. The loss of a mother is gory on its part, and the gloom can be an eternal doom. There are days I am so empty, trying to reach out to my mother, hoping I had done more for her during her horrendous battle with cancer.

My parents left me when I needed them both, although this was none of their doing, yet it was devastating enough to throw my life into disequilibrium. I was orphaned and lonely in a world I had always enjoyed parental presence.

Grandfather was my companion during my recess in the lair of despondency. There are tragedies that strike when the victims are unprepared, so was the emotional injury I felt when I lost my parents in the space of four tormenting years

I am still putting my life in place from the wreckage, but it takes time to process all these tragedies psychologically, I was in denial and I knew it . My grandfather and I shared a loss in common, sometimes tragedy can be a very strong bond, and his voice was my strength and being.

In his case, his grief was more; the loss of a child and an only child at that is difficult to bear, as I am not in the place to count his grief, I will only say all I know in the abstract. His courage to face the grief was totally encouraging, but there was a new development about grandfather: his extroverted self withdrew into a shell in the remaining years he would spend on his earthly sojourn.

I am sure the enormity of the grief dumbfounded him. After losing my father, whom was an only child, grandfather became very close to me, maybe, for some reasons; peradventure, he came to accept that I was his only surviving grandson and the primogeniture to inherit his vast fortune with the absence of my father. To this day, I am still befuddled at his fondness. Perhaps, something else I could not fathom.

During those years ,he made three trips to visit me in England, the distance of 3,100 miles never deterred him. On one occasion I felt his loneliness as a widower and again as a man destitute of his son. As we discussed in his suite at the Bavarian Hotel in West London , I knew then, I was the only straw he was clutching to and the only reason he was still waiting in this mazy world.

it was his duty to give me the necessary advice; he was already in his eighties when my father was deceased, and because he was a very wealthy man he looked quite younger. He lived all his life in Nigeria and I was born and catered for by an Irish mother. I was more English than I was African or Nigerian for that matter: the distance and my upbringing never connected the fission between us. Grandfather was always fond of telling me in his baritone voice "hey Eze blood is blood no matter what the clothing on it says".

His empire was vast and he was always willing to help me through difficulties which I seldom encountered; especially, when it comes to finances. I recalled how he kept me informed, about what was expected of me as his grandson, this he did with love and utmost tenderness. Meanwhile, as his heir apparent, it was his duty to open my mind to the African heritage that I was hewn.

Aunt Cecilia mentioned that grandfather's remains had been deposited at the mortuary and she would be holding consultations with grandfather's relatives to fix a date for the funeral. Nonetheless, as his only surviving descent I would be the one to decide when grandfather would be buried. I gave Cecillia the go-ahead and delegated her to speak on my behalf.

Chapter Two

My father and mother met in the spring of 1970 at Exeter University, although father was of African descent, and Mom was Irish, their relationship went on unhindered. According to mother, those years were high on racial discrimination and intolerance, Mom was twenty-two when she and father married. The wedding was without pageantry or fanfare; a solicitude of a ceremony was all that happened .

My background is not only stimulating it can also be frustrating. As a child born into a mixed race, I am like that bottle half full or half empty depending on how you see it, carrying a mixed identity sometime makes you belong to none identity; and from experience you can also be courted by both races if you are a success story.

Dad was a Masters student on a Nigeria-federal- government scholarship and after his education; he was asked to return home and work for the government for some years. In the meanwhile, my parents got married a year after my father graduated; they had both agreed to stay in England, because my mother was expecting me into this mundane world.

Besides, I was born three years after the Nigerian-Biafra civil war; it was the goriness of that war that first opened my mother to the Nigeria clime. The tale of incivility and war and human degradation were great sign to her Nigeria brouhaha. Her naivety to a large extent and the love my father had for her made it possible for my father to breach the agreement he had with the Nigeria government.

My childhood passed on as that of other kids I knew in the neighborhood, except that mine was quite peculiar. I grew up in London which was a melting pot of many races and in that respect, I would say my personality was not so different.

At home, my parents were a normal couple; from my reckoning, at the age of eight I could say I had a happy family. My seventh year birthday is the first I remember vividly and I only have the photographs of the earlier years, except for the photographs nothing comes to mind.

During my formative years, I wondered why my dad was dark-skinned and mother fair-skinned, in that regard, my question was always directed to my mother; who, as always gave one answer or the other.

A friend of mine, Andrew Perkins who attended my nine- year-old- birthday party would finally resolve that matter for me. He said something that made every one of my friends bust into a fit of laughter. He asked me suddenly after seeing my dad. He said "Rick is that your dad?" "Yes", I answered in the midst of my other nine- year- old friends. I think six of them or thereabout where with me at the time.

"Hmmm! he is black ", he said. "Yes". I answered again .I really did not know where he was going with these, you know kids and their curiosity, then he held my hand and said "then you are a blaithe boy". I asked what that meant, and he said, since my dad was black and mother white then I am black and white; from his ingenuity and to be fair with both parents he picked the affix bla in black and suffix ite in white and he got his blaithe, it was a gestured that emanated into laughter. I never forgot that too. And I understood then that I will never be black and will never be white, but truly I am both.

I also recalled that my mother was a very shy person, quiet and reserved, but my father on the other hand was out-going, exuberant and lively. A great contrast from my mother's personality. There were times, when my dad would teach my mom new dancing steps and skills, he was also a hell of a dancer.

I discovered the love of music from my dad he loved everything art, he had a bright mind and was full of novel ideas. I remember growing up; our home was always putting on a new look. We always had new furniture and all sort of decorations, and he loved paintings too. There was always a difference from the year hereinbefore as our residence brightens up almost every year.

My mother worked with a discount firm and my dad taught Economics at one of the universities in West London. He later became a senior lecturer upon completing his doctorate thesis; an achievement he was very proud of at the time.

My parent's careers were excellent; they both were able to manage home, and family. I even enjoyed the luxury of a private tutorship. I was also sent to some of the best boarding schools in the UK.

When I think of my growing up, I really do not have so much regret. There was also the incident, when I was ten years old; my father, mother, and I travelled to Nigeria to visit my grandparents. Mom had a phobia for flying it would be one of her bugbear later in life. After we arrived in Nigeria my mother who was an introvert had difficulty coping with the very extroverted people around .

I remember how she made herself useful with my father's relatives. She spoke passable Pidgin English, she proved herself a fast learner, and in no time, she became a favorite among my father's relatives and friends. Unfortunately, she did not have enough time to learn how to cook some of the Nigerian dishes and meal. When we returned to the UK some weeks after, she would sometimes soliloquized in private as she mimics the Pidgin English like a beg ooo and the other vernacular.

My father would crack jokes that would keep my mom smiling for hours. My parents were really meant to be together they were opposites that attracted a lot of understanding.

Chapter Three

Two months later , I embarked on a journey to Nigeria, preparation had been ongoing for my grandfather's funeral. Since grandfather was well off, he had made pecuniary allowance for his funeral. Therefore, a dime was not needed from anyone and from what the attorney told me: grandfather also left a will which would be read at the high court after the funeral. In essence, I needed to be in Nigeria some days before the funeral to intimate myself with some of the relatives I had never met before, and remain for the reading of the will at probate.

My flight was schedule to leave London by 11 am to Lagos, and I was already at the Heathrow Airport at 9 am, in the hope that I could look through the new terminal 5 to loosen up a little tension inside me.

Supposedly, my subconscious was more relaxed than ever, but my nerves were frayed and restless, the grief has been too much a burden to bear, my calling home was to bury my grandfather. I was standing in the place of my father, how saddening it is that I am the last man standing in my descent. Now the unfamiliar customs and tradition is calling me to the demands; and as blood is blood, I was heeding the call home to my people. A people I was not sure would accept me as theirs.

Just some minutes before departure, I felt a little pang in my stomach; I needed to eat something light before the flight. On the departure lounge was a pastry shop. I quickly ordered a cream puff and a cup of coffee for twenty quid a little expensive than the ordinary.

The meal helped a little to prop my senses, for one I am not a morning person and eating early was not my thing, besides that, I always loved my coffee, and a day without my coffee is drab not to say the least. As I sip my coffee I sat observing the throng of passengers, some moved briskly, some moved hurriedly to catch their flight, and some jostled along, bolstering with enthusiasm.

My sight was drawn to the conversation of a couple who was haranguing the airline staff over their excess luggage. However, one sight caught my attention; a young woman, perhaps, in her early thirties; strapped her three-year old boy to the waist to restrict his movement. Every here and there the boy roaming to be free, the mother holding on to the strap, on the boy's tee-shirt is written 100% trouble, as they walked pass my chair, I grimaced, I was not aware that the other passengers were also intrigued by this travesty . The restless child struggling to be freed from his confines the mother deliberately holding on, kids could be so naughty, and mother so protective. I mused as I studied this spectacle of intrigues.

10:00 A.M, I took the elevator to the third floor, after the departure schedule on the screen. I knew there was another thirty minutes or more to spare before departure. In the meantime, I had already checked in my luggage. I followed the scanty queue and moved passed the customs checking post. Leaving the customs I was then asked to remove my belt and shoes by a young woman who never ceased from smiling at every interval our eyes met, I was not in any mood to flirt, as this was a chance for a tryst; after passing through the security scanner I quickly grab for my shoes.

As I await the announcement for the departure of my flight, I sat ensconced in a chair at the departure, with my earpiece a-fixed to my ears, I listened calmly to the soothing lyrics of Bobby Klaus country music' Behind in the dark '. A sense of sorrow and joy overwhelmed me spontaneously; exactly the mood I needed for the trip to Africa.

After six hours on air, I eventually landed at the Muritala Mohammed Airport Lagos. On my diary were two numbers, one was Kenneth and the other was Emeka. Ken was the older, from the discussion I held with both, it was Ken who would be picking me from the Airport.

Kenneth and Emeka are my uncle, they are aunt Cecilia's sons, until grandfather's death our path had never crossed, I had never spoken to any of my relatives from Nigeria, except my grandfather and I think he protected me from a lot of people for reasons I wouldn't know.

I didn't spend much time with the Immigration, passengers with other passports from the Nigeria passport had to be on a different line, since I carried a British passport I was on a different line which by the way was scanty .However, it did take me another thirty minutes to get a hold of my luggage amidst the intermediate furor surrounding passengers complaints.

When I did leave the airport I felt a chain of perspiration on my brow, the humidity of the weather was different from any one I knew and the AC was not working properly. I did ask one of the airport attendants what was wrong with the AC, he allayed my fears that it was under repairs and would be working properly when I return again.

Ken was wearing a white shirts and a blue jeans, it was not too difficult to sight him, we had spoken on two occasions on Skype, and at least we knew what we both looked like. When I eventually walked out of the airport, he was there standing tall, walking gangly, with a little gait towards me. "Richard, how are you" and before I could answer he took a hold of my luggage and motioned me towards the car."I am fine and thank you," I eventually replied.

Kenneth carried a calm personality, probably in his fifties. He said little, except asking one or two questions about my trip. Being in the car made more sense though, at least the AC was working properly and I was a bit relaxed .

I asked him what was the distance from the Airport to grandfather's place , 'ten minutes or more we should be at our destination' he told me, 'considering there was no traffic on our way' he concluded.

I was a bit tired anyway, by the time we reached grandfather's place all I wanted was just to take a shower and relax, but alas, the contrary was the case. As Ken drove into grandfather's house, we were greeted by the gatekeeper with a wave of the hand. The building was well fenced, if you were looking at the building from the exterior your barely see anything except the roof. As I would later discover almost every house here was fenced with gate.

We got to grandfather's place exactly 8: 00 pm local time. Audible noise from the sound of generators and chirping sound of crickets sent eerie shill on me. The property was located on one-acre lot, with gardens and three bungalow houses for his staff . Grandfather's private residence was on the left side, a castle house of five-room duplex and a living room apiece; one on the ground floor the other upstairs.

The outside of the house was covered by a well-manicured lawn of carpet grass and towering palm trees cascading the driveways on both sides. There was a gothic iron wrought balcony visible at the entrance. It was grandeur to behold, the chandeliers in the living room where luminous with sparkling delight.

Ken ushered me through the door, inside the spacious living room was five gentle men seated and having a discussion. One of them was drinking from a bottle of brandy, "These are our family friends," Ken pointed towards the men. They all stood up simultaneously and shook hands with me. One of them held my hand and said, "Your father was my classmate and wrote me when you were born, good to see you son". "Thank you sirs for your concerns, I am glad to see you all". I retorted.

How many more faces were I to see again? A young man in his twenties carried my luggage, I heard Ken mentioned his name as Edward, and he was one of grandfather's home keepers. It was Edward who took me upstairs. There I met some other folks; some of them stared at me with potent credulity.

Ken saved me from the moment, as he introduced every one of them to me, I was already jet lag, hoping to enter my room, and have a shower, and get a decent rest. Most of the people I met upstairs were one relative or the other. I heard one gestured to me " Oyinibo welcome", I shrugged it off as I was shown my room. How long would it take for my paternal relatives to see me as theirs and not an alien from mars?

Edward showed me inside a room "whose room is this?" I asked "your grandfather sir" he replied. "Ok why grandfather's room?" "It is because you're his son it is now yours, that's the tradition" Edward said and walked out of the room . I take it I have learnt my first traditional lessons from Edward.

I kept my luggage in one of the wardrobes, grandfather was very meticulous with his stuff everything was well-arranged from his clothes to his bedding and there were distinctive artwork like painting to artifact, grandfather's wealth afforded him the luxury of such collections.

The room was skidded and painted with lime-green, the ceilings covered with plaster of Paris with grotesque flower signs . A spacious master's room glimmering with dimly lights and a soothing fragrance. I hit the bed and looked up the ceiling, how I wished father was here. He would have carried the burden on his shoulders and not mine.

Funeral arrangement was not as simple as the usual in England, from what Emeka had told me; it was a very daunting and even tasking ceremony, of more concern to me is meeting people i had never met in my life and a culture that is obsolete from my understanding, except for the little grandfather taught me which at least didn't include funeral lessons nothing else is familiar here.

I was not integrated into the social nexus of the cultural society that grandfather belong and I knew it was going to take some time to understand all these. Nevertheless, my uncles had promised they would be there all through.

Chapter four

That first night was memorable, I had a cold bath, one in a long time, I must say, and the water was tepid. Thereafter, I changed into my pajamas all I needed was a goodnight rest filled with sweet dreams.

I am a sufferer from an anxiety disorder which at times was as a result of stress or apprehension. My personality is within the absurdity and the oddity, sometimes I could prognosticate at every little or nothing of consequence, yet at intricate period, my blood pressure could raise to 150/110 a circumstance for worry, yet my physician admonishes me that this disorder holds its positives, that the adrenaline is helpful in hindsight.

As I tried relaxing I felt my nerves twitching, I remembered it was right time I took my medication. I groped for a bottle of water from my luggage and I flushed the Nitrazepam down my bowel. As I lay supine on the bed, the hypnosis and sedation of the medication took its toll on me; my flight was convoluted into the land of dreams.

I had flashes of dreams, some were event of commonplaces like sitting with my mate Shaun at the café at canary wharf discussing, another instance was seeing myself talking with my friends but this time the scene was actually grandfather's place. I was enthused as the dream revolved.

It was the knock on the door that ultimately rasped through my dream world, I was immediately disembarked from the subcutaneous into the surreal reality of life. How long had I been dreaming? Perhaps, I was lost in the miniscule of time. I rolled from side to side on the bed, how I wished I could be left alone to continue in my slumber, but the knock kept on, and louder.

I hurried from my bed towards the door; there she stood, a beautiful young woman "good morning sir". I was not sure what was good about the morning yet; I should have been left alone to continue in bed. My eyes were still leer and my demeanor muffled.

"Good morning" I responded shabbily. Her face was one I had never sighted, everyone from yesterday must have left ,even Ken too must have left maybe, I must have been deeply asleep when they left . I recall I hadn't seen the face standing at the door yesterday.

"sir, sorry to disturb your sleep, I am the steward I wanted to know what you would have for breakfast"."Oh, breakfast" I queried."Yes sir"."Ok what time is it please?" I asked her. 'It is some minutes passed nine o'clock sir," she answered. "Oh nine" I Interjected, it was at that moment I knew I had slept through the better part of the day for eleven hours.

Ok what do you have for breakfast?' I asked her, at the moment I was talking with her I was standing at the door post with my back leaning over the door frame."Anything you care for sir I could make available".

I was getting tired of the Sir. I asked her name to make our discussion a bit formal."I am Linda sir" she retorted gleefully, perhaps sensing my tone of discussion was becoming milder and friendlier as the weariness dissipates from my head.

I informed her I would love to be called by name .She smiled repulsively and said "OK sir". I contorted at the repetition "Linda you can drop the Sir and call me Richard alright" I reaffirmed again.

"Get me coffee and make me a light sandwich" I ordered, as I was not sure of what to expect had I asked for my favorites meal .At the worst, I was well braced for the change that I was to meet, these were no longer bugbear to me .

"Do you want it with cream and sugar, or just plain coffee?" She inquired."Please bring the cream and the sugar I will make it to taste". I sensed she was not comfortable addressing me as I had asked for, but on the contrary, the sir had disappeared from our conversation. "Is that all you want for now" she asked "Yes that will be all for now".

"Richard", she mentioned, as I was about to get back into the room "Yes" I stared back at her."I would love you to meet the entire staff working in this house for your grandfather," she requested. "OK Linda I will do that after I am through with my meal, thank you," I said, as I waved her off and retreated into the room.

I had arrived Lagos on a Friday night, since then I have had no contact with anyone in the UK. I was with a contract phone which wouldn't work with any of the SIM here. On the one hand, I needed a new phone and SIM. On the other hand, I needed to call my mate Harry and Shaun, and Kennedy the person who would be reliving me at Cory Anderson's. Laura too, she would be worried having not heard from me since arriving Lagos.

My laptop and phones were useless for the time being, since grandfather belonged to the older generations he never sent me e-mails on the internet every correspondence was through the post or the telephone, so in the interim I was incommunicado with the outside world.

I asked for grandfather's phone I was told it was kept under custody at the attorney's office until the reading of the will.

I had a quick bath; the water was as tepid as the one a night ago. I changed briskly to one of my casual: a faded jean and a sky blue tee shirts , and a pair of sandals I bought in an open market at East Ham .

Just as I was looking my better self in the mirror I heard another knock on the door .I uttered "who is there" .Linda's was the corresponding voice. Right; my Highness had been summoned for his breakfast I guess." Your meal is on the dining table," she said. "I will be with you in no time". I sprayed the Hugo Boss perfume I purchased duty-free on the plane on my armpit and neck. Surely, I was ready.

At the door was Linda, she looked gorgeous and pretty, spotting in a pink gown and black leggings. I looked at her face, her broad face and her innocent smile. "This way" she said, as she led me to the dining table, I inadvertently noticed her backside flip-flopping loosely .My manhood was being harassed and aroused, by then I conscientiously projected my thoughts to other serious matters for better distraction.

The table was large and made of polished mahogany wood; adjoining were twelve fitted chairs, five aside by the length, and two facing by the opposite.

My meal was set in order like a royalty, the table linen was bright and clean, my napkin was also on hand too .As I munched my meal with relish. I imagined my grandfather sitting here by himself staring at the chairs and, maybe, lost in the hope of loneliness without his own children to dine with him, after all a man must live with his own worry.

The meal was light and well prepared, a bowl of chicken soup, and bacon and squashed-fried egg with sliced bread; I washed the meal down with a light cup of coffee. The chicken soup spirited my body, of course, it came as a dessert, although the pepper was a bit spiced than the usual; the soup was flavored with curry, and ginger. I take it that my steward was proficient in her duties. She came by and asked if I was contented with the `meal, I sensed it that my approval brought her great delight too.

Before meeting with my grandfather's member of staff, I mean those Linda had spoken about, I was also thinking I would need someone here as my confidant that I could relate with about my immediate needs and so forth .So far so good, Linda remains the only one I have met yet that fits into that proposition. I haven't seen Ken and Emeka yet.

Since my arrival, I have found it hard to understand what some of the people around me were saying. I had to beg their pardon to repeat themselves in most cases, and so was I to learn that same was true in their case with my accent too, most of the words I spoke went by without much of it being understood.

In my discussion with Linda, she mentioned that my British accent was too fast to grasp for her and she was straining her ears to catch up with me at times. She skipped the one she did not grab. She followed my lips just to grasp my accent better. Her advice was that I speak slower by that way my audience would figure out what I meant.

I liked her anyway, she had some of the proclivities that would qualify her as my friend, she loved football, in particular she was an Arsenal fan, her knowledge of the movies were welcoming, although she mentioned she was a Daniel Steele fan; I was too much of a thriller reader. I was disappointed how little she knew of the African literatures of the likes of Achebe, Soyinka, Ola Rotimi, Seghor, Nadine Gordimer, Nguigi wa Thongo, Elechi Amadi, Ayew Kweh Armah and other prominent African writers, whom I had read their works, in the UK whilst trying to rediscover my African roots.

It was Professor James Morrison that first led me to African literatures. It seemed among the literati at Durham there were some negrophile who believed that the African literatures should be given some prominence as well, and their leader was Morrison .Hence my search for discovery.

Linda told me that African writers only connected with the socio-macro issues of the society, whereas people like Steele wrote of ordinary people in everyday life that could be admired. I intended to hold a telling argument on that, but I was not stupid to fall into the ditch.

Besides, I was the one trying to have a renaissance of the African heritage I never knew or felt, on the contrary, there was nothing special about the African thing to Linda and that was understandable.

I was hoping to know how my grandfather related with his staff from her, however, I dismissed that notion for the time being.

"Linda I need a new phone and SIM, where do I buy these?" I asked. "Hmm the driver Sule is the right person to do that "."So do you have any place in mind where I can get one"? I inquired "Computer Village is closer and they have a lot of shops, only problem is that there are quite a number of people attending the market especially today being Saturday" she replied.

In addition to buying a phone I wanted to see the town also, it meant I would also need someone to show me around the city. There was also no one in mind than Linda, I asked if she would be willing to show me around, she obliged. Nonetheless, she did not fail to remind me that the house workers were waiting to meet their new boss.

Chapter five

There are very few things that have interested me in life and there are few vices too that I have deemed fit to revel in. Everything about me has been ordinary. However, my status of still remaining a bachelor at the age of thirty-nine may be the only thing out of place in my ordinary life .

No dark thoughts I am straight and love the ladies. I deem marriage neither necessary nor desirable at the moment. Eligibility for marriage is a choice and my fantasy had never been met with the sparks I had always wished. I have gone through different phases as a human being; unfortunately, not many of my partners see me in this light. This is certainly no fault of theirs.

It is improbable not to fault an eligible bachelor who drives a BMW 5 series limited edition, lives in a terrace apartment in the posh side of the city, and earns a fat income within six figures in pounds sterling every year.

The conclusion reached by most of my ex was that I was self-centered. Really, that is very true, I am so self-centered and I have not had the time to see that others too have a need. I was just a crying baby all my life, too pampered and buttered.

To keep the wheels of my life rolling and make my ordinary life remarkable, I gave everything to my career; I was applauded and won many awards. As success came, I also lost friends, especially my colleagues whose ordinary life required other pressing matters and thus could not compete in the working place. I was the darling of the bosses .I met the big cheese and was encouraged that my career future was bright. I attended every conference; I earned extras, and was highly recommended at the peril of my colleagues, who found great offence at this.

I didn't give a shit to any of their qualms, as far as I was concerned my life was already constipated.

I had first met Laura Frisk six years ago, at a detailed merger meeting in Cory Anderson. She was barely a year at Cory at the time. Our first meeting started against the backdrop of an American investor who wanted to merge with a British firm and Cory Anderson was the consultant evaluating the Risk liability of the American investor.

Phil Livermore was head of Risk management, and had requested for someone with a good background on Tax Assessment and corporate financing and acquisition to do a background check on the American investor, so I was assigned from corporate finance to help Phil.

Phil's team consisted of four bright young guys and a beautiful lady all from risk management and I was the only person from corporate finance. It did not take long for me to notice Laura's ability in the team. Her strongest point was perhaps her candor and judgment. She rarely commented on any of the issues on ground at the time, but when she did, we all agreed with her.

There was a particular incident when Phil asked about the merit of the merger to our client. Laura presentation was the best among the pack she was not only analytical she went as far as relating the chains in the histological component and performance indexes of the client, something that was very important in reaching our conclusion. I was already attracted to her after my first day of observation. My deployment only lasted three days at Risk Management by then Laura had already made a lasting impression on me.

A week later at the Lunar, one of the many cafeterias at Canary, I bumped into Laura and engaged her in an exciting conversation. We eventually rounded up our discussion with one of the drama series on TV.

After all said and done I asked if she would be available to join me and some of my mates at the Pliny's club, being a Friday I expected something positive, however, she busted my bubbles when she said it so softly and lovingly " I'd love to be there with you babes but I am sorry not tonight". Those words sank into me. I understand many things about women but I have not met anyone who could bust my bubbles and still make me feel good. Laura knew how to sink the truth without hurting you; this I would learn as our friendship progressed.

The only positive from that encounter at least was bringing my interest to her notice , something that was pertinent to a thrust of affection.

I recall a day at Cory Anderson, as I sat relaxed on the leather chair in my corner office, looking into one of our client's database, rounding up my assessment for the week. Steven Quinn was his usual squeal as he danced to music on his iPod and Tina was as usual in her punctilious garb speaking on phone. I had no problem with Steven since Tina wasn't perturbed, besides his excitement was in order thank God it is Friday.

There was not much to look forward to that Friday, I had seen my mom on the Thursday preceding that Friday at the St John oncology center, her health was deteriorating in swift pace. As I stared at her face, I could sense she was more than ready for the sojourn and her eyes looked every inch ready to make her peace with life. As I looked my hapless mother on her sick-bed, Rev Father. Jones' funeral sermons came to mind too: underneath are thy everlasting arms.

I think for the first time in my life I hated myself for being helpless as much as hopeless and for once I wished my mother was dead and saved from this untold pain and agony.

This was the mood that pervaded my being on that Friday, before the beep on my BBM distracted me for some seconds, thoughts away from mother and gloom, it was Laura.

Laura: Hey

Me :Hi

Laura: Wats up

Me :Nothing and how you doing?

Laura: good feel like going out tonight.

Me :So so

Laura: what is your plan for tonight?

Me: Nothing yet

Laura: hoping you could take me out I think I'd love to have a drink.

Me: Oh, that would be fine am ok with that but no plans yet.

Laura: I bet you have one up your sleeve, keep me posted let me know your plans in 10 minutes so I could make an arrangement.

Me: OK I will do that:

Laura: OK x.

I was quite relieved this was some sweet pill. Since encountering Laura at the Lunar, I have kept up with her mostly on social networks: facebook, BBM, and whatsapp. I had asked her out for diners, social outing and sometimes I even requested she journeyed with me tonight events and clubs but she would give one reason or the other for denying my request. She was a hard nut. This chat caught me unawares and unexpectedly. I tell you this, I was glad, there was no better moment for such an outing than a night like this; I really could do with a drink, at least to walk on and walk away from the disaster that has betrothed me so far.

I arranged my desk and put my stuff together, done with the day's work. When it was 6pm, local time I switched to my BBM again.

Me: I have a place in mind somewhere in central London, nice pub

Laura: perfect how do we get there, you pick me in my place or I meet you somewhere.

Me: Let's meet at Greenwich Bay by 8pm what is your take

Laura: Hmmmm great thanks babes

Me: Aight

Laura: I'll call you later.

It didn't take more than 25 minutes to get home from work, I commuted by rail to Hounslow and headed home on bus 247 to Hyde park .

I hurriedly changed my clothes, certain I still had another one-hour or more to meet with Laura. On my way home, I had bought pizza at the pizzeria to fill my empty stomach. I was not sure where to take Laura, and because I wanted to impress her too, I needed to give her the best-shot .

I do party and club but Shaun was an authority in knowing the choice places. Shaun was nocturnal enough and street savvy to know where to revel and move within the city of London.

I could count on him in such a time. I picked my cell phone "Shaun sup" underground I could hear some sound of music but it was still 7:30pm very unlikely Shaun was already out for the night "yeah Rich I am good " he responded "you have anywhere in mind tonight for my partner and me" .

" Donitz got a ladies night , I'll pick you guys up in an hour, I will bring Tonia along and let's have a wholesome for the parade mate," he concluded."I await your call in 30 minutes," I said, as I press the red button to end the conversation.

I have some friends, from colleagues at work, to friends I knew in college, to those who I met at the university and to those who I knew at my neighborhood in the past and in the present. I had never had any serious friendship as such. Shaun is my childhood friend and the closest of my friends. He is everything my opposite, our common ground holds on intellectual things. In one aspect of my life I could say Shaun is my alter ego, I am ordinary, moderate and less energetic, on the contrary, he is extreme and excessive and very kind too .

Shaun is that kind of guy you need to make your life livelier. it is his swag that keep things done and keep boredom out of my way, a kind of guiding angel. Shaun's intelligence rivals his sociality. At best, he was the first person I had met except my dad, who had the capacity to manage both formations. On a larger scale, Shaun was the maestro .Even at Durham he excelled perfectly in both departments.

I know many folks who still doubted how he was able to graduate from Durham without an extra , even though he ranked as a social crawler in Durham he never lost sight of what he came to do there in the first place. The best shows organized in Durham functioned best when Shaun was involved and it was out of great privilege for a nerd like me to have Shaun in my life.

I must confess I am not a party dude nor a night crawler, but when you have a special friend like Shaun you can't but understand why it make a lot of sense to gig a little in one's life. I have him to thank for that at least.

On one occasion , Shaun was having a party for friends and the next day he was up by 7 am to write an exam and surprisingly he performed very well; that is how perfunctorily Shaun can be.