Aborted Romeos — Four

[ThatYorùbáGuy]

Aborted Romeos


My Father, Tunji

Ebute-Metta is one of the most popular suburbs in Lagos. It is a haven for the poor and the rich, or as Karl Marx puts it, the proletariat and the bourgeois, and new buildings are often seen side by side with old ones, many of which existed before Nigeria was christened. It is much better and more peaceful here than living in Oshodi or Mushin. Nonetheless, when you find yourself in the alleys and backstreets of Ebute Metta, you must be vigilant because anyone can run you streets. After all, well, this is still Lagos.

Three years ago,when I began to live on Kaduna Street, the house agent who took me there had tried to convince me that this apartment was a good choice.

"Bros, this place dey okay. You sef check am". He said.

The place was a revamped 3-bedroom bungalow structured in such way that each room had its own toilet and bath, and a front door. The only room the occupants shared was the living room, which has its own main entrance.

"What about the other two rooms?" I queried.

"People don rent am, but they never pack come."

On impulse he added, " But no worry, them be good people, young men like you. No worry."


Two weeks after, Adeola and Bimbo moved into the other rooms. At first, I was wary of sharing the house with a philanderer and a jobless fellow, a wariness which these three years of cohabiting together has positively waned.

Many times, when we were all in the living room, we would watch live football or some thriller movie on the big screen TV that I and Adeolu bought, or talk about the latest gist. On some occasions, the others would be out, and I would have the whole space to myself. This is when I usually work, writing some new book for a client or reading a book, like I am doing now.

I was reading Tolstoy's War and Peace with a plate of homemade pancakes beside me when my phone rang. I checked the caller's identity and picked.

" Hello. Ekaaro sir."

"Bawo ni, se ise nlo daada?" His deep solemn voice was unmistakeable.

"Fine sir."

"Why are you sounding like this. I thought you'd be happy to hear my voice."

"I'm glad you called. I should have phoned you instead."

"Hmn."

Silence.

"How's Tinuke and the twins?" I asked, to break the awkward silence.

"She's fine. Do you know the twins have entered high school? They are in Class One."

I could sense the excitement in his voice.

"That's good news."

"Hmn," he paused and continued, "Kolapo tells me there's a vacancy in their office---"

"He already told me."

"I didn't know that."

It had been a week since my brother-in-law called me about a customer care job in their office. He had told me to send my CV directly to him. I thanked him and sent my regards to my sister. Two days after he called to inform me the job had been given out.
According to him, some superior boss had pulled up some veto and employed someone else.

"My boss told HR to call off the application process, that the MD has gotten someone already. So sorry," he had said.
I assured him I appreciated his efforts and that it was no fault of his, but that was a week ago.


"Mommy e nko?"

"She's fine. She said you called her."

"Yeah."

"That's good."

He laughed. "I'm getting too old to keep grudges with anyone, particularly your mother."

"I understand."

"Son, I need to go now. Aa ma soro (we'll talk later)." He hung up.

The father I always knew was a jovial man. He got along with everyone and his free spirit was contagious. But everything changed when he left 9 years ago.
He was a shade of many things; fierce, kind, loving, disciplined, romantic. He was an enigma, and he was every woman's dream. He in turn enjoyed the attention, and that was where his trouble started.

My mom had cried when she discovered he had gotten his secretary pregnant. Tinuke had gone to her shop and confessed she was pregnant for my father and that she could not bear the guilt nor wait for my father to tell her himself. my mother had been too shocked to speak. Tinuke and my mother were not strangers to each other.. Tinuke's mother and mine were childhood friends, and when she got out of the university my mom had lobbied my father to get a placement for her in his office. My mother was struck with grief and decided to ask my father about it. She had engaged him in a fierce confrontation.

"Are you hiding something from me?"

"No. Me hide something, something like what?"

Silence.

"When were you going to tell me about Tinuke?"

He had managed to hide his shock.

"What has she told you?" He asked, feigning innocence. My mother had lost her patience already.

"How dare you Tunji? How dare you!"

"What is it?"

"It should not have been her. It should not have been Tinuke."

"You're yelling at me!"

"Leave me. Let me yell at you! When where you going to tell me you impregnated Tinuke? Omo ore mi! You are wicked Tunji, you're wicked," and then she bursts into tears.

How could she be sharing her husband with a woman she could almost call her own daughter? It was not so much that father had impregnated Tinuke as it was that he hid it from her for so long. It was a messy situation, and it broke her.

Tinuke gave birth to a set of twins two months later, and I saw my parents, who had loved each other for many years become strangers.
Tactful as my father was, he couldn't handle the alienation. He processed a work transfer to Port Harcourt, and after six gruelling months, he left.
He left his wife and two adolescent kids.

I was upset with my father and even hated him for years, but of course, I forgave him. I understood that it was not my fight, and my mom had healed up for the sake of her children. The grief had disappeared over the years. The grief that had threatened to swallow her up, and us with it.

He never failed in his responsibility to his children, as with money and our other needs. Now and again, he would call, or visit us anytime he was in Lagos.


                                        **********

I had finished the pancakes and gone back to my reading when he entered, looking all disgruntled and upset.

"What's up man you look like shit. Were you sacked at work?"

"Ahan. God forbid."

"What then?"
He was oddly different from the regular Adeola I know. Something bad had happened.

"I caught Cynthia in bed. With her— damn!" He said it with so much disgust.

"Slow down. You caught Cynthia in bed with another man?"
"That would have been better. I caught her doing things with another woman. On her bed!"

"Wait. What!?"