The Easy Disposables

• By Adepeju Prince

Iyiade was bullied out of her home by her husband’s second wife. Her husband had married another woman after she could not get pregnant again due to complications after the birth of Ileola.

She wanted another child, but there was nothing she could do. Her fallopian tubes had suffered irreparable damage and had to be removed. She vowed to love the second wife and hide her pain, but after she gave birth to the third girl in a row, the second wife began to accuse her of witchcraft. She blamed her for locking up her husband’s sons after she gave birth to hers and could not have another child.

The emotional bullying soon became physical, and her husband was not helping much as he began to believe the fables.

One day, she could not bear its effects on her son and the unwarranted enmity against him. She left the house for her sister’s place in Lagos and started an outlet for her sisters’ business. Her sister sells drinks and herbal potions to the drivers and workers in the motor park.

Iyiola did not like this business because she saw how the environment had gradually molded her sister into someone she barely recognized. However, she didn’t have much choice but to accept because she did not have sufficient qualifications to work where she preferred, and the money from the sales was good enough to start with.

She decided to run this business, enroll her son in a school and save for another business. This was not meant to be; the school fees were more than what her husband paid in the village, while the various taxes and levies from the motor park officials threatened the business’s survival.

She was making enough to pay Ileola’s school fees and extra lessons. The different class was unnecessary, but she did not want him near the motor park; she picked him up from the lesson center on her way home. On this fateful day, she was walking to the bus stop when a fight broke out in the motor park; she ran into a shoe maker’s shop and lay on the floor.

A sharp and forceful pain pierced through her back, and she got up to ask the shoemaker for help; he could not do much as he had to wait till the touts left the park. By the time help came, she was dead, a stray bullet had hit her, and she bled out without immediate assistance. Her sister took over Ileola’s care, and she did her best to fulfill the sister’s wishes.

Ileola managed to graduate from secondary school, by which time he had grown into a known face in the motor park. He was a ready tool in the hands of his aunt and her park friends, who trained him to handle legal and illegal errands. His happiest moments were during the election period because he would make more money than he had seen in the last four years.

His aunty reminded him constantly of his mum’s wishes, and he graduated with a satisfactory O’level result, but he had no interest in attending college. He had saved up enough to enter a business that caught his fancy, grooming bodyguards for politicians. He knew that as an “agbero,” he could only do so much, but by running a private security firm, he could be in business for a long time, and it would be a nice exit from the thug life while keeping in touch with his roots and his benefactors at the same time. Except he had one more deal to do.

The elections were coming, and his bosses at the motor park had told them about the odds against their candidate. The online and opinion polls were low, and there are indicators that he will lose.

The leader told them their candidate had to win, or they would be out of business or in business with less freedom and power to operate the way they did. Ileola was assigned to this candidate. His job was to protect him and pass on information from the streets to him and vice versa. Ileola had some misgivings about this candidate.

The ruling party had the reputation of fielding reputable candidates. Supporting or manipulating the election was easy when the candidate was popular. Ileola was in the lower ranks, so his voice would not be heard; when he voiced his misgivings to his leader, the man shut him down and called him names for trying to bite the fingers that fed him.

Ileola kept quiet and did as he was told. His mobilization fee was 200,000 naira. After the election, he would get a balance of 300,000 naira.

He followed the politician around all through the campaign season. Several nights, he went out for strategy meetings. In these meetings, he got the names of those who must be bribed or maimed for his boss. He was diligent and loyal.

At some point, he was nursing the idea of being retained when the election was won. His life with this man was equally dangerous, but it was more manageable, and he lived with them in the elite part of the city.

Election day came – faster than Ileola expected. His principal voted, spoke to the press, and returned to his abode, safe and away from the drama, physically at least. All was well until the results in their stronghold started trickling in; they were losing by a landslide. There was pandemonium in their camp. How could this be?

In all that chaos and panic, his principals began making phone calls and calling huge figures of money he dares not dream of. After a while, he got a text message from his motor park leader; they were to start snatching the ballot and scaring the people.

No killings, just enough fights to inflict fear and injuries. Ileola left his principal and went back in a government vehicle to downtown. There he met his cronies, and they moved around the polling units scuttling the election process.

As expected, the soldiers allocated to these units by the Federal Government came after them, but they had sworn to die rather than give up the fight. There were scuttles and skirmishes here and there, but they had achieved their aim. Some polling units were canceled, and the results were tampered with.

Back at the principal’s house, doctors attended Ileola and his goons. Even though they snatched ballot boxes and upturned the election trend, the army gave them a good run. His leader had been killed. Ileola sustained several injuries from the fight between his goons and the youths defending their voting rights and trying to prevent them from disrupting the election process.

He shouted in pain as the doctor tried to clean him up and recommended immediate surgery, as he risked losing the small finger on his left hand.

The principal was notified and arranged to take them to the hospital. Although Ileola received priority treatment because of his association with the boss, he looked around at people in the hospital who were suffering from various diseases and could not get the medical care they needed due to a lack of funds or lack of funds personnel.

He had lost his finger, but the doctor is treating him under close supervision to ensure full recovery from all injuries. His mind began to reel; the election drama dragged on for three days, all of which he followed on the television and social media from his hospital bed. Ileola made a mental note to inform his new leader, now governor for the second time, of the need to equip hospitals and have medical personnel, he may not have gone to college, but he knows that you don’t need to be politically affiliated or travel abroad to get access to quality medical care.

The TV screen came alive again; then, he saw his principal, his wife, and two daughters on their way to the headquarters to collect the certificate of return. His mind flipped. He scanned the crowd and the photo ops and did not see anyone from the streets there, not even his dead leader’s son, who worked with him as his bodyguard.

He called to complain to his friend, who was also recovering but had been discharged. His friend laughed and said,
“Do you expect him to implicate himself with people like us? We have money and protection, leave the paparazzi to him and his children”. Ileola ended the call with mixed feelings.

The images of the last few days played around his mind; he saw his leader’s body fall to the ground as soldiers pelted him with bullets. He remembered one of the youths repeatedly smashing his hand when dragging the ballot box with another youth. He remembered missing a bullet by the whiskers as he dodged into a shed while the soldiers were in hot pursuit. So, his principal’s kids were somewhere safe and sheltered the whole time.

He went on social media to see what he could find. Not long, he found their handles and saw the displays. They had started posting with hashtags like #firstdaughter #governorlikedad #wedontcower #dadslittlegirl #homecoming.

From the posts, the children came into the country just in time to accompany their father to collect the certificate of return and prepare for swearing-in. He thought of his leader’s son again, who probably had been replaced by a policeman or soldier fit enough for the screen. Fit enough not to “implicate” the principal, like his friend said.

He checked his bank account. He now had a balance of 5.6 million naira. A fair sum for their services but was this worth the life of the leader?

A few days later, he got discharged and returned to his principal. He congratulated him and tried to stay back to make small talk. His principal dismissed him hurriedly as there were urgent matters to attend to. When he walked across the house to look for his wife, one of his daughters met him along the corridor, and he introduced himself as his father’s bodyguard and personal assistant.

“Oh, you were the former one who got into an accident?” The Lady replied with Glee.

Ileola was dazed and was thinking of what to say; he was stuck on the word “former.”
She continued, “Dad told me, I am so sorry. You need to be careful next time you are held in traffic. This city is dangerous now.”

As she walked away she said to her sister, who came upon the conversation, “This is Dad’s PA that he said he needed to interview George for as a replacement, the one who got his hand smashed because he would not give up his phone while stuck in traffic.”
Her sister suddenly came alive.

“Oh! That was you? I am so sorry. I hope you are better now?”

“Y-y-yes,” he stammered.

He continued walking; he remembered George. George was the older sister’s boyfriend who helped him to write essays when he was still here. He was rounding up his Master’s program in Harvard. After a long wait, he was attended to by his principal’s wife, who gave him 10 million naira to assist with his leader’s burial, settle the boys and take care of himself.

Ileola collected the money and went to the chef’s quarters. He greeted her with joy and made small talk. He ensured he left that meeting with the chef’s son’s phone number, Jeff. During his brief stay with them, the chef talks endlessly about how well her son is doing in school and how she couldn’t wait for him to graduate. Ileola figured Jeff was the answer to the next phase of his life.

He has decided to be good enough for cameras and swearing-in, not guns and machetes. His leader’s burial had little sorrow attached to it. His principal didn’t come, and none of his family members showed up. The goons that handled the burial only drank and sent him home like a warlord. Deep down, Ileola knew they were not warlords; they were disposable paper towels only beneficial for dirty jobs.

A day after the burial, he bade his aunt goodbye and told her he was going to Ghana to rest and recover from losing his finger. He lied. He boarded a bus to Enugu, and his final destination was Jeff’s school, the University of Nsukka, where Jeff was an undergraduate student studying mathematics.

Jeff’s mother was the only one who knew the whereabouts of Ileola, and he had begged her into secrecy; he was doing this on his own without any interference.
Jeff was happy to see him, and even though they were meeting for the first time, his mother had told him all he needed to know.

Jeff showed him around and had a lengthy discussion about what he wanted. Thanks to his aunt’s insistence on studying and getting good results, Ileola’s O’level results were good enough. Jeff encouraged him to live with him to save his money. He also encouraged him to attend classes for the Unified Tertiary Matriculation Examination.

Jeff joined the Igbo apprenticeship system alongside these classes to learn the nitty gritty of trading. Eventually, Ileola joined an Igbo trader that imported fabrics for tailors and fashion designers.

On May 29th, Ileola watched on his master’s TV the various swearing-in ceremonies in the country. His heart grieved. Somewhere were political thugs with little hope than to continue being disposable tools in the hands of power-drunk elite members of the society and hoped they won’t get killed in their prime. His friend was right; politicians will never show up with people like them.

His UTME results were good, and he had started preparing for post-UTME examinations. His first choice was political science, not because he had a direction on what career he wanted but because he would like to know more about politics and get a degree while at it. Jeff had assured him that if he passed the post-UTME examinations, he would help with the remaining process.

Ileola was not surprised; politics has replaced meritocracy even within the sanctum of educational institutions. His boss in the shop will encourage him to do both and succeed as his children were schooling abroad and they learned this business before leaving. Ileola finds it amusing the way he calls abroad “Ablod.”

The man also started teaching him the language; he told him that business is accessible when you learn your customers’ language.

Days became months and 5 years went by so fast. It was Ileola’s graduation. Jeff could not make it because he was writing his first semester examinations in the United States. He was a doctoral student in applied mathematics. His mother traveled to Nsukka to celebrate with him. Ileola finished with a 2:1 alongside a number of awards, one of which was the most entrepreneurial student of the Year in political science.

He had completed his apprenticeship, and rather than go into fabrics; he went into another line of clothing business. He decided to explore automated laundry and packaging, embroidery and cloth labels, promotions, and marketing of local tailors.

He set up a company, driven by the quest to promote local tailors and encourage cooperating Nigerian organizations and schools to patronize them for their clothing needs. He took it upon himself to sensitize the tailors to own their brands and stops copying foreign brands.

He had received a seed grant with which he set up an office in Enugu from where he produced, manufactured, and trained people. His role as a middleman who markets outfits and designs to corporate bodies expanded his business exponentially, chief of which is his suggestion to differentiate uniforms according to class and roles in public school.

Soon private schools adopted the idea, and the mere fact that a student gets to wear a different uniform design as they get promoted from class to class was enough motivation to get good grades. The Enugu government adopted this idea, and he became the head of this project, with many tailors and fashion designers making a living off this project.

Meanwhile, the principal had become a two-time governor, and he won the senatorial seat intending to retire in Abuja after his 8-year reign as governor. However, the new president of Nigeria was from a different breed. He demanded excellence and accountability from every arm of government. The most grueling for politicians was the quarterly evidence-based, televised review of progress. The principal was in the senate committee of Education, and they were desperate to please the president. Although he has little power over their positions, they were losing credibility and have been mandated to produce results.

Gabriel, who had been his PA and speechwriter, told him of the news from Enugu state, where the government’s strides in education have improved student achievement and the state’s fashion sector. Gabriel had given him a progress report based on one year of implementing the uniform-by-class program of the state. This appealed to the principal, who told Gabriel to invite the visioner to Abuja for a meeting and presentation.

They contacted the Enugu state commissioner of education, who recommended Ileola. Gabriel looked at the name and wondered what a Yoruba man was doing close to the corridors of powers from Enugu. He called the number the commissioner gave him, and someone who identified as the front desk gave him guidelines to send an email.

Initially, he felt slighted, but he couldn’t return to his boss and father-in-law with no result. He sent the email and requested an appearance at the senate committee on a particular date. Ileola read the letter again and again. He agreed, and with his team at his company and the state government, they put together a presentation, and he traveled to Abuja for the meeting.

In the hallow chambers of the Nigerian Senate, on the third floor, Ileola walked in with his assistant to a waiting audience led by the senate committee of Education. He scanned the room knowingly and locked eyes with his former principal and PA. Then he introduced himself,

“My name is Ileola Iyanuloluwa Oluwaseun, and I am here to represent the Enugu State Ministry of Education to discuss the details of our success in the education sector with this esteemed house and its reverberating effect in the fashion sector.

He enjoyed the absent look on his former principal’s face. Even better. This is what he dreamt of.