Adaobi Nwaubani - I Do Not Come to You by Chance

‘This is Camille,’ he said. ‘My jewel of inestimable value. She’s a law student at Abia State University.’ He grabbed my shoulder and shook. ‘This is Kings. The latest millionaire in town. After all, our elders say that a dirty hand will eventually lead to an oily mouth.’

I realised too late that the misapplication of this popular Igbo proverb was supposed to be a joke. My laughter joined in when theirs was already at an anticlimax.

Camille bubbled with goodwill to all mankind. She gazed attentively at Cash Daddy, and winked at me from time to time. She wiped some grease from his upper lip, and straightened my shirt collar. Eventually, she reached over and kissed me briefly on the lips. I worried that some of her rouge might have stayed behind, but resisted the urge to wipe my lips with my hands. Then she transferred herself to my lap and smiled like someone used to turning scrawny sonnies into world heavyweight boxing champions. I was not sure where to keep my hands; I left them dangling awkwardly by my side.

Camille’s instructions from Cash Daddy were simple.

‘Collect the key to room 671,’ he said. ‘Take him inside and deal with him. It doesn’t matter how much it costs. By the time you’re through, I don’t even want him to remember his father’s name.’

•

It was not until about noon the following day that I was finally able to lift myself out of bed and answer my phone. It was my mother.

‘Kingsley!’ she said with fire in her voice.

‘Mummy.’

‘You’re still sleeping?’

‘I’m a bit tired,’ I mumbled.

‘Kings, are you well?’ she asked with concern.

‘I’m fine.’

‘What’s the matter? Are you sure-’

‘Mummy, I’m fine.’

She paused. She remembered why she had called. Her voice resumed its initial fire.

‘Kingsley, why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Why didn’t I tell you what?’

‘I saw on the news last night that Boniface is contesting for governor. Is it true?’

Agreed, the Nigerian media were experts at conjuring headline news out of incidents that never happened, but surely my mother must have seen Cash Daddy declaring his good intentions to the world with his very own mouth.

‘Yes, he’s contesting.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me in advance?’

‘I didn’t? I thought I did.’

‘No, you didn’t.’

‘Oh.’

There was a pause.

‘Kings, have you started looking for another job?’

‘I’m working on it.’

‘That’s what you told me the last time.’

‘Mummy, I’m working on it.’

‘Where and where have you applied to?’

‘Different places.’

‘Does it mean not one of them has called you in for an interview yet?’

‘Mummy, you know how Nigeria is.’

‘Kings, please, please, please. Find a proper job. I don’t understand this so-called work you say you’re doing for Boniface. You know Nigerian politics is very dangerous.’

‘Mummy, I’m not in any way involved in his campaign. Stop worrying yourself unnecessarily.’

‘There’s no way you can be working with him and not-’

‘Mummy, I need to go now. I’ll talk to you some other time.’

‘Remember you promised your fa-’

It was only a matter of time before she would come round. I returned to Camille. In a short while, I forgot everything about my dead father and my worried mother. I was transported to another galaxy.

Mr Edgar Hooverson’s was a typical case of gambler’s fallacy. Every additional payment had simply increased his commitment, the need to win money had kept him going.

But at last, all the mind-bending was taking its toll. After paying $16,000 for lawyer’s fees, $19,000 for a Change of Beneficiary Certificate, $14,500 for Security Company Tariff, $21,000 for Transfer of Ownership, $11,900 for courier charges, $23,000 for Customs Clearance, $17,000 for Hague Authorisation, $9,000 for ECOWAS Duty, and $18,700 for insurance fees, his enthusiasm had started waning. The time was ripe to release the $58 million into his care.

My friend, Edgar, then sent me an email.

Dear Shehu,

ALUTA CONTINUA!

I’ve spoken with Jude and arranged to be in Amsterdam on TUESDAY THE 27th. Is that date CONVENIENT for you? Please let me know so I can go ahead and book my ticket and accommodation. I intend to be at THE AMSTERDAM AMERICAN HOTEL which Jude told me is not too far from the security company.

I’ll send the $4,000 for your travel ticket and hotel accommodation BEFORE the day runs out.

I’m quite EXCITED and LOOKING FORWARD to meeting you after all this correspondence. My regards to your dear sister.

Best,

Your friend, Edgar

PS: Something just occurred to me! I’ll also email you a RECENT PHOTOGRAPH of myself. The one on my driving license and international passport is a bit OUTDATED and I want to avoid the risk of you coming to the hotel and MISTAKING me with someone else. I know it’s not very likely that would happen, but as an EXPERIENCED business man, I’ve learnt to always take ADDITIONAL PRECAUTIONS.

I had no reason to doubt Mr Hooverson’s experienced-ness as a businessman. He might even have been one of the most brilliant. After all, there were people renowned for their ability to remove tumours from tricky crevices in the human body, who were useless at changing their car tyres. Others could interpret every formula that Newton and Einstein had come up with, but could not tell the beginning or the end of the stock market. Any intelligent, experienced expert could become a mugu. It was all about the packaging.

The date that Mr Hooverson had chosen – just a few days before Charity’s matriculation – was actually not convenient for me. But our associates in Amsterdam advised that it was risky to postpone the meeting; Mr Hooverson’s desperation was dead ripe. Pity, I would have to rush back so soon. It would have been nice to check out all the outlandish stories Cash Daddy had narrated about the Red Light District in Amsterdam.

In Amsterdam, after checking into my hotel, I met my associates in a nearby cafe. Either of them could have been the Jude who had been in touch with Mr Hooverson.

They laughed when I would not take off my coat.

‘You should have worn a lighter coat,’ Amuche said. ‘This one you’re wearing is meant for the peak of winter.’

‘Anybody seeing you would know immediately that you’re a Johnny-just-come straight off the boat,’ Obideozor added.

‘I don’t think you people understand what I’m going through here,’ I said and shivered.

Both men laughed without control.

After a life of sweating it out in the blazing heat of tropical West Africa, nothing could have prepared me for the plummeting temperatures of this, my very first winter on earth. Suddenly, bits of puzzling information started making sense. At last, I understood the necktie – an item of clothing that had never previously made the slightest sense. I now knew that boots were more than a fashion statement. They were a lifesaver. And as the cold November air charged through the broad entrances to my nostrils, I remembered something my father had once said.

‘The white people’s narrow nostrils and pointed noses are not just to help them speak with a nasal accent,’ he had said. ‘It’s to help protect them against the cold.’

I rubbed my palms vigorously and wished that my nose was more pointed. My two associates continued being amused. I and Obideozor finished our cups of tea and headed out.

‘I’ll be waiting for your call,’ Amuche said.

We had planned everything right down to the smallest detail. I was the one to knock. The face that peeped out of the narrow space beside the open door when I did was exactly the same as the one in the Jpeg that Edgar Hooverson had sent.