A Bougainvillea Flower 2

By Edmund Rice

When the Jupiter One Multinational Corporation team touched down in Ivory Coast, they had only one purpose for being in Abidjan, to commission their building.

However, when their stalker landed with them in Abidjan, his motive for stalking them was another.

Ivory Coast begins witnessing unusual occurrences because someone had a dark purpose, this dark purpose was to take lives and ruin properties using the most dark methods possible.

When a detective gets wind of the agenda, the novel takes a twist and the race to rescue the children who would be sacrificed would decide whether or not the Jupiter One Multinational Corporation would stand the fury of their stalker.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Edmund
• Release date: May 7, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386069959

Book preview

You must work, not live

You must live, not work

Author

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Everyone lives by selling something

Treasure Island

Robert Louis Stevenson

Chapter 1

Every Great Journey Begins With A Single Step

-Popular Quote

Mid January

Half past eight. Monday morning. Accra. Persons were silently thronging the Police Station. Citizens. Ghanaian Citizens. They had issues. Grievances. And the Police are the most reliable persons they sought for assistance. It was a reliability that should not be displaced. And cannot be displaced. A trust which people over the years have come to repose in the police, because, they, without discrimination on tribe, status or influence, must treat all persons equal and well. And now they are.

That is to acclaim that the police service has finally finally finally  been sanitized, and, since then, no police officer ever thirsted for extra gain of cash outside his official income received, no matter what conditions were bringing in the cash. Be it gift, bribe, reselling of impounded narcotics or church pew gifts. The Ghana Police were now as neat as crows. Thank you.

But one detective, Detective Aboa Dankyi, pronounced, Abu-a Dayn-ki, was busily perusing the public encyclopedia, the daily newspapers. They were numerous. And though it was not a usual habit of his to hungrily devour newspapers, this time around, he was doing so. Several papers from several press houses. He was enjoying reading them because they were coming in for free. Free for his department – the Criminal Investigations Department of the Ghana Police Service, Nimah branch.

Reading the newspapers was like poetry recitals to Aboa Dankyi, a sort of eye-opener, a sub-aqua revelation. The blue-chip companies. The plush estates. The ultramodern houses. The noveau riche homes. The avant-garde electronics. The snazzy cars. All to him were sub aqua eye-openers.

He just could not believe that whilst most of his mates groaned of the depression in the economy, coupled with their lack of insight to understanding the nuances of life itself, mysterious multilaterally powerful and tantalizingly felt groups, called companies, are still making the world go round.

Day in, day out, they are  churning fascinating products, which has set everyone on their mental heels. And compelling homes and families to behave competitively because of the unimaginable products these companies are flooding shops with.

In his estimation, the world’s products have become inconceivable. Fantastic.  And made the lives of today better from the lives of yesterday.

He was scanning the pages of the Daily Graphic™, his favourite, and though he is currently out of the industrial sector, he could not help realizing that a few persons are still very busy, busy with the imaginative fire. Yes, the imaginative fire.

The car companies seem to have lost their sense of ‘limit’.

Almost every year, new and sophisticated car models with fantastic features are released. And when he considers them as fantastic, he means it, because when he had been a student, the technological principles behind today’s inventions were considered dreamy, utopian, quixotic and only good as academic exercises aimed at strengthening the intellect.

Half a century later, it has become obvious in today’s reality that those preconceived logics have been defied. The dreams, the fantasies of the mechanical engineering technology program he had studied are now real: the car he was fascinated with in the newspaper now has its wheel mechanism modeled after the maneuverability of the owl’s neck. And as such its wheel could rotate three sixty five degrees and beyond off the axle. And that is fantastic. Defying the known odds. And outerdisworld fantasia.

The next page of the Daily Graphic was exploding into a galaxy of products from TCL Electronics, The Creative Life™ Electronics, and  he believed it is the spur of some sort of mental revolution— a product of transformatory change, improvement, innovation, milk of the mind.

Flipping to the next page, a shock of horror instantly clouded his face. And he gasped.

*  *  *

Chapter 2

The foremost and best way to die (go into extinction)

Is to die mentally

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Last year’s late October weather, though promissory of rain, had not interrupted air travel. And a  chartered small-sized Antrak airplane had safely taken off from Kotoka International Airport and made a screeching touchdown at Port Bouet, the Ivoirian International  Airport in Abidjan, twenty-five minutes afterwards. Safely. And in relish.

Nïche Ight and his delegation after having had enjoyed the sizzling Kaviola Musculi dish served them in-flight, had been welcomed by the Ghanaian Ambassador and the attaché Professor of Liberal Arts Economics on the tarmac. Then they had joined a convoy of beetle cars, and from the airport they had been driven away to a hotel.

The distance had seemed endless. Which is a usual feeling of time related anxiety persons experience when going to an unknown place for the first time.

Through trains of traffic, they were seeing Abidjan, a beautiful glittering nanotechnology city, where eight lane

spacious roads were as commonplace as are potholed single lane roads popular in urban Ghana.

The neighbourhood blocks are also so mathematically apportioned to the extent that if an aircraft is crash-landing, it would  land safely on any of the streets without much harm to its passengers. And this is neomodern,  as well as Timeless in Africa.

In fact, the principle behind this national-aestheticism is a purposeful state policy that completely outlawed ’liberal trade’, wanton peddling in traffic and on pavements. Violation was so severely punished, most offenders considered the five-year jail sentence a lenient option to the hefty court fine charged.

Nïche was well aware of the new Ivoirian government’s socioeconomic reform policies and programs that are directed at ensuring that Ivoirians also became civilized in the most vogue sense of the word ‘civilized’. Instead of being developed by foreigners, or worse, enjoying the fruits of foreign civilisations without knowing how to develop their needs by themselves.

So Ivory Coast was now a DIYE, Do It Yourself Economy. And it is not a DIYE of low order economic activities, but rather one of sophistication. Leading to an assurance of a higher order way of life, now and in the near tomorrow.

And this  sight of the glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel has caused the natives to  moot the joke that, ’Satan no longer will be on duty in our part of the world, true light is now streaming into our country.’

It is no secret that Ivory Coast had seen better days. In its most glorious past, it had been the poster child economy of West Africa, possibly after Senegal. Yet it was an economy that was not so technologically sophisticated. Most of their exports had been of vegetable origins, cocoa, timber, groundnuts, and stuff of the agricultural economy.

But with their success had come the African nature, which most often lacked forethought. And this nature gave way to indulgent corruption at various levels. The economy had been booming with tourism, high exports and corruption: official bellies were growing fatter and fatter, whilst to the contrary, state coffers were draining leaner and leaner as were state assets also being rapidly underpriced and sold off to political cronies under the pretext of a divestiture for an efficient management that never was.

Indeed, the executives of Nïche’s Jupiter-1 MultiNational Corporation had had a busy time, lots of sleepless nights and infinite burnouts until now to make a final touchdown to effect the inauguration of killing a utopian business into a reality in Abidjan.

To get this debut success underway, Nïche Ight had had to make several unofficial trips into the country prior to now. At times accompanied by Lyco, his elegant point-nosed, slant-eyed, Personal Secretary and Aide.

So they had their baby registered with the Registrar of Companies as a foreign company within the ECOWAS bracket. And after having secured such document, they then had the legal right to proceed to operate an official bank account. After the bank account came the transfer of business capital, equity, which the Swiss bankers almost diverted. But.

However, the capital eventually left their Ghanaian account and successfully was transferred into their Ivoirian account. And with this had begun their works on a terra nova.

It had been hectic, outsourcing services through placement of advertisements in widely circulated newspapers, both domestic and international.

Dealings went on and on until they finally had obtained a huge acreage of space in the plush Ivoirian Business District of Le Plateau. Then they had short-listed the contractors they would be needing, until finally pen and uncanny genius brought onto paper, the designs for their multimillion-dollar apartment office building.

The designer of the building had presented five designs. Each having various fancy-concepts that attributed human emotions to the building.

However, against all the neoclassical and eco-friendly designs presented, that which flagged itself as having the Ghanaian Cedi symbol was the winning design.

And it had gone without drawing much flak from the Ivoirian business community, until its completion, where irate Ivoirians considered having a building in the shape of a Ghanaian Cedi on their turf as unthinkably outrageous.

What has the cedi ever been worth, if not sellouts, betrayal and treachery of citizen’s expectations? The irate ones had colorfully quibbled: Cocoa-money building. Corruption-money building. Disguised hyperinflation economy-money building, here.

Nevertheless, the foreign companies in Ivory Coast had appreciated the building so much. Seeing it as an outward projection of a landmark of nationalist ego and pride, plus a subtle, Only God Can Stop Them Now attitude in the aura of the building.

However, the most appreciated quality in the concept of the building was the realization that, Certain  persons are now sharing in the burden of salvaging humanity out of the jungle.

But though the xenophobic opposition was soon generally over with, someone domestic, whose job, it secretly was, did not lightly dismiss the ego of the owners of the Skai Gana Emporium building.

’No matter what message they come here with,’ he had been given the directive; ’Consider them as Vampires here to drain our economy off its lifeblood. We know what to do with what we have. And they won’t come fool us!’

In spite of all the faceless background voices, however, Nïche and co finally are here. Safely and soundly being driven through the neatly ordered streets of this city— a centre of commerce and cosmopolitan life they have never really been a part of. Until now. Abidjan.

Nïche who had never learnt the actual nature of Ivoirians, had pondered: Are they sincere, or otherwise? Arrogant or otherwise? Cunning, crafty or plain and forthright? Are they sarcastic or plain, vindictive or good-willed? Xenophobic or foolish? He knew he was yet to discover.

However, he had made up his mind not to discover too much. For it would amount to staring into an abyss for long, it stares back at you.

Lyco had booked their suites through the use of the internet. She had selected a five star hotel at Riviera, an opulent locale in Cocody. The hotel was not a Sheraton. That would be too assuming at these initial stages of entry.

It must be an under-over approach, not an over-under approach, Jonh, the Chief Intelligence Officer, CIO, had suggested. And it had been accepted, not after Lyco had teasingly asked, Are you sure you can see all intermediary-steps, hidden variables, factors and figures on this new frontier, Jonh?

Eventually, however, Lyco had booked their suites in an excitingly priced five star hotel. Not a beach hotel, for the sun seeker’s paradise, but rather a hotel located where unless the rooms were acoustically sealed, as in cinemas, they would never enjoy sound rest from traffic decibels. 

Their destination was on rue J 88 a Côté du commissariat du 12 ème et rue des jardins, close to the world-famous Green Revolution Geodesic Dome, a building Nïche and his team were later to discover housed a six storey departmental shopping complex for the state’s in vogue agronomy program. And built with earnings from coffee exports to Columbia, which itself is another major exporter of coffee.

With pulsating excitement of fireworks exploding in their hearts, their convoy of beetles soon came slowing down, curbing before a splendid arrowed concrete board, Nïche read against a flood of golden light in the background, the inscription, Mandarina Royale .

Mandarina Royale, he thought as he appreciated the hotel’s splendid golden marbled exterior, which went looming several floors into the night skies and flowing onto the paved sidewalk, and casting a beehive of east side balconies overlooking the beautiful Abidjan streets. The hotel dwarfed all other buildings about, both in magnificence and in size.

Taking the sidetrack, they turned into a rather inconspicuous, but large, boulevard, lined on both sides by mid-height royal palms having brightly glowing coloured Chinese lamps dangling from their branches. Nïche was tempted to consider the royal palms as possibly synthetic because of their affiliation with the Chinese lamps. Yet he assured himself that that could not be very possible, because Abidjan was fertile soil enough for any plant to be naturally cultivated.

Further forwards and the lit lamps were no longer glowing bright shades, but rather glowing into shades of gray. A dim penumbra of darkness now lined the royal palms that slowly was guiding them into a spacey dimness of an arena.

As they chauffeured into the arena at the forecourt of the hotel, Nïche, through the dimness, noted a notice board having ’PLEASURESNARE’ in blood red luminous stylish writing on it.

A pleasure snare? he thought.

Once again, his eyes went scanning the environment and fell on something like a huge shadowy monstrous statue about to lift off beneath the foyer.

It was shady, and beside the monster were two flexible humanly shadows he inferred could be the hotel’s concierges. But once again, something seeming like a big cat with ruby red eyes beneath the foyer came into his flitting view.

Where’s that Lyco?  he mentally hissed. What sort of hotel is this?

Then a stocky concierge came strutting over from beneath the foyer, soon he was opening the doors of their convoy.

When Nïche scrambled out, and was in Lyco’s proximity, he yanked her by the arm.

You sure you checked on the background of this hotel prior to booking it?! he snapped. Pointing at the two humongous shadowy things they could glimpse beneath the foyer leading into the hotel.

A hotel is a sleeping place, isn’t it? she chuckled. And those things could be anything but harmful, Chief. She chuckled again, bubbly and full of herself, tipping her nose into the air, she consciously began devouring the new climate’s aroma.

The arena was saturated with the beautifully soft blossoming fragrance of what she suspected could be the Lady of The Night plant. And though it was the month of ten, October, with the humidity of the minor rains still persistent, the fragrant ambience had not been absorbed by moisture, and it bathed the place in a refreshing freshness very uncommon to metropolises. And it was, to her, a feeling truly exquisite.

It had better be a good sleeping place too, Lyc, Nïche snapped again. Come let’s see the wigs off. And they made it to the first car in the lineup.

Definitely here, isn’t it? the ambassador said when they were with him. 

It is, your Excellency, Lyco quickly replied.

With the beetle’s tinted glass rolling up, and face straight, the ambassador cautioned, Don’t feel too at home here, no matter how genial they may seem. This is a foreign land.

They both cautiously nodded, and the ambassador added, Don’t forget turning up early for the meeting with the Foreign Minister Monday morning. . .meaning, you have just three days of sleep to catch. And also five days in which you return our official cars to us, buy your own set or jolly around in tricycles.

The beetle made a reverse, followed by that of the Liberal Arts Economics professor, and soon they were left to themselves.

Nice man with time, isn’t he? Lyco said.

Nicely mean with it.

Attendants had offloaded their luggage. And with trolleys were being wheeled into the hotel.

It was at the foyer that Nïche came to terms with his initial alarm that the big cat he had terrifyingly glimpsed is actually a winged golden lion, which was having to its west, a large springy dragon with puny outstretched wings. And seeming to have life, both were posed erect on their hind legs, with the sphinx having a paw majestically outstretched.

Bowing while opening the door, Bien venu, the impeccably attired doorman said, smiling.

Merci beaucoup, Monsieur, they chorused.

Then going beyond the threshold of the foyer, there came a sudden thunderous growl from the dragon.

ICK- ICK! Lyco squealed, leaping to the door, bumping into them.

Clearing his throat. Pardonz mez the fright, the doorman said, in heavy French accent.

That be our metal detector.

A dragonic metal detector? Jonh did you hear that? Nïche said.

A security setup, Jonh replied, as they all muttered variously.

Ifz therez be metal on your personzs, pleasez declarez, before official search isz conducted, the doorman continued.

So they turned out various metallic items, most of which turned out to be pens. Only Angels, the COO, turned out something that only the doorman noticed as condoms in pinkly laminated metallic casing. Whilst Marker, the GM, also turned out a set of pocket cutlery set.

When they were through, bowing once again, the doorman said, Yourz luggagez beenz sent for scanz, youllz receive themz in duez course. Thankz Youz.

And he beckoned them through the photoelectric door.

Entering into a large oval-spaced lounge, designed and built to look like the inside of an egg, they found themselves seats within the couches. And Lyco then made it to the receptionists’ large counter, which she could tell was made of flattened ivory, and having a black plaque having, The Rolling Lip, elegantly etched in golden ink on it.

After the receptionist answered to her demands most courteously, she returned to her men with a sealed brown envelop having a golden brown dragon button for latch and a sphinx sticker for seal.

Nïche’s eyes were taking in the new environment— the marbled floor was a marmalade of intricately interwoven thin silver circles and vines, which he could tell was classically depicting the fall of man from divine grace.

He could see an outline of the divine hand stretching out to the first man, but the alluring forces of the earth appealingly held man’s ascending consciousness away from the divine, into what he could clearly tell is the paradox of man’s rejection of heaven.

Centrally placed within this artistry was a physical fountain or rather a huge spherical aquarium held up by three figures of two mermaids, as well as a female deity having ’GAIA’ etched in golden curly fonts beneath.

Nïche could clearly see that the Gaia figure was having a viciously poised golden serpent wrought about her waist, upon which was the embossment, ‘PYTHO’. 

It was not something exactly sexy, the way he saw it, but he admitted that it added a touch of mystique and exquisiteness to the lounge.

And he found it refreshing that the walls of the lounge were not gray or any shade of it, but rather, pearly smooth beige, with normal life wall engravings hanging on them.

The atmosphere also, was welcomingly aromatic, with a poignant blend of kitchen ambience comingling with the saturation of flavoured air refreshers.

The couches on which they sat had a moony velvety appeal that dispelled the creepy feeling the sight of PYTHO had scrawled into Nïche.

Deeper within, he even suspected that the Pytho thing had been the cause for Lyco skittering towards the elevator as though she was a motor-driven doll propped from behind.

Up a slight incline of stairs and about Gaia’s aquarium, which was rippling with the quintessential tinkling of water from its fountain, they followed Lyco to the elevator. Nïche was sure the others too had felt the creep, even if they were not saying so, their extra quietness could have been induced by the feeling of the creep. Lyco’s creep was obvious, because she spoke a bit too fast, much too jitterily. Well, it could also be the newness of here which might have kept them huddled together in silence. Pondering. Studying.

It was as the door to the elevator opened that Marker broke the silence and said, Lyc, did I hear them say we qualified for dinner?

Our luggage also’d be brought up in fifteen minutes, Marker. A cow wouldn’t fill you up tonight. That, I’m certain of, she responded.

I won’t admit. But I’m also famished, Lyc, Angels’ the COO said. So tell them to qualify us quickly for the dinner.

Yeah, if you’ve got it in your power, Cherub, Alfred said.

Once we booked for it, we are qualified, Lyco explained. It’s only thirty minutes away.

Away?

Well, ‘towards’, then. Happy?

Getting off at the sixth floor onto a deeply rich crimson-carpeted corridor, where suites 6-2-3, 6-3-3, 6-4-3 and 6-5-3 had been reserved for them. Lyco paired them, the COO (Angels) and Alfred (CFO) to 6-3-3, CIO (Jonh) and GM (Marker) to 6-4-3, she handed Nïche his key to 6-5-3, and she was for 6-2-3.

Inside suite 6-5-3, Nïche undid his tie, opened the generously spacious and opulent wardrobe, and came out with his boxers on.

His suite, like Lyco’s, contained a large pneumatic bed covered with thick opalescent lime green sheets having golden embroideries tapering the edges.

In the living room area was a complete sofa set, a satellite TV, a transparent glass centre and coffee tables with what he identified as Tuswago, the Sun god, etched on them.

The furniture was set on a large and deeply expensive Arabian rug in a background of ornate floor tiles.

The walls, in dual colours of terra cotta and mauve had imitations of western masterpieces of splendid paintings hanging on them.

Admiringly studying them, he made out a Picasso, a Renoir, and a Lucas. And they sent his mind racing to African paintings. A couple he had seen in obscure art galleries in Accra included an awesome painting of the Fiery Dwarf god, Eshu; The Beggar’s Shattered Calabash juxtaposed against The Princess’s Fancy Glass Goblet; The Jute Bodied Men In The Noose; The Soul Depressing Demon, Gikoh; The Grave’s Insatiable Thirst For Wealth; and A Man Swimming In A Pool Of The Dead.

They all were African paintings far outshining the famed western paintings, but nonetheless suffering the languishment of being less popularized due to what he was positive was poor indigenization of universal concepts.

Anyway, the walls were indeed inspiring to look at. And what was he looking at now? The Chimera? An epochal duel between a man and a hideous multi-headed monster actually known to be an invisible fiend of nature?

Mythologists had positively asserted without proof that creatures of the order of chimeras exist not as a result of inter-species breeding between humans and avatars, or even with demons. But, rather, because antecedent to the coming of man on this planet, these monstrous creatures had once reigned.

Albeit, paleontologists had dismissed such fantastic theories because their infinite diggings had never turned up the fossils of such creatures, even if they had indeed existed primordial to Lucifer’s fall.

Nïche was well versed in the classics, though he has no memory of having ever studied classics in school.

Well, here he was, looking at some as wall hangings, and his memory went racing back to the lounge. And, somehow, the puzzle pieces seemed to fall into place, two mermaids, and Pytho were down stairs. A terrible dragon and sphinx too were at the exterior.

Hurriedly, he entered into the bathroom, concluding that this building was owned by someone with depth in an art background, not science or derivatives of science, but one who might have been psychologically parented by Plutarch, Plato, Plotinus and the likes of those reasoners of the pre-Christian enlightenment era.

The door’s banger was sounding when he came out. Opening it, he met a fez-donning steward in brick red checkered uniform of quaint fashion.

Qui Monsieur, your luggage, the steward said, pointing at the luggage. Nïche looked at him momentarily, then into the crimson corridor, and noted that his mates were also receiving theirs. He nodded the steward in and silently watched him transfer his six suitcases indoors. He noted that tags branding ‘Class A’ had been fixed on each. When the steward was done, he presented a bill for what he called ‘room service’.

Moments later, the banger sounded much more vigorously. Lowering the lighting within the suite, donning a pair of woody Levi Strauss khaki shorts, a rugged Camel sandals, a deep blue Denim shirt, Nïche made out to meet them gaily chatting away internationally in the corridor.

*  *  *

Chapter 3

The first thing which Lyco drew to Nïche’s attention downstairs was another engraving on a splendid Ivory plaque:

TOMORROW NEVER CAME

It was hanging on the archway into the hotel’s restaurant, which they learnt is stylized The Lean Pig Den. 

I’ll be swimming there tomorrow, though ‘tomorrow never came’, Lyco said, pointing ahead to a large s-shaped swimming pool dispersing ambience through the restaurant’s glass enclosure with its illuminated waters clearer than that of the waters of the Barbados.

She was here dressed in tight stonewash hunting shorts, with a mini top shirt sewn of the colorful dashiki fabric that left her navel fully exposed. She wore a thin gold chain that was barely visible except for its occasional flicker when a beam fell across it.

Her arms too were buzzing with rows of green and white glass beads, with her feet in a tiger leather African slipper.

The rest of the men, like Nïche, were in short sleeved shirts and trainers. 

They took to a large table close to the arena where the pool was situated. It was dark but they could hear native performing troupes drumming and singing various khahula songs that filtered in faintly from the poolside.

Soon a train of trolleys headed their way.  

Is that what you booked online for us, Lyco? Nïche asked, a trace of shocking surprise lining his voice.

It was a name. . . almost twenty characters long, and I thought that recherché word fitted our diction, so I paid for it, she said, shifting him eyebrows, and directing the waiters to their task.

I know when to reward us with every milestone achieved. Cheer up, this is the disease of a lifetime, but it’ll do good while on the tongue.

With their eyes gleaming widely at the assorted meals being offloaded like cargo laden containers being stevedored off cargo ships, Alfred, the CFO, said, Do I really recall the last time I enjoyed a mini-buffet?

As though we are any different, Angels, the COO said. Damn it, where did I stray?

It’s the educational system, Alfred said with great resentment.

I believe it’s our traditions, rather, Jonh, the CIO, said, repositioning a gold-rimmed plate the waiter had set before him.

It all sums up to our education, Alfred reiterated. Just consider an educational system which forces us to cram facts and technicalities at the pre-tertiary ages, even at the very formative ages. As low as the preparatory school levels, we are forced to learn raw technicalities. What is there to do by learning facts of other humans? How can we end up growing innovative. . . do we have proper educational psychologists at all?!

Slanting a look at Lyco, who quickly shifted him eyebrows  again, Nïche said, Don’t blame the educational system, compliment it rather. It has at least forced us to escape being strangled with its factologies. . .

The gods also do matter, Jonh said pointedly.

The gods? they chorused.

Dinner was sumptuously elaborate. And they could not help giving the Ivoirians credit for their plethoric sense of taste at eating, having a gastronomy akin to the Fantes of Ghana.

And Marker, filled with food, and experiencing breathing difficulty, found the right expression when he panted, The-se, the-se, the Ivoirians haa-ave sophisticated palates! Shoo!

It had been a six-dish course, beginning with what they referred to as a cleanser–a jug of lemonized tiger nut milk in coconut juice. Then it was followed by what should have been the last the dish, a bowl of sweetened acidic fruit salad. Which was also followed by an assortment of oysters, octopus frills, shrimps, and sea snails simmered in spiced curdy milk broga. Then came the real course, rice-based, it was three pollards each filled with rice, and chunks of boiled yam, heavily seasoned, and dripping with castor oil.

When they had spent a plush amount of time ensuring every nook-and-cranny of their stomachs were filled, during which Marker confessed he wished he was a ruminant, they topped the supping with generous bowls of vegetable salad with cream, which ended with tea, coffee or nascent palm wine.

These were all local Ivoirian dishes, yet would pass for continental dishes.  And how many of us enjoy this life ordinarily? It is obvious that this group’s parts are enterprising, and so deserve the goodies of life.

Lyco, while on her guava flavoured ice-cream, kept telling them, Take it from me guys, when I say miniaturization, parochialism, pettyism, and mediocrity, is the actual way forward . . .believe me and accept it!

They chuckled mildly, knowing she was not being herself.

True. Those are the mind-sets we need. . .a narrow-don’t-worry-the-kids-minds educational curricula, this-world-is-a-transition-point mind-set, plus a beautiful, who-is-your-mother attitude? Nïche . . .

What do you fellows make of this place? Marker cut in.

Sphlenddid, I’d say, Alfred said, his voice a complete muffle.

I hear the government’s program for this country is cosmological, Jonh said, barely audible.

And what’s that to contain? Lyco said, bending across the table, as though spy-talking.

A professor friend of mine at the University of Houphet Biogney, who happens to be Head of Department of Economics and Industrial Management, was just too happy to let me know he is on the government’s council for the economic revamping of this country, Jonh brokered. And he told me that the cosmological label was merely a cover for their ‘socialism program’.

Nïche raucously cleared his throat, and Lyco quickly said, I’ll order C-vitamins for you soon, Chief. To which Nïche feebly nodded. He was not the least interested in whatever they were discussing, there was only one thing he concerned himself with, and that was getting the Skai Gana Emporium launched.

Angels came through saying, "I’ve always held that those who are ahead surely are smart at disguise. Reminds me of the novel Journey to the Centre of the Earth; where the scientist who was embarking on that expedition went about it secretly. . .making sure his peers would only know of it when he had returned."

That’s just what our country should have done, ages ago! Lyco slammed. Nevertheless, I don’t believe it’ll work, you just can’t go independent with a country whose citizens are still grossly expert in nothing. Even in agriculture. . .we surely must depend on aid, and they surely will require that you go their capitalism.

Too true, sweetie, Marker said. A captain can’t captain a ship to higher waters if the crews are so much in disarray, especially in faith and intellectual disparity. . .capitalism.

Yeah capitalism, added Alfred. Sweet capitalism. . .makes room for private ownership, develops skills and talents due to competition, and frees the state from concern with basic needs.

But with all you are saying, Jonh said, the records show that the average level of development of the socialist countries has always been better than that of the capitalists.

You know I know some politics too. So dare me with lies, Jonh, Lyco said flexing a muscle. And they chuckled.

I dare you Lyco, Jonh smiled.

See me play politics, I’ll soon muddy the waters. . . By spreading false education for tertiary students. And they laughed.

Nïche leaned closer and asked, Do you believe we are mis-educated rank and file, Lyco?

Slanting him a look, she responded, Let me let you here all know that socialism has done well to spread poverty equally amongst the rich and the poor, while capitalism has done well to bring the great divide.

But for nation-building sake, Lyco, I kosher that we emulate the Ivoirians, with a pinch of salt. . .2000 years of backwardness, against the background of history of nations, indeed is really deplorable, Jonh said, feigning a tone of entreaty.

Had we been living in socialism, I wouldn’t have travelled all the way from Ghana to come enjoy a buffet here. I hear Ivoirian homes are now so well off to the extent that restaurants and hotels are collapsing. . . he glanced at Nïche. Private entrepreneurs of Nïche’s type wouldn’t approve of such socialism programs the least. They are smart, they make gains where we are needy. .

Thank you for a speech well delivered, Jonh, representative of the people’s interests, Nïche said, shaking his head incredibly.

And they laughed.

And Lyco hissed, Such a fool you want to become, Jonh. ‘Taxpayer’s money’ mind-set argument. Innovators spin the fabric taxpayer’s struggle to buy. You should know that by now.

It’s all about whom the leader is, Marker burped.

They were now in the middle of a ludicrous chat, it had begun with the nature of God, and whether he had any actual ’economic’ purpose for mankind.

They all disagreeably agreed to a No–nature had no such purpose for mankind. Mankind is or must make itself, else as Lyco had put it, Suffer the physical effects of the weather.

And that brought Marker telling them of his mother, and the creativity she had spun just to cater for him through his imbecilic days.

She had been selling vulture eggs to tourists as ostrich eggs, and she made a fortune from that. . . he said. And she repeatedly advised me against living life in fear of being someday caught as poor and inadequate. . .

That’s some kind of mother, Alfred said.

Why not reveal something of your mother too, Marker told Alfred. Was she fufuphilic?

No-no. Better she remained in the closet.

She wouldn’t be ashamed of you now, so why be of her? Lyco said, waving a defleshed drumstick at Alfred. My mother taught me so many things about life. But of all she taught me, she said the most important was, ‘never accept anything as fact’. So your mother might have taught you the opposite, ‘accept everything as fiction’. . .

But Alfred’s head was shaking resolutely; his mother, whether she was a ‘mom’, ‘mama’, ‘mum’, ‘ma’, ‘mommy’, ‘mummy’, or ‘maaaaa’, was not to be discussed.

But Lyco kept talking, telling them of all sort of hilarious or absurd things her mother had told her. How her mother had told her she was not expected to survive birth, and that the doctor had predicted that she would die before age seven due to an unnatural formation in her brain, a formation in the form of a zygote, a malignant one. Yet here she was, well disproved of doctors. And alive.

Nïche, who all along was not listening to Lyco, because there is nothing about her he is not already aware of, spoke when he realized that the tempo of the lickings was ebbing low. 

So what do you make of the paintings in your suites? he asked, watching as Lyco’s eyes went round, then resorted to begin tugging at some of her leftover seafood in the curdy milk broga.

It’z workph orf insanity, Nïche, if youf’d ask me, Jonh muffled through a mouthful of ice-cream.

Insanity? Jonh, how could you come to that conclusion? Marker said, and even choking on his ice-cream. When he had cleared his throat, he said, On my walls are the catholic allegories of the stages of the crucifixion of the Christ. . .

And take my word for it, Marker, Jonh said, his eyes scanning everyone, all of you here, that allegory, in both graphics and letters, is the greatest work of insanity ever popularized–

Christ Jesus! Jonh, Lyco instantly interrupted, where did you buy such heresy? licking her fingers in great relish.

For Christ’s sake, Jonh, it’s inspired work, Angels said chestily.

That’s the more reason why it’s crap, and insane. . . . Anything inspired comes at peril to the brain tissues and leaves marks of insanity on the inspired. . .

They stilled, ceased licking their ice creams, and watched.

Is that why you say the art works are works of great insanity? Alfred, who had been stuffing in his ice-cream with digital rapidity, said.

Indeed, the only sane works of art are those vapid uninspired and mundane works of art. Consider the statues at the foyer, do you reckon the artist conceived such art with ease? It’s a twist of the mind that produces such classic work. And eventually, it’s the sane mind that produces the insane art, whilst the insane minds produce arts such as those of winged-scorpions having lion heads. Or three headed lions being symbolic of dynasties, are the works of insane minds producing sanities. . .

Are you implying that anyone who conceives in the mind impressions of a so-called Heaven or Hell was sure foot insane, to produce such sanity? Nïche asked Jonh.

Lyco’s hands were cusped, her chin resting on them.

Jonh said nothing, but Marker rather said, Look, I’m lucky enough to have a bowl of ice-cream to empty.

And they chuckled.

You sure bring a perspective to the table, Marker, Lyco said, also digging her spoon deeply into her ice-cream.

Nïche continued. I’ve right to believe in heaven. Or even hell. But I’d prefer to know more of hell. . . and indeed I have.

Believe or know? Angels asked him the question.

Know, he said clearly. And it’s worth sharing. . .

Well then, Lyco said jokingly, who wants to know of hell from our CEO?

Silence dropped, except movement of cutlery.

I’ve identified four hells.

Four hells? they chorused, turning to stare into each other’s faces.

You haven’t read ’The Divine Comedy’, have you, Chief? Angels chipped in.

Nïche shook head.

That’s obvious. Nevertheless, I’d say too much knowledge isn’t worse than too little knowledge folks, so Chief, what are your hells? Marker raptly said.

They were all focused on Nïche now. Lyco was beckoning a waiter who was attending to certain Whites to come over.

Consider hell number one as the hells we create here with our actions, our negatives, the chaos we entangle ourselves in, these make up the first degree of hell.

Fine simple percept, Lyco said. Not bad a perception at all, your mind is busy on abstractions, Chief.

And they chuckled.

He sure has a restless mind, Alfred said. Researching society and nature.

Definitely! laughed Jonh. I wouldn’t want to be in his position, though. . . you must always be scanning society and nature with your antennae. Have you perceived the aliens yet, Chief? They are those we still are in doubt about.

They all laughed, including Nïche himself.

Nïche was about to continue, when Lyco interrupted with, And I conceptualize that percept as ’Human-hell’.

Her eyes went round, expecting an applause, when no one said commented, she said, What do you make of me, folks? I bet I’d pass the qualification exams to a professorship, at say the Ptolemaic School of Pluplu, right?

And they chuckled at that.

When they settled, Marker, who was hoping something would happen so that another order was placed for more food, said, Sure thing, Lyco, where he’s leading us makes it seem as though there is no book from which we can learn of these hells.

Nïche then sighed, rapping on the table, he said, That’s because what I’m telling you was obtained through intuition, not learning, Marker.

Then it surely is an insane theology, from inspired sources. Makes room for sanity, though, Jonh said with deadpan tone.

Casting his head to the restaurant’s entrance back and forth, Marker said, So how can we avoid such human-hells, Chief?

Nïche smiled, At least someone is listening.

His eyes went round once again.

And I believe, knowledge without application was better it had not existed. . .

Soon a waiter came over and Lyco ordered assorted drinks for their table, as well as ordered the clearing of the table.

Marker then added, And bring me a double serving of brown rice with drumsticks and adequate salad, I’m not to the brim yet. His eyes stared at the gaping and gazing eyes staring back at him.

What is wrong with you folks? The economy must move forwards, not otherwise, he said.

They humped.

Clearing his throat, Nïche continued. We can avoid creating the human-hells by simply acting in accordance with the golden rule. See those ones there. . . their eyes turned to certain Whites who were seated a few tables away. Consider them as modern day species to study; you’d realize that their value system holds one of the highest ingenious moral codes and standards. Though their movies and books may mislead you to think they are morally wayward, such as their popularity at pornographic movies, bikini models, et cetera. But believe me, they are very upright and principled in their ways. Only a few exceptions, though. It’s almost as though their justice systems are not for the rich, or the poor, but for–

Chief, drink some extra oxygen! Lyco interrupted, forcing an empty glass to his lips.

And they laughed. It was really awkward, the way she did it. So unexpected, yet, well calculated and impulsive. 

When she placed the glass down, he stared blankly at her. And she said, You do look picturesque, Chief.

They laughed again, with Jonh non-sequiturally exclaiming, Eish! What cacophony, chaos. It makes sense.

I know what you arriving at, Chief. Poverty is sign of moral corruption, and so poor people are bad people, isn’t it so?

That’s what I’d understand as seek yea first the kingdom of God, and its righteousness, then cometh the flood of fortune, Angels said, giving Lyco a wink.

I just cannot wait for the day we launch our building. I can imagine the look on their faces when we announce that we shall be giving away several millions of dollars worth of eBooks for free, Marker said meanly.

The waiter returned with Lyco’s order. As well as a sizzling plate of aromatic rice cum salad. And the instant he landed the dish, Lyco ushered him away so dismissively they thought she was up to something she did not want the waiter to see. Only Marker suspected it could be due to a fear that he might order another serving of rice.

After the waiter bowed out, she said, Continue Chief, we must get your hells right tonight. Because after that, and she pointed to the loads of drinks, I’m gonna ask, which of you will be man enough to lay Lyco, me, tonight?

They all instantly choked. Some even sputtered. Horrified. She had never since their past five years of banding together to work, come out as live as this before. 

There are plenty of picks in town for us, Lyc. Thank you for the kind offer, Angels said.

"Just don’t want you bringing in any Ivoirian femme fatales, so I’m doing us a favour. Just give me a twenty minute prior notice, and the inner sanctuary will admit you." Her eyes were focused on Nïche, who was gesturing, ‘You’ve unhinged.’

Are you serious, Lyc? Marker asked, his tongue rolling out, and leering. I’ve always thought of you as a stick and not a slit. Quickly turning to Nïche, Where did you find her, Chief?

Happenstance.

Happenstance babe, he trawled. That’s groovy, Lyc, wow, me sweating on you.

That really is a CCTV network modus she’s just implemented folks, Alfred sniggered. But I won’t go for it.

Then you missed the best part of the show, buddy, Marker burbled. Which I watched, all alone in that holy of most holies.

They chuckled.

Keeping a straight face, Lyco began passing the drinks, and as Marker accepted one of the bottles to examine, he said, Count me on top of tonight’s list. These are alcoholic, don’t recall the last time I took something of the sort. It’ll sizzle me up for you I hope, then I come to general-managerially groove on you tonight P.A babe.

And he ogled her so lasciviously she wondered what made her come out so early. But something within was making her feel it was a safe obligation.

Hell number two! Nïche began, feigning a squeak of seriousness in his tone. And they turned attention off Lyco and towards him, their faces suddenly turning very sober.

Hell number two, he reiterated. I gather is a repository of our habits.

A repository of our habits? Marker reiterated dully.

That’s what it is . . . consider the traditional priests we all know in Ghana and elsewhere. . .

Traditional priests? What about them, they are creating hell for us, I suppose? Alfred surmised, serving himself a blend of Bailey’s Irish Cream and Napoleon Brandy.

That isn’t the point, Alfred. I’m merely using their practice as model for hell number two. . .you know they have entities there that demand alcohol and food material on each supplication.

They nodded, agreeably.

"Such is hell number two; it’s a hell that we may experience in the afterlife. It’s a hell of desire, a hell of craving for the very things we were so fond of while alive, so much so that even when we are no more of this life, we remain burning or craving for the delicacies and habits we so much had loved while we had been living."

Guess we should cease eating well then, Nïche. And even prepare our souls to become lamas, Lyco said in a steely tone that made some of them shudder whilst the others chuckled.

Not necessarily so, Lyco, Nïche said firmly. We should eat very well, but we should not remain so attached to what we desire, we should not be chasing these things for the sake of such. If we are able to live so, it’ll help us transcend hell number two.

I see, Lyco said. Desires-Hell.

Makes sense, on the logic front, can’t say much on the factual front though, Jonh said. Looking at the others, and hoping to elicit their concurrence. But none bothered.

So let’s consider a scenario, Marker said with a loud burp. S’pose I was dead. And in the afterlife. And while I had been here, my crave had been for Lyc’s butt. And Alcohol. Then–

Then you’d hell forever crave for that desire because I wouldn’t be there to satisfy those desires hell! Lyco appended with grim satisfaction.

That’s the accounting of it, Alfred said succinctly. "That’s just how