The Rich the Poor the Miserable Love

By Moshood Adebayo

Adebayo, a young adventurous teacher meets Toro, an upper-class lady. Cupid's arrow hits home, setting off ripples of intrigues, tensions and anticipations. Adebayo mounts a passionate love campaign, but Cupid's match does not meet the approval of Teju; Toro's brother who secures his sister for a more worthy partner. Adebayo also faces opposition from a colleague and a student whose obsessive crush on him leads her to spin scandalous webs. A lost pregnancy; an abduction; an atmosphere of blackmail and pretence, two lovers find themselves at war with each other.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 22, 2017
• ISBN: 9781365842696

Book preview

1

Love knows no bounds between the rich, the bourgeoisie, and the poor. A rich man could ignore his fat-cheek limousine girlfriends and go on marrying a girl who lives in a hut. And a poor gentleman, if he saw a fair lady driving Porsche, would never say, Damn it, I hate that cute girl. Maybe truly, love is blind. Maybe love is only ignorant, or perhaps, love is dramatic. There is surely a thing called love and it has happened to me; this is my story.

I taught Geography in a school. ‘Uncle Geography’ the students called me, and I would take them all around the school compound with measuring tapes, Gunther’s chain, ranging poles and all, surveying the school and sweating to deliver efficiently what I was not trained to teach. Private schools! What you studied in school doesn’t matter to them. They give you the subject they have no teacher for, and if you cannot handle such subject, then they’ll tell you, Hope your number is on the résumé, okay, that’s good, we’ll call you, when you sure as hell know they’ll never do.

Our school was expensive, so children of poor parents weren’t encouraged to come. The tone of competition among students was high. On visiting days, the students dictated what model of cars their parents should come by. Expensive cars! And teachers too, most of them were proud, few of them, arrogant, none of them, gentlemanly. Their own competitions of best appearance were so unpleasantly tense that I almost ran away a week after I got there, a casual guy from Ìlú Òkè, it was too much for me at first, but I learnt to cope. I was comfortable because I was not competing with anyone and I was satisfied with what I had; that didn’t earn me much respect though.

There was this Parent Teachers Association meeting just at the edge of a midterm break, and in the parents’ usual manners of exclusiveness, they came by their competitively expensive automobiles. On this special day from where my story will begin here, it was a two-in-one programme; a PTA meeting and a visiting day, and you would almost mistake the parking lot and the field for a car auction venue. I didn’t know much about cars, but there was a particular car that got my attention, open roof and somewhat odd; I had never seen that model of car before. I stood close to it, marvelled, gazing. Then, one of the teachers who must have noticed how bolted from the blue I was, came over and whispered from the back, over my shoulders, That’s a 1957 Cadillac El Dorado. It’s no more in vogue. You could only request that it be made for you, and that would be expensive.

I scoffed, How can someone request that an old fashion of car be remade when there are so many new cars? Mr Phillips, don’t be ridiculous now.

Mr Adebayo, are you kidding me? he chuckled. Classics speak the rich folks’ language, so they go after them. The man who owns that car must have other cars, but this is possibly his most revered unless there are other classics in his garage of course. Mr Adebayo, it’s good to be rich! You can bring any dead thing practically back to life. Silver Ghost, Phaeton, De Luxe Sedan, Studebaker, Gullwing, all those classic cars, I would buy them if I had the money. Henry Ford’s earliest Qaudricycle, I would have one made for my kids to play with, inside the compound. Ah, let me receive those parents. He went away to receive some parents he knew.

I still stood at that spot, eyeing the car, no more studying its fish-like body but thinking about what Mr Philips had said. Of course, I was not a materialistic man, but I sure hated to be poor. If I could not afford to buy any other car, I wanted that Cadillac. I liked it.

Suddenly, a female student I recognized to be in JSS3 surfaced and pulled the passenger’s door open. The silver-coloured two-sitter Cadillac glimmered in the sun as the girl sat and fiddled with some control buttons in it, causing an ash roof to unfurl and cover the interior of the car.

It was not long after that, a lady with a rather elegant body and sweet face joined her. She came out of nowhere and entered the car before I could assess her well. However, within the seconds I was lucky to ogle her, I saw that she was adorable. She couldn’t have been the student’s mother, no. She would surely be a sister. And by now I knew that she brought the classic car. Rich folks! As much as I’d love to hate them, I can’t.

The time passed, the meeting began and I found myself amongst other teachers. We sat at one side, parents another, and across the boundary between teachers and parents glowed a strong invisible ray of looks set on the face of the Cadillac girl from, of course, Mr Adebayo, me. It took me a while before I located her though, but when I did, I got myself in the range of her radiance; observing, wishing, imagining, dreaming, hoping, longing and lusting. Money enhances the beauty of men, but I’m sure if this girl had not come from the rich side of humanity’s social class, she would’ve equally been beautiful. Some beauties are refined by money, some are naturally spawned. Whatever that was, whoever she was, that lady was cute, or… I think she was cuter.

Are you looking at Titilope’s sister? That was Mr Phillips again, right behind my head.

What? Who’s Titilope? I was trying to sound like I was not sure he was talking to me.

The fair girl in JSS3, Titilope… That girl you’re looking at is her sister. Her name’s… hum… her name has escaped my mind. But if you like her, you should approach her, and you better be upright and bold, rich folks have vast reputations of embarrassing people who can’t be upright while they speak to them. They’ll quickly conclude you came to beg for alms.

At that moment, I suddenly found Mr Phillips a confidante; he suddenly was always present at every emotional junction I had found myself that day. On the field, while receiving parents, and there again he was. I never even noticed he was sitting behind me until he suddenly asked if I was looking at the girl. I knew I needed someone like him, someone who was almost as proud as the rich folks; someone who knew exactly the year the Cadillac outside first came on the road.

I wasn’t looking at her, I found myself uttered in my stupidest fashion of reluctance and indecisiveness.

Argh— he scoffed, and then laughed quietly. Mr Adebayo, eètiè le. You were looking at her. I’ve been looking at you looking at her since. C’mon, she’s only a rich man’s daughter, she’s not a vampire! I would be disappointed if you didn’t approach her till she left.

Why can’t you approach her yourself if you’re so interested in approaching her?

But you wouldn’t be happy about it, would you? Okay then, forget it.

That was it. I hated it when someone ended a conversation I was interested in that way. Of course, I liked the girl. I was only new in that environment. As she sat there, looking up occasionally from the phone she had been busy with since she got there, I was absorbed in her. She was hardly visible among the crowd, but she was the only person I was seeing, all others were just like dirt being blown about by the wind, and at the centre of the dirt was a tall tree with yellow oranges, or so I think I saw her that day.

There were four rings on her; on her index and middle finger at the left hand, middle and small finger at the right, all golden; wrist chains, beads, bands, trinkets and all. Her make-up wasn’t that obvious, but I knew she wore little. Three buttons were loose on her brown shirt, and I wish I could loosen more with my eyes. In-between the parted collars of her shirt however were the upper sides of the roots of her cleavage, fresh, full, inviting and corrupting, housed beneath the lucky black bra. I wish I was her bra! Ah! I was so stupid that day. I swear to God, at that particular time, I was ready to do anything to get the girl but at the same time, I was sure I could not do anything. At first, nothing happened, then minutes later, nothing continued to happen, and I gave up.

Mr Phillips, I turned back to my confidante. What can I do?

He didn’t say anything at first and I almost regretted that I turned to him. Then, he sighed and said, I don’t know. You go to her. Find an excuse to take her out of this place or something. Whatever you can do, just do something. That kind of girl can’t be smarter than you naw, you’re a man. See, look forward, the proprietor is looking at us.

Our proprietor’s name was Mr Victor Martins. That’s the name but we called him Big Victor. That man was a pain in the ass for everyone and no one would want his trouble. I faced front and pretended to be listening to what they were saying at the meeting, such was what the proprietor wanted; he looked away when he saw that I’ve conformed. By the time I peeped slowly in the girl’s direction again, she was not there. Hey! My God! Hope this girl has not left! As if Mr Phillips had noticed I was bothered and why; I heard him whisper, She probably went to pick something in the car or receive a call, follow her immediately, now. Block her outside. And so it began; the autobiographic love story of violence, politics, adventure, and regrets.

2

You must not mistake me for someone who easily lusts after women. It’s just that what happens to all young men who live in the uncensored part of Lagos had happened to me too, corrupted by the directness of ladies whose definition of decency was to display their thighs and practically show the roots of their cleavages in such seductive ways that while you even pray, such pictures would not cease to flash in your head like some nutty Christmas toys with shimmering silver plates.

Those nicely painted passages that connected the meeting hall to the field, I walked through them that day with so extreme a fear that pissing my pants would have been an easier consequence. I began to realize, it seemed I was not doing it for myself but rather to appear sturdy to Mr Phillips. Of course, I treasured the girl. Who wouldn’t? What doesn’t attract the poor man in the moneyed man’s house? The rugs, the chandeliers, the electronic installations, the frescoes, the paintings, the cars, the settee, the ceiling, the pets, the plates and every single thing. And this had happened to me too; the girl, her car, her rings, her elegance, her conduct, her… oh my God… her everything!

Bashfully, hesitantly, nervously, tentatively, slowly, and fearfully, I went in search of the girl with my hair standing on end. If she had gone out to receive a call, she should not be far away, but if she had got tired of the meeting, she would be in her car or around the grounds. Relieving enough, I spotted her leaning over the bannister at a balcony that looked over the field of expensive cars. I froze. This was the first time I got the chance to look at this Cadillac girl with such uninterrupted completeness that my fear disappeared to be replaced by wishes. Damn it! I’ve seen ankles discoloured by the complications of bleaching creams; I’ve seen girls of beautiful faces but swollen bellies; big bosom but small bums and conversely; perfect appearance but poor dentition; this one was different; this was what the word ‘perfect’ was created to describe, simply perfect. She was not as fair as Tori Kelly but not as dark as Beyonce. She leaned over the iron railing though, I knew she was straight. Is that not iPhone 6? The jacket, the jeans, the gold, the… first time I would see that sweats could make someone look more attractive. And there she was, on a call with someone, murdering an innocent soul yet not knowing. If I had suddenly fallen back and died, would my mum have… well… thank God I didn’t.

She passed by me in a perfume as perfect as herself before I realized she was returning to the hall, and the excuse me that came out of my mouth was absolutely not of my doing, I swear. I would never have been so valiant. It was my adrenaline. And yes, she turned to me and looked into my face and… well, sorry to disappoint you, I ran out of words. I’ve boldly wooed diverse ladies all my life but… this was totally different, entirely different. She was an angel in front of a country carpenter. If the carpenter had not considered it a dream, her presence would’ve just simply oppressed him, as it simply did. I felt weak. I felt like God was not fair in the distribution of His grace. How could He have bestowed elegance as regal as this on someone who was already rich?

There she was, an arm’s length away from me, looking directly into my eyes, penetrating my being, felling my stamina, and I was sure I’ve never met this kind of species before. Her lips were slightly parted to utter greetings I did not pick. English so fluent, perfume so pheromonal, eyes so peacefully violent, lips so… putting my lacrimal ducts to steamy turgidity. Damn it, no—no—no, trust me, this was a splendour. I will never be poor in my life. It’s so unpalatable to be poor. While we run around chasing the arrogant simpletons who believe love is a branch of a philanthropic tree, these angelic damsels are at the other side of the class, mostly falling for mental and behavioural brilliance although wrapped in Rolex and Diamond Crypto. Such atmosphere!

…inside was the last word in her short sentence and that was the only word I picked.

Some boldness came over me then, and I suddenly became my old self, a man called lord. Of course, she was just a girl with money and not a vampire, I would approach her now. I sighed briefly, took a more upright pose, pulled on my collars, put on a slightly smiling face, cleared my throat and held onto my Hot Note X551 in such a fancy way that would make it look more expensive than it was. However, ladies and gentlemen, just when I opened my mouth to speak, my confidence disappeared. I didn’t know what to say next, so I lost direction and said, I thought you needed assistance with something. I’m—am a t—teecha here and we—we’re s—we’re to see that you’re well… tended. My heart was in my throat; flibbertigibbet cavalier and his gory will o’ the wisp!

Huh… A smile like we were all in paradise already. Thanks sir, I got it handled, just came out for a call. Thank you. She backed away.

Stupid guy! That was what I called myself. I had the girl right in front of me and all I could say was some stupid assistance sham. When did I become like this? I used to be a smart guy for God’s sake!

Did you get her number? That was Mr Philips again, now becoming a celebrity at appearing out of nowhere.

I felt so mortified. He had to come and face me when I couldn’t face him on time. I was sweating like a Christmas goat. Shame, I could have sworn, was visible on my face, but he probably didn’t see it. He was still excited.

Did she give you her number? he asked suspiciously now.

I didn’t get any number joor. She didn’t give me an audience. Mtchewww… I’m not interested again gan sef.

What? Why? How do you mean? What did you say to her exactly?

I didn’t say anything joor.

But you said she didn’t give you audience. Mr Adebayo, are you kidding me? Ah-ah, I’m not going to be happy if you miss this girl o. Why are you sweating like this anyway?

But why are you so interested in this wooing of a thing? Is it by force?

He was going to respond to that when the hall suddenly got noisy and there were loud laughter and movements, the meeting was over. Before we could move, Big Victor was already at the end of the walkway with a flock of parents trooping out after him. He did not look anywhere else but at us. I knew what would be on his mind as that angry look of Jide Kosoko crossed his face. Mr Phillips will get me sacked from this school, walahi! so I screamed in my head.

It was too late to act as if I was outside for a consequential reason; I was frozen up, soaked in my perspiration. Cluelessness! But not for Mr Phillips, a phone was already in his ear and he was so serious with his ghost caller that Big Victor did not look at him twice, unlike how he looked at me as he passed by us. I didn’t know how Mr Phillips disappeared from that spot and left me alone as parents brushed past me. I wanted to kill him at that moment but where was he?

I dawdled down the hallway when it was clear. I had some parents I should be with and that was where I slowly headed, wiping my sweats. As noisy as the school was on that day, it was quiet in my ears. Only the picture of the girl was loud in my mind, every other thing was hushed. I would wave you back a Hi if you waved Uncle Geography at me, but you would only be a shadow briefly glanced at by reflex. I was in love and I could not express it. How many of us have committed such suicides in the past? Nothing is more common among young men! Those who woo for sex are the bravest; those who truly love are often shy. But sometimes too, the lusting braves also sag at the presence of feminine complexities completely out of their leagues. I didn’t even ask what her name was, not to talk of asking her out. Regrets filled my soul. I should have said this! Oh, I should have said that! Where was Mr Phillips anyway?

I was a guardian to some Edo students in Senior School, brilliant kids. Their parents loved me. They brought many gifts for me and I asked some students to put the gifts on my table in the staff room. I stayed with these parents, joked with them as if I was not the one who just felt like crying back there. Thanks to God for giving us the ability to mask our feelings, we would’ve been so miserable. I stood there talking loudly, passing funny remarks on how quickly David finished his provisions in the hostel and how Deborah would not finish a single vase in a term. Meanwhile, I was not really with them. My embarrassing moment with the Cadillac girl still taunted me.

I sat at some point and let my smiles fade a little for reality to set in. I knew what I wanted. I wanted the Cadillac girl. So, I stood up at once and headed towards the field. Maybe I would be the man called lord this time or his strange shadow, I was determined to find out. You’re a prince, Adebayo, you’re a prince, I bolstered myself. That girl can’t scare you. She’s just a lucky rich thing and not a vampire.

So I went there, walked fast at some point, slowly at some point. Unfortunately, when the car came into view finally, who did I see talking with the Cadillac girl, both of them laughing and holding hands? It was Mr Philips.

This guy has gone behind my back to woo my girl, oh my goodness!

And as if that was not enough, a junior student suddenly appeared behind me and said, Sir, Big Victor requests that you come to his office immediately.

3

Being careful is a requirement to survive the chess of danger, but being slow doesn’t equate to being careful, neither does being fast, being dynamic is. And dynamism, gentlemen, I’ve suspected is the secret behind the success of the successful men. Successful men are not generally said to be fast or slow but rather smart, and that smartness is attributed to dynamism, forget it, not luck. I stood there, sweating more profusely than I’ve ever been that day. There the devil was, smiling into the land I wished to cultivate and exploiting my weakness. And behind me was a man as built as The Rock but as short as an imp, probably writing some gibberish into his ridiculous notes with a furrowed forehead and serious face, most likely attending to parents or alone, drafting my sack letter in some office few blocks away. I was indeed standing between the devil and the deep blue sea. And I was wondering, should I storm to Mr Phillips and rip him apart or should I just scurry to Big Victor and face my trial?

It was 2 o’clock already and the sun was as hellish as it had promised to be. I was supposed to be praying but, well, God have mercy. I wished I could behead Philips and bask in his blood but, I had to secure my job first, or perhaps collect my letter.

Okay, thank you, I’ve heard, I told the boy and he went away.

I glanced at the love doves one last time and made my way towards Big Victor’s office. Instead of my handkerchief drying my face, it was only wiping it; it was a drowned thing itself.

I halted when I got to his door, and when I finally knocked, his deep voice, Come in vibrated in the room and there I found myself, before him after closing the door gently behind me. A woman sat opposite him with one of our students by her side. He still hadn’t looked up. I stretched out my neck a bit to see what he was writing; a letter! It was a letter! My sack letter at last! But wait, if it was a sack letter, would it be so lengthy? What proprietor writes such extensive sack letters? Okay then, I stood akimbo, trying not to appear afraid even though I was. My greeting of the parent before him was brief.

As his hairy fingers continued to tango on that sheet of paper, my mind wandered off to the field, with Phillips probably seated in the Cadillac now, kissing the girl and not feeling guilty about it. He would probably joke about a guy who came to talk to her in the hallway, that the guy was just a comedian and she should not mind—

—when you got here, hum? I heard Big Victor ask but I was somewhere else.

Sir? I didn’t know he was even talking.

When I interviewed you here a few months ago, what did I tell you? he asked again.

I leaned backwards. Huh, no response to give. This was bad talk. I was convinced I was cooked, big time.

Hum?

I—I, huh… how was I supposed to remember what he said when he interviewed me?

I told you that I employed you alone, not alongside a friend, and therefore, you should deliver your best without the negative influence of any other teacher. You came separately and separately you shall go, eh?

Yes sir, yes.

He dropped the pen now and sat back, looking up at me and whirling majestically in his seat.

Take, he extended the paper to me.

The end!

I took it with shaky hands. I will not regret much over this, I thought to myself. When next I get employed at another place, I’ll be more careful.

I looked down at the letter and spotted the heading, it read: LETTER OF ACCEPTANCE. No, Letter of Acceptance? What’s that supposed to mean? I began to read. A school had invited our school to a quiz competition and this letter was written to declare that we were accepting the challenge. I looked at the address, one Greensprings School in Lekki, and the letter was to be signed by…

Yes, Mr Adebayo, you’re the School Registrar now, sign the letter.

What in the world! I couldn’t breathe. You’re the School Registrar now or what did he just say? The parent before him glanced at me and smiled.

Oh, this is the person they call Mr Adebayo!

Yes, that’s him.

My daughter talks about him a lot. Congrats, Mr Adebayo. She extended her hand and I shook it gently, still evaluating this new joke.

But sir, I—I—just… I just came here. The post could be too lofty for a tenderfoot.

You could say that, yes, but your qualification reveals you’re the only one here who is most fitful for that role. NCE, then B.Sc Edu, you’re a professional educationist and I’d love to put the contents of your résumé to test. Didn’t you say you were the president back at school?

Yes—yes I was. I was the Faculty of Science president.

Good then, sign the letter now. You’re no tenderfoot. You’ll move to the Registrar’s office today, and by the time we go on break for mid-term, you will have been well familiarized with your responsibilities.

I moved forward to his table and signed the letter. M. B. Adebayo, the Registrar, letter C and then the twaddle that follows it. That kind of sounds cool but, wasn’t he going to complain about me leaving the meeting? Maybe it wasn’t so odious after all. I was only being paranoid.

I employed you separately, he said with a smile now, I shall put you in positions as I deem fit, separately. So, as the Registrar, hope you know you’re not to be found lurking in the corridors while meetings are in progress.

At last! He said it!

Of course sir, I’m sorry about that sir.

He turned to the parent before him and I slowly backed out, realizing I was no more needed in the room. I started thinking about what being a Registrar in such a big school could mean. In charge of admissions, examinations both internal and external, general academic matters and so on, second to nobody but the Principal himself, a man so proud he spoke with nobody; unfortunately for him, we’d be equals.

Right at the porch to the proprietor’s office, I bumped into Mary, Big Victor’s daughter who was in SS2. She was a brilliant girl and the third most brilliant student in the whole school. She was fair and funny and dimpled on the cheeks. Only one thing removed her from the league of girls I would call my tastes, her size. She was a girl you would simply call fat or massive. She was too plump for her own good, her chest not so showing the nature of her boobs but her buttocks were like four-lane express roads, too wide for a gentleman’s vehicle.

Congrats, the Registrar, she said, thanks to me. She shook my hand and scratched my palm in the action.

I watched her roll into her dad’s office like a barrel of crude oil as I stood dumbfounded at the spot. I remembered back in secondary school when we liked a girl and wanted to tell her that we did, we would scratch her palm while we shook her hand and wink simultaneously and she would understand. Was that related in meaning somehow? I hoped not. Anyone would describe Mary as beautiful but well, fat too, and I didn’t like girls of her size. She had dimples, a nice voice and nice dentition but the meat on her, if it was cooked on Christmas, would feed an entire neighbourhood so satisfactorily they wouldn’t need to eat again for another five days. By the way, what did she mean by thanks to her? Thanks to her?

I took the first step, looked back at the closed door and heard her laughter inside. I faced my way and walked away, slowly. What was this girl doing with me? As usual, Mr Philips showed up in my face.

I’ve been looking for you, he hastily said without caring about the befuddled expression on my face.

I looked at him and felt repulsive, traitorous bastard!

I saw you, I threw it in his face at once.

You— he shut his mouth soon after he opened it.

Yes, I saw you with the girl. I saw you with my two eyes. You were holding her hands. You were the one helping me before, but then you went behind my back. Don’t worry, just let me pass.

He frowned for a moment, turned away briefly, turned back and burst into laughter. He guffawed so deeply his eyes became reddened. Then, he tried to speak but the laughter wouldn’t allow him. Tears began to fall from his eyes and it went on and on until he overcame the mirth and said, Mr Adebayo, you remind me of myself seven years ago. You’re so… okay—okay now, just let me be bland. It’s not what you think. When I saw that she was leaving and you’ve not been… well, successful at the thing, I went to her and delivered a note you wrote to her which reads—

I didn’t write any note.

Be patient, I know. I wrote it for you. It read, ‘When next we see, I’ll be bolder and finally tell you how beautiful you are and how much I adore you,’ simple. She read it and asked who wrote it. Then, I mentioned your name and guess what? Guess what!

What?

She already knew your name. She said you’ve spoiled her sister with grammar. She mentioned some words she said her sister said she had picked from your assembly speeches. That she found you interesting. But the holding of hands, well, you can’t make people like her listen to you unless you portray yourself as one of them, fearless and not very respectful. I didn’t snatch her from you, ah-ah, I’m not that kind of guy. Guess what.

What?

She released her phone number to you. This is it.

He gave me a card, it was a complementary card but it was at its back that the phone number was written, plus a name, Toro."

Toro?

Yes, Toro, that’s her name. So, you should applaud me now.

Seriously, I was such a character that day as I threw myself at Mr Phillips and hugged him so tightly he had to push me back, laughing.

Thank—you—thank—you—thank—you, I continued to say.

There the number is. You better don’t mess this up.

"Teach me how not to mess up