The Nigerian Prince

By Esi Wilson

Her: Everyone knows not to bother replying to the ‘Nigerian Prince’ Scam emails. But this one caught me at the worst time of my life. I was broken. So naturally, my curiosity got the best of me. I did it and there isn’t an ‘undo’ button.

Him: If you had seen her eyes, you wouldn’t blame me f

• Language: English
• Publisher: VisualBee Publishing
• Release date: Nov 25, 2019
• ISBN: 9781989526101

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Cover Design: Srjdan Filipovic

Photo Credit: LightField Studios; www.shutterstock.com, vpavlyuk; stock.adobe.com

Copyright ©2019 by Esi Wilson

All rights reserved.

ISBN 978-1-989526-10-1

The transmission, duplication or reproduction of any of the following work, including precise information, will be considered an illegal act, irrespective of whether it is done electronically or in print. The legality extends to creating a secondary or tertiary copy of the work or a recorded copy and is only allowed with express written consent of the Publisher. All additional rights are reserved.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

VisualBee Publishing 2019

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

GLOSSARY

Chapter 1

Deji Lagos, Nigeria.

I tapped my fingers impatiently on the steering wheel as I waited for the bright yellow Danfo in front of me to move. I really couldn’t believe I was stuck in traffic… on a bloody weekend. Lagosians were hustlers but at least you’d think that five days a week would be enough for the hustle. That just maybe people would prefer to rest in their houses during the weekend and give their lungs a break from breathing in all the fumes out here. You’d think that but you’d be wrong. Lagos was the New York of Nigeria and it didn’t sleep. Not even on weekends.

I checked my Rolex for the umpteenth time and cursed under my breath. I’d not moved from this spot in the last ten minutes. At this rate, because of this foolish traffic, I would be unforgivably late for the film shoot; an important event in my life.

But mum warned you. I scoffed. Of course, she did. The woman was always right. She had warned me to leave at least an hour early.

You’re going to Badagry? she had asked in a concerned voice. You should have left since na, Deji. You won’t get there on time oh. You know how Lagos traffic can be. I don’t know why you like doing like this.

I didn’t even attempt to listen to her at the time. I had zoned her out and had been focused on reading my Instagram messages. I loved her but my mother was always on my case. My friends claimed it was because I was an only child and an only son at that. It had made me wish for a sibling to share the burden of expectations my parents had placed on my shoulders.

Being born into a royal family that was as rich as Croesus would seem like a gift to many people but I was slowly beginning to realize it was a curse that I wished to escape from. My father was the chief of our hometown and being next in line to inherit the throne at a very young age hadn’t stopped him from pursuing a degree at Oxford University in the United Kingdom. He had graduated top of his class and founded one of the largest real estate empires in Nigeria; Ajibadian Homes and Properties.

He had expected me to follow in his footsteps and I had in a way. I went to the same university and got a degree in estate management even though I didn’t have a burning passion for it. After much pressure from my parents, I went ahead and bagged an MBA as well. The certificates were worthless to me but made them happy. But after a while, I began to tire of dancing to their tune. I wanted to do something just for me for once.

For a while, playing football had been the dream. I was an avid Manchester United fan and had dreamt of making it like the great football legends, Messi or Ronaldo. Of course, my father had not been pleased with the idea and had threatened to cut me off. Well, he needn’t have bothered. I soon realized I didn’t have the talent to be a world-renowned legendary player. I lost interest in a football career not long after, much to the relief of my parents.

But still, I felt dissatisfied. I’d discovered firsthand that while wealth has its advantages, it’s not a guarantee for peace and satisfaction. I know it might sound weird but having more than enough money to spend in this lifetime isn’t everything to make you feel fulfilled. My search for what will give me purpose and make me happy was the reason for the shoot I was heading to.

I looked through the bullet-proof windshield of my black Bugatti Veyron and noticed the buses ahead had still not moved. Everything was at a standstill and more than 20 minutes had passed. Nawa o, I sighed in disgust and leaned my head on the steering wheel. I closed my eyes and flirted with the idea of using my dad’s helicopter to move around town instead of putting myself through this hellish nightmare called Lagos traffic.

Buy your cold mineral and bottled water here! a young man chanted, snapping me out of my colorful daydreams. I opened my eyes and saw him staring at the tinted windows of the car. Even though I was sure he couldn’t see me, his eyes begged me to buy one of the carbonated drinks from the huge bowl balanced on his head.

I perused his assortment of drinks contemplating whether or not to buy. I wasn’t particularly thirsty and these weren’t really the sort of drinks I enjoyed. But a wave of compassion overtook me as I stared at him. The scorching sun had darkened his brown skin, his neck strained under the heavy weight of the bowl on his head, and his lined face bore the ravages of poverty. The T-shirt he wore had faded to an indistinguishable color and his jeans looked like they had endured a million washes.

These were the times I felt immensely uncomfortable with the affluence I was born into. I had never had to struggle for anything or go through the stress people like the young man in front of me had to face. People rushed to do my bidding and my father’s name and money always paved the way for me. I had been complaining about the traffic but here I was in my expensive ride, comfortably cut off from the scorching sunlight and enjoying the cool breeze from the air conditioner wafting through the spacy and stylish interior of the vehicle. At that moment, I felt like an ingrate.

I pressed down the window button and beckoned to him as the glass lowered.

Oya, give me two bottles of Sprite.

He searched for the particular brand I wanted and passed the bottles to me. I thanked him and gave him a thousand naira note. He immediately started checking the purse tied around his waist for my change of 800 naira.

Don’t worry about the change, I said. A look of disbelief spread across his face then suddenly changed to one of appreciation.

"Ah, Oga Boss. Thank you, sir. God go bless you. Thank you, sir."

He continued to effusively shower me with prayers, beginning to attract the attention of pedestrians and other road users.

Amen. It’s alright. Thank you. I said, feeling embarrassed. What I did for him was very little and he was behaving like I had given him all I had. Nonetheless, the feeling of having helped someone set off a spark of joy within me and a comfortable feeling of knowing I had done the right thing.

Suddenly the traffic broke. Whatever the blockage up ahead had been, it must have cleared. With a final nod to the still-smiling drink seller, I rolled my window back up and zoomed off.

Chai! Oh gosh! I was an hour late. This was an inauspicious beginning to my career as a movie producer. As I drove into the film location, I imagined the furious expression on Dipo Ajayi’s face. Rumor had it that he was an unpleasant man to work with but, as one of the most prolific directors in the movie industry with several prestigious awards to his name, even his haters could not deny he was talented.

Thanks to the myriad of connections at my disposal, I had been able to meet with Dipo to learn the ropes of movie production from him and his team. He had grudgingly agreed, for a fee of course. But money wasn’t a problem. I just wanted to learn and gather enough experience before opening my own production company.

I’ve always loved movies, and months after my soccer dream fell by the wayside, I decided to try my hand at acting. Luckily for me, I was in the States for a brief spell and had recently rekindled my relationship with one of Hollywood’s leading directors. I had decided to cash in on that connection. But I soon realized that getting called for auditions because you had powerful contacts and being able to secure the role with your acting talents were two very different things. As one casting director had told me after a screen test, I lacked that ‘it’ factor. Hollywood was a hugely competitive industry and I was barely talented. For a year, I had gotten only minor supporting roles that were easily forgettable. Soon I was back to feeling discontent and bored. It wasn’t long before I threw in the towel and came back home to Nigeria permanently.

A month ago, I decided that I didn’t have to be in front of the camera to succeed in the movie industry. As a movie lover, I have always been fascinated with how special effects were created and by the editing process in general; this piqued my interest more than movies themselves. I had even taken to watching the behind-the-scenes featurettes online. Thus, grew my new dream to be a movie producer.

I had a feeling this was going to be it. The end to my search for that elusive happiness. But Dipo won’t think so, my inner voice warned me. Especially considering how late I was. He might write me off as another privileged person waltzing around a movie set rather than a serious student.

Fine, I thought mulishly. Let him. I wasn’t paying him to judge me anyway. I just need him to teach me.

I drew the car to a halt at the entrance of the venue and greeted the security men. I showed them the tag Dipo had given me and knew the exact moment they recognized my name. Their eyes took on a respectful glint and I knew what was coming next.

Ah, Oga, The shorter of the two addressed me. Anything for the boys?

Just as I thought.

Being one of the richest people in Nigeria meant you always had to shower money on people at every turn. That was the Nigerian mentality. A rich man built and solidified his reputation by the amount of cash he disbursed freely and the regularity with which he did so. Personally, I thought the whole thing was backward, if not a bit uncivilized. But I did like giving and I had excess cash anyway. It wasn’t a bother.

I gave them a thousand naira to share and was about to drive off when I remembered the bottles of Sprite I had bought earlier.

Boss, na you oh, they both hailed as I handed them the drinks. I smiled and drove into the compound of the huge mansion Dipo had leased.

As I got out of the car, I noticed that although most of the equipment was set up, nothing important was happening. I recognized some A-list actresses lounging around the pool in sexy bikini outfits. Had they finished shooting? Fear gripped me. Man, I had messed up.

Heart in my mouth, I approached a member of the crew, a man probably in his early 30s with bushy eyebrows and a beard.

Good afternoon, sir. Una don finish? I asked with an outward calm I wasn’t feeling.

For where? Director never ready na, he responded. He didn’t seem happy about that but I was ecstatic. But I decided not to let my happiness show in case he transferred his aggression about the delay onto me.

Where is he? I asked.

At that, the man turned and gave me an appraising glance. I guess he was trying to determine if I was qualified to see the esteemed Dipo Ajayi. It seemed I passed muster - he jerked his head towards the left side of the building and gave me directions.

A few minutes later, I knocked on a door labeled Director. On hearing a muffled response from within, I twisted the knob and stepped into… a den of iniquity. There was really no other way to describe the disturbing sight that greeted my eyes.

Through a haze of smoke, I caught sight of half-naked girls lounging on every available piece of furniture in the spacious room. Some had the decency to wear bras but most were naked from the waist up. Everywhere smelt of Igbo, the popular Nigerian weed, and I could detect a whiff of freshly-made amala. Just as I was beginning to wonder if I was in the right room, I heard my name being called.

Ajibade? I was wondering when you were going to show up.

I peered through the smoke and right in the middle of the room, dressed in a colorful dashiki, sat Dipo. He was enjoying a meal of amala and ewedu soup. The dark brown amala made from yam flour, contrasted perfectly with the dark green hue of the mashed ewedu leaves. From the number of empty bottles of beer that lined the table, I could see that he had indulged far too much.

He gestured towards me with