Backlash

By Anozie Thomas

The book unveils the banality of crime and corruption, especially official corruption in Nigeria, with its concomitant effects of income inequality and the worst form of poverty among the masses. It also provides a clandestine solution to obliterate this blighting phenomenon that has ensured the country remains perpetually undeveloped.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Sep 24, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496991492

Anozie Thomas

Anozie Thomas is a Masters’ degree holder in Geography and Regional Planning.

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© 2014 Anozie Thomas. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  09/12/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4969-9148-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-9149-2 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

You did not interrupt my thought because I have ceased from my thinking after being jobless a decade after graduation? Peter Clever was taken aback by the man’s comment. A young man staying without a job for ten years after graduation? He thought. That’s suicidal, he reasoned.

As a banker, with what he earns, he knows how difficult it is for him to meet his needs talk more of one who does not earn. His pathos mind was arrested.

‘That’s a terrible thing’, he remarked, ‘worst still, the Custodians are not doing anything about it’.

‘That’s the worrying aspect of it all’, cut in the young man.

‘What’s your name?’ Peter asked.

‘Daniel Matthew’, the young man replied.

Peter gave him five hundred naira and his business card and hurried out of the park, worried.

‘How can one live without a job? he thought when he got home. How many of such young men are roaming the streets of Nigerian cities? What are the authorities doing about it? For sure, money can’t be the reason for inactivity by the authorities when the gargantuan deposits the elites have in banks are considered. He is privy to this truism and felt really, really concerned for the likes of the young man he saw at Wuse. Why can’t the money be used to create jobs? he thought.

That was when the reality of what Daniel said dawned on him. The ruling elites are carefully plotting the extinction of the masses. The recollection sank deep in his consciousness.

But can’t they be stopped? His inner mind questioned him. Then a still small voice from within replied. They can, all that needs to be done is to find a way to extract the money from them. That is the road to backlash.

CHAPTER ONE

Daniel Matthew sat in the relaxation garden near Wuse market in the central district of Abuja resting. In actuality, his intention was not to rest but he has been wearied after trekking for more than five hours in search of job. This has been the ritual since ten years he graduated with an honours degree in History from the University of Abuja.

He has sought for job in virtually all the offices in Abuja both government and private yet he has been unsuccessful. Not that he did not pass well in his area of specialization but because of the Nigerian factor of man know man at the detriment of merit.

As he sat, he began to reflect on the course he read. He knew from history that civilization was first cradled by the black man during their innocent age when greed, avarice and jealousy were not their stock. That was the era of the African brotherhood when Africans were their brothers’ keeper. No one went hungry because there would always be someone to share with.

He sighed at this recollection knowing that good virtue has been lost eternally by the foreign incursion which has transformed the black man to a self-centred man whose cupidity now remains matchless. He wondered when his job drought would end. Ten years after graduation, with the oil wealth of the country, the so-called rulers can’t create jobs. Worst still, the ones available are reserved for friends and relations who do not merit them. He felt saddened at this awful reality of the Nigerian state and for once in his life regretted being from the stock.

Amidst his undeserved crushing poverty, he witnesses on a daily basis the affluence of the elites and feels like taking up arms. But then how far would he go, he reasoned.

While he still ruminated over his predicament, a young man on the east of his thirties at most walked into the park and sat just opposite him. He looked directly on the face of the young man and his face contorted in obvious fury.

Sorry if I did interrupt your thoughts’, the young man said. ‘I just want to relax a little while before getting to the market. My name is Peter Clever, am a banker, the young man introduced himself without being asked.

That somewhat calmed Matthew’s nerves. ‘It’s a pleasure,’ he said. ‘You did not interrupt my thought because I’ve seized from thinking after being jobless a decade after graduation.’

Peter Clever was taken aback by the man’s comment. A young man staying without a job for ten years after graduation; he thought. That’s suicidal, he reasoned. As a banker, with what he earns, he knows how difficult it is for him to meet his needs talk more of one who does not earn. His pathos mind was arrested.

‘That’s a terrible thing,’ he remarked, ‘worst still, the custodians are not doing anything about it. That’s the worrying aspect of it all…’ cut in the young man. ‘As it stands, I am not sure of getting a job which means I may not be able to settle down and raise my own family. The sum total remains the bitter fact that the ruling elites are carefully plotting the extinction of the masses.’

‘You are right,’ Peter concurred, ‘what’s your name?’ he asked.

‘Daniels Matthews,’ the young man replied.

‘That’s a nice name,’ Peter remarked.

‘Now Daniel, I think I have to go to the market. I wouldn’t know how to be of help but have this five hundred naira and my card. If it interests you visit me so that we can talk further’, he said as he handed him the money and card.

Daniels made a gesture to thank him but was restrained as he left the park immediately.

CHAPTER TWO

For the rest of the day after the encounter with the young man who called himself Daniel Matthews at the park near Wuse market, Peter Clever was restless. He hurried over his purchase and rather than get back to his office at the Maitama district, phoned his boss that he has headache and left for home from there.

Arriving his plush home at Gwarimpa Estate respite left him as thought about the young man he met occupied him. How can one live without a job? He thought. Worst still one with a university degree. Ten years is not ten days. Like the young man said, with the trend, he may not be able to raise his own family without a job. This remains a fact, he concluded.

How many of such young men are roaming the streets of the Nigerian cities. What are the authorities doing about the ugly situation? Could it be those in authority, like the young man said, are craving for the extinction of the poor masses?

As a banker, he knows too well that money is not the problem. In the past five years, he has been handling accounts for most elites in authority. He has seen the mind-boggling cash these people have stashed away in their bank vaults in these years. He is well aware the money is for the entire people of this blessed country but these few are busy stealing it.

As a result of these deposits from these people, his bank does no other business. They have ceased from advertising and marketing as well as giving out loans. Instead, they have been investing huge sums of money, being the interest the bank gets from these wealthy depositors that runs into billions monthly.

Why can’t these monies be used to create jobs? he thought. That was when the reality of the saying of Daniel riveted in his mind. ‘The ruling elites are carefully plotting the extinction of the masses’. The recollection sank deep into his consciousness.

But can’t they be stopped? His inner mind questioned him. He had no answer to that and was getting both confused and angry when another voice, still, said, they can. All that needs be done is to find a way to extract the deposits from them.

For the first time he returned to his house, he smiled. He smiled because he knew that, that’s a possibility. But then came the nagging question. How?

He was a bit unsettled because he was well aware of the type of power those involved wielded. Any attempt to confront them would be met with the worst reprisal and he, as an individual might not be able to cope with such, he thought.

However, the reality that it is the OFO that gives the rain the courage to erode the earth emboldened him. He then believed that it is the same OFO and OGU that would see him through. They themselves are stealing what belongs to all. They have no moral right to be angry when the loot is equally stolen from them, he reasoned.

Aware that the instrumentality of power may be used against efforts to outwit them, he reasoned that the best would be to employ a labyrinthine method that would leave them befuddled when the deal is done.

What would you do with the money when you take it from them came another nagging thought?

For a good while, he considered the thought. At the end of it all, he resolved to invest the money so as to create jobs for the jobless.

That resolved, he began to consider the most leak proof method of executing this novel agenda. Plethora of ideas came. First was to use fraud mechanics. He promptly dismissed that as it could easily be traced. Then came the idea of assassinating any of them that withdraws money and then taking the money. That too was bereft with frailties. First, it may sound unethical, and seemed if caught, it may attract death. He dismissed it instantly. Then rang kidnap and take the ransom in his ear.

He was instantly animated at the thought. It sounds plausible since the only difficult aspect remains getting hold of the person or his wards and then getting a perfect hiding place. After that, demand for ransom which he hopes would be paid cash to forestall being profiled.

As a banker, he knows that paying such ransom into an account can easily be traced and scuppered. Again, paying cash may also be risky if the money is marked. He therefore resolved to give a hard thinking to the most impeccable method before deciding on how to embark on the project. At that moment, his phone rang. Jolted, he picked the call.

‘Hello, Peter Clever on the line. Who am I speaking with?’

‘Alhaji on the line, didn’t you save my number?’ asked the voice at the other end.

‘I did sir, only that I lost my phone. This is a Welcome Back pack so all numbers saved have been lost,’ he lied.

‘Don’t you have a diary?’ the voice insisted.

‘I do, only that the Welcome Back pack came this evening.’

‘It’s okay. Sorry about your lost phone. Maybe that’s a lesson to be more careful.’ ‘Well I’ve got a consignment. I’ve called your boss and expect you to be on hand tomorrow morning to take charge.’

‘Okay sir,’ replied Peter, ‘when sir?’

‘Ten o’clock in the morning. All security arrangements have been made. Be prompt,’ the voice snapped before cutting the line.

Peter frowned as he dropped the phone. Another consignment when millions of youths are roaming the streets jobless and hungry, he thought.

Alhaji is the code name of the wife of the Vice-President. The said consignment is money to be deposited in the bank. Peter Clever manages her account and in the past one year, it has grown from the first deposit of one million naira to a mind-boggling six billion naira. He wondered how many of such accounts she might have in other banks and frowned.

She would have been a good target to begin his project had it been he has finalised all arrangements, he thought. All the same, he resolved to persevere believing that what must be must be.

A sudden surge of hunger overwhelmed him and so he abandoned all thoughts and went straight into the kitchen. At thirty-two years of age, he was still a bachelor, not because he cannot afford it materially but he has not really made up his mind to begin a family life.

CHAPTER THREE

The five hundred naira the young man who called himself Peter Clever gave him was like a million naira to Daniel. He couldn’t recollect when last he got such amount as his own. In all these years of his joblessness, the much he gets were mere one hundred or two hundred naira handouts by his uncle to enable him to go seek for job. In the recent time, such handouts have become infrequent.

His uncle had brought him from their nativity in the eastern part of the country, tried his best and gave him education, believing that he would secure a job soon after but that was not to be for the past ten years. His own children are now grown hence it has become difficult to keep sustaining him financially. He has no qualms about that and begrudges his uncle not. In his mind, the man has done his best for him.

As he sat in the park and watched the young man leave, he felt a sudden joy, joy that has eluded him for many years. Are there still people in this country who can give without reservation? He asked his inner self. Maybe the young man might be of help in his inexorable search for job, he reasoned and then glanced at the card the young man gave him. Peter Clever, 21 Aminu Kano Street, Maitama district Area, Abuja. Tandem Bank. I will, like he said, try and visit him, he resolved as he stood and left the R. Garden Park.

Going back to Kubwa, the outskirt town where he lives with his uncle won’t be difficult today with five hundred naira in his possession, he reasoned. In the previous times, he used to trek for two hours before boarding a bus which has made him shoeless. Today, he resolved he would take a bus direct and escape for once the energy sapping trek.

As he turned right, heading to Kubwa Park, he felt a sudden surge of hunger. That was when he realised he has not eaten since morning he left home. He glanced at his watch and it showed three in the afternoon. There is still time, he reasoned and then branched into a buka. He decided to give himself a treat for once.

A young lady with tribal marks approached him as he sat down flashing a coquettish smile that elicited his long forgotten libido. He managed with great effort to control the urge as the lady requested for his order. He promptly told him garri and okra soup and the lady left. He watched as she swayed her hips and was somewhat arrested yet his continence prevailed as he waited.

Moments later, the food was served and he did justice to it in twenty-five minutes. He paid his bill and as he rose to leave, he flashed a glance at the lady and their eyes met. Had it been he is buoyant, he would have made a go but he is not.

Women in the capital city has become the commodity of the high and mighty who can afford the bill. Having women has become a cash affair as a result of the crushing poverty of a greater majority of the people which has eroded ethics. With an effort, he finally ambled out of the buka, headed to the park and finally boarded a Kubwa-bound bus.

Peter Clever arrived his office at the usual time the following morning by eight wearing an uneasy face. Thought about the mendicant young man he saw the previous day did not allow him to sleep more especially with the assignment he has this morning. Not that he is a do-gooder but truth is that he works to earn his living yet millions are jobless and the money that would be used to create jobs are being dumped in private accounts. Something must be done, he thought just as Silvia approached his seat interrupting his thought.

‘Good morning Mr. Peter, hope all is well?’

‘All is well,’ Peter replied.

‘I don’ think so with the look on your face, ‘Silvia insisted. ‘Hope Iyawo did not provoke you?’ she teased.

Peter flashed a smile. ‘Which Iyawo, when you are there?’ he fired back.

Silvia laughed.

Right from the very first day Peter saw her, he fell for her. He was already working in the institution before Silvia was employed. He promptly approached her and made overtures but was rebuffed. He was really offended by that failure and for some months never spoke to her again. It was a matter of time before he realised why the young lady rebuffed him.

One day, two of them were sent on official assignment to NICON, the insurance giant of the country. They rode in silence as the driver of their official car drove them to the place. When they alighted and began walking to the reception, Silvia made a comment that arrested him.

‘My enemy, can’t we be friends at least for the sake of this duty?’

Shocked, all that Peter said was, ‘we are friends are we not?’

‘We are not, ever since I refused you and you never cared to find out why. Will I be so stupid as to refuse you in that way?’ She asked.

‘I wouldn’t know, the way of women is complex,’ Peter said. ‘All the same, let’s leave that’.

‘I know we would but let me clear my mind,’ Silvia insisted.

‘That will wait until we finish the assignment,’ Peter said as they approached the elevator in the building hall.

Peter pressed the button and they waited a little before the elevator descended. Without a word, they rode the elevator to the fifth floor where they are meant to have a meeting with the director of banking affairs in the insurance company.

They were, as soon as they stepped out of the elevator, directed to the office of the director by an already detailed secretary.

The director, a thirty-two year old man named Isiaku Mohammed expectant, was already seated when the duo were ushered in.

‘Good morning sir,’ Peter and Silvia greeted.

‘Fine morning,’ replied the director as he pointed them to seats in front of his mahogany table.

‘Your bank has not submitted to my office details of their last months transactions, why’ asked the director.

‘You are right sir but it is not intentional,’ began Peter Clever, ‘all the same we regret the belatedness.’

‘Are you with the reports?’

‘Yes sir,’ Peter replied as he handed him a file.

‘This report is the essence of this meeting but since it was not brought at the right time, am afraid we have to reschedule the meeting to allow me page through the report.’

‘That would still be fine,’ accepted Peter.

‘So can we leave sir?’ Silvia asked.

‘Yes you can. I will let you people know when next we would meet,’ replied the director.

They rose and left his office.

‘So now, can I clear myself?’ Silvia asked.

‘You will but that won’t be here, Peter replied.

‘Where then?’

‘It won’t be bad to talk over such matter over lunch?’

‘Where? Who takes care?’

‘Rita Lori Restaurant and I will take care,’ Peter replied just as they entered the elevator.

Disembarking from the elevator, they walked briskly to their official car without talking.

‘We want to have an early lunch at Rita Lori Restaurant, that’s where we are going,’ Peter instructed the driver as they got in.

Engaging the gears, the driver headed straight to the destination. Rush hour has gone by, so there was no traffic jam all the way to the elegant restaurant off the ECOWAS secretariat. The driver found a parking space and parked the car.

Peter and Silvia alighted and headed straight to the main lobby of the elegant restaurant. Though it was still late morning, the entire restaurant was full. They barely managed to find a sitting place.

Just as they did, two waiting stewards approached their table and Peter placed an order for pounded yam and egusi soup.

‘What of you?’ the second waiter directed to Silvia.

‘Jollof rice garnished with crab,’ she replied before the waiter left.

‘What a busy restaurant,’ Silvia remarked trying to initiate a discussion.

‘My dear, it has been like this ever since it was opened,’ Peter said. The restaurant does not have any dull period as soon as they opened for business.’

‘Maybe because they cook and serve well,’ Silvia said.

‘Yes, to an extent. Truth though remains that it is the restaurant of the high and mighty, the movers and shakers of Abuja. The executives of Abuja metropolis take their breakfast, lunch and even dinner here.

Initially, when the restaurant opened, they all use to come here but in the recent time, their secretaries come and buy for them. The place has become too busy for their comfort.’

‘Who owns the restaurant?’ Silvia asked.

‘A top woman politician. She belongs to the ruling party. Bulk of her customers is her party members. Wonder what a plate of food costs here?’

‘Five hundred naira,’ Silvia guessed.

‘You must be joking,’ Peter said.

‘It cost three thousand for a meal here.’

‘That’s on the high side. Why did you decide we have lunch here?’ she protested.

‘Because you are worth it and we are not regulars here. Maybe we won’t be here again. What you intend to tell me deserves some privacy and that’s why we are here.’

‘How private is a busy restaurant?’

‘As private as you want it to be. Here, no monitors, no harassment, everybody minds his or her business. As you can see very well, the sitting arrangement guarantees privacy.’

The first waiter arrived with his order and placed it on the table cutting short his explanation.

‘Care for any drink sir’ asked the waiter.

‘No, the water would be okay,’ Peter replied just as the other waiter arrived with Silvia’s order and placed it on the table. They began eating as the waiters left.

‘So, what’s your story?’ Peter prompted.

Silvia hesitated a little, ate a spoonful of the garnished rice before she began.

‘My story is brief. But, first I have to apologise for what happened when you made overtures. I was scared to tell you then my dilemma. The then managing director of our bank was the person who gave me the job and it was conditional.’

‘What condition did he give you?’ Peter asked.

‘To become his mistress,’ Silvia replied, ‘he also warned I must not enter into any affair.’

‘That meant you were not to marry,’ Peter interjected.

‘Maybe, as long as I work in the bank,’ Silvia said.

‘By the time you approached me, I didn’t know how to handle the situation. That was why I gave you the negative response.’

‘Can you handle it now?’ Peter asked.

‘Very well,’ Silvia replied, ‘the managing director has left so am free.’

‘You think so?’

‘I know so, Silvia emphasised.’

‘So, what is up your sleeve now?’

‘First, to free my mind of the guilt of rebuffing you without reason.’

‘And then?’ Peter insisted.

‘Wait for another opportunity from you,’ she replied.

‘You are such a funny lady, Peter remarked.’ ‘Honestly, I felt bad about what happened but with what you’ve just said, I think I’ve forgiven you. Maybe at the appropriate time, we may start all over.’

‘What’s wrong with now?’ Silvia insisted.

‘Let’s have our lunch before it gets cold.’

‘We can still be discussing while eating,’ Silvia said curtly.

‘That’s bad habit in my nativity,’ Peter countered.

‘In mine too,’ Silvia said, ‘but, there is nothing bad when that helps to heal a wound, is there?’

Peter pondered as he swallowed a lump of garri.

‘Actually no, but my people insist that one eats quietly.’

‘Where do you come from?’ Silvia asked.

‘From the Ibo heartland, Owerri.’ Peter replied.

‘What of you?’ he asked.

‘Abraka, Delta state,’ Silvia replied.

‘The same Biafra,’ Peter remarked.

‘The same Nigeria,’ Silvia emphasized. ‘Biafra is of the past,’ she added.

‘You cannot define the future without the past,’ Peter defended.

‘Well, that’s a digression,’ Silvia said.

‘Honestly Peter, I regret what happened before. Right now, I would want you to give me another chance,’ Silvia said finally.

Peter was amazed. It is not common