“It is not even party for birthday,” I hiss, scrub the cloth, dip it into soapy water and turn it around. “So just a ordinary meeting and they are just wasting money anyhow. The Book of Nigeria Fact is telling me that Nigerians like to spend millions of money on parties and I was thinking it is not true until I reach this Lagos. Is Wellingston the name of our road?”
“Wellington, yes,” Kofi say. “There is no S anywhere in the word. This street is full of all sorts of people. Half of them are former military personnel, thieves who stole Nigeria’s wealth and divorced their wives of youth to marry younger blood; the other half is made up of wealthy businesspeople like Big Madam, high-flying executives and entertainers, some of whom cannot afford the lifestyle but fight to live it anyway.”
He pick up the beans tray, shake it so that the beans is jumping in the air and setting back on the tray with a rattle noise. As he is doing so, he is blowing the dirty among the beans into the air. Kofi set the tray down. “Three years ago, some idiot wife thought it’d be a good idea to form an association just because they happen to live in one of the richest streets in Lagos. I see it as another excuse to throw a party. That’s all these people do with their money. Throw parties and press dollars on each other’s foreheads and chests like it is a form of medication. Do you know that the exchange rate is now one hundred and seventy naira to one dollar? Chale, unless Buhari becomes president next year, nothing can move this country forward. Nothing.”
I am not understanding why Kofi is always saying Nigerians are spending this and that when him too, he is using the Nigerians money to be building his house in his Ghana country. I see when the visitors of Big Madam give him money, how he will squeeze it tight and slide it inside his pocket with a big smile and a big thank you. Why didn’t he refuse the money if it is thief money? He too is among the problem wrong with Nigeria.
Kofi cough into his hand, wipe it on his white trouser. “Big Madam goes to parties every weekend. She supplies fabric to half of Lagos and makes millions. Chale, look at the insects crawling from these beans. The bastards have drilled holes through the bag! What was I saying? Yes. The WRWA. They have about ten to fifteen members. It’s always a competition. The last host, one Caroline Bankole—Big Madam’s closest friend, the filthy-rich housewife of an oil and gas businessman—she killed three goats for a party of ten people, hired a celebrity private chef—an overpaid buffoon—and served wine older than my great-grandfather.”
“Is Big Daddy working a job?” I ask, looking Kofi’s fingers as he is cracking the shell of the beans. “Big Madam is having a job. She is going to her shop every day. But not Big Daddy. Why?”
“Big Daddy is a fool,” Kofi say. “He used to work in a bank. He authorized some loans for some of his friends. Billions of naira. Of course, the friends did not pay back. Bank filed for bankruptcy, I mean it closed completely about two years later. That was about”—he strong his face and think—“about fifteen years or so back, long before I came here to work. I have always known him to be a colossal nuisance, spending Big Madam’s money on women, NairaBet, and booze.”
“Booze is what?”
“Drink,” Kofi say. “Beer. Stout. Alcohol.”
“Cham-pag-nay?”
Kofi laugh. “Cham-what?”
“I see it in The Book of Nigeria Fact,” I say. “Nigerians are spending million to buy it too. They spell it C-H-A-M-P-A-G—”
“Ah! Champagne!” Kofi say. “It is pronounced sham-pain. Oh, yes, Big Madam and her friends pop bottles of those at events like it costs nothing.”
“Is it like the ogogoro that we drink in the village? Or the gin?” I ask. “If you are drinking it too much, it will make your eye to be looking like this.” I twist my eye, move my eyesballs from left to right, and Kofi laugh again.
“You’ve been here for three months,” he say after a moment. “If I recall, you got here in August. What are you going to do about your salary?”
I squeeze soap from the tablecloth. “I didn’t sure yet,” I say. “I keep wanting to talk to Big Madam, but I am fearing she will beat me.”
“Let’s see what happens in a few more months.” Kofi put the tray down, wipe his hand on his laps, then look over his shoulder, as if checking to see if someone is coming. Then he dip his hand into the pocket of his trouser, bring out a folding newspaper. “Take this,” he say. “Have a read and let me know what you think.”
“I should read newspaper?” I say, looking his hand. “Why?”
“Just read it,” Kofi say. “Chale, I had to find time to go to my former job at the embassy before I could get a hold of this edition of the Nation Oil newspaper for you. There’s something in there I hope you can enter for.”
I shake the wet from my hand, pinch the newspaper with the tip of my finger, and shake it open. It is just one page, a tearing from a newspaper page, with plenty writings on it. “I should read the whole everything?”
Kofi sigh. “Adunni, look at the heading to your left, above the obituary.”
I look it, read out loud, slowly:
CALL FOR APPLICATIONS:
OCEAN OIL SECONDARY SCHOOL SCHOLARSHIP SCHEME FOR FEMALE DOMESTIC WORKERS
Ocean Oil, Nigeria’s foremost oil servicing company, in collaboration with Diamond Special School, invites female domestic workers aged between 12 to 15 to apply for its annual scholarship. Now in its seventh successful year, the scheme is dedicated to ensuring that bright, talented, and vulnerable Nigerian girls who are working in a domestic capacity are able to commence or complete their education. Mr. Ehi Odafe, chairman of Ocean Oil, initiated the scheme in the memory of his mother, Madam Ese Odafe, who worked as a maid in order to support her children through school.
The scheme will cover tuition at the prestigious Diamond Special School for up to eight years for five students and, where applicable, boarding fees and a reasonable sustenance for the duration of the scholarship.
To qualify, applicants must be female, aged 12 to 15, and be working as a housemaid, cleaner, or in any domestic capacity.
The submission must be accompanied by an essay of no more than 1,000 words from the prospective scholar, stating why she should be considered for the scheme, as well as a signed consent form from a guarantor and referee, who must be a well-standing Nigerian citizen. Closing date for all applications is 19th December 2014.
The list of successful scholars will be displayed in our offices in April 2015. Names will not be printed in any media outlet in order to protect identities.
“What is all of it meaning?” I ask Kofi as I set the newspaper by my feets, press it down to keep it from flying in the wind. “It is plenty English, but I see something about schooling.”