The Wide Road
An African Path in a World of the West
by
Book Cover & Preview Text
Lagos, Nigeria
January 2006.
The choking lump in Ikeh’s throat melted as soon as he got out of the elevator at ground level.
Science called it claustrophobia; Ikeh knew better. If you worked as an International Sales Agent for a company like LAZULINE LIMITED (LZL), you never had peace. You went around with lumps in your throat and knots in your stomach.
Moments later, Ikeh was out on the street. The open space was a relief. He took a deep, deserving breath of fresh air off the nearby Atlantic and felt better still.
Crossing the busy street to the other side he lifted his eyes to the imposing grandeur of the fifty-floor, seafront building that housed LZL. As usual, the sight awed him.
Atop the building was LAZULINE’s majestic emblem, the imperial eagle. It was cast, complete with the top ends of an equally regal Ìrókò tree. The eagle was frozen in its last moments of taking flight. Its huge winds seemed forever spreading, the neck a little tucked in, and the powerful legs perpetually leaping off the strong Ìrókò branch. Even from this distance, Ikeh could feel the scrutinizing glare of the imperial eagle. It seemed to watch over LZL in its resplendent spread. Atop a tree known for its ability to tower above and easily dominate thick African forests, LZL’s message through the eagle was stern – we know everything!
A huge wave from the roaring Atlantic broke Ikeh’s almost hypnotic concentration. He sighed, peeled his gaze off the eagle, and took off his Nike cap. The coolness that assaulted his clean-shaven head was so welcoming. He set out at a trot.
The exercise helped him in dissipating heat and nervousness. It also did his trim body a world of good. A round hairless face completed Ikeh’s features, cutting years off his thirty-seven.
While he trotted, Ikeh thought.
Within minutes, he drew sweat, making his ebony complexion glitter in the early afternoon sun.
Under the able leadership of Yòmóyè, LZL administered over thirty-two blue emerald mines scattered in south western Nigeria.
Over the years, Ikeh had realized that Yòmóyè was simply a surrogate, as his two gofers. Somewhere within the United States of America embassy here in Lagos was the real show runner. Ikeh had no clue as to who exactly it was, but he was sure that the person operated from the embassy.
Ikeh knew that Yòmóyè and his two stooges got 10% of the yields from the mines as payment for fronting. Scores of International Sales Agents like Ikeh were in the employment of LZL. They scouted the world’s black market to peddle this 10%. Which was why Yòmóyè and his cronies were filthy rich.
The going market rate of Crude Oil was about U.S. $60 per barrel. Simply put; to make U.S. $60 from the almighty crude oil, which everyone cried about in the world today, you needed an entire barrel of it. To make same from blue emerald, you needed a size less than a baby’s thumb. In going into emerald trading therefore, Yòmóyè and his gofers had made a sound business choice.
A month earlier, Ikeh had smuggled into the United States a consignment of Blue Emerald and had succeeded in selling it to waiting black market buyers without any incident.
Today, he had supplied the technical and financial details of the transaction to the threesome who ran LZL and had passed their grueling interrogation.
Nevertheless, Ikeh was always unsettled. What if he came for the usual post-trip briefing and they found out that he had skimmed a few thousand dollars from the proceeds of the sales? Which he normally did.
What if they found out that he usually cornered a few of the stones, salted them in a safe place for disposal later? Which he practiced all the time!
What would they do? Kill him like Dìrân? Maybe!
Dìrân had disappeared after such post-trip briefings and turned up floating a few days later on the lagoon nearby. The case was never solved. Dìrân drank like a fish. Everyone knew. The big question that was never answered was; did he fall into the lagoon while drunk? Or was he conveniently pushed? There were stories.
“Hi Ikeh,” a passer-by hailed him.
Ikeh snapped around from his personal reflections, came to a stop, and looked in the direction of the voice. It was Tolú, a colleague from LZL.
Tolú was with Exports Department run by a paranoid and spiteful Délé. Export Departments in LZL was vested with the responsibilities of devising appropriate methods of smuggling the gemstones off Nigeria into countries where Sales Agents had contacts in the black market.
Now, Ikeh grinned and shook hands with Tolú.
“Hi Tolú,” said Ikeh. Tolú was a very likeable person, a struggling youth with promising future if he could summon the courage to leave LZL with his talents. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. Just went down the street to get the Newspaper.”
“Job adverts?”
“Yes!” whispered Tolú glancing furtively in the direction of the imperial eagle atop LZL. Ikeh could not help noticing that, even out here, amidst hordes of Lagosians, and half a mile from LZL, Tolú still felt naked, watched. “Always watching us!”
“Yeah! Bloody eagle!” said Ikeh sympathetically. Despite the distance the eagle was still intrusive.
“Don’t tell anyone that I was trying to get a new job!”
“My mouth is zipped. Good luck.”
“Thank you. Are you working out?”
“Sort of. Just done with the big guys up on the top floor.”
“Was everything okay?”
“Yes. Thank God!”
“So? Where to?”
“Ìsàlè Èkó.”
“See you around.”
“Yeah. Bye Tolú.”
Ikeh broke into a trot again, snaking his way amidst a sea of bodies. Now, he dripped water and breathed deeply. Good for exorcising the demons of LZL.
Ikeh had put in place some reassuring personal arrangements. These would not prevent LZL murdering him if it came to it but it would see to it that his family was taken care of financially. It was like being on a treadmill; you had to keep running at all times just so you could stay in one place.
His next smuggling trip to the United States was likely going to be booked for the following month. Now, Ikeh just wanted some cold Palm Wine. He headed for a joint in Ìsàlè Èkó.
Formats
Book Details
About the Book
FLIGHT was an ambitious program devised by a group headed by Kim on order of the U.S. President. It was to secure for the United State’s fourteen-trillion-dollar economy its voracious crude oil needs. Few years into implementing FLIGHT and with political terrains rapidly shifting in Washington, Kim faced sudden political death from FLIGHT’s fallouts. Still, there were other more surreal developments. In West Africa, Kim sat atop a heavily disguised gemstones cartel. Now, its core workings had just been accessed and offered for sale by a remorseless moneygrubber who, interestingly, was on Kim’s payroll. Events took even a sharper turn when one of the players turned out to be Pablo, a wealthy, ruthless crime lord in California. Kim knew he could survive FLIGHT’s fallout unscathed; but only if he could keep a lid on his West Africa ventures. This brought him into an all-out showdown with a psychopathic Pablo who felt he was well placed to guarantee Kim’s failure notwithstanding the consequences. Given the resolves of all players involved, the stage was set for intrigues, violence, and deaths not only in Nigeria where it all began but also in the United States, which hosted the grande finale. The Wide Road explores the lives of two Africans; bitter from decades of deprivation; reeling from identity crisis; and running away from Africa’s decay. Their paths led them into this dangerous crossfire of Washington’s power play.
About the Author
I was born in the sixties in southwestern Nigeria. It was an era of Pan-African nationalism and Africa’s independence. Africans dreamt of promising futures. Our aspirations were based on the highly appealing lifestyles left behind by the British and into which my generation was born. Inadvertently, we were actively tossing away our cultures and traditions. The next decade ushered in the oil boom. Moods skyrocketed. We were proud Africans. By the time I completed my training as a Medical Practitioner in the early nineties however, these dreams had metamorphosed into haunting nightmares. Millions of us, young Africans, suddenly found ourselves smothered by a putrid continent. It was as if we had slept through the preceding three decades. As the rot spread, we began a period of deep introspection. Then we realized we had been dead wrong at the outset. The dreams. The lifestyles. The thought process. Everything had been wrong. And that includes the ready excuse of blaming our leaders for everything. This is the precursor to THE WIDE ROAD, one of several books but the first to be published. Besides, THE WIDE ROAD (and other books on the way) will feed a seemingly starved international (reading and movie) audience of authentic materials on Africa, from Africans living in Africa, and who have had firsthand experience of events, which are, possibly, unique to Africans.