The old man knew he didn't have much time left. His doctors had given him the bad news.Â
He was dying.
He could feel it. There was no escaping it this time.
He winced.
He stood by the window, looking down to the street below. People moved about in vehicles and on foot, heading to their various businesses. They didn't know what lay in store for them. They were just people. They'll do as they are told.
The old man's gaze, veiled by a mix of contemplation and resignation, lingered on the bustling cityscape below. As streams of people flowed like currents along the sidewalks, their faces painted with the ordinary masks of daily life, he couldn't help but marvel at the collective obliviousness that enveloped them. The urban rhythm, composed of honking horns and hurried footsteps, seemed to drown out any whispers of the uncertainties lurking in the shadows.
With a sigh, he mused on the inherent simplicity of their existence—individuals navigating the intricate web of routines, guided by the unwritten script of societal expectations. From his vantage point, their lives appeared orchestrated, each movement a synchronized note in the symphony of urban existence.
Yet, as he observed the sea of faces, he couldn't shake the awareness that beneath the veneer of normalcy, a vast spectrum of untold stories and uncharted destinies lay concealed. The city, with its towering structures and ceaseless activity, became a metaphor for the complexities of the human experience—a tapestry woven with threads of joy, sorrow, and the unpredictable nature of fate.
In the quietude of his contemplation, he recognized the transient nature of control. The individuals below, unknowingly bound by the threads of societal conventions, echoed the sentiment that, despite their autonomy, they too were actors in a grander narrative. The man by the window, a silent spectator to their collective journey, couldn't help but wonder if they would awaken to the intricacies of their own stories or continue to move through the cityscape as mere players following a predetermined script.
He held a glass of his favourite whiskey in his right hand. The doctors had warned against it, but he wasn't going to let some quacks tell him how to live out the rest of his days. He would go out on his own terms.
The amber liquid swirled gently in the glass as he brought it to his lips, savoring the familiar warmth that coursed through him with each sip. The room, bathed in the soft glow of evening, seemed to echo his defiance against the well-intentioned but unwelcome advice of the medical professionals who had tried to dictate the terms of his remaining time.
The clink of the ice cubes served as a subtle percussion to his quiet rebellion, a small act of autonomy in the face of looming finality. As the whiskey's rich notes lingered on his palate, he reflected on the paradox of control—how a simple glass could become a vessel for asserting his independence, a tangible declaration that he would dictate the cadence of his twilight.
The doctors' cautionary words echoed in the recesses of his mind, but the velvety liquid offered a temporary reprieve, a momentary escape from the clinical pragmatism that sought to govern his choices. In the amber depths, he found a refuge where defiance and acceptance coexisted, a sanctuary where the taste of rebellion was tinged with the bittersweet acknowledgment of mortality.
Each sip became a silent toast to a life lived unapologetically, a celebration of the autonomy he clung to despite the encroaching shadows. The glass, cradled in his weathered hand, became a symbol of resistance, a vessel through which he could defy the prescribed path and embrace the complexities of his own narrative.
In that fleeting moment, surrounded by the amber glow of defiance, he carved out a space to savor the essence of his being, determined to go out on his own terms, writing the final chapter of his story with the unyielding pen of personal choice.
Alfred Babatunde Ogunseye was no ordinary old man. Born of very humble background, Alfred strived to rewrite his destiny and his path in life.
And he did.
Through sheer tenacity and an unwavering spirit, Alfred Babatunde Ogunseye transcended the limitations of his humble beginnings. The echoes of his past hardships only served as stepping stones in a journey marked by resilience and a relentless pursuit of a different narrative.
From the dusty streets of his upbringing, Alfred carved a trajectory that defied societal expectations. His hands, calloused from years of hard work, held not only the weight of his struggles but also the key to his self-fashioned destiny. Through education, dedication, and a refusal to be confined by circumstance, he ascended the rungs of success.
Alfred's story became a testament to the transformative power of determination. The accolades and accomplishments he amassed were not just personal victories but beacons of inspiration for those who dared to dream beyond the boundaries of their origins. In the corridors of his memories, the whispers of his journey from humble beginnings resonated as a symphony of triumph over adversity.
As he stood at the zenith of his achievements, Alfred remained connected to his roots, a reminder that one's past need not dictate the entirety of their future. He became an extraordinary old man, not defined by the years etched on his face but by the indomitable spirit that propelled him to rewrite the narrative of his life. In doing so, he left a legacy that stretched far beyond the confines of his own story—a testament to the transformative power of perseverance and the enduring belief that one can shape their destiny against all odds.
He stood at the head of one of the highest multinational business empires in the country, with major stake in communication, oil and gas, power as well as imports and exports, which was where he started building his empire from.
Just the other year, he made Forbes list as one of the first ten richest Gongolans. His investments spanned across the continent, and so was his dreams.
He frowned. He was a very big dreamer. He wouldn't have gotten where he was today it he hadn't dreamt big.
Alas, for his biggest dream, he just couldn't reach it on time.
With all that money, Alfred wasn't satisfied. He didn't have what he truly wanted. Total and absolute power. Unfortunately, he would not be alive to enjoy it, even though he had set the wheels rolling.
He cursed the cancer. He had been too busy chasing money, he didn't check himself regularly. The quacks claimed they would have had a fighting chance if he had been diagnosed earlier.
He frowned.
He had two sons, both were directors in his firm, and managed several branches of the business. They were trained in the best universities in the world. They were book smart in all ramifications, but they were not street smart. He feared they might not have the courage to see his vision to the end.
But that was where the clause in his will comes to play. They will continue to have the run of the business, and enjoy the wealth and affluence that came with it, as long ad they stayed the course of his vision, the execution of which, he had given to his most trusted aide.
Ukachukwu, called Uka by everybody, was a son he wished he had. He would be treated as a member of the family in the will. The task he had placed on the young man's shoulders were too enormous, that only a family member can have the will to see it to the end.
Alfred had confidence that Uka will not fail.
Ukachukwu Azuatalam, was a former Army Captain. He left the military, after an incident some years ago, that saw the execution of an Army Brigadier General, and climaxed with the mass arrest of many soldiers and politicians in the country. He did not reveal his involvement in what happened, even though Alfred could make a good guess, but Alfred never pried into his privacy.
In Uka, Alfred saw a kindred spirit; somebody who understood him. Somebody he could trust totally, sometimes, even more than his own children.
The task ahead was enormous, and required dedication. Uka was the only person who would ensure it is carried out to the letter, and that was why he would be making the executor of his will.
He still had a clause to safeguard his family if Uka went rogue, but he was very confident that his trust in the Igbo man wasn't misplaced.
Tank trusted him enough and that was good enough for the old man.
The whiskey came with it's pain. He winced as he held the edge of the window to steady himself, as he felt a bit dizzy.
The door of his office opened, and his longtime secretary and oldest friend Nkechi walked in. She was almost as old as he was. She had been with him from the beginning of the company. She knew everything about the business and about him.
"I warned you not to drink this thing again," she snapped at him. She was the only one who could reprimand him. No other person dared. "Are you hell-bent on leaving us sooner than when the doctors said."
"Forget the useless doctors," he growled as she took the glass from him and finished the drink. "They can't tell me how I'm going to go out from this world. I will leave when I chose to, not when they tell me."
"Well try and make it longer."
"Whatever," he sighed as he walked over to his desk and sat in his chair. "Are they here?"
"Yes," she replied. "They are all waiting for you at the reception room."
"Ok," he said. "Let them in."
Nkechi left the room and a few minutes later, the door opened and three men walked into the office.
"Good afternoon Dad," two of the men greeted. They were his two sons.
"Good afternoon sir," the huge man with military bearing said.
"Shola, Alfred Jnr," the old man tried to smile. He felt the pain in his gut. He was really dying and the whiskey didn't help him. "How are you doing? Uka, how are you?"
They answered almost in unison. He waved them to the chairs facing him.
"You're looking very pale Dad," Shola observed. "Have you been taking your meds like the doctors instructed."
"Of course," Alfred lied. "But that's not why we are here. You know me, I like getting down straight to the business of the day. No time to waste. Time is precious, time is money. You have all the time now. I don't have any left so no time to waste."
His first son started to protest his last sentence, but the old man stopped him with a wave of his hand.
"No time to waste my boy," he reaffirmed. He looked at them one after the other. "You know where I came from. I wasn't born into wealth like you my sons were. My father was a very poor carpenter. He barely made enough for himself to eat, let alone feeding a family of five. I didn't have the luxury of expensive private schools or Harvard and Oxford education you had. Life for me was the streets. My life coaches were my lecturers in the hard knock university of Ajaganle streets. You didn't pass through all that. I wish you did. It would have made you better versions of yourselves, and prepared you more for what I'm about to tell you.
"When I was setting up this firm which you all now work in, and enjoy it's many benefits, I almost gave up because of some corrupt government officials, who made it clear to me, that I was powerless without having government in my pocket.
"They were right. With all my money, I am still powerless. I cannot directly effect policies in this country. I have to follow the policies laid down by others.
"I promised myself that day, that I must do something about it."
He paused and picked up the bottled water on the table in front of him. He drank some water and felt better. He looked into their faces. His sons didn't understand where he was going to. Uka knew everything.
"I cannot have real power in this country," he continued. "If I don't make policies. How do you make policies? You're either into politics, or you're sponsoring somebody."
He paused again and looked at his sons. They had not shown any interest in politics. He was certain by the time the mission was over, they will be very actively involved in it at the highest levels in the country.
"I don't just want to manipulate policies," he said. "I want to make policies in this country. I want to decide the fate of this nation. I want to have this country in the palms of my hands."
He got to his feet painfully, waving his sons away, when they tried to help him. Uka did not move. Alfred didn't expect him to.
Alfred walked over to the window and looked out to the people below.
"I want to control how the people behave," he said. "How they do things in this country. Just look at them. Alas, this is one dream I can never achieve in my lifetime. My time is up, but I'm going to achieve that dream through you. Through you, the Ogunseye name will be immortalized in this country. We won't just be the unknown names behind Monarch Group, known only to the people in our circle of wealth, I want that name to be spoken by every lip in this country.
"One day, one of you will be president of this country, and the Ogunseye name will be spoken by every Gongolan, and that name will be immortalized in the history books of this country."
His sons looked at themselves. He sensed they didn't fully grasp what he was telling them. They will understand in time. Uka will set them straight.Â
He walked back to the desk and sat down on his chair. He drank some water.
"Ukachukwu will brief you when the time is right," Alfred continued. "There are conditions in my will that you must follow. Failure to abide to them, you'll forfeit everything."
"Dad!"
"Father!"
Alfred liked the panic his words drew in his sons. That would make them more serious. He waved them to silence.
"You know me," he continued. "Whatever I say, I mean every word of it. I struggled to build this firm. From the son of a poor carpenter, I soiled my hands in mud to build what you are enjoying today. It's time for you to do the same. You cannot have everything spoon fed to you your whole lives. It's time you do something for yourselves. You will work with Ukachukwu to ensure the success of my project, or you will lose everything. Ukachukwu is the executor of my will. He is a lawyer and is qualified to do that. I made the will in sound mind and I have doctors' reports to back it up. Any attempt by anyone of you to challenge the contents of my will and that person will immediately forfeit every right to it. Your sisters are not part of this arrangement. They will receive their dues, but you the men, bear the Ogunseye name, and must bear the burden."
His sons kept quiet. They dared not grumble in his presence. Uka had remained quiet throughout his speech, betraying no single emotion.
"You may not understand me today," Alfred continued. "But in some years from now, you will understand and appreciate what we are trying to achieve today. I won't be there when it happens. It would be my final gift to you all. My legacy."
He got to his feet with surprising speed and stared straight into his sons' eyes. Suddenly he fell back into the chair.
His sons and Uka ran over to him. Uka checked his pulse. He felt nothing. He looked at the bottle of water. The particles were still quite visible.
Chief Alfred Babatunde Ogunseye have dictated the way he left.