Edegbe sat on the chair behind his desk, swivelling it a few times so it could spin and spin, his mind replaying the events from the market, and he gave a frustrated sigh. Not only did he have to go through the stultifying incident of being stood up, a big man like him, dressed in his agbada, by market women, but a cup of beans now cost four hundred and fifty naira.
"Four-fifty?" He sneered, as though he could not believe it. "This is something that was sold at sixty naira not less than twenty years ago."
"Don't forget that within that not less than twenty years ago, we experienced things like Ebola, Lassa fever, and Corona virus, and those were natural epidemic. Then we had the national issues; End Sars protest, ASUU going on strike the same way NEPA gives us light, and then scarcity of money. So, Sir, less than twenty years ago is enough time for things like inflation, increase in dollar and decrease in naira value, to happen." His P.A and friend, Efe, told him.
"Why do I feel like this your Sir is laced with mockery?" Edegbe asked, giving his friend a curious look.
"When you bought a cup of beans for sixty naira, how much did naira evaluate in the international market? One naira was one dollar, right? Now one dollar evaluates to one thousand naira, and you still want to buy a cup of beans for sixty naira? Act your degree."
"This is madness. Do you know how many people suffer everyday in this country?."
"But this shouldn't be a problem to a wealthy man like you, you don't even have to go to the market, you can just send one of these boys."
Edegbe shook his head. For the thirty one years he had lived, he had a rough chin with sparse beard, a house in GRA Benin, one in the village, and money in his bank account to show for, and so the frustration over a cup of beans he could afford a million times, left a kindling feeling of unfulfillment. "If I had plots of land in the North, I'll be able to plant rice and beans and not worry about the price going up."
"But you would have to worry about paying the tens of people working in the farmland, and since it's just for your consumption, it'll be a loss of money for you, and you won't even be able to finish all that food." Efe stood tall, dressed in his usual suit and tie, his biceps bulging through the fabric, a direct contrast to his boss's lean figure.
"I can bring them to Benin, and even sell a bag for ten thousand."
Efe laughed. "By the time you harvest the rice, bag them, pay your workers, and then pay seven-fifty per liter of fuel, but have to buy, approximately, thirty liters of fuel, even you will sell a bag of rice for sixty thousand."
Edegbe thought for a while. "Let's do it."
"Yes. Let's do what?"
"Go to the North."
Efe dropped the documents he was holding and looked at his boss, a defeated look, silently hoping it was a joke. But he knew from the flare of his boss's brows, that flare of excitement, an excitement of starting something he would stop halfway and pass it on to him, that it was not a joke.
Their friendship had started at an interview center where they both clutched to their CVs, Efe with an air of hope that he would get the job, and Edegbe with one of confidence. Efe realized, after hearing him speak about pan-africanism and postcolonial Nigeria that he had no chance against the likes of him, and since Edegbe promised him a job when, and not if, he got employed, the certainty admirable, Efe joined him in pushing the gates after the security men had locked it and said the employers were already satisfied, speaking in Bini accented pidgin, until the lock, rusted with over usage, opened and let them through. Edegbe got in, walked with confidence, and came out angry. He did not get the job.
That night, they sat together in a beer parlour and Edegbe told him the interviewers could not recognize intelligence when they saw one, and Efe had thought he was bluffing. But Edegbe soon proved he wasn't. He climbed up the rung of wealth, and Efe had agreed to be his P.A, Edegbe had the brain to make money, and Efe had the patience to tolerate him.
"It's so good to have money," Efe said instead, burying the litany of complaints he had.
"Yes," Edegbe agreed. "But you don't have money."
"I meant to say it's good to have a friend that has money. You should sleep on it, and I mean literal sleep on it. Take the thought, bury it under your pillow and sleep on it. I'm closed for the day, if I listen to you any longer I might fall sick."
Edegbe fell against the chair after Efe left, and swivelled it again. It was past six in the evening, and the ceiling fan circled above him, the same way it had since morning. One of the thrills of residing in a place like GRA, there hardly was a power blackout, as Efe said, it felt good to have money. But he didn't wear the money he had, wearing the money would mean having a bigger, fancier office than what he had, it would mean having no office at all, since he didn't really use it for anything except to deceive himself each morning that he had a place to be and work to do. He had a financial buoyancy that earned him autonomy and passive income, but the thought that he could do something as big as make the cost of living a little less expensive enthralled him. He was not one to practice philanthropy, he was a business man at heart, but he loved the sense of fulfillment, and he could sense that fulfillment was what he was going to get from this.
Sighing, he got up and arranged the table, then switched off the fan from it's whoosh sound, and turned off the light. He locked the door, held the handle and pushed it back to be sure, before adjusting his tie. His neighbours would think of him as a hard working man who left home early and came back late everyday. He wondered what they would think of him if they were to know he didn't do anything other than swivelling his chair all day. He didn't even pay an office rent, he owned the building.
His car, a toyota camry, that had been painted and repainted, was the only car left in the parking lot. He had had plans of changing cars, buying something better, but for someone like him who was too frugal with his millions, spending them on a car, a depreciating asset, was an unwise investment. Not like the car was giving him problems anyway.
The traffic was okay, so he did not spend much time on the road, and got home within minutes. His house had a fence around it, atop was surrounded with electric barbed wires. There was a CCTV in front of the gate that slided automatically when he pressed the remote and allowed him pass through. Inside was a duplex building that stood close to the back fence, the left was his, and the right Efe's. Inside the house, a door that opened to their both living rooms separated their apartments, and in front of it Efe had hung a dangling signboard of capitalized letters that read DO NOT DISTURB ME. Edegbe snorted as he passed, and when he got into his room, he jumped on the bed and wished he could say it was a long day and complain about how tired he was. But it had not been a long day, and he was not tired. Still, he undressed and said, "What a long day, I'm so tired, it's not easy to make money", and stepped into the bathroom, spending an hour; half of it actually bathing, the other half wondering what Efe, who was ever attentive to him, was doing. Maybe he brought a girl over, or maybe he was drinking a bottle of Jack Daniels alone, or maybe he was sleeping, or maybe he was rewatching Titanic. They were two lonely men. Once when Edegbe had asked him why he didn't have a serious girlfriend, he had answered with an air of certainty, "Those gold diggers, they just want to eat my money."
And Edegbe had told him, "But you don't have any money."
To which he replied, "I meant the money I'll have in the future." Then he would ask back, "Why don't you have a girlfriend, even the one that is not serious?"
And Edegbe with an exaggerated theatrics would also respond with, "Those gold diggers, they want to eat my money."
And when Efe would play along and say, "But you don't have any money", they would laugh.
The next day, Edegbe woke up to prepare breakfast, and the signboard on Efe's door was gone, an innuendo that he had stepped out. Cooking was the only chore Edegbe concerned himself with, since even Efe himself could not eat his food, he said it tasted like chalk water, and Edegbe had asked him if he had ever tasted chalk water.
He finished cooking the time Efe came out of his room, already dressed in his tuxedo, and Edegbe shook his head, already tired of telling him a tuxedo was not what one wore to an office. They glanced at each other, didn't greet as Edegbe dished the food and they ate, Efe in a hurried silence. Edegbe glanced at the wall clock, seems his friend was late for work. While he arrived at eight, Efe made it a habit to come one hour earlier. He finished his food and dropped the plate on the sink, took a bottle of mineral water, and walked away. So much for the rush, Edegbe mused, when he was only going to play video games.
When Edegbe came, seventeen minutes past eight, Efe's eyes were locked on the computer screen, his hand hitting violently on the mouse. He stood up and button his suit when he saw him. "Good morning, Sir. Welcome."
Edegbe waved his hand as he dropped his briefcase. "Traffic light is made to make life easier in the road, why can't some people just be sensible?"
Efe exited the game, hoping his boss wouldn't start another lecture.
"This is madness," he continued, then brought out a file. "By the way, I looked at the Northern states last night."
"I told you to sleep on it, not look."
"How many northern states do we have?" He waved his hand. "The actual number don't matter, the idea is that there are so many of them, ranking from Kano, to Kaduna, to Kastina. And those are the states I'm making research on."
"I wish you good luck," Efe said. "And, Mr. Osazuwa came by this morning ranting and ranting about her selfish you are." Mr. Osazuwa had a contract with his boss, a contract overseen by himself. While the man had promised them two plots of land, they discovered, a day after the payment, that he owned one and a half plot, a mistake that earned him a pay cut. The owner of the other half had confronted his boss, it lead to so many repeated "Do you know who I ams?", people gathering and telling them to calm down. Efe had led Edegbe outside, listened to his complaints, nodded to the complaints, and when months later, oil was discovered underneath the land, and Shell had offered to buy it for more millions than he had paid for, he had also listened to his excited babbling.
And so, when Mr. Osazuwa had learned about Shell's purchase, he raced back like a starving rat, and claimed he had undersold the land, and demanded more money, Edegbe nearly punched him in the face.
"That man is delusional if he thinks I'm giving him one of my kobo," he said as he booted his laptop. "I have work to do, don't worry, I'll soon come with a good news."
"I hope not," Efe murmured.
The good news came the next morning after Edegbe's trip to a park, he got back excited and jumpy, and turned the handle to Efe's door. It was locked. The knocked on the door, palm faced. "Efe! Efe!"
Efe was going to ignore it and finish his bath, but the banging continued, so he tied his towel around his waist, muttering a curse, and hurried to the door. "I presume there's a logical reason why you're banging on the door like a mad man."
Edegbe took in his friend's appearance, there was a large foam on his hair, his hands were soapy, and he looked like he didn't like the interruption. He waved a quick sorry. "I just got back from the park."
"You just got back from the park." He repeated.
He brought out a ticket. "Ta-da! To Kedi."
Efe looked from the ticket to him. "Kedi?"
"Kaduna. 'Told you I was making research, Kaduna is my best shot from what I've gathered."
He couldn't believe he had to cut short his bath for an early display of madness, and when he saw that there was another ticket, he couldn't believe what it meant. "How big is your luggage that you're paying for two seats? Because that is the only explanation I want to hear about you having two tickets."
Smiling sheepishly, Edegbe put his hands around his shoulder. "I'll increase your salary by half the current price."
He took the tickets, scanned it, and his eyes bulged. "I hope I'm blind to see that this ticket is for a journey that will commence this evening." He shook his shoulder free.
"God forbid that you're blind. I just had to get the next trip, see, the faster the better."
He let the tickets fall from his hand. "Do you have a place to stay there? Do you know how many businesses you want to just up and leave?"
He picked them up. "We have till this evening to do all that."
Efe shook his head. "I'm not going."
"C'mon, you're my P.A, we're going for a business expansion. How do I do that without my P.A?"
"Maybe you've have thought of that before getting a ticket for me without even asking me. I don't even have the time to give my family heads-up. Or my girlfriend."
"But you're an orphan, and an only child. And you don't even bring the same girl home twice, so what family and girlfriend are you talking about?"
Efe closed his eyes and willed his friend to be gone when he opened it. But be opened it and Edegbe was still there. "Double my salary. Or I won't go." Then he closed the door.