Bami: True Life Story

On the day you’re about to die, two sudden realities hit you squarely like a bolt of the nail in the Carpenter’s hands. You realize that life is indeed a bowl of nothingness and that the privilege of growing old is not a gift to deserving individuals, but only a chance that the cosmos bestows on humans.

Such was the case with Bami, as he stood before the jury surrounded by office workers, extended family, and other strange individuals he’d never met before in his life.

Bami chuckled sadly to himself. This life, they say, is a scorching bed of roses, but people…people were the vilest thing God ever made the mistake to create. He quietly wondered to himself how God’s imminent perfection of creation had turned to become something so demeaning.

Standing to watch the court processes drone on and on, he was immediately taken aback by the similarities the judge bore to his late father. The manner at which he looked Bami sternly in the eye, and carefully perused him from the crown of his head to the sole of his feet made Bami shield into shame further. It was as if his father had come back from death to scorn him.

Hot tears rushed down Bami’s face. As he remembered his past. On the day Papa died, just as always, people had surrounded him too. Papa had spluttered and withered in pain as if the heat of the fire melted his brain. While squirming at the brink of life and death, he’d managed to splutter these words assiduously to Bami,

“My dear child, No liar deserves the right to life, just as no thief deserves to be reined free to walk amidst humans. I might be leaving you in this world with nothing, but you must always remember that you’re a good child, and someday I hope you’d grow into a great man that’ll be an icon of perfection. But to attain this, you must learn to desist from your evil ways, please do make me proud as I lay to rest. “

At the time, Bami aged 16, had been consumed by guilt and embittered with pain. Guilt because he had always been the kind of child that’ll spew catastrophe and integrate havoc amongst his peers. Anger and pain because his Papa, his only parent, an honest man had always been the better version of humanity that he could never attain.

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After losing his Mom to a common fever at the tender age of five, he had grown under the protectiveness of his father, who loved him dearly. Bami’s father would always kiss him tenderly on the cheeks after the days work, and shower him with lots of gifts during Christmas. Every birthday was a memorable time for both of them. He was the apple of his father’s eyes, and Papa treasured him too much, above everything else, even more than enough to play the role of the mother life never gave him the privilege to meet.

Evenings were usually the most anticipated for the two. Father and son would sit together on the kitchen patio and recount tales. His Papa would tell him the story of how he became employed even as an illiterate in an illustrious city like Lagos.

His Papa had just come to the land of many opportunities – Lagos, eager to make ends meet for himself. He’d come with a lot of anticipation, hoping to take over the city in cash and in kind. However, the dangerous thing with excitement is that it blurs you from the realistic truths of life. Bami’s father had worn his hopes and eagerness for life broadly on his shoulders, a young man undamped by the necessities to survive. Opportunities were endless at the time, but like treasure chests, they were hidden deeply and buried away from normal individuals. One had to have access to numerous pot-bellied politicians, the” big boys of Lasgidi” and other stratified plutocrats in order to attain wealth.

So with this unfortunate circumstance came the decision to return back to the village. His father had always believed in upholding honesty in all of his dealings, and had, therefore, decided not to do what every other person was doing. He’d always say “the road to righteousness is thin and undesirable, but it is always the best path to follow because it is upright.”

And so it was decided, on the day he was to board a train to his hometown while sitting to await the train, he witnessed a scuffle between a tourist, and a particularly lanky man, whose British accent had a heavy interference of the Yoruba language. While they argued the lady left to join the next train, while the Yoruba-Britain man who obviously ‘studied in the abroad’ said a heavy ‘showy’ for sorry as he left the training area.

Upon noticing that the two love birds had ended their quarrel, he walked towards the train, and like manna from heaven, a dark purse had fallen on his legs. With no one Insight, he quickly picked it up and noticed a blazing sum of 10,000 Naira, a fortune at the time, and the white lady’s tourist passport. At that moment he knew what to do.

And that was the greatest thing with my father. He would always know the best decision to make. He was a man that saw life in two colors, good and bad, white and black.

At this point in the story, Bami would roll his eyes, as he understood how Papa would glow with pride as he carefully explained how he returned the purse that held such a large amount of money that could set him as a “big boy” for life.

But father was never like that. He’d always prefer to starve to death with his ideas.

Long story short, he got a job incentive after returning the purse to the officials, who couldn’t believe that such honest people still existed. He got a referral appointment at the fire service department Lagos, where he met my mother, and then the love story continued till I was born.

He’d always end this beautiful tale with his usual axiom, “never doubt the power of honesty, it could give a dead man, new life.”

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If Only he’d known that he’d have to rush into the fire to save a little boy, even after the team had proclaimed that the building would fall apart in five minutes. But Papa, honest of all men, prudent in all his deeds, helper and savior of humanity, did not heed, and plunged into the burning flame, only to be brought out half dead with the dead boy in his arms.

Although, the circumstances surrounding Papa’s demise were painful, at the age of 16, Papa’s favorite words, “never doubt the power of honesty, it could give a dead man new life,” continuously reverberated within Bami, and such were the words he held dear as he began to grow older.

“Order! Order!!”

Bami was plunged back into reality with the sound of the judge’s gavel.

His mind was immediately catapulted from the warm patio conversations with his father to the harsh disastrous predicament he was presently in. As he looked around him, trying to remember the reason for the recent disruption in the calmness of the court, his gaze fell on his lawyer who gave him a pitiful look.

Bami felt his heart wrench out and began to beat heavily, simultaneously. Obviously, the world is not a perfectly fair place, and humans are not perfectly ethical species. Internally, he cursed the memory of his father and his myopic view of the world. What in reality was morality? Uprightness? Or honesty? In the end, humans have done a good job to prove to him that none of these things truly mattered, or did it?

Every story has an end, but the end of this story is just the beginning of another.

Life is only a complication of too many stories.

Bami’s lawyer rose to begin his defense, and his head began to spin. His office had accused him of funds diversion, and financial accounts manipulation, while the law accused him of murder. A grave crime before his father, the law, and society.

How do you begin to spell your name littered in such vile deeds to your dead father? The very thought of this would make papa turn in his grave.

“My lord, members of the jury, it’ll be biased and totally unjust of the law to persecute my client under such allegations.”

“…he has served this firm for 15years…”

Bami remembered the day he’d gotten employed. As usual, he’d roamed the streets of Lagos, with his portfolio of documents in a dreadful suit that did not compliment the Nigerian hot weather, pacing, hoping, searching, and at times begging for acceptance from different firms. On several occasions, he’d been shown out of these firms with sorry statements that always revolved around sordid phrases like “recession,” “in whose name have you come?” “Underemployment rates,” “bad economy,” and so on.

On one of these occasions, after touring around the firms located around Ikoyi Island, he entered onto the usual commercial bus ubiquitous around Lagos. Feeling ravenous, sweaty and tired, he’d dozed off, only to be awakened by the embittered bus driver with a black tooth and darker lips spewing spittle all over his face, in a bid to wake him up. He’d unknowingly dozed off while the bus was in motion, and went past his Bus stop. He’d been so embarrassed and quickly hurried to alight from the moving vehicle.

At that point in his life, he’d known tough hardship. On the day he’d managed to get an appointment to be interviewed by Jon Town firm, he’d overslept till 8:45 am for an interview that was to begin by 9 am. Upon realizing that his only chance to get a job has just been bashed by the difficulties of life, he’d plummeted into deep sorrow. But his father’s voice kept ringing in his head. Upon reaching the interview venue, he immediately explained everything to the selection team and hoped that they’d consider him despite of it all. Alas the power of honesty prevailed, the selection team was amazed that he did not leave his incompetence to lies, but told the blatant truth even in the face of an obvious rejection. And so he got the job!

On the first day of work, his fame had spread like wildfire. The job mandated him to keep records of the company’s investments and financial accounts. He was named the accountant, and his life turned around for the better.

On one sunny business trip, he met Bisi, a beautiful girl, and like all fairytales, their love story began.

Bisi – lover of things, and wanter of treasures unreachable.

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Bisi was everything he wanted in a woman, but she was everything his father would have detested. She vastly believed that one could be anything in life, whether by hook or by crook, and so like a child drawn gently by the beautiful allure of a burning flame. Bami was irresistible to her charms and contours.

He swore to love and cherish her for a long time. Even if as a child in need of ice cream, he was willing to do anything to make her happy.

Their love story became a sensation. They were the perfectly- intertwined- inseparable couple who were bound to get married eventually.

Bisi became the apple of Bami’s eyes. The one he’d willingly relinquish his being to. And so, on and on their love story continued as they loved each other deeply.

Fast forward to the day Bisi came to his house, a shadow of her boisterous self. He’d been quick to help her calm down and tell him what had happened. She’d been devastated for days, taking pills to sleep, and terrified. He’d known that something terrible had happened, but she wouldn’t reveal.

On the day bisi finally spilled the beans, that was when his life began to plummet down the drain.

Bisi, his one and only love, his bellè, his adorable damsel, the only one that belonged to him, the only thing he priced above his life, had been defiled by filthy men on the streets. He’d been blinded by rage. His father’s words and teachings began to desert him quickly as they made no sense to him. The world was wicked, and the world would stop at nothing to infect something that was pure, something that was magical. Bisi was pure, she was magical, she was the only color in his grey world, but the world also wanted to taint her, just like they had taken his father from him.

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At that point he lost every sense of reasoning, and only wanted to cause grief to everyone who caused her grief. It was his pride to put to justice everyone that tainted his darling Bisi. This was his only integrity, and nothing else mattered.

Blinded by rage, he headed to the hood and slaughtered two men who were the supposed criminals. Justice for his Bisi, justice for his integrity.

But his rage had not ended in that manner, he went to the office, packaged the sum of 1 million naira, and gave to Bisi. He asked her to leave the stench of the country.

Nothing as perfect, feminine, and fragile as she, should be found in such a wicked world.

And Bisi devastated, fled, hoping to someday return to her love. Her Bami.

But the thing with goodbyes is that they do carry more meaning than we’d ever live to understand. Bami stood and watched her go. Knowing that he might never see his beauty again, knowing that his life will never be the same, as the price for vengeance is usually costlier than the price of rage.

Four days after Bisi left the country, the company noticed the missing bulk amount of money and enquired. Bami had been scared but lied through his teeth. He proclaimed that the funds were still within the record books. And with time, the matter died down, because they would always trust him, after all, Bami could never do wrong.

Ten days after the inquiry from the company, the body of the dead men was found by street hoodlums, and the murder was traced down to him. He didn’t expect to be caught so soon.

It is indeed unfair, but what happens within a few days can change the course of a whole lifetime… and such was the sad unending story of Bami. He’d always wanted to live in a small townhouse with Bisi, hoping that their union would be a representation of everything his father wished for him. But now before the judge, the jury, and strangers, he was going to be sent to die. The price of salvaging his pride. The price of paying for Bisi’s integrity.

As the judge droned on the final verdict

“You’re to die by hanging.”

Bami looked around as women began to wail on his behalf. He smiled quietly, pausing to entertain a myriad of reflections on his life.

He’d lived well. He’d been honest and learned to love truly, he’d stood up for his pride, and has upheld integrity even in the face of catastrophe.

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Life happens for a reason, and every experience we gather along on this short journey is tales of freedom, suffering, or oppression.

When he would meet with Papa, he prayed that papa would hug him deeply and touch his chin like he used to, and they’d sit on seemingly kitchen patios, and recount tales. But this time, he’d have more stories to tell, stories of life as a splash of several colors. Each color brighter, bloodier and deeply ingrained within him than the former.