Sometime in 1984, a young man by name Akin Ogunrinde, walked slowly out of his boss’ office. Akin had just been fired at his work place and now faced a gloomy and uncertain future. He shook his head droopily as he wobbled painfully out of the company’s premises. He had hopefully worked with Pimson Manufacturing Company for four good years. But now he had been given the sack letter due to no other reason than the economic depression plaguing the country.
Akin cursed under his breath the unfortunate fate that has befallen him. Why should he be sacked just like that after struggling day and night to perform his job efficiently and loyally? He remembered his poor family. Who will cater for his aged mother and father back home? Here in Lagos he had many dependants who looked up to him monthly for their daily bread. What would be their fate? He could visualize with agonizing reminiscence the day he bagged his M.Sc. in Management Science at the University with smiles.
He sighed at the thought of the rigours and pains he went through before finishing his education. He had frowned one day when a friend joked tauntingly that NYSC means, ‘Now Your Suffering Continues’. “Isn’t the guy’s definition very true after all?” he thought. He was wondering how he would cope, he that had once been on the executive level for four years. The company cars he was using had been withdrawn immediately the company’s axe fell on him. He had also been told to vacate the company’s three-bedroom flat he had occupied. Again, Akin sighed, sweat breaking out on his forehead as he gasped for air. He wiped off the sweat beads on his forehead.
The afternoon sun was burning terribly. “What would life turn out to be for me?” he thought again. His mind was heavy with terrifying melancholy. He wiped his forehead again. He was having a headache. He knew this terrible headache was the result of his present plight.
All this happened almost a year ago and things had really changed for the worse for Akin. He had been looking for any type of job since his retrenchment, but he always met with disappointments. Akin was at this very moment standing at Ojuelegba bus stop, waiting for a bus to take him to Ketu. This particular trip was one of his usual futile job-hunting journeys. The bus stop was crazily rowdy. That day, the scorching tropical sun was biting fiercely and pierced through Akin’s skin as if it was angry with him alone. Akin was a sorry sight to behold. Since he was retrenched he had sold all his personal belongings to make ends meet. His present condition was a sharp contrast to the life he had lived a year ago. His physique, clothing and everything about him had tales of woe to tell. He looked weak and gaunt. His old, worn out shoes clearly revealed a man in abject state of want and his completely faded and over-patched shirt and trousers revealed he had not only seen hard times but has lived it.
His formerly chubby and healthy, radiant face now looked thin, with eyes sunken deep into the skull and pale like the lugubrious face of a devastated vulture.
Suddenly, an over-crowded rickety Molue bus approached. Akin looked up, gasped for breath and moved towards it. Just then a sparkling white V-boot Mercedes Benz car slid smoothly and pulled up beside him. Inside the Benz car was a flashy and sophisticatedly dressed young man. The remote-controlled window screen glided downward.
“Hey, Akin, hop in, let me give you a lift!” the young man inside the automatic V-Boot Mercedes said. Akin was shocked. At first, he wanted to move away from the car. He couldn’t believe it was him the guy in the car was beckoning.
“Oh, this rich men!” he hissed under his breath, “they’ll never leave a poor man alone.” He pretended as if the name he just heard wasn’t his and shyly looked away. But once again the voice rang at him.
“Hey, Akin, can’t you hear me? Come in I said!” Then he took a closer look at the guy in the posh Benz. Going down memory lane Akin quickly remembered this flashy and wealthy young man. Yes! His former secondary school mate and friend many years back!
“Ah, Bayo!” he exclaimed, “Y’know, I never knew it was you!” Then he opened the door quickly and sat beside him; a sweet, highly emotional funk music was on. The window screen glided upward again and the car zoomed off.
“Long time no see!” Bayo exclaimed, “How are you? Y’know I just spotted you amid those people, you’re lucky, I couldn’t believe myself on seeing you!”
Akin was lost for words. But he managed to say albeit in a shaky tone, “Emm…Bayo, well, life is rough with me, I lost my job more than a year ago and things have been so difficult for me!” he replied.
“Well, I can see, and I know I’ll be of help,” Bayo said in a self-assured and confident tone.
That was how Akin ran into a big luck, and within a year his life changed for the better. Bayo talked Akin into becoming his business partner and Akin agreed instantly. Bayo lived in a posh, grand mansion in opulent Ikeja suburb. Akin was overjoyed. They had wonderful and exciting times together. Within a few months’ association with Bayo, Akin got himself a fantastic sports car and now lived in a duplex at Victoria Island.
Akin now owned two other exotic cars he cruises. Life was sweet and Akin began to live flamboyantly. He had a chain of girlfriends. But Akin’s sudden wealth was a mystery even to himself. For all he knew about his business deals with Bayo was that he only delivered some finished works of arts like human statues, carved crocodiles, drummers and many other carved items to Bayo’s business partners in London, Paris and New York. And whenever he arrived Bayo doled out millions of Naira to him.
But unfortunately, however, trouble reared its ugly head once again for Akin. On one of his business trips abroad, security men, acting on a tip-off, arrested him at the Murtala Muhammed International Airport. He was shocked at this action because he felt he had done nothing wrong against the law to warrant his arrest. But he was further dumbfounded and perplexed when it was discovered that inside all the artworks were cleverly hidden parcel wraps of hard drugs – cocaine and heroin. And it had been promulgated by a government decree that anybody caught with hard drugs would face death by firing squad. Akin trembled and sweated profusely on sensing that he had been used and hoodwinked into big trouble. He cried his eyes out at the airport. He begged and begged and honestly confessed that he never knew such things were in the artworks but no one cared to listen. He was escorted to a waiting van. In the next two months his case was heard in the court and even published in the newspapers. Akin was sentenced to death by firing squad. On the day of execution, he wept and sobbed openly and pleaded innocence, but the armed men were more eager to silence him than clean his tears.
Within some few minutes of marching and commanding, a fusillade of hot bullets rattled and silenced him forever. Akin’s head drooped. And he died unsung. Poor soul!