By Taju Tijani
Yomi Onifade looks plucky. He is pot-bellied. He wears greyish moustache and beard. He looks cannily like a remake of Teddy Pendergrass straight from resurrection. He is loud, friendly, a bit timid, jovial and fun loving. He is smart, clever and bright. He is like a polymath in the breadth of his knowledge about the world around him. Yes, he looks scruffy and casual. There is sincerity about his appearance which hides his intellectual stamina. First, we discussed literature. He took me round American and British literary writers. He was not showing off. He knows his stuff.
“Yomi, how you dey?
“Mr T, mowa o.”
His thick-rimmed glasses scanned my face. I smiled at him. He smiled back drawing his chair closer. GTB had been to Manchester on a business trip. He called me to apologise for not being around. He is driving back and closer to London.
“Drive safe bro. Yomi is here with me.”
“Ok Teejay, I go join you soon.”
The most shocking thing about Yomi is that he is a teetotaler. He nearly died years back from a ruptured liver. Then he was called a fish. He could drink down any bar in London. He was notorious for the wrong reason. So, he quit from that lane to embrace an alcoholic free existence.
“Yomi, do you agree that Nigerian women in London are bitches?” I asked boldly.
Yomi shook his head sideways and gave a sad smile.
“Hmmm Mr. T, I am a victim. Her name is Dupe. I travelled to Nigeria on holiday in 2000. I was 26. Before I left home my parents routinely reminded me that I should look for a wife. My mum was more insistent. Right in the car to the airport it was the same mono-message – go and get a woman!
“I waved my parents bye and got into the airport. I then went over to a recharge card counter to fill out the yellow immigration card. I had no pen on me. There and then, I saw this pretty lady.
“Physically attractive, big eyes, busty chest, hairy and stylish. I readjusted myself and asked to use her pen. She obliged with a smile. Two years later she joined me in the UK. She came over in 2002 after I got her a spousal settlement visa. I combined two jobs to ensure that she was happy and comfortable.
“Mr T, early 2000 was the best time of my life. We travelled through Europe, and I showed her off to my friends. I was truly besotted because Dupe was a scorcher of a beauty.”
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GTB badged in. He gave us effusive apologies. Ever the kind gentleman, he was shocked not to find any drink or eateries on our table. He ran and fetched Wale, the bar boy. One of the waiters in the kitchen also came. We gave orders and both melted away. GTB embraced Yomi and they exchanged pleasantries.
“Yomi, you are a bad guy……honestly eyan buruku ni e… You hardly call or visit me here in the restaurant. Haba, na only you go dey make pound sterling? Lo joko jo,” GTB challenged his friend jovially.
“Baddy (Badmus) bobo, mabinu. Na work. I just got a new role in this publishing company in Chelmsford. It is tasking, exhausting and intellectually demanding. I had to give it all I’ve got to give. Also, I travelled across the UK meeting writers and commission editors for the company. Ma worry, plenty of time now ore,” Yomi responded.
“No worries… I can understand,” GTM sympathised and disappeared.
“Mr T we lived in Enfield in a three-bedroom detached house. We had successful Nigerian doctors as neighbours. From acquaintances, we became friends. We babysit for their children when the couple wanted to spend some time at the West End. Both couples are medical doctors. They live a busy life. In return they gave us expensive gifts like perfumes and shopping vouchers. I objected to the gifts, but my wife continued to accept these gifts. Sometimes at my back.”
I excused myself and went to the gents. By the time I came back Yomi had finished his bowl of small chops. I met him on phone chatting a client. It took a while, but I was patient.
“Sorry Mr T to keep you waiting. I was talking to our commissioning editor who just secured a deal,” Yomi explained.
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“So, my wife’s relationship with the male doctor nearby became uncomfortable. She started making comparisons. She started complaining about the way I dress. About my car. Even about my looks. She saw the doctor as a model man – sharper, dapper, and more accomplished than me. I began to keep malice with the doctor and asked my wife not to entertain the male doctor in our house. My wife objected and called me a jealous, insecure man who must go get a life and move up the ladder of success.”
I heard a noise coming from the restaurant car pack. Two drunk white men were fighting and falling on each other. The legs were gone. They were so drunk they could not swing their hands to deliver blows on each other. They swore at each other in East London cockney accent. GTB came on the scene and moved them on.
“Then. My son grassed to me that when I travelled to Nigeria that the doctor visited my house several times. I once saw a used and dusty condom underneath my bed. I knew what would happen if I blew up the roof. I kept my cool and began to look for way to set a trap. I went to Marylebone, near Kings Cross to purchase discreet surveillance equipment.”
Yomi shakes his head. I knew he wanted to drop a time bomb.
“I packed my travel bag and pretended that I was going to Bristol to see a relative. I left home on Thursday with the promise to Dupe, my wife, that I will be back on Monday. I travelled to Earls Court and camped in a bed and breakfast hotel for four days. I could not sleep. I kept rearranging scenarios over scenarios on my pounding heart.
“Mr T, it happened. Caught in the act. The camera recorded all the sexual acts carried out in my matrimonial home and on my matrimonial bed. I called GTB to advise me on what to do. He went into the delicate nature of my case and advised me to be calm. I was thinking of committing murder. That is, to kill the doctor, his wife and even kids. This is a woman I brought over from Nigeria with my money, resources and contacts.
“I took the matter in my own hand and set about on a massive blackmail of the doctor. I took GTB along to see the doctor’s wife. She burst into a loud cry when I show her the images. She went straight for my wife and fought her to a standstill. Police came and they adjudged the matter to be a civil one but cautioned the warring women over breach of peace.
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“Mr T, as I predicted, the doctor fled home and disappeared. The wife warned him on the phone not to return home. I packed my bags and fled too. My marriage was destroyed because of my wife’s lack of contentment. She was infatuated by the doctor’s social and professional standing and fell for its overpowering lust.”
I fixed my unbelieving gaze on Yomi. His shock horror on watching her wife’s sexual escapades with a respectable neighbour. Five years on, he carries the scars everywhere vowing never to trust any Nigerian woman anymore. Never!
“Egbon, I later heard that Dupe had a baby for the doctor. Dupe and her lover died last year in a car crash around Shagamu…”
