The landlord that did not remember Moses – Cynthia Omo | #SYL 2016

THE LANDLORD THAT DID NOT REMEMBER MOSES

by Cynthia Omo

Uncle Jide or Oga Landlord as co-tenants in the estate would call him was daddy’s best friend. He and daddy were roommates in school, so when daddy got married, Uncle Jide let him have a flat in his house without ever taking a dime from him. I know this because daddy and uncle never ceased to fill our ears (mum’s and mine) with these stories every time uncle Jide came over for dinner which was pretty much every evening.

Uncle Jide lost his wife to the cold hands of death but didn’t lose his sense of humor and kind heart. He would buy me lots and lots of presents even when it wasn’t my birthday.

We all lived in peace in our little estate until tragedy struck. Daddy died and barely two weeks after, we lost Uncle Jide too. He died in his sleep. We all assumed he just couldn’t live with the shock of losing his friend – my dad.

I thought the worst had happened but this was just the beginning of our travails.

Uncle Shile, a short, pot-bellied, and very unkempt man, who introduced himself as Uncle Jide’s elder brother and new “oga landlord” moved into the estate to become our worst night mare.

A time came when he insisted on seeing the receipts of rent payments for every flat in the building. When he got to us, I sat at the corner of our sitting room and watched as mum tried to explain how things worked when Uncle Jide was alive, but like the Biblical Pharaoh, who didn’t know Moses, Uncle Shile claimed that things had changed and he would not only begin to collect our rents but also collect the ones for the past two years. This, he termed being merciful.

“I for collect all the moni wey you dey owe but because I be better person, just pay for the last two years.” He said.

I watched mum beg him to show understanding as we had just spent a lot of money on dad’s burial and other expenses but he would have none of it.

The next day was a wet one. It rained heavily but this did not stop Mr. Shile from bringing two men who threw all our belongings out.

I cried as I picked up the sketch pad that Uncle Jide bought for me the previous year. I hurriedly flipped through the pages trying to find my most treasured possession – a scholarship application form dad bought just before his death, but it had been soiled with mud.

That was it for me, in that moment everything changed. I looked up to the skies as rain drops poured unending, cried out loud and reached out to the Real Estate Flier I picked from my teacher’s table the previous day. I took a long look at it and made a resolve to save every penny I make till I can sack my landlord.

– Cynthia Omo

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