Oga Martins & His Kettle Of Fishes – Episode 7

It was the twelfth day in the month of April, 2014. Martins needed to leave the house with the speed of light to make the meeting he had slated for 12 noon.  Agbara to Surulere was several miles away; it was like moving from one end of Lagos to the other and he still had the dare-devil Lagos traffic to contend with.

A quick glance at the digital clock in his freshly painted sitting room, Martins knew he was bound to go head on in a race with time to get to Surulere before 1’o clock. It was the last day of the three days official leave he took from work but it still felt he never really went on a leave.

There was always something amiss with working for someone no matter the amount of satisfaction you get on the job, it always feels like a greater portion of your life was devoted to the man’s course or for the good of the group of people you are working for. Martins was at that threshold again when the nature of his work provoked his thoughts and raised questions on why he still depended on his company for survival. He had successfully sacked his landlord in less than five years as an employee of Realty Point Limited. It was a epoch-making feat for Martins and the first of the kind in the company, now he had to work towards doing same to his employers.

Martins badly wanted to set up his own business venture. He was in dire need of some quality time with his young family, especially his 1-year old son. But he also knew that owning his own business was not a walk in the park. He was usually busy everyday of the week, even on Sundays. Having built his own house; a comfy but small two bedroom apartment on the plot of land he bought from his company’s Roseberry Estate Agbara, he needed to replenish the resources he expended on the project. His entire life-saving was pumped into that project, Martins even had to apply for a loan at some point. At least, he was living in his own apartment now and was finally free from the constant hassles from Baba landlord, frequent bickering among tenants of his hitherto “face- me- I –slap- you” apartment,”  and profound drama that arose from the den of Mama Nkiru and Mama Ruka. However, he now had to work round the clock to be able to weather the storm of a tortuous life and a receding economy, not forgetting the fact that he had a family to cater for.

Hence, when Mr. Okafor came up with the proposition of the care-taker job for his residential rental property due to his frequent peregrination out of the country, Martins saw it as a respite; an extra source of income. He did find out later that, that too came with its challenges and rigours.

“Is there really a job that ain’t rigorous?” He thought out loud.

As Martins made for the spare bedroom where Aisha was tending to their son, he heard the ear-itching humming noise of the wobbling ceiling fan in the bedroom his wife had occasionally whined about. Martins had installed his old ceiling fan from his previous face-me-I-slap-you apartment in the spare room because at the point he was furnishing his apartment his pockets were emptier than a banker’s heart. The sound reminded him that he must have made one or two errors while fixing the fan or could it be the capacitor, he wondered. He knew he wasn’t an expert but he couldn’t afford to throw away his hard-earned money that wasn’t even forthcoming for a job he could get done with his own hands. Though the fan was old already, it was manageable. At least, till he could get a replacement for it. Aisha had even urged him to find an electrician to come check the fan, but that advice fell on deaf ears.

Martins quietly walked into the room where he spotted his wife playing with Olaoluwa.

“Hey you!” he exclaimed. Aisha looked up at him with a frown on her face.

“I’m off to Lawanson, sweetie.” He said subtly as he drew close to the duo focusing his attention on his son

“Bobo! Give daddy that charming smile”

Olaoluwa responded perfectly to his dad’s woos like he was being programmed.

“Look at that…That’s my King. Don’t worry Daddy will bring home a lot of goodies for you. We will have a swell time when I return home this evening”. Martins said as he gave his son a kiss then proceeded to kissing his wife lightly on her lips

“Baby I’m not comfortable with the sound of this fan. Please can you at least work on it before you leave”

“Haba, ABM that’s not possible now! That can wait till I return.”

“Baby that was the same thing you said last weekend oh!” Aisha protested.

“It’s for real this time love. I promise to fix it before the week runs out. I’ve got to go now” Martins turned to take his leave

“Baby!” Aisha called out to him just as he got to the door

“Yes love”

“Can you at least call Kabiru on your way out?”

“Which Kabiru?”

“The electrician now”

“Haba Aisha! Kabiru stays in Egbeda. Why do we have to bring him down all the way?”

“Well, since we are yet to find an electrician around us”

“Sweetie, I said I will look it out when I return. Be patient, its just some few hours away”

“Okay, if you say so.” Aisha held her peace

“Catch you soon” Martins walked out of the room

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It had been more than seven hours since Martins left the house and still he wasn’t back. It was getting pretty dark, Aisha was preparing dinner in the Kitchen while Olaoluwa was sleeping peacefully in the spare bedroom when she heard a loud noise

“Jesus! Olaoluwa!” she screamed out loud fearing the worse. She dashed out of the Kitchen and made for the bedroom. She could hear her son’s squeaky cries as she drew close to the door of the room. The disturbing sound from the fan had stopped, but the moment Aisha stepped into the room she knew why the humming sound stopped. It was like the earth had stopped rotating round the sun at that instant. It felt to her that the sky had lost its cover and the sun was making a downward slump towards the earth.

Aisha didn’t know whether to wind a watch or bark at the moon.

The Infant boy’s blood had induced a red colour on the white cotton bedspread. The blades of the fan had bounced on Olaoluwa’s head on to the tiled floor like a squash ball struck against a wall with a racquet during a game of squash. It was a gory sight!

“God! My Baby! My baby!”

She cried agonizingly hoping her cries would wake her up from what should have been a very bad dream. It was nightmarish!

 

Oga Martins and His Kettle of Fishes continues next week…