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Twelve: Peace

Twelve

The greatest parts of our faults are more excusable than the methods that are commonly taken to conceal them.
Pg 108
Moral Reflections

My father was the kind of man everyone called a "model man": he was the kind of man everyone I knew pointed their fingers to when they wanted to make instances of how a man of integrity looked like. He always said only one thing was more important than money and happiness combined: peace of mind.

Although my father was already elderly when I was born, it didn't stop him from expressing his fatherly love and bond which went on to become amazing stories that my friends at school usually sat down for hours enjoying and I didn't understand why they always cared so much about the "amazing stories" of my Dad until I got older and realized that Engineer Augustine Coker, wasn't the typical Nigerian father. He played football with his sons when other kids ran for their dear lives at the sound of their father's Vespa's because they knew they would be skinned alive for playing ball. He initiated academic discipline in our home, when other parents chose violence and sometimes, child abuse. My father would usually say, "Nigerian parents and even Nigerians, in general, misquotes the Bible more than any continent of the world—who says the rod in the biblical context meant koboko?" He'd usually chuckle before asking me to read Shakespeare's poetry and give several meanings to a particular one. It soon became one of my favorite things to do for something that was meant to be a punishment but somehow it grounded me still and I was never caught doing anything terrible until the day I cut the chest of a 13-year-old girl open and took out her heart. So much for having a "model man" for a father right? Maybe he should have implemented the koboko just like every other Nigerian parent.

Ireti started becoming suspicious of me during one of the Christmas day celebrations we usually celebrated at Ikorodu.

"Ajibade," she said as she stepped into the room assigned to us in the big family house, "why are you being so cold towards your elder brother?" She shut the door and folded her arms. I could tell that she'd left the women cooking in the backyard judging by the sweet aroma of jollof rice that accompanied her into the room.

"What do you mean, Ireti? Do you want me to run around with him or sit on his lap because he just came back from America?"

"Ah, Ajibade! When has your brother being in America ever been a problem for you? It's that man, isn't he? He's finally succeeded in polluting your brother against you hasn't he?"

"What are you talking about?" I rose from my sit in an attempt to hide my guilt from her as I motioned towards the window sighing as the sight of my brother laughing along with all the kids stabbed me in the darkest corner of my heart. I missed him, I really did and I hated the fact that my wife was correct but it was also very hard to get Juwon's success and words out of my head.

"Look at him, Ajibade. He's smiling but I can just tell that he's not happy. It's not fair what you're doing o— this man has done nothing but make us happy, Shebi you know?"

Her truthful words managed to remind me of Juwon's accusing ones.

"How long will you let your brother provide for yourself and your family? Are you not a man? You're not ready to make money, when you're ready you'll grow some balls and come and do this thing...you think it's like Nigerian film where there'll be repercussions? This is not Desperate Billionaires and there's no Kanayo o Kanayo here—we're just, "Spiritual Brothers" making money through spiritual means, that's all."

"How long will I let my brother keep providing for me?" I looked away from the window and gritted in anger.

"Ajibade? Provide? What are you talking about, my husband? Can you even hear yourself? Who are you becoming gan sef?,"

"I'm becoming, a man," I said in a dismissive tone and I remember her standing with her mouth open for a couple of seconds before shaking her head and leaving the room quietly. That was the first time I'd ever spoken to my wife in such a tone and manner.

I collapsed on my bed and thought everything through for a little longer than a while before finally rising to my feet, grabbing my phone, and putting a call through to Juwon. He picked at the first ring.

"I'm ready, Juwon. I'm ready."

"It took you five years too long to decide," he chuckled. "Welcome to the Brotherhood, my friend."

He sent a private jet to pick me up from Lagos that day and I joined him at his mansion in Abuja where we finally visited the Brothers for the first time.

"Welcome to the Great Brotherhood Ajibade—we are called the "7" for a reason," Lord Nicholas said and I was startled when every other hooded man in the room chanted, "Perfection" right after. It was creepy.

"As your first act of allegiance to this Great Brotherhood, you have to pledge someone and something very dear to you. Are you ready?"

"I'm ready," I lied. I was terrified. It was a point of no return. It was a mixture of evil and good. It was the fact that I was about to sign off my life and most importantly; my peace of mind for what my mother had always warned us about: money.

I got back home the next morning and waited until midnight to strike.

I was getting out of my elder brother's room with one of his shirts when I paused at the sight of my wife leaning on the wall with a torchlight pointed at the shirt in my hand.

"What are you doing, you this man?" She asked with a frown on her face and shame combined with guilt transformed into anger and I walked away from her that night with the illumination of the light trailing behind me and my wife's silence deafening; I knew I'd lost my peace of mind that night.

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