It’s all for the money $$$- “A tale of one Lagos big girl” Episode 3

The Great Escape

When I finally opened my eyes, I was in a dinghy room and all tied up. I had a splitting headache but that seeemd to be the least of my problems. I looked up and uttered a small scream as I saw Sammy with the dagger in his hand. Was Sammy a ritualist? What had I ever done to deserve this. Girls rejected their toasters every day after all. My thoughts fled as Sammy turned to me suddenly unsteady then I saw his eyes roll back and the next minute there was a loud thud and Sammy was beside me on the floor and he looked like he had passed out. I looked around for an assailant or my hero but it was just Sammy and I. I really began to shake like a leaf. I tried calming myself down and took deep, measured breaths. I heard the door open and closed my eyes, hoping I did a convincing job of playing dead. I heard a man with an igbo accent and it seemed like he was talking to someone on the phone. I didn’t dare open my eyes because there was no way of knowing if he was staring right at me.

“Sargeant mission accomplished”
“Yes sir, will confirm if victim is dead or still unconscious”
“Take no prisoners, I understand you clearly, over and out.”

I was terrified. What did he mean by taking no prisoners? Was he going to kill me? What had Samsudeen gotten me into? What kind of gbese was this? God, I didn’t want to die. I began to pray, it was a silent prayer from my heart because I couldn’t risk moving my lips. I would give my life to God for real if He got me out of this mess alive and unharmed. I wondered which oga at the top was behind this. could it be Alhaja? She was Alhaji’s first wife and had somehow managed to remain his only wife. Something always mysteriously went wrong with Alhaji’s concubines and bethrothed. Was she after me now? Why did she wait till now to strike? She must have known for a while that I was sleeping with her husband. Maybe it wasn’t her. The room was strangely quiet but I still didn’t have the guts to steal a peek especially since I hadn’t heard the door open or shut.

My mind searched for the next possible suspect. I was no saint, I had definitely stepped on toes on my way up, sometimes the person had it coming like Charles. Charles had been my knight in shining armour and not even mama’s disapproval could stop me from falling for the tall, rich and handsome yellow pawpaw when he moved into my neighborhood. He had eyes for I alone and had showered me with expensive gifts. The whole affair had been hush hush because he said he didn’t want to disrespect my mother since she disapproved of him. In his arms I became a woman and he taught me every thing he needed me to know about sex and not getting pregnant. I wasn’t like Siki who gave it out to the highest daily bidder, I was decent and had been promised marriage by my handsome Urhobo man. Some weeks after mama’s death I had moved in with him as his unofficial wife. He had promised to visit my village soon and pay my brideprice. Mama was my only relative in Lagos so there was no one to object. Sammy had objected but really who listens to a maga’s selfish advice anyway? Three months after we moved out of my neighborhood, I was a joyful housewife and pregnant with our first child when my world came crashing down.

Charles had run into the compound one afternoon sweating like a he-goat at Christmas. He had informed me that his wife and three children were back from the States and that I mustn’t say a word to them or he would kick me to the streets that he would find a way to sort things out. My eyes were as big as saucers and flies were dancing around my open mouth in the afternoon heat. He had never once mentioned a wife or kids and I had no say as I was not his legal wife and the terror in his eyes and desperation in his voice made me know he meant business. I was about to say something- anything, when a woman and 3 small girls walked in. My Charles had been reprimanded for leaving them waiting in the car under the hot sun and he had stammered a reply that he wanted to make sure the house help had the house in order before they entered. I had been introduced as the househelp and when she asked for my name in an authoritative manner, I knew I could kiss my old life goodbye and could barely stammer my name.

I had never known such hatred as the one Charles wife Adanma meted out on me. She hated me with a passion as if suspecting that I was more than a help and made my life a living hell. Charles initially would beg me every time her back was turned. He couldn’t even give me money or gifts because madam searched my bag at random. When my pregnancy began to show, my nightmare really began. Madam would beat me every day calling me a whore and asking me who the father was. I was so tempted to tell the truth but I feared for my life. It didn’t help that every day Charles would beg me not to reveal his secret. I despised the man I loved. My love had all but vanished in the face of this weakling of a man. I never responded to his words. I had considered running away so many times but where would I go? I had food to eat and a roof over my head in Charles’ house but there was no guarantee of that anywhere outside the house. One day when Charles’ had travelled, Adanma accused me of stealing her gold bracelet and beat the hell out of me till I began to bleed. She had always been physically stronger than I was and coupled with the fact that she had an array of weaponry for my torture, I never thought to fight back. She had noticed the blood and suddenly dashed out of the house and locked me in. She had been gone for hours and I bled and bled. I wept for my baby knowing that he would not survive this. Adanma came back with drugs and injections and forced me to take the medication. She said she had been a nurse in the States. Soon after I went into intense labour and hours later my premature, stillborn came out of me. I wept when I gazed at his dead form. Adanma laughed an evil laugh, asking me if I actually believed I would give Charles his first son. I had no answers, my spirit was broken.
          
Two days later, I felt the craze deep within. I was alone at home and finally I could take no more. I remembered that before Adanma became a part of our lives, Charles had told me that he didn’t trust banks and always kept his valuables at home and that was why he wanted me to always double check that the doors were locked at all times. His bedroom was always locked and only he and Adanma had the key. That day as the plan began to take shape in my mind shrouded in uncontained rage, I picked up a pestle and broke down his wooden door. I searched his room frantically for any thing of value. In a ghana-must-go, I found plenty documents and a wad of hundred dollar bills. I took the money and poured kerosene over the documents in the bag then broke down the kitchen door and put the bag outside then I went back to the house and carried all Adanma’s clothes, shoes and bags. I found a bag that had certificates with her name printed on them and added the bag to the heap and then I literarily struck gold. I found Adanma’s trinkets and packed every single item of value. When I was done, I brushed my hair, wore my best outfit and a pair of comfortable shoes and walked out the door with only half a gallon of kerosene and my plunder in hand. I tossed the gallon contents on the heap and set it ablaze and walked out the gate without a backward glance.

I was brought back to the present by a moan from Sammy. I opened my eyes cautiously and surveyed the room. Thankfully we were alone. I saw my chance.

“Samuseedeen” I hissed in as low a voice as I could muster. I had to call him four times before he responded.
“What happened?”
“It’s a set-up, your friend must have drugged you too. He was talking to one sargeant on the phone and the man asked him to kill two of us, abeg Sammy please help me and help yourself, please I don’t want to die….”

Sammy looked utterly confused and I prayed he would listen to my plea. He was the only one who could help us as his friend had forgotten to tie him up. Sammy rose up unsteadily and I held my breath. He took some minutes to get himself and regain composure, I kept praying the other guy wouldn’t walk in and end the show. I could see Sammy was still trying to beat the effects of the drug, his movements were still unsteady. He stumbled away from me towards the table and picked up a knife. I was filled with terror and began to beg as he walked towards me.

“Please don’t kill me. I know you hate me but please have mercy on-”
“Quiet woman!!!” He hissed.

He proceeded to cut me loose and I was on my feet in a second ignoring the cramps I was feeling in my arms and legs.

“How will we escape? What if he is outside the door with a gun?”
“I am not leaving, you can jump out the window and make a run for it. I have unfinished business…”

He had a look of determination in his eyes and I turned away and ran to the window. I gasped when I looked down, I had never jumped that distance in my life. There was no time to worry about breaking a leg, a broken leg was a far better option than imminent death. I jumped without a backward glance.

……….To be continued……………..

 

It’s all for the money $$$- “A tale of one Lagos big girl” Episode 2

The Alhaji speaks

I hated being called Sammy. As far as I was concerned, making my name more Americana was one of the other things wrong with Nigeria and I intended to fix things one at a time. I glanced at the now unconscious Modinat and seethed. She was another problem that needed fixing. Why she chose to make things so difficult baffled me. This wasn’t the plan. She must have known I hadn’t been joking when I swore that I would be president one day and Modinat would be my first lady. I couldn’t help smiling as I remembered the first time she served me eba and efo at her mother’s mama put. She wasn’t like the others. Her air of superiority went beyond the fact that her mother owned the joint. Afterall the joint wasn’t much to speak of. There was a wooden bench and one table that creaked constantly. They had been made by Baba Risikat and they constituted the entire furnishings of the open, road-side canteen her mother operated. Her mum or Alhaja as she was fondly called, had never been to Mecca but swore to be the most devout Muslim in Mushin and to prove this, she often interrupted her cooking to pray by the side of the road and often times choked her customers with the acrid smoke emitting from her kerosene stove as she insisted on cooking on the only table in the canteen in plain sight so that no one would accuse her of using ‘shan-idi’, a form of ritual performed by women who owned food joints whereby they attracted customers by washing their privates into the pot of soup along with some incantations. Her customers- ten or so, who constituted the local mechanics, agberos and traders swore by her delicious meals and ignored the cracks in customer service and the lung cancer prone atmosphere.

I was one of those customers and Modinat’s shakara was one of the things I loved the most about her. She wasn’t the prettiest girl in the neighborhood, Sikirat was but since every man had had his feel of Siki’s secret places, there wasnt any thrill to be sought pursuing the worldly wise beauty. Modinat on the other hand was protected by her mother and it was rumored that no one had seen her pant or even felt her ripe melons. That thought made me wild with desire but she hadn’t given me the time of day. She had laughed at me, scorned me, thrown dirty water at me, called me her mumu, even spent my money indiscriminately but I had loved her even more. When I approached Alhaja for her permission, she had told me without mincing words that her Alfa had seen in a vision that Modi would be married to a rich and influential Alhaji. Well not all of the vision was wrong, the dude must have seen Modi in a man’s bed and interpreted it as a legal union. Thank God her mother wasn’t alive to see her only child become not just an Alhaji’s favourite plaything but a Christian too. I felt a bitter taste in my throat as I said the word Christian out loud. She wasn’t a real Christian jare, she just had a penchant for the more fashionable paths in life. I couldn’t help sighing. I had sold my father’s house after his death much to the chagrin of my younger siblings and ageing mother but I had always been headstrong and I needed to become an Alhaji. I had solemnly promised them to buy them a bigger, better house when I returned from Mecca only leaving them with enough money to sustain them till my return. My trip to Mecca was bittersweet. I had spent my family’s inheritance but was certain that it was a small price to pay to have Modi at my side. Together we would be untouchable. I learnt 3 hard facts in Mecca. 1) The streets of Mecca were not paved with gold and becoming an Alhaji was not the end of poverty. 2) Allah expected me to be a man of honour and honour could be defined in different ways. I learnt more about honor when a nice Muslim brother also on pilgrimage introduced me to the Al Waheel. A secret group of politically-inclined zealots. I bought into their beliefs and was offered many rewards if I prepared a band of devout Muslims and kept them on standby for the day of Allah. 3) Life continues after the pilgrimage.   I returned to Mushin as a more pensive man. Working in Baba Sikirat’s shed was no longer enough. Modi was still unattainable and even more distant. Worst of all, I hated the stench of poverty and the constant look of disappointment my family had in their eyes. They tried hard to mask it but it was there in the barely audible midnight sobs coming from mama’s room. I saw it every time my little sister and brother took their bowls out to beg. As good Muslims we were entitled to alms but I wanted so much more. I grew bitter as the young boys who hailed me with admiration when I first returned from pilgrimage began to have a mocking tone in their voices when they called me Alhaji. I grew so bitter. God seemed so far away. Biting poverty was my reality and when finally Modinat started giving her attention to a big man who had moved to our area despite the rumors that he was a Christian and married with kids, I finally lost hope.

During this time Modinat’s mother passed away after a brief illness and I rushed to give her succor but my plenty words, loud sobs and fifty naira contribution paled in comparison  to the efforts of her love interest who bore all the burial expenses. Even though no bride price had been paid, Modinat moved into his house and a few months after they moved to an undisclosed part of town. That was the last I saw of her for the next 5 years. I contemplated suicide many times. My family saw my grief and tried to be strong for me. My mother even tried to get me a wife but bride-prices were too steep. I didn’t have eyes for any woman anyway. What little money I had, I spent on paraga and ciga and it was on one of those days spent drowning myself in alcohol in a bid to embrace the calming sea of forgetfulness that I met Chukwudi. Everybody knows a Chukwudi, one of those men who never seem to be in a hurry to go anywhere, have no visible means of income but yet too much money to throw around. He was good looking and he was ready to listen and after buying me another bottle, I was ready to talk. Hours later, I had made my first true friend. Chukwudi or Chuks said 3 very important things to me that day. 1)Forget Modinat 2)It is your responsibility to provide for you and your family no matter what it takes 3) No one will think any good about you till you start thinking good things about yourself. I loved Chuks. That day he changed my life and saved me from the path of destruction. He also got me a job in a barber’s shop. The pay was far more than I had ever made and strangely enough my duties were to count money and divide it into 6 parts equally and oh boy, I counted more money in a day at that barber’s shop in Mushin than a bank tellar counts in a week. It took a while for me to realise it didn’t add up. We had 2-3 customers a day and each paid 100 naira for a hair cut but everyday at 5pm I’d be asked to count wads of money and divide them under Ganiyu’s piercing gaze and as I finished, I’d be asked to go home. I usually met Chuks right outside the shop, we would exchange pleasantries and then he and 4 others would enter the shop as I exited. Ganiyu seemed to be the boss at least I knew he owned the barber’s shop and paid my wages. I just assumed he had other businesses. I led a simple life, had attended school at the mosque and learnt to read the Koran and count earlier in life and hence I was an asset to them. I had also learned to barb hair though Ganiyu had never asked me to assist. He wasn’t very friendly but I was content with my solitude.

My life changed the day police men raided Ganiyu’s shop. I had walked a distance from the shop when they drove past me in a frenzy. One of them jumped off the van and arrested me. I was so shocked and even more shocked when in a few minutes they had rounded up everybody and were calling us armed robbery suspects. I tried to explain to them that I was a decent, honest man and could vouch for my friends too but the others were strangely silent. I resigned myself to fate as I chanted prayer after prayer under my breath. Two hours later, we were released and asked to enter 2 jeeps and driven to a house somewhere in Ikeja. That was the day I met Sergeant Deefak. That wasn’t his real name of course but it was what we would be calling him. He said he had heard about the incidence and hated to see the police waste the lives of 6 young men and so he had bailed us out. He offered us expensive wine and I refused but when two men came in with steaming hot pounded yam and egusi soup with the pieces of meat forming stiff peaks in the soup, my stomach growled and I gave in. We were recruited to the Save Nigeria group that day. Our monthly pay was more than I had ever heard someone pronounce as salary and the fact that we would be trained for free and have flexible working hours and sometimes travel out of the country made me burst into song in praise of Allah. We were given 50 thousand naira each and told that we would be summoned in a week’s time. On our way back to Mushin, Chuks and I chatted nonstop. We were so excited. Chuks admitted to me that they really had been armed robbers before, though not by choice. They had done it only to survive and it seemed like God had decided to be merciful towards us. Even Ganiyu seemed more relaxed. My family couldn’t understand my sudden good fortune but were too relieved to ask too many questions. Training started in earnest a week after. We were separated and tutored based on our natural strengths. I was made to study the Koran and the Bible in-depth and taught Arabic and Proper English. I was given advanced classes in mathematics and then taught the ancient arts of war. After 8 months of vigorous training, I was given the code name the Alhaji and could conceal a dagger anywhere on my person without detection, I could also end a man’s life in a second and could turn any sharp object even a simple pen into the most deadly weapon. I had been trained by 3 Syrians, a Filipino and 2 masked men whose accents were decidedly middle Eastern. On the day of my freedom as it was called, I met up with my other brothers and 14 other people. We were 20 in all, 8 females were part of the group. We were made to take a pledge and as we stood at attention, I made a mental note to follow the pledge to the letter afterall this group had saved my life.  

“I, Samsudeen Taiwo today becomes one of the life forces of the Save Nigeria Group.
I solemnly swear to use my skill and the opportunities given to me to rid Nigeria of all that is polluted and corrupt and dirty in the land.
I promise to eradicate without mercy any one who stands in the way of progress and protect with my life those who are the future of this great nation.
I will live as a warrior of the SNG and die as a hero of my beloved country.
I will serve, obey, protect and annihilate.
So help me God”  

We were discharged and given a package. Each package contained a cheque book with already signed cheques that we were to cash in at intervals. New passports and an I.D card that showed we worked for the Lagos state government. We were also given brand new cars and instructed that unmarked cars would be provided for any operation we would undertake. With the money, I relocated my family to Surulere, put my younger ones in school and got my ailing mother some much needed medical attention. I practised every day and every night in the privacy of my room. I could throw a dagger across the room and kill a cockroach with it. I waited and waited for my first assignment. One afternoon, a beggar walked up to my door and began to beg for alms with the usual song as he held out his bowl. I was about to shut the door after giving him ten naira when he started a soft stream of Arabic. I listened and my eyes grew wide like saucers. It was my mission. I listened intently, nodding intermittently. Then he pointed at his bowl and I noticed for the first time that there was an object in the bowl. I picked it up and identified it as a car key and then the beggar was gone. Ten minutes later Chuks was at my place. We had been paired up for this mission. The car for our use was parked across my house as expected and in it was a brown envelope that had names and pictures. One picture in particular gave me mixed feelings. I couldn’t believe I was looking at Modinat. She had grown really beautiful but she looked older than her age and had a very sophisticated look about her. She was listed as my target’s mistress. I hoped my target was the wretched man that had stolen her from me years ago but alas it was another. A man who looked to be in his sixties. He looked vaguely familiar and I remembered I had seen him briefly on television before changing the channel. The man had been talking about corruption in the society but from what I could see in the brown envelope this man was the embodiment of corruption. I felt a deep hatred for this man. One of his many heinous crimes was misappropriating funds the government had set aside to help empower the masses. This fool fed himself fat on the suffering of Nigeria and the Alhaji was going to fix this but first of all I had to fix her. I brought out my daggers and laid them out on the table from the longest to the shortest. I had asked Chuks to give me a minute. I would need even less. As I picked up a short dagger with a beautifully carved handle, I heard a soft cry and the last thing I saw were the cracked grey walls swimming before my eyes…

…………..To be continued………………

 

It’s all for the money $$$ -“A tale of one Lagos big girl”

I wasn’t always a big girl… I smile as I dab at my lips with the napkin, acquired skills come with an acquired taste. I really would have preferred Mama Tolu’s ewa agoyin with some agege bread but that’s a meal too razz for my person. Modinat or Modi-boo as I prefer to be addressed is a bacon-eating, sausage munching toosh babe. The waiter interrupts my thoughts and I barely spare him a glance as I pay my bill idly tossing in a five thousand Naira tip which causes the awed waiter to fall over himself with profuse gratitude. As I step out of the 5 star restaurant where I have become a regular, I glance at my reflection in the glass door and unconsciously suck in my belle. There she is, the perfect big girl, no dulling. The valet hands me the keys to my red escalade and I drive off.

They say money doesn’t buy class, whoever said it was a broke ass, self-absorbed punk! Look at me now. My image goes beyond my European hair or my Hermes bag or Vera Wang Limited Edition dress (red to match my red escalade) I always love to colour code my outfits with my cars. Yes I have several. When you are large, you are large. Now back to class. It’s so easy to acquire class. Three months after I hammered big time, I bought my first Dstv decoder and after a week of watching African magic back to back (I couldn’t believe I could watch so many movies without renting them, back in the days it was 50 Naira per movie and woe betide you if the movie was sweet and had part 1, 2, 3 and 4), I realised that I wasn’t fulfilled. People still didn’t take me seriously. A stupid bouncer at a club didn’t let me enter VIP when Lynxxx was there and he was allowing other girls. I even tried tipping him and he laughed in my face and hissed and then spoke Yoruba to me, asking me to go and join my kind. It was my first time out alone and as I drove home in my Camry, I cried angry tears. Why had I been rejected? My clothes were more expensive than most of the girls there and I was a hot chick. What was wrong? I sat on my couch, the light from the television illuminating my mascara streaked face as I brooded and pondered about the disgrace I had received. I had just begun to entertain thoughts about the possibility of the bouncer living in my former area when I heard Dolapo Oni on 53 extra. I was broken out of my reverie and at that moment the pieces of the puzzle began to make sense. This was what I lacked! Her demeanor, mannerisms, conversation style and accent were very Americana. She was cultured and toosh. I was filled with envy as I watched her. I began to take notes. I was going to transform.

Three months post disgrace, I was a changed person. I spoke softly. I spoke with an accent. I kept watching “Jennifa” and “53 extra” reruns because to me they were my past vs my future. I watched Jennifa because as a sharp babe I knew there were some pronunciations that were synonymous with razz Yoruba babes and I knew I was guilty of them so everytime Jennifa said something familiar, I’d make a mental note to hear how Dolapo pronounced it. It was all I did for 3 months. I didn’t have to work per se. Alhaji’s political campaign kept him very preoccupied. Hadn’t seen him in a long while and I hoped to impress him the next time we met. On Friday the 15th day of June, I knew I was ready. I dressed slowly that night. My Malaysian weave looked great and as I adjusted my cleavage, I unconsciously dared the bouncer to misbehave. I had butterflies in my tummy. It was the anticipation, the excitement, the fear of rejection. I felt like a debutante. I decided not to take the Camry. It was pure water. Alhaji had parked his jaguar in my house when EFCC was snooping around and tonight it was my ride. I left the house with the overpowering scent of Marc Jacob’s Lola pervading the air around me. I felt powerful!

They say money stinks on you. The club security let me park inside. Lynxxx was there again and we happen to arrive at the same time. He parked just beside me and flashed me one of those his killer smiles. I wasn’t there for him tonight, I was there to prove a point. I deliberately sat in the regular part of the club and ordered a bottle of their most expensive champagne. I paid cash even before the waiter had taken my order to erase any doubts from his mind. I must have caused quite a stir or maybe it was the 250k bottle of champagne that did it, the next thing I knew the manager was coming to very sweetly and politely upgrade me himself not to VIP but to VVIP. As I walked past the bouncer, my heart began to pound. He had his back turned to me and as he turned I flashed him my most confident smile. Alas it wasn’t my guy… The new bouncer ushered me in very respecfully and I was crestfallen the rest of the night. I was determined not to leave. Maybe the dude would show up later. I was nursing my champagne alone in the corner feeling like victory had been denied me deliberately when a voice caused me to look up.

“Hi pretty, you’re a sight for sore eyes, did someone break your heart? Why so sad?”

It was Alhaji’s son. What a coincidence! And the brat didn’t recognize me. He had almost knocked me over with his car some years ago and when a policeman had intervened, he had arrogantly announced that he was Alhaji Mamzer’s son and the policeman had cowered in fear and apologized. The boy hadn’t even apologized to me or checked to see if I was ok. He had just hissed and warned that I had better look where I was going next time before driving off and splashing dirty water on the policeman and I. Well I was his father’s special aristo chick and could get more money from the old man after a good roll in the sack than his bloodline could ever fetch him.

“Nah…just bored. The DJ isn’t really on point tonight”

And he had used that as an opportunity to make himself comfortable beside me. After listening to him prattle on for an hour, I was more than ready to leave. He insisted on getting my phone number and I obliged. We exchanged phone numbers and I left before he could insist on walking me to my car. I couldn’t risk him recognizing the plate number on his father’s ride. I sang loudly all through the drive home. Mission accomplished, I could definitely kiss my old life goodbye.

A year later I was a confirmed Lagos big girl. Alhaji’s unlimited funds had made sure of that. As I was about to pull into my lavish Lekki phase 1 compound, a car caught my eye. I realised the car was the same one that had been driving behind me since I left the restaurant. As a smart babe, I drove past my compound ignoring my pounding heart. I didn’t know who they were but I wasn’t taking chances. I drove around town for 15 minutes and the men followed. It was ridiculous. I was weighing the odds and seriously contemplating driving into the nearby police station though there was no way of knowing what side of the law these men were on. I saw traffic up ahead, it was usual for Lekki cos of the new toll gate and fear clutched at my heart as scenes of driveby shootings flashed before my eyes. On a whim, I took the first turning off the road and alas the horrid black baby boy followed me. I looked at the dead end in front of me and screamed. How could I have failed to notice I was driving into a close. They were rare in Lekki as most streets were interconnected. I made sure my doors were locked and feared the worst. I watched the men alight from the car and walk towards my car. I said a silent prayer and saw one of the men fiddling with his phone. My phone began to ring and as I glanced at the unknown number I knew it was him.

“Hello”

“Modinatu Salami why you dey fear like this? Na me Samuseedin”

I dropped the phone as I heaved a big sigh of relief and unlocked the doors.

“Sammy you scared me jare, I-” my voice trailed off as I saw the gun pointed at me.

“Revenge is sweet, kneel down there!” He barked.

As I got on my knees, the other guy rushed at me and the last thing I saw before it all went black was a white handkerchief.

………………..To be continued…………………………….

 

Insuring the afterlife!

Every day we spend 80% of our day in the rat race, doing all we can, struggling to make ends meet, desperate to get rich or die trying. But does any one really want to die? Death is looked upon with dread, something definite but unforeseeable. Nobody actually plans to die but maybe it’s high time we started planning to die since death is inevitable.

Have you thought of the after life? And where you will spend eternity? Many people have spent more years in the grave than they ever did alive but wouldn’t life be far less complicated if they were truly only decomposing in coffins below the ground? They say man is a spirit and man has a soul. We know of a truth that the body is a temporary casing and this casing comes with an expiry date. So what happens to your soul? If you could plan your death and insure the time you spent away from your body, where would you plan to go? Heaven or Hell? Insurance companies make a fortune insuring your life but who insures the afterlife?

A wise Christian once said if there’s no Heaven and Hell then you and I end up dead, 6 feet under- we both win but if there’s a Heaven and a Hell, I end up in Heaven and you end up in Hell- Both ways I win!

I was watching Bigbrother Africa one night when Bev was talking about a girl she knew who was bent on enjoying her life to the fullest and then going to Hell and would even ask to be made a queen there and I couldn’t help laughing out loud howbeit painfully. Why would you wanna spend forever in a place anything less than beautiful (and remember, nobody has ever counted to forever, even if you spent every second of your life counting you wouldn’t even hit the uncountable number not to mention the infinity number and let me not even get started with the forever number. You’d probably die at 900 zillion or something!) -and then there’s the fire. I am a medical doctor and I have had my share of treating burn victims and it’s one of the most heart-wrenching medical conditions there is. Imagine the agony they went through being roasted alive, the pain, the torture, the torment. For someone to willingly wanna endure that FOREVER then all I can say is wow.

I wanna implore you on this beautiful Tuesday evening to wager well. Don’t gamble away your afterlife. I’d rather be a winner anyhow you put it than risk being a forever loser. Yes God is merciful but think about all those big signboards that warn about high tension cables. If you still go ahead and grab hold of one of them would you say the government or the electricity commission was wicked? That’s why there are warnings. Pay attention!

People die every day. You don’t know what terrorists are planning to bomb your neighborhood or if the building you are in is gonna collapse or if you are gonna get killed in a car crash. There are more than one thousand ways to die and unfortunately for us mere mortals we never can guess when time will be up so like the die-hard insurance companies will say, insure your afterlife TODAY. You don’t have anything to lose but you have everything to gain.

The winner takes it all!

Have a lovely evening chutzpah fam,
Xoxo