Istoria: A Yahoo Boy And His Murano (Part Two)

I did not see him for another FOUR days. When he showed up, he was
wearing a new shirt, and Converse shoes. For him, that was unusual. He
never bought clothes, preferring instead to send the money home. I
pulled him into my room, locked the door – reopened it, and asked him
where he had been all this while.

He suddenly beamed from ear to ear, and for an instant I thought he
had won the Golden Plaza lottery. In what appeared to be the same
instant, I had the sudden fear that he had gone mad – or worse.

He told me excitedly that he had decided to move to Finetouch. I
couldn't have been more shocked than if my biro turned into a snake
and then proceeded to bite off my finger during an examination. He
said he was moving in with one of the 'babas'. They were introducing
him to an internet business, and that they wanted him to start out as
a delivery boy. I probed a little more, and then he opened up and said
they were into 'Yahoo!'


Alarm bells went off all over my head. It was as if someone had spray
painted the sky with six characters: Y, A, H, O, O, "!". I did not
know where to start, so I did not say anything initially. I then said
I was worried, and he said I should not be. He said he was tired of
being a 'leech' – I asked if I was complaining. I spoke about
'yahoo'/internet fraud/making dishonest money not being right with God
and all – he asked if my Bible contained the exact word 'yahoo'. I
asked him to remember his parents – he said they would be happier if
he sent them more money. I offered to give him ALL my pocket money
(hoping he would turn me down, of course) – he said they paid him
three times my pocket money for picking up ONE delivery at a rundown
house in town.

It became clear to me that his mind was made up, so I decided to let
him go – and pray for him. From that day, our relationship
progressively worsened. He stopped picking my calls – then changed his
phone number. He moved out of Finetouch, then out of Ife (dropping out
of school in the process) – and that was the END.

I did not see him or hear of or from him, not even on facebook – until
this morning, three years down the line.

I was walking towards the campus gate, feeling really fly in my blue
skinny jeans – when I heard a tire screech behind me. I jumped off the
road in good time to avoid the FULL blast of the mud. The car had
'wandered' off the road in a moment when the driver lost
concentration. If I had been slower, it would have been my body under
the car.

Not fazed in the least – because of the assurance of God's protection
– I said a prayer and then looked down at my jeans to survey the
extent of the damage done by the 'splattered' mud. I found that I
would have to go back home to change the trousers. That was more
annoying than that the driver had almost run over me. It was then that
I looked up at the car.

It was a Murano, with customized plates – bearing my old friend's
nickname, "Ol' Boy". I slowly looked up from the plate numbers and
into the face of the driver, and it was HIM.

He did not seem to recognize me for a while, and then recognition
struck! He started to open the door, and then stopped. We locked eyes
on each other, for a full ten seconds or so. No words were exchanged,
as our eyes said it all: mine pleading with him to swallow his pride,
forget the past, and come down from his Murano; his sizing me up,
evaluating my clothes, and staring into the past.

He did the club-boy salute, four fingers outstretched and the hand
raised over the head. I returned the salute, for want of something
better to do. He adjusted his seatbelt, and started the car. Revving
the engine loudly, he drove off towards the gate – leaving me to
ponder on the real-life import of my Memory Verse for THE DAY – "Pro
13:11 Wealth [not earned but] won in haste or unjustly or from the
production of things for vain or detrimental use [such riches] will
dwindle away, but he who gathers little by little will increase [his
riches]."

Petrol fires* burn hard, wreak destruction, and die fast.

There is a "how" for people like me to get wealthy, and that is not IT!

--
Koye
www.koyegbeke.blogspot.com