I AWAIT YOUR URGENT RESPONSE.

YOURS SINCERELY,

OSONDIOWENDI

She played volleyball.

When the Western Union official removed his five percent silencing fee and handed me the rest, I clasped the bundle and shut my eyes tight. I am not sure for how long I stood there. Eventually, I regained consciousness and opened my eyes. The money was still there. I wanted to jump, to shout, to run through the streets crying, ‘Goal’! At last, the Book of Remembrance had been opened and Fortune had called out my name. The sun peeped in through the windows of the dank collection office and flashed me a smile. I counted the cash two more times before I left.

After Protocol Officer had removed Cash Daddy’s sixty percent, I counted the bundle again. Several times throughout the rest of the day, I hauled the notes from my pockets and recounted. That night, I lay in bed with the wad cradled neatly under my pillow. At 2 a.m., I woke up and recounted. I did the same thing at 4 a.m… By 7 a.m., I had scrambled out of bed and confirmed that the money was still there.

Two thousand dollars had not been enough to buy my mother a brand new car. I bought her a jar of cooking gas, some new wrappers, and a bag of rice instead. For a change, I was giving. Not taking.

I felt like a real opara.

Over a period of two months, Mirabelle sang dough-re-mi to the tune of about $23,000. For processing of a Death Authorisation Certificate, Next Of Kin Affirmation, Bank Recognition Form, and Deceased Demise Declaration. Then I sent another email explaining that $7,000 was required for the Fund Transfer Repatriation. This, I promised, would be the very final payment before she received the $19 million. Her reply shocked me.

Dear Osondiowendi,

I’m so sorry to cause delays but I’ve spoken with a close friend who’s promised to lend me the $7,000 but he says he won’t be able till next weekend. Don’t worry, I didn’t breach your confidence. He’s my ex-boyfriend and I told him some BS story about how the money was to start IVF treatment before my partner will be ready with the money at the end of the month. He didn’t ask too many questions when I promised to pay him back double:).

Could you also please let me know when exactly the money is going to be in my account? The reason is I’ve been taking out of the money me and my partner are putting together to move into our own home and I want to be sure to replace it before he notices it’s gone.

Yours,

Mirabelle

This note caused my heart to crack. The poor woman would find herself in a cauldron of debt and disaster when the money she was expecting did not show up. Who knows what comforts the couple had forfeited in saving up to buy a house? What if she was actually hoping to start IVF treatment? Here was a real life happening behind the curtains of an email address. It was a bit unrealistic refunding what we had eaten so far, but I thought, at least, we could shred the job. I spoke with Cash Daddy about the unique problem on our hands.

‘Kings,’ he said when I had finished explaining.

I waited.

‘Kings,’ he called again.

‘Yes, Cash Daddy?’

‘This woman… what’s her name?’

‘Her name is Mirabelle.’

‘No, no, no… what’s her full name? Her surname?’

‘Winfrey. Mirabelle Winfrey.’

He sighed deeply and shook his head remorsefully.

‘Kings.’

‘Yes, Cash Daddy?’

‘Is she your sister?’

I did not reply.

‘Go on… answer me. Is she your sister?’

‘No.’

‘Is she your cousin?’

‘No.’

‘Is she your brother’s wife?’

‘No.’

‘Is she your mother’s sister?’

I got the point.

‘Go on… answer me.’

‘No.’

‘Is she your father’s sister?’

‘No.’

He shrugged. Then as an afterthought: ‘Is she from your village?’

‘No.’

‘So why are you swallowing Panadol for another person’s headache?’

‘Cash Daddy,’ I persisted. ‘The woman borrowed the money she’s been using to pay her bills. Her life is going to be ruined.’

He laughed.

‘Kings, with all the school you went, you still don’t know anything. These oyibo people are different from us. Don’t think America and Europe are like Nigeria where people suffer anyhow. Over there, their governments know how to take good care of them. They don’t know anything about suffering.’

He leaned closer.

‘Do you know that as you are right now – thank God you already have a job – but if you were a young man without a job abroad, the government will be giving you money every week? Can you imagine that? So you could even decide never to work again and just be collecting free money. They’ll even give you a house.’

I was not pacified. He must have seen it on my face.

‘OK,’ he continued. ‘You, you went to school. Did they not teach you about slave trade?’

‘They did.’

‘Who were the people behind it? And all the things they stole from Africa, have they paid us back?’

‘But Cash Daddy, can you imagine what will happen when her…,’ I knew about husbands and boyfriends and sugar daddies, but the word ‘partner’ was alien to my vocabulary, ‘… when her man finds out? At least let’s leave her with the one we’ve eaten so far and try and-’

‘Kings, sometimes I get very worried about you. Your attitude is not money-friendly at all. If you continue talking like this, soon, whenever money sees you coming into a room, it will just jump out through the window.’

He had glared for a while, then shrugged, as if finally willing to concede.

‘OK. Since you don’t appreciate this opportunity God has given you to abolish poverty from your family once and for all, continue worrying about one oyibo woman in America. Be there worrying about her and leave off your own sister and your mother.’

Cash Daddy was right. Not being able to take care of my family was the real sin. Gradually, I had learnt to take my mind off the mugus and focus on the things that really mattered. Thanks to me, my family was now as safe as a tortoise under its shell. My mother could finally stop picking pennies from her shop and start enjoying the rest of her life. My brothers and sister could focus completely on their studies without worrying about fees.

Mirabelle had her problems, I had mine.

Suddenly, I heard a mouth-watering sound. My head snapped up from the computer screen. In this business, the ringing of a phone – whether cellular or land – was the sound of music. It was also a call for order. Buchi, who was sitting at the desk with the five phones and the fax machines, removed chewing gum from her mouth, pasted it onto her wrist with her tongue, then clapped her hands quickly to catch everybody’s attention.

‘Shhhhhhh!’ she shouted.

All talking ceased.

There were five of us who shared this room that Cash Daddy had called the Central Intelligence Agency. The receptionist, the menial staff, the dark-suited otimkpu whose main duty was to herald the arrival of their master and to make sure his presence was well-noticed, all stayed in the outer office. Buchi received all incoming calls before passing them on. At different points in time, depending on who was calling, she could say she was speaking from the Federal Ministry of Finance, the Nigerian National Petroleum Cooperation, the Central Bank of Nigeria… Now, after ensuring that the noise in the office had reduced to a more conducive level, she cleared her throat and lifted the receiver.

‘Good morning. May I help you?’ she asked in a clear, professional voice.

Buchi was a graduate of Mass Communication from the Abia State University, Uturu.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes,’ she said again.

While listening, she nodded and scribbled diligently in a jotter. Buchi took her job quite seriously.

‘All right if you could just hold on for one second, please, I’ll pass you on to the person in charge of that department.’