I have always been ambitious as far back as I could remember. I knew I always used to drag things such as clothes, football, shoes with my siblings, friends and cousins and most often it ended up in fights and I was often given the beating of my life. My mother told me years later, when I had grown up that I usually wanted to have everything I saw on someone and because I couldn’t get them, I would resort to dragging it with them. I guess that was my competitive streak, I wanted to be the best and I didn’t want anyone to surpass me. Being quite a brilliant young chap, I scaled through school as fast as I could and with the best results.
Back at the University of Calabar where I read architecture, I was among the best five students. I was also very good with sports and social activities. God has blessed me with very good looks, so I was also a favourite of the female students because of my looks and popularity. I can confidently say that I had a field day with the women in my school; I would have been a fool to deny them the honor especially as they craved to hang out with me on a daily basis. “Johnson, you are one very lucky mother f-ker,” Kufre, my best friend in school often told me especially when we went to joints to drink and some girls or the other would walk up to me to introduce herself.
“Why do you always say that?” I would ask, feigning ignorance of what he is saying.
“Please, don’t act like you don’t know what I’m saying,” he said. “It’s like you are the most blessed amongst us. You are intelligent, popular and good-looking. The girls are all dying to be with you and you can twist them round your fingers”, he concluded.
“Thank you for your analysis but I can tell you that I am not lucky as you think. At least, not in that sense,” I responded at him.
“You can deny as long as you want but I know I’m saying the truth” he insisted. At such times, I wouldn’t want the argument to continue and so, I would shrug and change the subject. I eventually graduated with second class upper and my friends threw a lavish graduation party for me. I had already decided that in order to make the kind of money and fame I desired, I needed to live in Lagos. After completing my youth service in Owerri, I packed my bags and headed for Lagos. When I arrived Lagos, I was filled with high hopes; in fact, I had calculated that within two months, I would have got a befitting job and moved on to higher places from there. However, my hopes were soon dashed. Within two weeks, I discovered that the picture that is most often painted about Lagos, being a land of opportunities was nothing but a mirage. In Lagos, I discovered man at his utmost wickedness and insensitivity.
First, my friend whom I was squatting with at Shomolu became hostile to me. He started complaining that he needed privacy and made sure I was uncomfortable whenever he was around. The bus drivers, conductors and people generally, all wanted to take advantage of any opportunity to rip you off. I decided not to be frustrated and put my energy into searching for a job but even that proved futile. It was as if the more I searched for a job, the harder it was for me to get one. I began to lose faith in myself and in my ability to get a job, by the time I had spent seven months without a job, I was ready to even take on a driving or security job. I was that desperate and it was during that time that I met Mr. Jim Benson. I had been walking along Marina, moving from one office or the other submitting my credentials. I was tired, hungry and worn out. I also had just about N200 in my pocket which couldn’t even take me home. I saw Mr. Jim Benson, he was sitting inside a very big jeep and speaking on the phone while his driver drove slowly through the afternoon traffic. Some little voice told me to approach him and ask for money, I had never done that before and I know that Lagosian mistrusted anybody who begged for money because a lot of fake beggars abound in the city. But my heart was strongly moved to meet him, and so I walked towards his jeep and knocked lightly at his window. He turned and looked at me; he must have seen the desperation in my eyes because he wound down the window.
“What can I do for you young man?” he asked me.
“Please sir; pardon my intrusion into your privacy.
I need your help sir;’ I said in impeccable English.
“What can I do for you?” he asked me again.
“I’m not a beggar but I need your assistance with transport fare. I have just N200 and I am going back to Shornolu,” I explained to him. He thought for a while, at the same time casting glances at me. ‘Oh God, please let him not reject my plea,’ I prayed in my heart. Suddenly, he dug his hands into his wallet and gave me a lump sum of N1000 notes.
“Oh, no sir, all I asked for is transport fare,” I said.
“I know, but take this all the same; you look like you need it.”
“Thank you very much sir. God will bless you sir,” I said almost prostrating on the floor, this is the first time a stranger was showing an act of kindness to me in Lagos. He also handed me his card and asked me to call him. That singular meeting with Mr. Jim Benson changed my life. The next time I called him, he invited me to his office, I had impulsively gone there with my CV and after few discussions, I told him my predicament and gave him my CV, Mr. Jim took one look at my credentials and offered me a job, in his company. Because he ran an oil services firm, he employed me in the technical department.
…To Be Continued
