By Gbenga Shokefun
Chike stretched out his hand and showed Greg the one-and-a-half million-dollar watch. Greg cooed with admiration. “Biko, when you are big you are big. How come the face has New York, Sidney, and all these cities, but they did not put Arochukwu.”
“Seriously, I’m just noticing this, Greg; na true, oh,” Chike jested, continuing, “You are mad, Greg; not well at all.” The two men bellowed laughter. Still chuckling, Greg said, “If I spend half of that money you paid on that watch, not only will it have my village name on the face – chai – any time I look at the watch, the watch must hail me, ‘G-Money! Geeeeee-Money!”
“Your head is not correct, Greg.”
“Nwane madu, let’s discuss business quick before I bring out the whiskey.”
“Bro, let’s start with the London matter. I’m working on it but, as I told you, best to stay away from Europe for now. Not that it won’t be sorted out, but it could create a press frenzy and you don’t need that right now.
“I’m still trying to squelch the freeway pile-up caused by that silly girl. Say, has she decided what she wants?”
“It’s not about what she wants, G-Money; my mum is so attached to Beke. “She’s been with us since she was about ten. Sure, she wants to go back to the village – she misses her people – but mum is thinking more along the lines of a short break when the aircraft goes to Ghana next month. You know I closed that Adinkra mines deal, right?”
“Yes, Chike, but you did not use us.”
“The parties insisted we should use Ghanaian lawyers,” Chike shrugged.
Greg stretched to the left side of his table and picked up a large folder. He opened it. “These are the papers for the offer to the auctioneers – I am still gobsmacked about how you left Oxford University and became a sculpturist – but anyway, the statue at the Bank of England is the only one left with a lease option to renew. I have notified them that we will not be interested in renewing but it has a penalty should they want it and we decline. All the others are straight.
“Sotheby’s made an offer. Christie’s also made an offer for a bulk price.”
“No Greg, I’m not doing a bulk price, I want to separate every artwork. We are talking sculptures here, G.”
“The logistics are a killer!”
“Bottom line is for the pieces to make it to the United States.”
“Oh, yes, I put it in the offer.”
“The pieces would only be sold in the United States.”
“Yes, that’s clear. They are okay with that; it’s their American unit making the deal.
“Chike, you are selling these pieces far below the market price.”
“Yes Greg, I want to purchase all of them as soon as they land on their auction table. In any case, this is all your idea – shouldn’t I have just brought them here? They belong to me; I made them.”
“Chike, trust me on this one, I’m only protecting you. You are lucky you are here in America walking free.
“Dude, you impersonated the next of kin of dead people and fraudulently appropriated tens of millions of pounds! Defrauded the probate office! That’s an offence against the crown, you crazy person.
“You left an investigation behind and we don’t know what info law enforcement has . . . no idea what is waiting there for you.
“I have to totally wash your name off any trail. Even when you purchase it here, it would be done by a corporate entity. The name, Chike Obidike, will not be associated with these pieces.
“There has been a lot of interest in all twenty-two of these pieces because they were located in landmark locations. This made them appreciate really well. You will take a hit on the current value, but they will be in your hands soon enough.
“Next on the agenda, before the whiskey – Talatu.”
“Yes, Talatu my darling.”
“Her papers to move to the States. The immigration papers are all set. I spoke to her yesterday – such a lovely lady – to explain the challenges we had with her mother’s papers. She is a Nigerian citizen and the American embassy in Nigeria was really funny, but it’s all done now. They can both live here legally.”
“Thank you so much, Greg.”
“Yeah, well, please tell your people to process our payments on time. You know my partners are Jewish. They don’t play with their money.”
“Oh, are we not Jews too?”
“For where? How Arochukwu take resemble Jerusalem?”
“I’ve been telling you these things all these years, Greg, and you still don’t believe. We are Jews, Greg, authentic Jews.”
“Yeah, right! And my last name is Yom Kipor!” Greg fired up his cigar and blew a thick plume of smoke, then he asked, “Because we like moni?”
“Dude, bring the whiskey, and let me educate you. According to Genesis 29, verse 30, Jacob had twelve children-”
“Yes! Preach on pastor! You need ice?”
“Is that 25-year-old Glenfiddich?”
“Chike, for you, anything less is unacceptable. Oya, bless am – you are the oldest.”
Chike tapped the cap of the bottle of whiskey, Greg opened it and poured.
“Oya, continue the story.”
“The seventh son was Gad. Gad had seven sons, Ziphon, Haggi, Shunni, Ezbon, Eri, Arodi, and Areli.
“There was a famine in the land and Jacob moved his entire family to Egypt. Remember, this was after Joseph had been sold to Egypt and was already a governor.
“When the pharaoh who knew Joseph died, the new pharaoh started to maltreat them. Eri, the fifth son of Gad, left with his family before the persecution began.”
The intercom rang and Greg answered, “Yes, Lilly, we are okay. I will call them to lock up. Have a great trip home and my regards to the family.” He returned his attention to Chike and held his glass out to him. “Oya, biko, top me up, top me up; I’m enjoying the story.”
“So Eri left Egypt with his two younger brothers Arodi and Areli. They travelled through Ethiopia and Sudan, down the river Nile toward West Africa. They got to a place called Aguleri, through the Omambala river. This was around 1305 BC.”
“You must be kidding me.”
“Eri settled and lived close to the Omambala river. He was wealthy and wise, just like his grandfather Abraham, and he had five sons; Agulu, Atta, Oba, Ibo – you see that came from the word, ‘Hebrew’-”
“No shit!”
“There was also Menri, the fifth son. Agulu, the firstborn, established the place known as Agulu-Eri, derived from Agulu, the son of Eri.
“Atta moved upwards to the North and established a place known as the Igala Kingdom; Do you see why their king is known as the Attah of Igala?
“Oba went and founded the Oba Kingdom in Anambra state.
“Hebrew, also known as Ibo, or Hibo, he founded Igbo Etiti, Igbo Adagbe, Igbo Eze, all now in the Nsukka area.
“Menri founded a place known as AgukwNri, the Nri kingdom.
“Arodi moved to a place known as Arochukwu, where we both are from.”
Greg jumped off his seat and raised his hands, yelling, “Igbo kwenu! Igbo Kwenu, Arochukwu Kwesenu eeee!” He and Chike lightly backhanded each other’s right arms three times in the traditional salutation of the Igbos.
“I’m not finished,” Chike said.
“Ngwanu, fire on!”
“Arodi gave birth to Nembe, Ngwa, Abakaliki, Ogoni, Afikpo, Aro-Ikot Ekpene, now known as Akwa Ibom, Aro Echie, now known as Rivers, and Arondizuogu.
“Are you aware the Aros spread all over the world during the slave trade?”
“Tell me.”
“Brazil, Cuba and other parts of South America. Do you know they still celebrate the Aro festival?”
“What of Areli? You have said nothing about him”
“Wait, let me use the bathroom.”
Chike got up and made his way into the sauna and steam room area of the luxury office, calling over his shoulder, “Dude, you may as well be living here!”
“This is my life, Chike. Since my wife passed away, I have spent more time here. What is a big mansion without a wife?” Greg’s voice fell away as Chike shut the bathroom door and there was a brief silence that was broken by the sound of flushing.
“But you have refused to re-marry,” Chike challenged Greg as he returned to the main office. Greg waved that away and said, “Okay, back to Areli.”
“Areli had Owerri, Umuahia, Diobu, Okigwe, Orlu, Nkwerre, Elele, now known as Mba Ise, Mba Ano.
“Eri’s half-brothers founded the Ijaw nation and some parts of Edo state.
“Greg, we Igbos are Jews, I’m telling you we are direct descendants of Jacob! There is a place in Aguleri called Obi Gad – remember Gad, the son of Jacob – which was the first house built in Igbo land. Now you see why every Igbo man always builds a place called ‘Obi’ in his house to honour his father.
“They always put a shrine in there. But before you protest about idolatry, don’t forget these people left Egypt before Moses was given the ten commandments, so idol worship was part of their culture.
“Why do we shout, ‘Yah’ when they shout, ‘Igbo Kwenu’?”
“You tell me, Pastor Chike.”
“’Yah’ means ‘Yahweh’.”
“Oh, my God! Wow!” Greg topped up Chike’s glass and then his own.
“Ol’ boy, we don finish this whiskey, oh!”
“Thank God I don’t have to drive.”
“You have your limousine?”
“Yes. Lovely scotch.”
“So, we are all brothers with the Jews”
“I can’t wait to tell my partners. I must take them to Arochukwu to go and reunite with all their long-lost relatives.”
Greg picked up the intercom. “Hi, I’m calling from the 110th . . . Yes, KKM, the law firm. Please, come and lock up; we are leaving now. And tell reception to hail me a taxi . . .
“Yes, the usual.
“No, going straight home this time.”
Chike looked up at the mention of a taxi. “When is your driving suspension over, Greg?”
“It’s been over, Chike,” Greg replied with an air of resignation, “I just don’t have the desire to drive anymore.”
Chike and Greg, both tipsy from the vintage single malt whiskey walked through the quiet offices, past the lobby and into the elevators. The duo went down the elevators, looking out onto the city from its transparent shell. When the doors opened onto the parking level, Greg said, “Oh, good. The taxi is here,” as they strode past the floor concierge and security. “Good night, Mr. Chike,” they chorused as Chike and Greg approached. Chike pulled out a wad of hundred-dollar bills and gave a few to the receptionist and the security guard.
“I’ve told you, Chike, we don’t do this in America,” Greg grumbled.
“But they always take it,” Chike replied with a chuckle.
“Chike’s driver came around and opened the door of the stretch Rolls Royce. ”
Chike wound the large window down as the door closed quietly.
“G-Money!”
“Onyeoshi!” Greg shouted as he stepped into his yellow taxi. “Big thief!”
“God punish you,” Chike laughed. “Have a lovely night, my brother.”
8
Maryland
The gunshot still echoed and wisps of gun smoke drifted across the patch of sun from the skylight. There was a rustle of clothing as someone behind the stack of boxes moved and out stepped a woman dressed in black. Long blond hair stuck out of the woollen ski mask she wore. Adigun, still standing in the same spot, opened his eyes at the sound of her emergence. The strong light made him squint at her as she returned her gun to its shoulder holster and bent to check the pulse of the man with the Hispanic accent. She dragged the ski mask off her head and looked up at Adigun.
“Time to go home, brother!”
Adigun gaped at her across the patch of light. When he had seen the blonde hair, he’d been sure it was Phoebe. Now that she’d spoken, however, he realised it was Diane.
“Diane! Wh-what . . .” he sputtered. “How . . . you saved my life!”
“Come on, Shango, we need to get out of here.”
They both ran down the deserted road to Adigun’s parked car.
“How did you get here?”
“Phoebe dropped me off.”
*The novel Adigun by Gbenga Sokefun, is available on all platforms Globally.
