The Italian Dollars

He had gone to the village well armed with a revolver 38 pistol. He knew the business he was doing is a pretty risky one. If any of his would-be-victims happens to discover his devilish dubious plan, he had no doubt none of them would waste no time to lynch him.

“Don’t ever underestimate your target, Adewale. Always be on the look out for surprises. Don’t always waste your bullets for any situation that diplomacy can be used to handle. Every crime involves investment of precious time, money, intelligence, energy and tools. None must be wasted for nothing until you achieve your goals,” he would say to himself each time he was preparing to embark on his condemnable missions.

Adewale’s way of operating was always business-like.  He is a dashing handsome-looking young man at 25 years. With a pointed nose well etched on his oval face coupled with deep sexy eyes, and McClean white teeth always showing whenever he deliciously beams a cunning smile; none of his victims would ever think he is a devil’s incarnate. Always carrying a white office file with some fake letters of invitation in it, he creates an image of a well bred gentleman, as he speaks and walks, counting his steps measuredly like an aristocrat. Villagers always have respect for his likes, as they think such file carrying gentlemen are a rare breed that deserves respect from every local folk who know the value of education.

Ekeme, whose parents were farmers in Odu State of Nigeria was sixteen years old when a man came to her parents in Emeke village looking for young girls and boys to take to major cities in Nigeria and Europe in the guise of a humanitarian Non Governmental Organization, trying to alleviate the sufferings of poor people in the country.

“I am an official of the Help The Poor People (HTPP) organization who are very much concerned with the high level of illiteracy in the country. That is why I have come to meet you to ask for your consent to release your daughter to me, for a journey to Italy to further her education,” Mr. Adewale Ighomegwenor had told Ekeme’s parents.

Their faces were filled with light of joy at the prospect of their only child traveling to Italy, the white man’s land to further her education. Suddenly, Mrs. Iroro Igho-Igho, Ekeme’s mother sprang from the ekpeti (small local stood) she was sitting on, under an orange tree where Adewale had met them having their lunch the very first day he approached them with the proposal to take Ekeme to Italy, in front of their house.

“Hey! Oghene (God)! Thank you for hearing my prayer at last. Ah! So, my daughter will soon be among the league of youths of this village who have been traveling to the white man’s country over the years. Hey, idolla-ay, idolla-ay, (Dollars, dollars): I will start spending like the Atighorghors, very soon. Oghene, I thank you-o.”

“Sit down woman!” Mr. Iroro, Ekeme’s father barked at his wife; and said further “Idolla-ay, idolla-ay. It is not only dollars, it is pounds sterling you will be spending soon.” He mocked her.

“What is that suppose to mean? Are you saying you are not in support of our daughter’s  traveling out to further her education to make us enjoy in future?” She replied while staring into her husband’s eyes as she abruptly stopped dancing.

“Woman! Look before you leap! We scarcely know this man offering to take our daughter to Italy, in the name of one society helping people in Nigeria. Many things are happening in this country these days. I don’t have money to give to anybody to procure any document we will not see the head or tail at the end of the day, in the name of traveling. Many people have been duped through this type of promise in the past. My hand is not in this Italian promise,” her husband had pointed out.

“Oh, Oga! Are you suspecting I am a 419 (dupe)? Never mind. All I need from you is your consent to release your daughter for the trip. Once you agree, I will come along with a photographer to snap a passport of hers to do her international passport and other necessary documents for her traveling”. Adewale, explained, smiling cunningly.

“You mean, you will be responsible for the sponsorship of her trip totally?”

"No sir!" Adewale answered.

“Tell me how everything will go then,” he said.

“After snapping her passport photograph, I will use it to procure international passport for her. It is after the international passport has been obtained that you will need to contribute a token to process other important documents to make her traveling possible,” he told him.

“So, how much is the cost of the documents, and how long will it take to get them?” he inquired, as he was getting convinced that Adewale may be trusted. Adewale was very glad that the somehow sensible looking Iroro was beginning to fall into his dangerous scheme. “Yes! He is beginning to cooperate. Another victim is already in my net,” he thought to himself inwardly.

“Well, to make certain areas clear to you, I just want to let you know I am not a stranger in this village. I am an indigene of this community though I was born in Lagos. I have been helping many youths to travel to Europe and anywhere they choose to go worldwide. Anyway, back to your question. It will only cost N300,000 to get the documents. But never mind if you don't have the money now; I will use my own money to procure them within a week but you will pay me later,” he had said; his mind racing and calculating as he knew Iroro is a rational thinking person and could refuse to bring the amount if he asks him to do so without showing him some fake documents he intends to bring later.

“Osanobua – o! That is a large sum of money. And you promise to use your own money to get the documents for my daughter so I can pay later!” he exclaimed, looking pleasantly surprised at Adewale’s seeming generosity.

“Yes of course. What am I an official of HTPP for, if I cannot use my position to help my people?” he had said rhetorically.

While the two men were discussing, Mrs. Iroro and her daughter were all ears, smiling and winking at each other from time to time. As soon as Adewale had assured them he would get the documents for Ekeme’s father to pay later, her mother jumped like a panther from where she had been standing when she stopped dancing, and used her two hands to pull her husband up from his seat, to stand on his feet.

“Come on darling, let us dance to this miraculous development in our life,” she had said, and started singing a melodious song in vernacular thus: “Orwa-iroro, orwa iroro, orwa iroro nominoje, orwa iroro nomino je-o.”

Some of their nearby neighbours who heard the couple singing and dancing, rushed to the scene to savour her milky tune and inquired about the reason for their celebration. In a twinkle of an eye, the news of Ekeme’s luck to travel to Italy swept the entire ears in the village, like the roar of thunder. Many came running helter-skelter to the Iroros’ household to confirm the story from the horse’s mouth, while Adewale was still there.

Adewale was thrilled by the reaction of the couple. The Iroros’ enthusiasm and celebration made some other villagers go on their knees, begging him to show them the same kindness he had shown to the Iroros. He was mesmerized by the way they rolled on the ground and begged to be included in the bandwagon of his doomed victims. However, unknown to him, some of the villages had decided to lay ambush for him.

On his way from Emeke village about 6p.m, to board a boat from River Otokutu coast to Okamuka town, from where he would board a bus to Benin city, where other of his syndicate were based, Adewale was hijacked by ten of the village elders. When they appeared from nowhere along a footpath to the river side, he was frightened. “Oh damn it! They have discovered my evil plan!” He had said inwardly and tried to escape from them with the speed of moving bullet. But, even if they wanted to capture him, he was not going to surrender so lamely.

With this development, he wanted to dash into a nearby swamp, yet he contemplated about the possibilities of using his gun to scare them off, to make his escape easier. He used his right hand fingers to feel the bulge of the gun tucked in-between his right hip and the dirty brown jean he wore. Using his eyes, he calculated the number of the villagers who had sprung up to deal with him as he thought. He thought about how many bullets he had in the gun, in case his assailants were also armed to engage him in a gun battle.

“Oh what kind of mess have I put myself into today, for the sake of earning Italian Dollars?” he queried himself inwardly, as he jettisoned the option of dashing into the swamp, and face his 'ambushers' one-on-one.

Just as he was about to lift up the extra-large T-shirt he wore, concealing the gun, and bring it out to engage them, his intended action was deflated when eight young bare busted virgins with ripe inviting breasts came from behind the ten elderly men he had presumed must have come to deal with him. Perhaps they have found out one way or the other that he was an agent of sorrow. Adewale was taken aback by this unexpected development.... 

NOTE: Read the complete story from the book, to know how Adewale ended up.

(Excerpts from The Salacious Don Juan a collection of ten novellas written by Adjekpagbon Blessed Mudiaga)