Jamal is an Abuja-based billionaire bachelor and businessman who works hard and parties hard. Welcome to his world.
Week 14
Monday
I left the restaurant last night without speaking again to Zainab. One of my drivers brought some marijuana to my house and I smoked whilst shooting a line of vases in my yard with my revolver, one by one until around 2am. I didn’t want to talk about my father or his murder to anyone. I’d kept all that locked up for years, and I saw no reason why I should talk about it now, despite what Dr Ferral says. If Zainab didn’t want to marry me because of it, fine. She texted saying “It’s OK. I love you.” But I knew it’ll only be a matter of time before she started asking questions. I found myself thinking about Tiwa for the first time in weeks.
Tuesday
Zainab came to see me at my office. “Jamal, I didn’t mean to offend you; I just wanted to find out what happened. I know it’s painful and you don’t want to talk about it.” I told her I was fine, but we both knew I wasn’t. My driver picked up my uncle from the airport and brought him to my office, but I kept him waiting in reception for an hour on purpose before seeing him. At Tucano’s later with a few associates, someone mentioned that Tiwa was dating one businessman we all knew. I became jealous and took her phone number from one of them.
Wednesday
My uncle was staying at my Asokoro mansion with his wife, and I lent them my Bentley Continental and a driver. They persuaded me to bring Zainab to dinner, but I told them not to mention my parents to her. They liked her and she liked them, but I was cold and unresponsive throughout the meal. I need to go away somewhere, maybe Canada. At home tonight, I dialled Tiwa’s number, but hung up before she answered. I dreamt that I was at my childhood home in Kaduna and someone was chasing me with a knife, and as I ran into the kitchen I tripped over my father’s bleeding dead body.
Thursday
Aliyu returned from his honeymoon in the Bahamas today. “Congrats, I hear you’ve set a wedding date!” he said when we spoke on the phone. I was silent, before telling him about the newspaper clipping Zainab found. “I knew something like this will happen one day,” he said. I ignored two calls from Zainab, and picked up the third. “Jamal, you can’t stay annoyed when anyone mentions it...” I hung up. Her father’s business dealings was keeping me busy, otherwise I would have travelled.
Friday
I met with Aliyu, who looked fresher and more content. “So what will you do?” he asked. I shrugged and held my head in my hands. All the fear, shock, anger and confusion of 13 years ago was flooding back in sharp flashes, and the nightmares had returned. They stopped five years ago after I became a billionaire, but now Zainab had reopened the floodgates. “She didn’t mean any harm Jamal, you know that,” Aliyu said. I did. But I still resented her for the pain her inquisition was causing me. And our conversations had become lifeless: she timid, me detached.
Saturday
A classmate from America, Carl Pendergrass, was in town doing a report for a newspaper he worked for. My driver picked him up in my Range Rover Evoque and Daniel prepared a good Pounded yam meal. We ate and reminisced in my oak-furnished, chandeliered dining room. That night, my driver brought him two statuesque, dark-skinned ladies, the kind he likes. He was surprised when I didn’t join the party. Instead I smoked, swam in the pool, shot down all my glasses and tumblers in my front lawn with an array of pellet guns and burnt Congolese bank notes throughout the night.
Sunday
I slept for an hour and woke up at 5am tired and angry about my nightmares. I drove furiously to and from Kaduna in 4 hours in my Aston Martin, just to clear my head. My uncle wanted to see Zainab’s father but I told him not yet. “Don’t let what happened to your father spoil your relationship," he said. "She’s a sweet girl." I finally decided to tell Zainab everything tonight. When she came, I began to talk, and before I knew it I was crying with my head on her lap, and she was crying too.
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