Miracle! Moji, who falsely accuses Thomas of Rape, Gets Him a Job with Lagos Governor

26 Jun Miracle! Moji, who falsely accuses Thomas of Rape, Gets Him a Job with Lagos Governor

“…and thus the future of Lagos has never looked brighter. Thank you.”

Governor Tunji Taylor’s face appeared on the television screen that was mounted to the wall of the coffee shop. Nancy had not paid much attention to the sounds and images emanating from the device, but Thomas could not stop himself from checking out the governor’s performance here and there. Generally speaking, Taylor appeared rigid and mechanical, which did not surprise Thomas in the least. From the moment he had met Taylor, he had found him to be somewhat uncharismatic. As he listened to the televised speech, Thomas felt his creative juices flow at certain moments as if he had been sparked with a brilliant, inspired idea or if he felt the need to comment upon the governor’s choice of words. When the speech came to its conclusion, Thomas took a sip of coffee and sat back in his chair.

“That was very interesting,” he commented.

Nancy looked up from the rim of her coffee cup. “Was it?” she asked with a laugh. “I couldn’t tell.”

Thomas shot her a strange look. “What do you mean you couldn’t tell?” he wondered. “He was addressing the health care issue. Don’t you think that’s important?”

Nancy held up her hand to calm him down. “Yes, of course I think that’s important,” she assured him. “Taylor just didn’t make it sound important. For all the emotion he showed, he might as well have been reading the telephone directory.”

Thomas laughed and rolled his eyes. She was right. Taylor’s delivery did not suggest that he felt any urgency about the issue.

“Don’t lecture me on social responsibility, Thomas,” Nancy said. “I know I should pay more attention to the things that are being said by the men who run this country, but it isn’t always easy. Most of these politicians are so dishonest; they make you apathetic about what happens in this country because it is they who will always have control, not the people. But I think in this case too, the Governor’s voice is so droning and monotonous.”

Thomas shrugged. “It isn’t his job to be personable,” he pointed out. “He’s not an entertainer, you know. He’s a statesman, and he’s actually a pretty decent one at that. I’d rather have him as governor, boring as he may be, than some of the sleazy characters who were also vying for office. So what if he can’t raise the roof like a preacher when he speaks? If you had your choice between two doctors, which one would you prefer — the entertaining one who sews up a sponge inside your gut or the boring one who performs immaculate surgery and saves your life?”

Nancy laughed. “I don’t think having a sponge sewn into my gut would be particularly entertaining.”

“But it might be exciting,” Thomas suggested.

She waved him away. “That’s hardly the kind of excitement I’m looking for.” She sipped her orange drink and thought for a moment. “I understand your point, Thomas, but I think a great statesman also needs to be a great speaker, or at least a good one anyway. To get elected, a politician must be able to communicate his ideas and strategies to the public, right? If he can’t, he won’t inspire citizens to vote for him, which means he can’t get into office in the first place. If he can’t get elected, he can’t become a statesman, and then he can’t serve his country, at least not in a political capacity.”

Thomas nodded in agreement. “You make a very good argument,” he commented. “A candidate must be able to inspire the public if he wants to win an election.”

“Exactly,” Nancy declared. “That’s why I’m surprised that Taylor was able to get elected. His speeches are really boring and uninspiring.”

“They weren’t boring when he was running for office,” Thomas pointed out.

Nancy smiled. “Perhaps they were peppered with subliminal messages that brainwashed people into voting for him by speaking directly to their unconscious minds,” she cracked.

Thomas laughed. “If that were the case, he would have won by a landslide,” he said. “As it turned out, he just barely eked out a majority of the vote. Some people actually think that his New Lagos Manifesto speech was the factor that pushed him over the top.”

Nancy considered this. “That’s possible,” she responded. “Of course, he must have had a much better speechwriter or communications expert back then.”

Thomas grinned broadly. “You’re looking right at him,” he stated.

Nancy’s eyes popped wide open. “That’s right!” she exclaimed. “You told me that! How could I have possibly forgotten?” She let out a happy burst of laughter. “My goodness, Thomas! That speech was amazing! You actually managed to make a man who looks and sounds like a political robot seem personable and engaging. I’m sure Taylor is an intelligent enough man to understand the difficulties that so many people face in Lagos, and he may even have some brilliant ideas for resolving some of them. Still, you were the one who helped him get that message across in simple terms. You equipped him with the words that allowed him to connect with everyday people who can’t relate to the usual political rhetoric and jargon.” She reached over and placed her hand on top of his. “Thomas, you’re the one of those who deserves the credit for getting Taylor elected.”

Back at their apartment, Nancy changed out of her special church clothes into a comfortable pair of sweat pants and a loose-fitting T-shirt.

Still wearing his suit, Thomas paced around the living room. His frenetic energy would not allow him to stand still, and sitting was completely out of the question. When Nancy sauntered barefoot out of the bedroom, Thomas startled her out of her wits. He excitedly threw his arms around her waist, lifted her off the floor, and twirled her around the room.

“Nancy!” he cheered. “You did it!”

“Thank you,” she answered, sounding completely confused. “What exactly did I do?”

Thomas put her back down and kissed her passionately on the lips. “You showed me that I have talent and that my life has real value!”

She giggled. “How did I do that?”

Thomas held her hands. “You did it with your words,” he explained. “Don’t you remember what you said?”

Nancy shrugged.

“You said that I am one of those who deserves credit for getting Taylor elected,” he clarified.

“Well,” she replied, “you are.”

He continued his manic pacing around the room. “I have a gift, Nancy,” he said excitedly. “I can put together the right words to grab people’s attention. I can inspire people and move them to take action. They say that the pen is mightier than the sword, and you have reminded me that I have the ability to wield a very mighty pen.” He ran back over to her and kissed her on the cheek. “Tomorrow morning, I will use that ability to change my life.”

 

( ( ( ( (

 

Thomas strolled along the street and cast occasional glances at the offices of the State Government Secretariat in Ikeja. His suit had been cleaned and pressed, and his hair was immaculately smooth. He looked the part of a corporate or political professional, but deep down he felt like a nervous schoolboy. The confidence he lacked was not based on his talent. He knew he was a very good writer, perhaps even a brilliant one. The historic legacy of the New Lagos Manifesto had already proven that. His nerves rattled from his trepidation about re-entering the political arena. The shady characters he’d met along the way had put him in situations where he was consumed by paranoia and fear.

He was hoping that he would not be forced to immerse himself in questionable tactics this time around. He would offer his services to the Governor solely as a speechwriter and as absolutely nothing else. He was prepared to hole himself up in an office and knock out orations that would engage the people of Lagos and inform them of every issue, plan, strategy, and action the officials reciting them would convey. Although he would offer himself as an employee to an elected official, in his heart he knew he would always be working for all Lagosians by communicating with them in a way that would encourage their involvement in the political process. By providing them with information he would help them make the best choices when it came to electing their statesmen.

His plan this morning was simple: see the Chief Press Secretary, who was a popular journalist; get talking with him; make suggestions on the last speech of Governor Taylor; and then offer his services. Overly simplistic as it sounded in his mind, he felt there was no harm in trying.

Even when he was told that the Chief Press Secretary was away and would not be back in the office until early afternoon, he decided to wait around the State Secretariat. Thomas sincerely believed that Governor Taylor was a good man who really did want to serve Lagos with distinction and honour. Less than three months after he was sworn in as Governor, there had been dramatic improvement in the quality of infrastructure facilities in the state. Water taps were running again and roads were being rehabilitated. He knew that his words had helped to get Taylor elected, and he was confident that the Governor could enjoy a successful career on a long-term basis. To do so, however, he would need to properly utilise the media. If he did not do that soon, he was likely to lose his office in the next election to someone who was more charismatic, photogenic, and personable: whether or not that candidate was sincere, trustworthy, or even remotely fit for office.

Still, securing a job with Governor Taylor required that Thomas do more than merely approach the man and say, “Do you remember me? I’m the one who wrote the speech that got you elected.” If it were that simple, he would not have been marking time on the pavement plotting his personal sales pitch. He knew he would be forced to work his way through all the managers, handlers, publicists, and other members of the Governor’s entourage before he would ever get the chance to discuss his talents with the statesman himself. Further complicating matters was the fact that one of Tunji Taylor’s godfathers was Chief Adekunle.

As far as Thomas was concerned, Adekunle remained a fearful entity. This was, after all, the man who had ordered a contract hit on Thomas’s life. In the back of his mind though, Thomas believed that Adekunle was more interested in promoting the True Nigeria Party than he was in enacting vengeance upon a man who had once mowed his lawn. But then again, there was no way he could be absolutely certain of that. Kenny had managed to manipulate Adekunle by playing to his career ambitions, and now that Kenny was gone, Thomas was not sure that he possessed the ability to handle this powerful man with the same consummate skill.

“This is a very important area in Lagos, isn’t it?” a female voice spoke from behind his shoulder. “This is the control room.”

The voice was strangely familiar, so much so that it sent a shiver down Thomas’s spine. Despite his body’s recognition, his brain could not quite identify the speaker. He turned his head slowly, curious to discover who stood behind him, but at the same time, preferring not to find out. When he had the woman’s face fully in his sight, his mouth dropped open so wide that his jaw almost bounced off the ground.

“It’s very nice to see you again, Thomas Katta,” Moji Adekunle greeted with a roguish familiarity that caught Thomas off-guard.

He had no idea how he should respond. The last time he had seen this woman, she was lying naked in her king-sized bed at the Adekunle estate. He did not mind admitting that, despite the fact that he loved Nancy, his mind had occasionally taken him back to that night, playing out a different scenario to what actually happened. Now, fully dressed in the morning sun, she looked every bit as radiant and desirable, not to mention dangerous, as she had on that very night.

“You don’t seem particularly happy to see me, Thomas,” she said with a pout. “Did I interrupt your loving glances at this awesome place?”

Thomas swallowed hard. “Ah… no,” he stammered. “I mean, yes. No! I mean… I don’t know what I mean. If I remember correctly, you and I didn’t part company on the best of terms.”

She laughed seductively. “You shouldn’t take things like that so personally,” she replied.

“I know what you did to me!” he exclaimed. “You lied about me to the point where I was made pretty much unemployable in this city, not to mention the fact that your husband actually hired someone to kill me! Believe me, Mrs. Adekunle, nothing can get any more personal than that!”

Moji ran her hand through her hair and giggled to let him know how entertaining she found his response to be. “Well, as you might have already guessed,” she said, “I’m used to getting exactly what I want.”

Thomas studied her eyes, trying to work out her motives. “What exactly do you want at this particular moment?” he asked.

There was something about Moji’s demeanour and tone of voice that triggered Thomas’s cynicism. He was not sure what her motives were, but he had no doubt that she possessed some. Moji Adekunle was not the kind of woman to walk up to an ex-gardener just to say hello. For every effort she put forth, regardless of how small, she expected — no, demanded — something in return.

“Are you so self-conscious as to think that I somehow knew you would be here today and therefore arranged for the opportunity to run into you on the street?” she wondered.

“Did you?” he asked back.

Moji let out an ironic laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself, Thomas,” she scoffed. “It wasn’t until a few days after the last election that I found out you were actually still alive.”

Her remark made Thomas a little queasy. He drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “So,” he pressed, “why are you here?”

“I was about to ask you the same question,” she responded.

“I asked you first.”

She shook her head and laughed. “The Governor’s wife, Shade, is my friend. She was my roommate at the university. In fact, I saw you from her office.”

Thomas gulped and nodded.

“Are you seeing someone here?” she asked.

“I was actually hoping to see Governor Taylor,” he explained, “although I realise that I must churn through a maze of people before I can actually reach him, so I decided to see the Chief Press Secretary.”

Moji smiled. “Maybe we should talk in a nearby restaurant. It’s a safe place and we won’t be overheard,” she said and set off.

Thomas had no idea what bizarre thoughts were running through her shrewd little mind, but he followed.

 

( ( ( ( (

 

Thomas had been stirring his tea so feverishly that some of the liquid splashed out of the cup onto the tabletop. Moji sat across from him and glanced out the restaurant window, seeming to enjoy the view of the city. She had been very coy when she coaxed him away from the office building to join her for a cup of tea. She made what sounded like a simple generous offer, but Thomas knew that when Moji Adekunle was involved, nothing was ever straightforward.

“My reasons are quite practical,” she stated. “I knew from the start that Tunji Taylor could never have written the New Lagos Manifesto himself. He is a reasonably intelligent man, and a very hardworking man but let’s face it — he’s a long way from being Mr. Personality. My husband tried to convince me that he had written the speech, but I didn’t buy that story for one split second. He never made any effort to write his own speeches, so there was no reason to believe he’d spend his time putting one together for someone else.” She sipped her tea and smiled. “When my husband finally admitted that you were the mind behind the speech, I was enormously impressed. You, Thomas Katta, helped put Tunji Taylor in office. Earlier, my driver had told me that you’re a graduate.”

“So I’ve been told,” Thomas replied.

“So why don’t you join the Governor’s youthful team? He likes fresh ideas, and he would be pleased to know that you wrote that speech.” She sipped her coffee and looked up.

Thomas was gratified by the compliment, but he was not convinced that Moji had completely answered his enquiry. He wanted to know why she was offering to secure him a job with the Governor. He knew she was not doing it out of the goodness of her heart. “What’s in it for you?” he asked frankly.

Moji was starting to drink when he asked the question, and she had to reach for a napkin and quickly put it to her mouth to avoid spitting out a mouthful of tea. “You really should see a therapist about your chronic paranoia,” she said through a laugh.

“I’m not being paranoid,” Thomas insisted. “I’m being realistic. Why do you care who writes the Governor’s speeches?”

She rolled her eyes. “You really don’t get it, do you?” she responded with a laugh. “I couldn’t care less who writes Taylor’s speeches or even what he sounds like when he speaks. To be honest, I’ve got problems with his delivery. I stopped listening to him months ago. I didn’t think much about it at first, but then I became concerned.”

“You became concerned about the Governor’s speeches?” Thomas asked surprised.

“Yes.” She looked up. “Why shouldn’t I? My husband helped in putting him there, his wife is my friend, and then I became aware that you also played a prominent role.” She sipped her coffee and exhaled, “All those are power matrices. I am plugged into the source of power that is directly connected to my life, or more accurately, the lifestyle to which I have become so greatly accustomed.”

Thomas could not help but snigger. “Now we’re getting closer to the truth,” he said.

Moji shrugged. “Have I ever pretended to be sanctimonious?” she asked matter-of-factly.

“Certainly not,” Thomas concurred.

“I got to thinking,” she continued, “if a good speech could help get Taylor elected, a series of bad speeches could possibly ruin him. I don’t mean that good speeches alone can win elections, but we are in a TV world where every public figure must be as electrifying as a rock star. TT is a good man, he has a good heart, and as you can see, he is delivering on his promises.”

“I agree completely with you,” Thomas said.

“But we need to have speeches with the ‘wow’ factor to build an almost fanatical following from the people of Lagos.”

“You don’t want the Hitler effect, do you?”

“No! The Bill Clinton effect,” she said, and shot a knowing wink.

The wink got Thomas confused about which Clinton Moji wanted, the brilliant orator, or the woman’s man. “You mean the difference between Clinton and George Bush Jnr.?”

“Yes, Thomas!” she said enthusiastically. “And when you join the team, that will also give me everything I wanted in it.”

Thomas nodded. He could not help but admire the woman’s candour. In Moji Adekunle’s world, this train of thought made perfect sense.

“That’s one of the reasons you’ve been on my mind lately, Thomas,” she went on. “Your New Lagos Manifesto served us very well.”

“You’re welcome,” Thomas cracked. “So how are you going to make the connection?”

“Oh, that’s simple. I’ll talk to Shade today, and she’ll have the Governor himself call you.”

Just when it occurred to him that he would get the job, Thomas remembered something Nancy had said about the state security agents checking his background the possibility that they might rip open his criminal past. He bent over the table and whispered. “You know how Kenny’s team also contributed to the Governor’s victory. If it is discovered that I was a member of that team, would it not take me in the opposite direction of my aspirations?”

“Listen Thomas, you guys worked for my husband, not TT. The Governor is very clean because he distanced himself from violence. But the godfathers knew he could not win the elections by being Mr. Nice only, so they moved underground to help.”

Thomas blinked. “It doesn’t resolve my anxiety,” he said.

“You don’t get it, Thomas,” she said and sat back. “The circumstances of Kenny’s death would have made big news and drawn the attention of the public to the team and possibly, people they worked for…”

“Yes.” Thomas agreed.

“Have you heard a word about it in the news? Are the police investigating it? All of Kenny and his boys’ escapades are buried and gone,” she said proudly.

“You know so much. You must be very close to your husband to know that much.”

“Why not?” She sipped some more coffee. “I have to remain connected to the power source. We may not be very emotionally compatible, but that is life and it is not fair. I am attracted to quiet, intelligent, humble and unassuming people, but circumstances made me marry a politician. All of them are loud in a sense. See, sometimes you meet someone and it just hits you — that ‘oh, this should have been my soul mate,’ — but because circumstances have not or do not allow it, you find a way to deal with it. You are not too young to understand that, are you? I liked you then in the same measure I like you now, the gardener thing didn’t matter…” she trailed off.

Thomas smiled coyly, but he didn’t say anything.

She ignored his expression. “I really need this current trend in my life to continue,” she told him. “If you are the man who can make that happen for me, I will be more than happy to make good things happen for you.”

“I don’t understand,” Thomas said.

“Okay, here is the confession, Father Thomas.” Moji drank some more coffee. “I am not a nymphomaniac. I am not, on the other hand, a saint either. That night, what I did was a reaction to a stimulus, namely you. The fact that a gardener refused me had a humbling effect on me, Thomas. It was so intense; I didn’t have to see a pastor to control my emotional leakages. You changed my life and made me realise that if you could show dignity and control in avoiding temptation, then so should I. You showed me that my life was just a series of hollow and inconsequential fumbling with men that I barely knew. As exhilarating as the sex was, it left my soul empty.” She stopped talking and looked him straight in the eye for a moment. “It is now my turn to help you be the best you can be.”

Thomas was so touched that when he raised his head, tears were streaming down his face. This is Lagos, he thought.