THE BUISNESS MOGUL

           Many people did not know it was the same Albert furniture workshop that has metamorphosed into a corporate entity; what is now known as Alberteg conglomerate. It started small and attained growth, attesting to the biblical truism of ‘little beginning and greater end’.

It used to be in a ramshackle make-shift building at the city slum – along a dusty street off the city center, cluttered by artisans of diverse expressions, many who were there not actually by choice but sheer circumstances.

Sometimes it takes meandering through bends and curves at narrow paths in the slum to get their precise location. But their work speaks, in quality and moderate pricing, often with tailored services. May be that was the attraction – what made people brace their obscure location to seek their services.

Sir Albert Tegen set out in this slum street as a local furniture maker. His initiative birthed Albert furniture workshop. His efforts through thick and thin gave existence to Alberteg conglomerate. He settled as a local breed business mogul, exerting control as chief executive officer over what he built a little above two decades, like one who has a date with rise and fortune.

Fortune indeed brought him honour and fame, cutting across strata. His acquaintance was jostled for – which is not least expected in a clime where wealth is power, the adoration thereof and its praise singing.

         He flaunted himself as a ‘self made man’: a delusion that greatness is mainly by rigours of hard work; not inputting anything to Divine providence.

His financial might resonated on his social profile, which soared tremendously overtime. He became a social figure of reckon - a kind of ‘society man’ with unprecedented media hype. Like the well-offs from his clime, awards trailed, titles beckoned – from institutions, organizations and kingdoms. They scrambled to appreciate him; they sort to recognize him.

For what I know, Sir Albert enjoyed these attentions and accolades. Beneath his seeming humble disposition lie an insatiable craving for class and taste – an aristocratic tendency probably triggered by fame and fortune; quite replete with his actions.

When some gullible elder’s in-council from his native Kingdom proffered the revered tittle of ‘traditional prime minister’ to him, which would set him on a higher pedestal of influence in the entire kingdom, he succumbed to it. Just for the ego of position though he was not the most qualified by virtue of age.

Tongues even wangled that he must have mesmerized the elders with his financial prowess for them to inordinately clamour for him. He did not hide his acceptance of this title anyway, going by the ambiance of his official coronation - a showcase of superfluous splendor and opulence, with an elitist attendance. He spared nothing to make it memorable.

He had means; he obtained power and thus attained descriptions perfectly fitting into the different connotations ascribed to him – as a shrewd business mogul, a philanthropic socialite and generous political godfather.

       Growing up was real struggle: a struggle with life and all that makes it worthwhile. Education was one luxury his parents could not afford. His father’s early demise almost truncated what he had as basic education if not for the benevolence of a local priest which also enabled him to attend vocational training in furniture making. Here, he honed his skill and swapped odd jobs to assist his terminally sick mother.

“Some had silver or gold spoons at birth. But I was born with no known spoon, not even a wooden spoon. I had it rough with nails and hammer - the least of my dreams but sometimes the available becomes the needful” Sir Albert would always say in a lighter mood.

He was good in his trade. He had avid determination to take out the positives from life.

His aristocratic tendencies seemed to have eroded streaks of his very humble background. At availed opportunities he would affront his status and fortune. He had a fascinating obsession for cars, of different makes and model – what he fondly called ‘good things on wheel’. Often, Sir Albert would array them in convoy drive, with hefty fierce looking men who lurked around him as bodyguards. They are always in black suits and tinted eye glasses, ready to hector people or perceived enemies about in gestapo mafia style. Sir Albert would look on in feline indifference, apparently enjoying the servile gestures of his men - his quirks and twists that became common knowledge to many, even his family.

He tried his bit to align his family to his tendencies but it couldn’t have been more fruitless with Zimba his wife, who had two beautiful daughters to show for their blissful marriage of about 27 years. Her stance was disdain – disdain for what she considered her husband’s ridiculous highfalutin inclinations that could easily stigmatize their family.

Zimba has always been averse to obscene living, an ideal she clings to in practice, may be because of her training in finance. She did not see her marriage to a business mogul as a ticket for frivolous comfort and lazy neither did it make her an extravagant epicurean. She held on to her patterned prudence and modesty, her ego not inflated by the materialism around her though she and her daughters virtually lived like Arabian princesses in their own world of splendor.

“I didn’t see the bright side of life growing up. We have the means now. Please let the children have the best we can afford” Sir Albert said to his wife over an argument.

“There is no gainsaying you have been at your best to them” Zimba responded. “But darling, there are low budget schools abroad where she can go to; good ones in the country as well”.

“I have told you she is going to Harvard” Sir Albert retorted. “You better keep your opinion out of this”.

He kept true to his word and Nelly his daughter made it to Harvard; which was not a commonality to go on private funding. He was not perturbed. He dared the cost.

       Two years into her studies, Nelly visited her family during summer holiday. It was her first home coming from Harvard which coincided with her birthday. Her father was plussed with her excellent academic progress and she got a lavish birthday party for her feat; one celebrated with pomp and pageantry.

Sir Albert did not let a slip of this opportunity. He made good the consolidation of his bloated aristocratic ego – a hidden motive for the elaborate birthday party anyways. There were elitist dignitaries as usual, from all works of life. They always looked forward to attending such social rendezvous at the behest of their host.

It was merriment at its fullest with so much to eat and drink. Red carpet was rolled out for the celebrant, beautiful renditions provided by a popular live band, with guest basking in the euphoria of the moment. Exchange of pleasantries was in high gear, interspersed by hilarious jokes and laughter.

Thunderous applause echoed amidst cheers and shouts of “happy birthday Nelly” as Sir Albert stepped out with his daughter for a toast.

“I sent her out there for the best of education and I’m glad I did, despite the huge cost. Soon she will be our pride, the first female Harvard law graduate from this part of the country, and ladies and gentlemen, she is still under thirty years” He said, beaming with smile.