I USED TO BE RICH.

        The guava tree mum planted at the extreme of our compound has grown with well spread branches, providing shades for comfortable relaxation under it. I sat here for some moment of tranquility, taking a feel of the refreshing evening breeze – exactly what I needed in my state of mind. Enthralled in the easing moment, I got carried away in deep thoughts. Suddenly I heard the blaring horn of Dad’s car at the other side of the gate.

It’s Monday, the beginning of a new school week, with couple of activities to go by. I have no money on me though hopeful of a bus fare from Dad. No cash but just hope, hope to fathom a cash turn out for the week. My imagination seems distorted for the mere thought of going cashless for a whole week – more so for an undergraduate like me who attends lecture from home.

This “home to school” thing has been my biggest pet-peeve among other cynical decisions of my parents. I gave it a serious fight but my effort was tenuous to their resistance. Continuation was like a blade on the chord of peace in the family, so I recanted; after all I’m not alone in this.

My older siblings also attend school from home. They gained admission into the city university two and three years ahead of me. I thought I would be elsewhere, in my own world, going by the way I aligned choices during entrance application. But that never came to be. The city university also became my lot – a sort of coincidence I couldn’t comprehend.

Sometimes it get on my wick that three of us are in same school, not for generational trend or best of what is offered but for reasons of proximity. I was convinced of Dad’s unseen hand in all this, our house location as well - which is few miles away from the university. May be it’s an advantage he exploited in his quest to checkmate grown up boys like us who are gradually becoming men. The efficacy of this policing effort is indeed laughable – for busy bank executive and contractor like my parents who harps on discipline and goes about it on their own terms.

While I brood my cashless situation, my older siblings had more than enough; at least enough to assist me. That’s not a guess but I’m certain they wouldn’t assist me. I seldom help them as well. I struggled with indignation towards them, and then it dawned on me that I used to be rich last Saturday.

          Last Saturday Uncle Ken visited. He is almost everywhere across the country that one can not say with precision his exist point. He is of the maternal ‘caucuses’ of our extended family. We hear much of him in the news – his diverse political engagements and speeches which are greeted with slam-bang and ear splitting handclaps. That makes it busy and good for politicians like him who are in rapport with the ruling party. They are hardly void of means. Uncle Ken’s affluent posturing could be his working for the Government or the Government working for him – like a golden rule in this clime where no one parades the corridors of power and remains small.

Since he became part of the new political dispensation, it has been a stroke of serendipity of a sort - not just for him but also for extended families at the flanks. Mum’s contract business took a leap forward, with sizeable lucrative public contracts which are promptly paid. Dad is never impressed. He has this pejorative impression about politicians though Uncle Ken is not a glib like others because he knows where to play his political antics; certainly not with his eldest sister’s family.

 Sometimes Dad wished his in-law is into other things but politics which has become a full time job for many of the likes Uncle Ken.

“Look at your brother, he is never articulate, always evasive on pertinent national issues”, Dad would always tell Mum. “Even when he makes good effort, it’s a convolution of plans and praise worthy narratives – just for the powers that be to be happy”.

“Why can’t you leave Ken alone? He has chosen to ride on politics, let him enjoy his ride.

Or are you not seeing the trickling effect on us? Mum would always respond.

 Dad argues with Uncle Ken like a social activist, recounting campaign promises of government as if he keeps record of them.

We are often miffed at his caustic remarks - partly out of concern for our dear uncle and also for fear of being severed from his benevolence. Dad steeled himself to come to terms with whatever concern we may have.

          Uncle Ken’s financial largesse whenever he visits has become like a tradition. There is always stipend for the boys. My siblings and I do prowl about the house like stray dogs at this time, when we are also sure of his full attention; else you must brace up distance and endless waiting to get his financial overtures on request.

Last Saturday we got $100 bill each from Uncle Ken. Dad warned we keep our monies as school allowance for the week. My older siblings heeded but me.

”Dad must be kidding”, I said to myself. I became a little restless and somehow sneaked out of the house. The money occupied me.

I almost quaked in excitement as I walked into ‘GILBETRO’, a multi fun venue at the center of town. It was vivacious – the serenity and beautiful lightening, with many fun lovers’ seated and others moving around in cheerful enthusiasm, having the best of an evening time out. I got a whiff of the good things cooking in the restaurant and made an order of shrimp’s sauce, fried plantains and a glass of coconut sweet wine.

The ambiance in the night club was high and the music a sonorous rendition of makossa genre. I lingered my stay there with some female folks, putting up a new identity as a young banker which my size and looks also abated; pushing me into thoughtless expenditures. In all this feel good drama, I bid good bye to a sizeable chunk of my money. Fourty eight dollars was gone.

           At home on my bed, I was resolute to save the rest of my money. At least what is left could take me far into the week. Just as I was about consoling my spending expedition, my phone rang. On the other side was an arrogant old friend whom I have cajoled severally to ride his ‘power bike’ to no avail. Tammy told me I could ride his bike the following morning.

“It is yours to enjoy for the whole day” he said.

“I wouldn’t be around till night tomorrow”.

I have always wanted to ride Tammy’s bike and this opportunity was golden. I went for the bike but on terms that I handle repairs in case of any damage. I know I used to be careful, but the bike excitement could not let me reflect more on the terms. I went here and there, almost everywhere, posturing ownership of Tammy’s bike to the ignorant.

“When I say I’m a big boy, you take it for a boyish ranting” I boasted to a group of my course mates and zoomed off in a typical film star style amidst hail and cheers from some of them.

My arrogant friend parted with eight dollars off what I determined to save; with extra cash for a damaged mudguard when I had a fall. He held on to his terms and three dollars was on take. I had this feeling of regret as I walked back home after returning the bike, a feeling I shrugged off with the reminiscence of the fun.

“I really had fun anyway”, I said to myself with a smile.

My macho cover up was hardly over; a subtle voice reminded me of the school week stretched out before me. I resolved again and absolutely this time to save what was left of my money.

         The school week came and anxiety took over the euphoria of the weekend fun. I forgot a supposed class quiz slated for Monday morning – a quiz for one of my core courses which we were given prior notice but I was not prepared. I could have been prepared just that I used to be rich last Saturday and my money occupied me.

I was tensed at the thought of missing out on this core quiz, so much that I sort for help. As it were, I was faced with two evils and with a little twist of morality I averted a complete miss out in the quiz. It’s like I chose the easy way out, a kind of lesser evil option because of what could have been unimaginable end of session consequences for me not attempting the quiz at all.

I did well in the quiz, all thanks to sitting collaboration with a course mate. But my left over cash plummeted. Peace also eluded me as I pondered on my actions during the quiz. “It could be used to taunt me someday” I thought within me.

“How would even my parents feel if they hear that I have denigrated to the level of collaboration for a mere quiz?

My parent’s academic pedigree speaks volume. Dad was exceptional, having made first class in economics and the corporate world beckoned on him. He set out as a graduate trainee and rose through the ranks to become top executive in a bank. Mum did study horticulture and farm management at the agronomy institute but opted for business. Her preference is by choice or may be a possible blood line impact from her own parents. My older siblings have also toed this path of academic excellence, doing so well in their courses which have projected them as first class hopefuls on graduation. For me it has been a ding dong affair. If only I could concentrate a little more, if only I am not always taken to frivolities - probably I could have maintained the family brilliance streak.

Monday, the first day of my school week has come and almost fizzling out. I have nothing left; just a bus fare which brought me home from school. I am poised again to save and this time very determined but that would be when money comes my way. My parents and siblings seem to gloat over my cashless situation in their resolve not to help me. All I hope to get is just a bus fare from Dad.

For a moment under the guava tree, I reflected on possibilities - wishing Uncle Ken could visit soon. Then I realized again that last Saturday I used to be rich, I used to have $100 and I don’t have it anymore but just hopeful of my bus fare to school and a strong determination to save.