It took me a while to realize that the loud knocking was coming from the front door, just down the hall from my room. I groggily got up from the bed and looked around, feeling dazed and lost. Just who could be out and about at this early hour and be making such loud knocking sounds? Having reached for the door, more knocks have been heard on the door.
“I’m coming!” I shouted angrily. It felt very irritating waking up in the middle of the night.
I flung open the door, ready to tear into the early morning unwanted visitor. But before I could say anything to the person, the words were cut short when I realized who was before me. This time, I was sure that it was actually Wizkid, one of the most popular musicians in Nigeria today.
“Wizkid?” The surprise I felt was evident in the tone of my voice. ”Oh my God, what happened, and why are you here at my house?”
He grinned sheepishly. “Excuse me for coming like this, But I am in need of your assistance. ”
I stared blankly at him for a while and was not sure what I was being told. An A-List entertainer, Wizkid, who for the past few years has had the ability to sell out stadiums and charts, must seek assistance from me? It made no sense.
“I bet you won’t believe me,” Wizkid said, “but I was pursued here by some fierce area boys. They have been chasing me constantly ever since I got to Lagos for a show. ”
When the commercial break concluded, I detected loud voices of a man who seemed to be furious in the distance. I went to the window and what I saw was a gang of dreadful-looking area boys roaming around.
After listening to the entire story, the pieces fell into place, and I gained a clearer understanding.
Speaking of violence and chaos, area boys, who were groups of rather poorly organized street thugs, were a major problem in Lagos. It was obvious that the two of them had not been Wizkid’s friends; otherwise, he would not have had the audacity to come begging at my doorstep.
George Becker
“Come in before someone sees us! Hurry!” I opened the door and stepped aside to let him in before closing the door and bolting it. The thunderous shouts of the area boys diminished in the background as we moved deeper into my small bungalow.
Wizkid sighed before collapsing on the worn-out sofa I had in my shabby apartment, causing sweat to bead on his forehead.
The moment he was back into the safety of the car, he took the mask off and what was seen was an over-confident guy with signs of tiredness.
He put his head down on the steering wheel and heaved a heavy sigh. He looked extremely tired and then apologized for bothering me. "That is why I had to barge in like this, I had no where else to go. This morning I went out from my hotel to see some friends in Ajegunle." He said.
This finally cooled me down, and I could only look at him with sympathy in my eyes. Despite this, Wizkid was living a life that, in my mind, was better than what I could imagine, but, of course, like any glamorous life, it did have its fair share of issues and stress. Living in a city, they are chased by gangs and can hardly walk around. Well, it has to be rather chilly being one of the African super celebrities.
"It's okay," I assured him softly. "You can stay here until your team arrives to pick you up." There must be a team looking for him by now.
He nodded, clearly relieved. "My manager may already be arranging security and transport," he said, expressing his gratitude for allowing him to wait here.
"Of course!" I replied. "While you wait, would you like a cup of tea?" Mama always said that tea resolves all issues.
"That would be great, thanks," said Wizkid, finally managing a small smile.
As I prepared the two cups of tea in the kitchen, I discreetly pinched myself for the nth time to check if it was all a dream. It still felt surreal to have Wizkid, a popular Nigerian musician, in my home. But before long, the enticing smell of black tea began to waft through the kitchen, and the sensation of materializing from a dream brought me back to the present moment.
I had just sat down with the tea when I was again shaken by another violent knock at the door. My heart dropped. Could the area boys have returned already? Wizkid and I looked at each other apprehensively.
"Open up!" came the sound of an unfamiliar voice. "This is Officer Musa from the Lagos State Police."
Gingerly, I pushed open the door. There, standing on my doorstep, were two uninviting police officers in Lagos State police uniforms. Behind them was a black car with its lights blinking.
Officer Musa growled, "We received a report that Wizkid was seen entering these premises. Is that true?"
"Y-yes," I replied, fumbling for the keys to open the door and allow them in. The officers recognized Wizkid immediately, who simply waved at them grudgingly from the couch.
"Wizkid, your manager told us to accompany you to your hotel because some people here might harm you," the second officer said in a much friendlier manner. They reassured me, saying, "The area boys won't bother you again."
I exhaled in relief. The cavalry had arrived. The policemen approached Wizkid and without much force proceeded to guide him out of the door towards the black colored SUV. He closed his eyes and turned to me with gratitude in his face.
‘Thanks for everything,’ he added before shaking my hand enthusiastically. ‘If you need anything, anything at all, in the future, do not hesitate to call me. ’ He pulled out his mobile number on a piece of paper and handed it to me. I looked at the numbers and I could have stared at them for days, this tiny piece of paper worth more than anything I possess now.
And with the last farewell, the brightest Lagosian celebrity disappeared behind the wheel of a big SUV and left my life as he came to it – unexpectedly.
I watched the pair of flashing lights disappear in the distance and couldn’t help but wonder if anyone else would ever hear my crazy story. The question made me shake my head in bewilderment, so I closed the door and went back to my tea, which was no longer hot.
Looking at the phone number at my hand, I gently took a sip of tea. Then I laughed aloud. Who could have thought that, one day, standing in front of my door urgently before sunrise, there will be a celebrity who will write down his phone number for me personally — Wizkid? None of the few persons who may hear the story may not believe that it was an actual occurrence!
My phone vibrated and rang at the same time, pulling me back from the reverie. It was a text message from an unknown number which just read – Thank you so much, I owe you that favor. Wizkid.
I smiled and shook my head. Indeed, this morning, my imagination was as wild as a deer that had gotten loose from the sanctuary.
And yet, could real life, too, not be really unrealistic? I folded Wizkid’s number into my wallet carefully, making sure it was secure. I could almost hear it whispering, ‘This ain’t going to be the last of the wild adventures. ’