Like a Thought Process

 “I know what you've been trying to do. You need to study me before I get the job, right? It makes sense, but you see, I'm different. My mind tells me things. Let me tell you what makes me sad. I hate the fact that I've always had to commit one fraud or another before I can become 'rich,' so to speak. My life has been one rollercoaster of hell to another, and the beautiful part is I don't know how to blame others for my mistakes. It has always been my fault. I was referred to you, wasn't I? Someone told you I'm smart—that's the reason for the meetings these past three months, right? I'm not smart. If I was, I wouldn't be this sad.” “This job though, it sounds interesting. It's a change from the illegal stuff. I don't like to need anybody's help, and life is boring. I like to believe I'm good at studying people. I know you are too. Don't imagine I said too much—you know me well. When do we begin? I'm ready.” It was rare...

 We had just left the airport that afternoon. He was unusually annoyed - I had learned to not ask him what was bothering him. While we were waiting at the airport, he just looked at me and said "find out what happened to Sambo." He was annoyed - I did not want to ask any questions. I had to go to that bar along Aniocha south. Delta state was in a weird position at that time. I went to watch the world cup - I honestly had no interest in football, but then an instruction was an instruction. I ordered a drink I did not need. I held it. I just knew someone was going to approach me. Out of the corner of my eyes, I noticed the lady with the flaming red hair staring at me. Everybody kept cheering at the match... I had no interest. I remember Segun telling me that Nigeria was losing. The idea with social interactions is that - as I always tell people, I don't know how to do them. The lady, as I came to know her name later was Binta walked up to me and said Somto did not kill Samb...