PENDULUM

PENDULUM

Someone once said, “Education is not just passing through the school, but letting the school pass through you.”

So Shut that book for a moment's study of your environment, you never can tell where life is actually pointing you.

At midday on a Monday in March, the Sun was so scorching it felt like desert experience for Tunbosun as he dragged along Lawanson. He had trekked from Yaba, where he went for a job interview, and was still heading to Itire, where his one room apartment was located. The patches on his shoes with its flattened heels were evident they had seen better days.
Soon, his blurry eyes caught sight of a shop where chilled pure water was sold; just what he needed before his collapse. Hurriedly, he bought a sachet from the ₦20 left on him, drank half of it and poured the remaining over his aching head and burning face.

While he stayed put under the shop to get a moment’s shield from the wrath of the Sun before hitting the road, he looked down on the folder that encased his enviable curriculum vitae (CV) and wondered if it was a curse to graduate with a first class degree. He had gone for lots of interviews; the disqualifying factor was always his lack of years of working experience. This last one was quite unusual. The interview had gone smoothly and it all looked like his time had finally come, until he was told the management's salary scheme does not cover his level of qualification, so he couldn’t be employed. That moment, he was completely deflated, wished he could take the testimonial back to his institution and ask that some points be taken from it and shared amongst students who needs it.
He studied Geology at Federal University of Technology Akure, with the hope of working in an oil and gas company. But with the situation of things, even if he were given employment at a filling station as a pump attendant, he would jump at it.

With the little strength he had gathered, he got on his way. Feeling famished, he wished he could buy something to eat. But what can the precious ₦10 note left on him afford? He remembered he was going home to empty cooking-pots as well. His mind went back to Iya Risi the grain-seller, who sold close to his house. It was really an embarrassing scene, when he went over to her shop in the early hours of the day, for the usuals.

“Bòda Túnbòsún, óshàárò kùtùkùtù Monday ò, emákórí burúkú tiyín bá ojà fúnmi. Tí ebà ti lówó èyí tí eje sílè, emátún jé kín ríyín níwájú shóbù mi mò.” (Brother Tunbosun, it’s early Monday morning, don’t let your ill luck rob on my market. Till you have the money you owe, don’t let me see you at my shop again).

Can one blame the woman? She could bear with Tunbosun no more. He had a list of goods he had bought on credit with her. So long was the list one could start a petty trade with it.

His legs could almost not bear weight any more as hungry worms tugged at the walls of his stomach. And for the first time, he envied the beggars he saw begging by the roadside. He would have joined them, but asides his lack of rod and a bowl to collect alms, just like he was too qualified for the job interview, he was also too overdressed for the alms begging, as he was in an ash coloured suit with a black tie and wasn’t maim in any part of his body. Then, he thought of an idea in that line—corporate begging.

Tunbosun took a strategic position by a junction, judging the pockets of passersby by their appearance. As a middle-aged woman, gaily dressed in a native skirt and blouse attire approached, Tunbosun cleared his throat.

“Good afternoon madam, I lost my wallet, please assist me on my journey, with any amount you can afford.

“Able-bodied man like you begging for alms, you should be ashamed of yourself,” replied the woman, eyed him over and again as she went on her way.

Tunbosun was flushed with embarrassment, wanted to give up and head home at once, but his rumbling stomach was a quick reminder of what led him to it in the first place. So, he decided to give it more trial.
Nothing comes easy in this Lagos o, not even begging, he thought to himself.

Tunbosun purposely avoided the ordinary looking passersby. From the next group of people that approached, he singled out a plumpy man, corporately dressed in suit like him, to lay his plea at his feet.

“Good afternoon sir…,” he repeated his cooked-up fabrication.

“Eeyah,” said the man in pity, “where are you headed?”
“Itire.”

“That’s still quite far. I am sorry I don’t have much on me. Please manage this token.” The man tucked a squeezed Naira note into his hand and went on his way.

“Thank you sir,” said Tunbosun excitingly. He checked the money he was given and wished he could withdraw his gratitude. His eyes stared in shock at a dirty ₦20 note.
What choice has a beggar? He tucked it in his pocket. He was now ₦20 richer. But ₦30 could barely solve his problem, he decided to give it more trial. Tired and weary, he quit segregating and made his plea to just anyone who cared to listen. While still hopeful, someone stopped by and handed him a handbill. In frustration, he wanted to toss it away, but he reconsidered and tucked it in his pocket.
He had called the attention of a man in his early forties, before he realized he was a sales person, by the sack he held in one hand and the small bottles on the other

“Yesss. It cures indigestion and constipation. Take a spoon and you have instant relieve, it's just ₦100,” advertised the man, looking at Tunbosun with expectation.
Tunbosun giggled within, he wanted to wave the man off, but he let out the lines he made up instead. The man felt pity for him and gave him money. Tunbosun couldn’t believe it, the ₦200 note felt like he just won a jackpot, he almost hugged the man

“Thank you so much sir,” he repeated.
Will strength come from inanimate objects? All of a sudden, Tunbosun was supplied with tons of it to cover the rest of the journey home.

While walking along his street, he avoided Iya Risi’s shop, went elsewhere and bought ₦70 worth of garri, 2 wraps of groundnut, 1 wrap of sugar and 2 sachets of chilled pure water. Humming joyfully, he strolled on to his apartment. He had hardly settled in when he mixed all that he bought, scooped it like one at the brink of starving to death. That was at about half past 3pm, he hoped it would sustain him till the following day.

Afterwards, he laid back against the bed, staring at the white ceiling as he thought of the next line of action for survival. He thought of any site on construction he could join its laborers, but there was none around. He was not the sociable type, so he didn’t have friends amongst neighbors he could approach for help. He felt alone in the world, even though he had family and relatives in Akure where he was based and had been in Lagos only 3months in search of job. That moment, he was richer in his pocket than in the bank.
He moved to count these treasured Naira notes as though it would double by so doing. As he emptied his pockets, a folded paper fell out from it. He remembered it was the handbill given to him while begging. He picked it and saw it entailed job vacancies at a newly opened carwash not too far from home.

The following day, he was at the carwash for the job. He was told the management would pay him weekly, based on the number and sizes of car he is able to wash at the end of each week and was asked if he was satisfied with the terms and ready to start at once. His response was in the affirmative. And that was how Tunbosun, a first degree holder, became a carwash attendant in the city of Lagos.


Not minding his degree, he was diligent with his job and so scrupulous with washing and handling customers' cars, which sometimes earned him tips.

At the end of each week, he saved a good percentage of his salary, and still had something substantial for his upkeep.
After a month of working at the carwash, Tunbosun went over to Iya Risi the grain seller's shop and cleared the debt of ₦4,200, which was all he owed. The woman was dumbfounded, stared on as he left her shop with the same confidence in which he walked in, never believed anything good could come out of his Nazareth.

On one of those days at the carwash, a black Nissan Murano Jeep drove in. Tunbosun just finished washing a car and was fortunate to be first of the carwash attendants to sight the sleek car. He outran the others, directed the driver to a washstand with the wave of his hands. The man behind the wheel; who was telling wealth by his appearance, parked, alighted, had handed over the key when he took a closer look at Tunbosun.

“Boss man!” he called.
Tunbosun knew that nickname could only have come from his campus days. He looked and recalled the face of his course mate.

“Tee-jay!” he called out for confirmation

“Boss-man!”
Tee-jay!”
It was a big scene as everyone around watched this stout man in well-tailored, starched native attire as he hugged a sweaty, wet, dirty-looking carwash attendant.

“Boss-man, how did you come to this?” he took his car key from his hand, tossed it at one of the other attendants who stood by.

“Wash the damn thing; we will be back in the next one hour.”

“Boss-man, we've got lots of catching up to do, let me take you out for lunch.”

“I will need to first get permission from the manager.”

“Damn the manager! You are done with working here. C'mon let's go man.” He grasped Tunbosun's hand, held on to it as they walked along the street.

The last 20mins still felt like a trance to Tunbosun as he sat with his course-mate at a top-notch eatery in the area, staring at a plate of fried rice and chicken set before him. His course-mate had ordered the same for himself. They relieved old times over meal.
Tijani, who was fondly called Tee-jay, was at best an average student while on campus. He had Tunbosun to thank for helping him sail through MEG401, a statistics course he so much dreaded in his final year. But for Tunbosun’s thorough coaching, he was sure of a carryover and hence, an extra-year.
He was still baffled at finding Tunbosun, making a living from working at a carwash.

“Boss-man, how come you worked as a carwash attendant?

“That was the means of survival available to me after walking the street of Lagos in search of an ideal job to no avail. Years of experience were required at the places where I submitted my CV. How can I acquire that if not given an opportunity? Or is it sold somewhere I don’t know? Tee-jay, don’t let me bore you with my woes, what do you do for a living?

“I am into clearing and forwarding. Remember the program the school management organized between final year students and alumni, tagged ‘Beyond the school walls’? that was where I met an American based alumnus, who is into shipping in and selling cars. He took interest in me and introduced me to his business. After service year, I linked up with him, he connected me with his business associate in the country, and that was how I became a car dealer.”
Tunbosun was fascinated by Tijani's success story. He knew that couldn’t have been him. Even if such opportunity had been served him on a platter or it had fallen on him like manna from heaven, he still would have missed it. He recalled that final year program; he was at his usual spot at the library, poring through the pages of his textbook while it was on.
Unlike Tijani, who asides minding his academics, also had a social life; through which he connected with the world around him, engaged in many beneficial programs brought on campus, attended seminars; both free and charge, Tunbosun was more like a guest student all through out his stay on campus. His lifestyle didn’t go beyond a triangular link from his hostel to his class for lectures and to the library, where he met with many white-bearded scientists and professors in the textbooks and made friends with them.

He wished he had spared time for other activities except his books.

However, from that day on, tides turned in Tunbosun’s favor. Tijani collaborated with him. With the support of his alumnus friend, he set up a branch automobile company in a choice area and a mega carwash beside it, with Tunbosun as the Manager.
                           The End.
©May,2018