Revolt

22. The Opportunist

“Dear optimist, pessimist, and realist—while you guys were busy arguing about the glass of wine, I drank it. Sincerely, the opportunist.” – Lori Greiner.

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The orchestra was rendering a music score that was morose, with undertones of exultant harmonies—such that it emphasized the fact that the atmosphere was sober, and they were in a dark age—but all hope wasn’t lost, and with the future held possibilities of recovery and a happy ending. The sounds were indeed immersive, to the point that it engulfed everyone in the present, eliminating the prospect of anyone getting distracted or not grasping the gravity of the moment. Lekan exhaled hard, as if to expel the glumness out of his system but it was all futile. As long as he was here, he was prone to its power. He wondered just how boggling it was for Anjola, and the other relatives of the deceased, since its effect was that numbing for him.

He pocketed his gloved hands, just as the music performance drew to its end, he deduced—when the volume got shot up a notch, and numerous melodies of varying pitch—grated against one another and soared, in a way that was iconic of climaxes of such musical performances. As predicted, the music ended after the brief spell of turbulence, and he was sure the audience would have erupted into an applause to laud the performance, if the occasion wasn’t a tragic one, because the performance was indeed that magnificent.

Lekan was seated on a round table of three, with Tiolu and Dayo and so was everyone under the tent, of the football pitch. They were in the premises of a reputed public high school, that commercialized its superfluous space which wasn’t in use. He wore black alongside his sister, and brother-in-law but of course most people in the gathering didn’t care for such sentiments, as they wore whatever they pleased. It wasn’t defiant on their side, it was just a tradition that Nigerians never took in serious light.

The pulpit ahead was placed on a wooden platform, dressed with satin sheets—elevated above the ground, in three or four feet. He knew that much, because he had arrived quite early before it was covered with the sheets.

From where he sat, in the middle row of the audience—he could see Anjola seated in the front row, of the left section of the canopy on a table, she shared with her aunt and another family relative, he didn’t exactly know the identity of. She looked grief-stricken like everyone else in the row, but unlike the rest that had pensive looks on—her facial expression was mostly neutral and empty, like she had come to terms with what had happened, but still wasn’t exactly liberated by it.

His heart squeezed, when he realized how broken she was and he felt so dreadful and rotten inside, that he was contemplating ending their relationship because it wasn’t convenient for him. Like most of the relatives, she was decked out in all-black—black turtle neck sweater, black boot cuts and black flats. She also had a black scarf wrung around her shoulder, that she had sporadically used to wipe her face, with its helm, several times during the program. He hadn’t had the chance to talk to her yet, since she had been barricaded by family members all day, like they feared someone in the gathering could do her harm. He was irate at the entire blockade ruse, but Tiolu had begged him not to make a scene, as they would surely get the chance to see her before they’d leave.

Lekan knew that, of course, but his contention was with the fact that he couldn’t be with her. He didn’t just want to see her, pay respects and leave, like he was some acquaintance or distant relative that had meager contact with her and had only travelled all the way, to pay his respects.

He did care for her in a way that no one in the gathering did, and he was infuriated that he wasn’t allowed to sit by her side, and be the actual pillar that she needed and not some fake entourage, that didn’t care much for her but was only observing familiarity obligations. But unfortunately, things didn’t work that way and he had to play by the rules. He detested rules and impositions, but this new version of him had learned to adjust to constraints for the better good.