THE LAST PROPHECY

"It would be said of these times, that everybody acted as they saw fit."

2050

Taiwo switched on his all-purpose artificially intelligent house help. “Ogidan, call my husband. Tell him I'm going to the art exhibition show I told him about”.

“Yes, Taiwo”.

He put on his black burberry coat, snapped his finger in the air to turn off the power in the house, then he left.

On his lawn, while walking to his Aeromobil he thought about his White Detective husband, Michael. He left two weeks before to the National Unit for Space and Time Travel seeking permission to go back to the past 30 years to get to the root of series of crimes allegedly committed by the Nigerian government. He had since left and his only means of communication to the present time was his very much outdated Multidimensional Space Transmitter, one of the very first set of futuristic tech to be produced in 2036. He prayed to God for his protection. He was part of the few who supposedly believed in God.

Even though Taiwo had a funny feeling about what was going on in the past with his husband, he only sighed softly and powered up his Aeromobil bidding it to lift off into the air.

2020

On the News, Dictator Buruji had just confirmed the rumours flying around about the shutting down of social media in the country. It was going to take effect from the 26th of January.

Michael wondered what would happen to Timebeam or Missfeat, his wife's social media app for married wives. He didn't yet have a hang of everything time travel was about.

He picked up one of the books he bought at a bookshop to distract himself from the boredom reeking in 2020. The bookshop he visited after half an hour of navigating Google Map wasn't quite like the one he knew in the actual present, it seemed like there was some sort of very sharp revolution around the time he was born and it was part of what he was going to find out. He walked into the shop and saw books arranged with good carefulness on racks and shelves all around. He saw one that caught his eyes just as he stepped off the front porch, and he impulsively picked that as the first because of it's rather unique title. It read, “THE LAST PROPHECY”.

Opening the first page now, he read:

“Milling around this life finding purpose is more or less like how it was done in the days of Jesus, and it was a tad bit more concrete than what we have now because they could achieve fulfillment even without so much knowledge as we have now.
But in these last days, many things have sprung up, one of which looks like every purpose in the world has been discovered and there's nothing left to see in this world, so the world, I think, will find a way of collapsing itself bringing about the end.”

Micheal closed the book to see the author's name on its cover. No name. Only an address. Strange enough even in 2020.

The silence he was now enjoying was cut short by someone knocking on his door. It wasn't easy to get a place to live in. The currency in 2050 was crypto and nobody bought houses or paid rents to landlords using that in the past. He called a favour from his Dad to use one of his Android free houses. Even though they last saw eye to eye when Michael was graduating from College, he granted his request. He sent a bot to deliver the keys.

He peeped through the door hole to see who was behind it. And it was his neighbour again. His octogenarian neighbour. He had never met someone so kind and yet he still always felt disturbed by her coming because he saw her as “nosy”. So he always feels a twinge of guilt when she leaves after dropping a coolar of food because he gives her fake smiles all through every convo.

This time she brought him Semo and Egusi soup. She didn't forget to complain about her arthritis that made it difficult for her to walk around.

“Thank you”. He said with his best feigned smile.

“My son, you don't even cook at all”. She said matter-of-factly. Then she continued, “what about your wife?” having a tiny smirk on.

He had no clue how he was going to explain to this old woman that he didn't have a wife like how she would think a wife to be like. In fact, he had no clue as to how he was going to explain anything at all!

“I'll not be staying here for long ma”. Oh welp! That was a mistake. “I mean, I'll probably not be needing a cook, I'll be fine”.

She stared at him for a little longer than a moment. And then she strutted away singing a song in igbo, proud of her strength even in her old age.

“Birds, birds. We bid God to begin creating once again and make us like one of those flightful birds. Full of freedom, and fantasies and fun, and still, feeble”.

What could that even mean?

He woke up at twilight. The sun rays sliding in through the window panes looked magical. In 2050, the sun didn't have as much beauty as it had now.

He turned on his TV. The dictator was on the news again. His cabal had found a way to ensure public funds that were stashed away was broadcast as “missing”. He gnashed his teeth.

In the future, he was hearing of those rumors in far away Afghanistan. Seeing it now made him tremble with rage. His hatred for corruption and his determination to solve the mysteries of disappearing money and the miseries they cause civilians was fueled by a desire to settle a personal score.

Since he couldn't take a walk at the time, not wanting his identity to become something to suspect, he texted Taiwo and relaxed again.

At night, he would jug around three streets forming an obtuse triangle.

The next morning, he would drive to the journalism house two kilometers away, seeking employment.

On getting there, he saw a tall young lady, about 5'11, on khakis and a white shirt with “NYSC” boldly written on it strutting away. He wound down his glasses and called out to her. She hunched over his window and exchanged some words with him. He parked and walked into the premises.

At the counter, he spoke to a woman in her mid thirties. She spoke with so much calm and softness and yet she commanded his attention. Written on her badge was “FEYIKEMI. I”. He never forgot her face. There was something so peaceful about her.

In twenty minutes, he was sitting on the other side of the table, facing the managing director. In front of him, pasted just above the MD's head was the headline, “PRESIDENT BURUJI SECURES GRANT FROM CHINA TO SET UP 10 VOCATIONAL SCHOOLS IN THE NORTH”.

“The nature and the spirit of man strive eternally to be heard. That's why he can scarcely discern past from present from future so long as his voice is heard...
...There's a melody that he hums along the path to discover life. It's the same tune he sings when he retreats in defeat on encountering death, only it has different lyrics...
...What man seeks, he shall find. And if he doesn't find it, he finds emptiness— a common possession in the times that are to come”.

Taiwo walked down the hall to check out some oil paintings at the far side of the gallery. He walked with a little pace, brushing his fingers lightly against a recreated Van Gogh. A painting of a little child holding up a snuffed out lamp to the sun. He skimmed over the next paintings with his eyes till they fell on one particular piece. In it was a strange looking man. The man had wise eyes and seemed to be looking beyond the walls at the other side of the room. Taiwo asked for the price of the painting.

The next two hours at the MD's office was spent analysing the latest corrupt practice by the Head of State. It was supposed to be an interview. All Micheal needed was a job in the firm. And Mr Sunday Falomo, the MD, was more than ready to offer him the job.

Late in the afternoon, when Micheal was about leaving the building, he noticed Feyikemi was absent from her duty post. When he got outside to the gate and asked the gateman, he explained that she was given permission to "call it a day" early so she could always go home and take care of her baby. Without any further questions, he left.

The desk he was given to arrange his files and tools was directly opposite the girl with the NYSC top. Her name was Amanda. He had asked her once she settled down in her space to begin work. She really didn't seem to notice anyone around.

His first task was to visit a small town not too far away from the office to obtain first hand report on the strange multiple delivery of twins.

“He has a job to cover a small village down town, so he's out now”, said the clear and prim voice of a young person.

“ehen? Okay. I'll report this immediately. Keep it on the low like you're doing”, the voice on the other side of the line replied before hanging up.

There was so much dust on the road on approaching the town with an overhead metallic board with the inscription “WELCOME TO IGBO-ORA” just ahead.

He expected nothing less than disdain from the township when he got down from the firm's official bus. So he was surprised to see children stopping and staring and adults minding their business without paying heed to his presence. Not bad.

He called the firm on the next course of action. Two hours later, he had interviewed three women who had all given birth to two sets of twin children each. He was fascinated. An hour later he was on his way out of the quiet town again.

He found Feyikemi at the reception packing up her stuff, ready to close early again. He was tired. But he was determined to get to know her that day. Saturday was always free.

Her eyes had dark curves beneath them. She looked really stressed, and really pretty at the same time.

"Mr Mike", she said, managing a smile. “I'm always so busy everyday of the week. That's part of why I leave early from here everyday, I have a baby that needs all of the attention I can give.”

He immediately became shy and felt foolish for bothering a mother trying to make ends meet for her and her child. He avoided her face and forced a smile.

“Alright, have a great day.” He said and headed for the staircase.

She stared at him all the way up.

“Masquerade, be careful
You are headed towards the freeway
Masquerade, be careful
You are headed towards the expressway
Masquerade, be careful
You are headed towards the freeway
You'll be hit by a vehicle
Alas!
It has happened, I warned
It has happened, I warned
He has been hit by a vehicle, I warned
It has happened, I warned
It has happened, I warned
It has happened, I warned”

Taiwo was standing and staring at the piece of art that kept holding him spell bound.

“Ogidan, please take a picture of this art and reveal the dating for me.”

The AI house help scanned and scanned, imputing all the mathematical matrices available in it to get a date and the identity of the person who became the art.

“Nothing detected”. It reported in its mechanical voice.

Taiwo brushed over the picture with his palm again. He now thought of returning the picture back to the gallery because he grew bothered. He had heard of fetish when he was young that people could be possessed by demons if they stared too much at artifacts dedicated to a god. He couldn't trace the origin of this particular set and it worried him a lot. He knew it wasn't someone's usual artistic genius that produced it.

He floated to the gallery again, informing the receptionist that he'd like to return the art and get a refund. He held it up in his hands for her to see.

“Oh, I remember when you purchased it. I'm sorry, it can't be returned”. The young lady said.

He flashed back and remembered the look of surprise on her face when he showed her the piece of art as the one he wanted to pay for.

“Why can't I return it again?”. He asked perplexed. He had seen people return art on several occasions but with their monies partially refunded.

“Sir, no one knows how the art got here. There is no record of purchase by the gallery in its inventory. It's been here for some thirty years...so I heard”. She was new.

He pouted.

“Returning it sounds like you want to sell or donate your art to the gallery of which we are not ready to accept or purchase this particular one.”

“It's the little things that stir up joy in the bosom of a man. Things as little as these little things can also ruin the mind of a human, turning him insane.”

NEWS FLASH: RECOVERED LOOT OF A FORMER HEAD OF STATE ALLEGEDLY MISAPPROPRIATED. NIGERIAN YOUTHS SOCIETY DEMANDS EXPLANATION.

Mr Sunday was at his table again, rambling on to the tanned white man seated in front of him. Whatever sense he was making seemed to be accentuated by Michael's presence.

“...And that's how they keep stealing money meant for public use and continue lying to us, ehn! People are hungry and suffering, and all they care about is the future of their unborn great grandchildren.”

“It's very challenging when you have a government that was elected of itself, by itself and for itself. Then, their interests will always be by themselves and for themselves”. Michael stated. He had read those exact words from the NYS President in some archived newspaper about two weeks before he finally time travelled.

The MD was very impressed at his statement.

“You're very correct! Hmmm. The Osun branch of NYS has approached us to investigate into this matter. As a matter of fact, they'll be here in the next thirty minutes to have an interview with us. Mrs Davis will be anchoring the interview at the conference hall. Please be available. Everything you're supposed to be doing within that time will be re-assigned to Amanda. For now, you can go do a few things and get prepared.”

“Good day gentlemen. I believe you're all here on this occasion to discuss and table your comments and findings on yet another government scandal to our reputable firm. So, I'd like Mr Anyakowa Edet, the National Youths Society President, Osun Branch, to take the floor.” This was Mrs Davis. A very conscientious and direct woman.

“Good afternoon everyone. First of all, I'd like to thank the chairman of this great Journalism firm for granting me and my team, and the entire NYS this opportunity to express our minds and hopefully find the answers that we seek...”

“You heard what he said. For their peaceful protest in Abuja, they'll like to employ the services of one of our journalists who would accompany them to the Villa and interview some of the top officials. And right now I don't have anyone in this company with such vast expertise to handle a field job that is likely to turn rowdy.”

Michael was finding it very hard to resist the urge to say that he had vast experience in field jobs. At last, he overcame the temptation.

“I know I'm new here, but I can take this job. I did combat training just for fun for a short time in the US.”

“Oh, really? Why didn't you mention this in your CV.”

“I didn't think it would be of any importance to this job until now.”

“Hmmm. Okay. I'll consider it.”

Along the road to the airport, he read a printed statement on someone's black T-shirt. “Time travel is just a metaphor. You only have the present.” He smirked.

He met with the National president of the youth's society, Dr. Razaq Adekoya. The man was bulkier than he expected, with scholarly glasses covering deep set eyes. They shook hands. He reiterated to Michael their purpose for gathering.

Time was 9:46am. The date was 26th March, 2020. Dr Razaq had been there since 7am with his comrades. They had placards with all sorts of angry words printed on it. Some even had gas masks in case the police wanted to fire tear gas to disperse them.

At exactly 10:00am, they began their protest in unison, peacefully. They shouted chants ordering to see the Commander in Chief of the Armed Forces. After fifteen minutes of their shouting, the Villa's Spokesman came out instead with a few police to protect him. There was a man in his mid 40s about two kilometers away, momentarily shut out from his visions because of the distracting noise coming from the Villa.

“Gentlemen and ladies, the reason for your protests this morning is not unknown. And you have done well by acting civil and not vandalising things around. But we would help each other better if you choose a representative who I will have a meeting with in the Villa and reveal the truth of the matter and the rest of you can disperse peacefully.” He emphasized “PEACEFULLY”.

“We are not going anywhere!” The 50-man strong crowd screamed.

Dr. Razaq spoke up. “Good day Spokesman. My name is Dr. Razaq Adekoya, the leader of the National Youth's Society. It is the president that we want to see, not you. And this crowd is not dispersing. The grievance meted out against the masses is very great, and hence, President Buruji must answer directly to this.” Michael had goosebumps. He felt that. That was leadership.

Mr Lawan, the Villa's Spokesman smiled and said, “President Buruji is not on seat. So, can you please come up alone Mr Razaq.”

Dr. Razaq was baffled. His informants had told him that the President was still in the Villa as at the previous night. At last he yielded, stating that his people are not leaving and thay he must go in with Michael the journalist and his crew. This displeased the Spokesman so much. He was suspicious of Michael. But he agreed to their terms.

Taiwo felt sick on his way back home with the portrait seated on the front seat beside him. It seemed to have a life of its own.

“What do you fear?”

“Oh my God!” Taiwo seemed to be going crazy, he was hearing things already.

Back in 2020 at the Villa, the protesters lined up side by side facing the building.

Inside the Villa, the men were led into a conference room with golden chairs surrounding a long table that was likewise golden. Mr Lawan followed closely behind with the same set of policemen that escorted him outside. They all sat down as if to start. The other members of the journalism house crew stood behind trying to set their instruments in place for the interview that was about to begin. In the next moment, President Buruji walked in, tall and gallant.

“Arrest them”. He ordered calmly. The soldiers that accompanied him swung into action.

None of the men could resist. They were outnumbered. They couldn't say anything either, all feeling really foolish for falling into the deceit of the spokesman.

Michael and Dr. Razaq had their hands cuffed behind to their chairs and the rest of the crew were ordered to sit down so as to be bound too.

Mr Lawan had a satisfied smirk on his face. The President was emotionless.

“You, what is your mission here?” Buruji asked.

Dr. Razaq began to speak.

“Shut up!” Buruji thundered. “I'm talking to him.” He said pointing his finger at Michael while still looking menacingly at Razaq. He avoided his eyes.

“I'm a journalist with Oluyele Journalism House...”

“How long have you been in this country?”

“Nine years.”

“And you cannot pronounce OLUYELE.”

Silence followed.

“What is your mission here?” He asked again.

“That's what I was saying before you interrupted...”

Buruji dealt him a blow, followed by a heavy swat from one of the soldiers behind to his ear. His right ear tingled.

Dr. Razaq was encouraged by Michael's boldness.

“I came here to have an interview with the president over the allegations of diverted funds so as to get the truth of the matter.”

Outside the Villa, the crowd began suspecting that something was off and was getting restless. The soldiers that would usually stand outside or patrol the Villa were not around. So, someone stood up to quieten the crowd. She was a woman of incredible charisma and poise.

She addressed them in a quiet manner, pointing out that no armed personnel was in sight which was an oddity. This was a chance for them to storm the building to know what was going on.

Outside the Villa was growing quiet and Mr Lawan was pleased. Those fools are tired and hungry already. He grinned.

“For your information, Mr Michael, I have informants all over the country. I've been expecting you.”

Michael was confused. His former confidence was deflated.

“Hello boy.” A voice he recognised sounded from the door.

“Mama...” Michael slurred out silently.

It was his neighbour. His old, kind neighbour.

Dictator Buruji laughed pleasantly.

“Happy reunion.”

“On my count. 1. 2. 3!” The charismatic Adaeze screamed.

The crowed joined in the shout and charged for the building, breaking through at the first push. The security locks were not activated. Rather, one of the policemen when escorting the men inside used a chain and a padlock on the door.

The entire conference room was alarmed.

“Lock the door!” Buruji barked to the soldier closest to the door.

Lawan was putting a call through to some soldiers at the other side.

“Hello, where are you all now?”

“The van carrying the money just broke down and it would take about ten minutes to fix it. In thirty minutes we should be at the Villa.”

“Ohhhh God! Send two of the escorts to join us here right now!”

“Now!” Buruji screamed.

The soldier immediately straightened up. “Sir! Yes sir!”

Dr. Razaq supporters were pressing really hard against the door. In any little moment they would breakthrough.

The soldiers in the room were already poised to attack. But only one of them had a gun and he stood at alert right in front of Michael. As soon as the door burst open, the first three bullets hit the conference room door and ricocheted off. That was how solid all the doors were made in the Villa. Immediately, Micheal pushed forward and hard with his left leg to displace the armed man before he could fire any more rounds. The first person went for the armed soldier and knocked him out. Everyone else charged for the dictator and his henchmen. Mr Lawan was already wounded from one of the bullets that bounced off the door.

Someone quickly found the keys to the cuffs and brought them to free the men on her side. It was Adaeze.

Quickly, Michael fled the room, giving the old woman spy a look of pity on his way out. He went searching for the President's confidential cabinet. In less than a minute, he was bent over with some folders lain at his front. He saw one that was titled “DR. ADETUTU WILLIAMS”. That was the father of his partner, Taiwo who died before his son was even born. He was an activist and had stepped on toes in high places. He paid the price of death and he got no justice for it.

So many written petitions and allegations and documented proof were in the folder with the Dr.'s signature on each one. Buruji didn't get rid of them because he liked to be reminded of his triumph over opposition and to gloat over them afresh whenever he picked up one of those numerous folders to read through.

Well, the giant had been bound now and his house ransacked. The NYS members chained him and his Spokesman to a chair.

Michael opened another compartment of the cabinet and found the signed and sealed original document of transfer of the funds embezzled by a former head of state from the Bank Of Switzerland. He stared at it for more than a moment, and his eyes glistened. Eureka!

“For as much as life tells the story of bliss and hits page by page.
Death tells the summary of it all: brief as a sage.

Where Nirvana promises never ending sweetness
Hades fists first shows you how to appreciate heaven.

If pain became the norm,
Joy could be craved so much to be paid for with life.

Freedom can only slap different
When cuffs around your soul was like clothing on you.”

EPILOGUE

It was all over the news in no time that the President and his cabal was corrupt. Buruji was immediately summonsed to the nation's tribunal and was found guilty, with evidence, of all the charges leveled against him, including the murder of Dr Adetutu Williams. All his property home and abroad were immediately confiscated and he was exiled to Cote D voire.

Michael was ready to go back to his time but one thing niggled on his mind.

Feyikemi.

He wanted to say goodbye at least. He told himself.

So he drove straight from the airport to the office. Cameras were everywhere. He ignored them.

When he saw her his heart skipped a beat.

“what do you say about just one date?”

She smiled and shook his hand.

Her husband was the slain activist. She changed her surname to “Iginla” to protect herself and her baby. She was supposed to have twins. She lost one soon after delivery.

Taiwo didn't know much about his father, but his mother talked fondly about him as a great man who fought against oppression...

That meant that Taiwo was the little boy she held in her arms now!

Michael was speechless.

Then he saw how fragile this woman was beneath the show of courage in her poise. He was going to stay for her. Crazy! But he was going to do that.

He excused himself and smashed his Multidimensional Space Transmitter.

He was going to mess up the timeline. He didn't care.

He was going to start a new life with this woman, and be the best father Taiwo never had. He was with a woman now.

Second chances.

******************************************

Please like and comment and share this post!