CHAPTER ONE

Part I

When you have everything, what could you possibly desire?

CHAPTER ONE

His Royal Majesty, Pierre Paul Abutu Ph.D (Honoris Causa), JP, the current Attah of Igala and a native of Igalamela-Odolu Local Government Area of Kogi State, Nigeria, is my name. This is my story, and these are my love affairs.

I was born more than thirty years ago to the immediate past Attah of Igala, and my late father, Dr Peter Ilemonan Abutu. I was his only son among eight children. Being the only son of a billonaire international businessman, shipping magnate, agro-exporter, solid mineral exporter and realtor, had its perks. As early as I can remember, I was sent off with my mother, Lady Grace Ojochide Abutu (my father’s second wife), to live in Switzerland.

I grew up living in a milk-coloured seven bedroom mansion, with a gum-cum-dojo, mini-cinema, suspended vegetable garden and swimming pool. When I became a teenager I later understood that that my mother had some marital issues with my father, before opting to live in Switzerland. She handled some of my father’s business activities and called him thrice a week.

Many might think I sound weird for telling these love stories / affairs of mine. Even though my father was a polygamist with three wives and eight children ended up with only one wife, not because

I love her deeply, wanted to obey the Holy Bible or loved women a lot, but because it was the right thing to do. I won’t deny the fact that there had been immense pressure from countless subjects of mine, including my elder sisters to outdo my late father.

While in Berne, Switzerland, I never lacked for anything, and I could describe my mother as one over-protective lady. Apart from ensuring that that I had the best of everything, and was raised ‘in the way of the Lord’, my mother went to great lengths to make sure I had little or no association, friendship or acquaintance with the opposite sex while I was in Switzerland.

Few weeks to my eighteenth birthday, there was a global summit of world leaders somewhere in Davos. My father was in the entourage of the Nigerian President, as the representative of traditional rulers in Nigeria. The entire summit went on smoothly until I went to the convenience to urinate. A young married Swiss lady, who I believed was not up to thirty five years old entered and locked the main door to the convenience,. She was five feet, nine inches tall with blonde hair she packed in a bun atop her head. She wore a pretty knee-length navy blue gown with platinum encrusted necklaces, ear rings and bangles. Her body was curved like a Coca Cola bottle, while her well-shaped breasts protruded slightly from the upper part of her gown. Her nails were beautifully done, while her entire skin was spotless. She had dark eyes and her from her physique, I knew she would have been visiting a gym at least twice a week.

According to her, she had been watching me all evening and could not take her eyes of me while attending to the world leaders. Before I could respond, she placed her writing pad and pen beside the granite holding several wash hand basins and undid her zip. My countenance remained unchanged as her gown fell on her pair of black suede shoes and around her heels.

“What’s your name, Madam”, I whispered, while looking away from her white brassiere and panties.

“Marilyn”, she responded.

“Tell you what Marilyn, you’re beautiful, sexy and fit  for a woman, but I don’t do married ladies, okay?”

“But, I like you, your charm, your physique, please… just a quickie, I beg of you…”

“Please put on your dress Madam Marilyn, I’ve heard enough”, I looked away as she reluctantly pulled up her gown and dressed up as if nothing happened.

“When you get home this night, sit with your husband, tell him what you need, tell him what you want and tell him where he is  lacking towards you, okay?”

“Okay Pierre Abut, I’ll do that… I’m grateful”.

I made for the door, and gripped the door knob with my right hand when she picked up her writing pad and pen and walked towards me. She embraced me before I could refuse, kissed my left cheek and dropped her complimentary card in the chest pocket of my suit.

“Call me”, Marilyn whispered and was gone.

I never called her, but I kept the card nonetheless. That was the first time I’d beheld a naked woman. Funny, enough, I felt nothing, and the memory still amuses me. I believed she had the talk with her husband as I recommended. The only time I remembered the colour and design of Marilyn’s brassiere and panties was when I followed my mother to several fancy shops to buy underwear.

The years went by and I finished my elementary school and high school education in Berne and Zurich. Though I spent most of my holidays assisting my mum in attending to my father’s business concerns, the thoughts of love, emotions, female companionship and erotic desires always crept into my brain. Several weeks after the completion of my high school education my mother informed me that I would be returning to Nigeria for my tertiary education. Although I had mixed feelings, I knew I had no choice in the matter. Be that as it may, it would definitely be fun to see my fatherland again.

Two months later, while driving towards the Zurich airport, my mum made me realize that it was necessary I familiarize with my roots and country since I was the first (and only) son of my father, and future heir to the Igala throne.

The thought of being a traditional ruler bored me, and I always reminded myself thereafter, of how bad my French was. The language was dull and commanded no excitement as far as I was concerned. I smiled whenever I think of the countless sex education lessons my mum gave me while in High School. She always had this crazy mortal fear of how horrible my life and future would be if I had a child out of wedlock.

Few weeks later, I arrived at the Namdi Azikiwe International Airport, in Abuja. Before going to see my father at his palace in Idah, Kogi State, I paid the Swiss Ambassador a visit at the Swiss Embassy, situate at Maitama, in Abuja.

The weeks that followed saw me visiting my seven sisters (most of whom were married). They all inquired whether I had a girlfriend in the course of my respective chit-chats with them. After giving a negative answer, each of them would smile and subsequently inquire about how my mum was faring back in Switzerland. Later, I purchased a form and registered for my external examinations. I subsequently sat for these external examinations and passed them in flying colours.

Thereafter, my father insisted that it was best for me to broaden my ‘social horizons’. In doing this, he had me purchase a form from Igbinedion University Okada, for the 2008/2009 academic session. I didn’t oppose my father’s decision, and I felt good about his choice in that regard. Later, I sat for and passed the entrance examinations, and was subsequently admitted to study law at the Igbinedion University Okada, in September, 2008.

My mum was ecstatic about the news of my admission when I informed her about it. I still remember how she screamed happily, sang and danced for almost five minutes before we resumed our conversation.

She giggled and later informed me that her first love was the current Vice Chancellor of the institution (Igbinedion University Okada).

So, why did you leave him, hope it wasn’t because he wasn’t an Igala man?”  I inquired.

“You won’t understand,, my beloved Pierre”, she replied with a sigh.

“Come on, tell me… I promise I won’t tell Dad”. I imagined her pouting and frowning at the other end, due to my last statement answer.

“Well, his mum was a tribalist… and I was royalty. Though I love him, his mother would never allow us be together. He was a mummy’s boy, so we had to go our separate ways”.

“Till you met dad…”

“Yes, till I met your father…”

She giggled for several seconds and later instructed me to inform her whenever I’ll be resuming school at the university. After the call ended, I suddenly remembered how much I missed the chocolates in Berne and Zurich. Although she never told me how much she spent, I knew my mother had spent a fortune in getting a Wing Chun Master from China, down to Switzerland, to teach me Wing Chun while I was nine years old.

I tried not to imagine my father’s reaction to such expense, even though he hated the thought of his only son becoming or behaving like a ‘pussy’. Thereafter I was fit, hardened and fearless by the skills and techniques the old Chinese man taught me while I was in Switzerland. T

Currently, I knew the spacious gym-cum-dojo back in the Berne mansion would be covered in dust. I still remember how my mum’s maids covered the Wing Chun dummy, weapons, training objects and fitness instruments with dust covers.

                                                                                                                       

            After I left my father (the Attah of Igala’s) palace, I soon realised one thing: FREEDOM. Freedom from my mum, freedom from my father, freedom from my mum’s workers, maids and bodyguards, freedom from my father’s aides, counsellors and bodyguards. ‘I was finally free, I told myself silently and repeatedly. My father had no idea how happy I was that fateful morning as he blessed and prayed for me in Igala dialect, in his palace, before my departure.

The first and third wives were present with some of my sisters. There were several chiefs, aides, guards and countless assistants present during the entire ‘ceremony’. The night before then, I had made it clear that I wanted to, and would live a simple life on the school campus for the next five years.

“But you’re royalty… or have you forgotten?” my father questioned, looking amused.

“I haven’t forgotten, but I also remember that it is knowledge I am going to acquire”.

My father stared at me with suspicion as he waved his horsetail before his face.

“Is it your mum that advised you to do this?”

“Mum? No… why, no, no, no. It’s just my personal decisions. The less people over there know about my identity, the better for me”.

My father saw some sense in my ‘position’, and eventually concurred with me. On the day of my departure, I was ferried in my father’s black luxury Mercedes Benz van to Edo State, en route to Okada town. I was amused when a black Toyota Hilux truck followed the van closely from behind. The Toyota Hilux truck contained ex-military personnel in plain clothes. The men were armed, and had their faces shielded with dark sunshades. That fateful day in September, 2008, I journeyed to Igbinedion University Okada, to become an undergraduate student at the Oba Erediauwa College of Law.

It was safe to say that everything went smoothly in the University from the onset. The registration, hostel allocation and orientation process all went smoothly. I made sure my father’s aides and goons did not accompany me around like a typical political office holder in Nigeria.

Anyway, Igbinedion University is made up of three parts / campuses. The first part / campus is described as the Crown Estate. The Crown Estate contains the hostels , the staff and living quarters, an open museum, the fish pond, the theatre, the guest houses, the football field, volleyball court, the eateries, sporting facilities, the religious buildings, recreational and non-academic offices, buildings and edifices.

The second part / campus is known as the Permanent Site (a.k.a. ‘P.S.’). Most of the University’s academic offices and buildings are located in the Permanent Site (including the Oba Erediuawa College of Law). Two banks (Zenith bank and Intercontinental bank) had their branches here too. Intercontinental bank was later acquired by Access Bank Plc., but that is by the way.

The Permanent Site also contained the convocation hall, the central library, the Central Bank of Nigeria (CBN) funded library, the Senate building and most of the Colleges / Faculties.

The third part / campus is known as the Temporary Site (a.k.a. ‘T.S.’). It contained the College of Health Sciences, the teaching hospital, several academic buildings and a bank – Sterling bank.