Fiction
My Company, My Responsibility
A Short Story
My mum always told me, “Mind the kind of friends you keep,” but I never gave much thought until I was affected by the wrongdoings of my friends. I was always the friendly guy in the room, I could get anyone to laugh and gist, even the introverts, so I had many friends. Looking back, I can’t call all of them friends, but they all enjoyed my company.
All my life, I had lived in Akwa Ibom, but I was to be posted to Lagos for my National Youth Service Corps (NYSC). I did not know my way around, so I reached out to some of my guys who stayed in Lagos. After the three weeks of camp orientation, my mum suggested I stay in the accommodation provided by my fellowship, but I was able to sweet-talk her into letting me stay with my friends. She was not too comfortable, but she gave heed and gave her advice as always. She said, “Remember the home you are coming from, don’t put your people to shame,” and I replied her with a chuckle, “Yes, ma.”
I joined my guys in their apartment. After a month, I got to know that they were not going to their Primary Place of Assignment (PPA), so I asked them about it, but they laughed and said that they had settled it, so I did not bother them anymore. My PPA was a financial firm and fortunately for me, it was close to my friends’ apartment. I had studied Banking and Finance from Akwa Ibom State University and I was looking forward to the firm retaining me at the end of the NYSC program. It was a dream for me because the working culture and the people were in line with my personal values and I was loved.
With time, I noticed that my friends rarely go out except for parties over the weekend. They were always on their phones and their laptops and were awake all night. I did not understand what they were up to and did not bother to ask as I felt it was none of my business, so long I was not involved in anything shady. I was only bothered by the strange friends who visited them and their excessive use of alcohol whenever they went to parties.
As I was cleaning up the kitchen one Saturday, I noticed that one of my friends had slept while using his laptop and we were the only ones in the apartment, so I went over to help him take his laptop from the bed to the desk. As I was about to close his laptop, I noticed that he had a display picture of a lady and was talking to a guy. I have always learned not to meddle in people’s business, but I was stunned to see that he posed as a lady and was requesting money from a man. I was tempted to scroll and check his other chats, but I remembered the need to mind my business. Ever since that day, I was concerned with what my friends were doing, but I never questioned them about it.
I made up my mind that I would not disturb them and would just mind my business, but I was very unsuccessful at that because my uneasiness was mounting up each day that even my mum noticed when I spoke to her, but I did not know how to tell her the cause of my unease. I also did not know what my friends were up to; all I knew was that I could not just join them. I did very little about the issue until one fateful day, the day their actions got me into trouble.
As I got home that day, someone shouted, “He is part of them! He is their friend o!” I did not understand what was going on until someone from behind slapped me on my neck. I was so angered that I was about to return the slap when two other men joined him; they handcuffed me and were slapping and kicking me. I was so lost. I could hear my neighbour saying, ‘And he looks like a good boy oo’. I was more troubled when the response of one of my attackers was, “It is the good ones that do the bad things.” Confusion is a total understatement to how I felt. I summoned a little courage to ask the men whom I now knew to be policemen in both a crying and pleading manner, “Oga, please wetin be my offence,” but before I could complete my statement, a slap had landed on my face. I did not know where they were taking me, so I still cried, “Wetin be my offence nah,” and I was kicked. I kept crying to know my offence, but they kept beating me. I did not want to go visit the police station, because of my mother’s word not to bring shame to the family.
I was taken to the police station and I was interrogated for internet fraud “yahoo yahoo.” I did not understand at first, but as the question and beating kept coming, I understood. I told them that I was not guilty of all their questions, but they were not ready to believe me. They went through my phone and laptop and saw nothing and instead of letting me go, they said “This guy smart gan; he don hide everything.”
The police only believed me when they finally apprehended one of my friends who confessed to the allegation laid against him and he also admitted that I was innocent. When they brought me before him to ask him if I was part of his group of internet fraudsters, he cried out, “Oga, this one no dey part of us o! Una don beat pastor oo.”
I was released after three days of torture. Even my friend was not tortured like I was. I was told sorry by the policemen and they paid for my hospital bill, but that was not going to change the fact that I had spent three days in the police cell and that I was brutally tortured. I had never fasted for three days until that experience. When I got home, I packed my bags to leave. Some of my neighbours came to ask me what happened and I did not bother answering any of them. I was not sure of where I wanted to go but I could not continue living there, and I was unwilling to go for my fellowship accommodation with my swollen face. I decided to lodge in a hotel for a few days until I fully got myself. They almost did not allow me to lodge because of how badly beaten I looked. I had to explain the situation to them and call the police to validate my story before they agreed. I also called my human resources manager to let her know of what had happened and she permitted me to have a week break to recover. After recovering, I had to join the accommodation provided by my fellowship. I did not fully recover emotionally from encounter for a long time and I also started scrutinising every relationship. I was more intentional. It was sad that I had to understand my mother’s words, “Mind the kind of friends you keep” the hard way, but I am grateful that I did not get convicted for a crime I did not commit. If I have advice for anyone, amongst the first few would be “mind the kind of friends you keep.”
Thank you for reading my story. Once again, be intentional about your relationships.
Meaning of pidgin words used
- Wetin — What is
- Oga — Sir
- Una — All of you
- Gan — Big way
- Don — Have/Has/Had
- Nah (An exclamation in the story context)
- Dey part — Among
