Adebowale Abacha

No one would guess the homeless man with skin darker than night was the son of once one of the most powerful men in Africa.  No one would guess that the man holding a sign with misspelled words and the poorly conjugated verbs attended Oxford University in England.  No one would guess that the man wearing sandals leaving his feet calloused, filthy, was once clothed in royal robes wrapped around his designer clothing and accessories. No one would guess the man who had trash and garbage thrown from open windows of passing vehicles had once lived in Aso Rock Presidential Villa, a palace in Abuja where an army of servants would wait on him hand and foot.  No one would guess the man who daily had to endure being bombarded with racial slurs was once the son of one of the most ruthless and brutal despots on the African continent.  Adebowale Abacha known in the local homeless community as Addie and he preferred living in anonymity as he had for the past decade, the son of deposed Nigerian dictator General Sani Abacha. 

As he stood on the street corner holding his cardboard sign with a dozen other homeless citizens begging for a handout from the passing vehicles of the morning commute in Brooklyn.  

“Addie.” He heard one of them call out to him.

“Chubbie, how are you?” Addie embraced his friend Chibuike Chumabba. Chubbie’s father had once been the right hand man of his father.  Chubbie’s father was General Chumabba who was the military commander of his father’s corrupt regime.  During the coup in 1998, Chubbie’s father had been taken to the state prison where he was tortured until he died a few weeks after the coup while Addie’s father General Sani had died of a heart attack according to the accounts in the media.  

“It be a hot day, no.” Chubbie announced.

“Yah.” Addie took a hand rolled cigarette from his shirt pocket and handed it to his friend.

“Thank you, my friend.” Chubbie put it in his mouth and lit it with his Bic lighter. 

“Did you go to the shelter for breakfast?” He asked after taking another cigarette from his pocket and lighting it with a lighter his father had given him.  He treasured the lighter because it reminded him of his father with his initials “SA” engraved in it.  

“Yah.” Chubbie answered, blowing a smoke ring. “Dey pray to Jay-sus.”

“Bah.” Addie shook his head, “Christian.  No Moslem. In-fa-dells.” 

Chubbie laughed, “Always same with you.”

“Right.”  Addie nodded as he crushed out his cigarette with his heel. “The Koran is God’s law.” 

“I agree.” Chubbie nodded enthusiastically. 

“Break it up.” A police officer shoved one of the people holding a sign. 

“No need for that.” The man complained struggling to keep his balance.

“City Ordinances prohibit the gathering of indigents.” The officer replied to the complaint. 

“City  ordinances, bah.” The man spit on the sidewalk.  He was wearing a long overcoat and a beat up New York Yankees’ baseball cap. His shoes were worn and scuffed with holes in both of the toes. 

“Spitting is also in violation of the city ordinance.” The policeman warned.  

“Get the hell outta here.” The man pulled himself away from the policeman’s hold on his shoulder.  The policeman planted his grip on the man’s shoulder again, but this time he used enough force to bring the man to his knees. As the policeman did this, he removed the handcuffs from his belt and had one of the man’s hands clamped in them.  

“He do dis everyday.” Chubbie whispered to Addie as the man cried out in pain as his other hand was forced into the handcuffs. 

“Le’ him go.” Addie stood over the policeman.

“And who the heck are you?” The policeman stood up leaving the handcuffed man lying on the sidewalk.  His partner appeared.

“I am the son of the president of Nig-eer-ia.” He towered over the policeman, his face twisted in anger. “Eb-ber-ee day we gets dis.”

“Yeah, well, city ordinances must be enforced.” This time he drew out his nightstick and slapped it in his hand.  Addie took a step back. The policeman turned to face the rest of the crowd gathered at the intersection. “Let’s get moving, shall we?”

With a tap of his heavy nightstick on the streetlight pole, the others began to move in the direction of the four winds.

“So Black Sambo, what are you gonna do?” The policeman turned to face Addie once again as he adjusted his dark sunglasses, his partner removed the handcuffs from Chibuike Chumabba. Once freed, Chubbie stood up and dusted himself off.  He glared at the officer who had put the cuffs on him.  

“C’mon Addie, we go.” Chubbie grabbed his friend’s elbow and tugged.

Addie had seen his father have a man executed right in the courtyard of the Aso Rock Presidential Villa.  As he walked away with his friend, he looked over his shoulder as the cop brought the man to his feet and began escorting him to the jail one block over. 

“Father, this man needs to be executed.”  “Yes, my son, right away.”  There was a sharp sound of gunfire followed by a silent stillness.    

But his fantasy faded as they continued to walk, blending in with the other pedestrians who had actual places to go.  Addie knew that Chubbie was walking him to the park near Flatbush where many of the homeless community gathered waiting for the sun to set.  It was a hot late summer day with that sticky humidity that everyone complained about.  To Addie, these people complained too much about things they could not control like their weather.  None of them would ever know what true humidity was about unless they went to Nigeria where the sweltering heat would melt most of them.  

Chubbie sat down at one of the tables where a man had set up a chess board challenging any takers that happened to come along.  He would have no way of knowing that Chibuike Chumabba was once one a Nigerian champion chess player when he was attending the university in Legos.  Addie guessed he would find out soon enough.

Two children were tugging on a dog’s leash attached to a puppy with an abundance of energy.  Addie remembered when he had a loveable Labrador was killed by the mob during the coup.  He was sobbing over his dog’s corpse when his mother grabbed him and told him they needed to escape the villa immediately.  Some of his memories remained as open wounds even ten years later.  

Chubbie was holding a couple of Andrew Jacksons as strolled over to the bench where Addie had planted himself to watch the children with their puppy.  When he reached where Addie was sitting, he said, “Looks like we has suppah money, eh?” 

“Are ya gonna play again?” Addie nodded, smiling at his friend. 

“Yah, I git us some mo’ suppah money.” He laughed as he sat next to Addie on the bench.  

No one knew except Chibuike Chumabba that Addie was dyslexic and struggled with school until his father hired a private tutor.  Using the tutor, he was able to gain admission to Oxford since the General had connections and knew that the educated people spoke English.  The household staff, however, spoke Hausa and Addie picked up Hausa through his interactions with them.  Sani did not want his son to speak the language of the common people, so he forbade Hausa spoken in his presence.  

One of Addie’s most guarded secrets was that his mother, Efetobo, was not the wife of Sani.  In a well known affair, Sani promised his mistress that he would treat Adebowale like his own son.  Keeping one of his few promises, Sani treated Addie like  his other seven sons.  

He walked over to where Chubbie was about to checkmate one of the chess players.  When he saw Addie walking over toward the table, he smiled at his friend and whispered to him as he approached, “I git him in 14 moves and mate.” 

“You are da champ.” He laughed and patted him on the shoulder. “I be headin’ on me own.” 

“Oh okay.” He nodded, still smiling.

His first stop was always the cemetery where his mother was laid to rest in 2003.  He would sit in the grass and talk to her as if she was still alive and living in their flat off of Flushing Avenue.  She would walk with him along Kent Avenue to the navy yard on the East River and they would talk about their lives.  A graduate of Oxford University, the only employment he could get was stocking groceries at one of the larger retail stores.  After she passed away, he lost his will to go on it seemed.  He walked to the navy yard and contemplated walking off one of the docks and disappear into the brackish waters. Eventually he was fired, because he quit showing up to work.

The name Efetobo Mtumbogoto (1955-2003) Caring mother.  R.I.P. was engraved into his mother’s granite headstone.  He used the last of his savings to have it made and placed over her grave.  

“Mama, it’s me, Addie.” He squatted down, leaning against the headstone. “I didn’t get da job lika I was hopin.’  I keep tryin’ an’ I ain’t gonna quit.  Not like las’ time.” 

There were times when he would feel as though he let her down.  When she was alive, she would tell him about the expectations she had for him and how he would rise and people would take notice.  As he passed his forty-second birthday in the shelter, he knew he would never rise to meet her expectations.  After escaping the coup in 1998, she went to New York City to connect with her sister, but that proved to be a futile and sad reunion.  She wound up living on the streets, managing to find a small place for her and her son in Brooklyn after a year or so.  She was employed as a maid for some rich folks living in Crown Heights.  

His visits to her grave always made him sad and melancholy, but he’d walk away still talking to her as if they were on one of their walks to the navy yard.  By the time he got to Corrine’s apartment, he had said his peace and was ready to spend some time with his girlfriend.  Corrine had come from Sierra Leone which had also been a British colony.  

“Hey dere.” Addie said as he knocked on her apartment door.  Hearing his voice, she opened the door and kissed him hello. 

“Where you been at?” She asked after she had kissed him.

“Same old places.” He laughed. She smelled good to him.  So he put his nose on her neck and took a deep breath to catch her delicate fragrance he loved so much.

“You could move in here.  Plenty of room ya know.” She held his hand as she led him inside.

“A man has to be a man.” He started on his old familiar rhetoric.

“You so much like ya fadder.” She shook her head and kissed him again.  She had never met his father, but she knew how men from the Gold Coast thought about women.  After being in Brooklyn for the last decade, Corrine had gotten used to her new found freedom, but she still admired the way Adebowale could walk so gallantly into a room.

“Ah, but he was a good man.” Adebowale sat down on her loveseat and drew her to his lap.  

“No doubt, no doubt.” She put her hand on his face.  It was a strong face with a prominent chin that always got her attention when he came over.  When she put her hands on his face, it always made him feel important.  His self confidence was once again in tact as he turned into her for another kiss that was meant to be much more serious than what he was greeted with.  His hands slid up her back under her shirt, undoing her bra as she moved on top of him on her loveseat.  It was called a loveseat for a reason.

When they were finished, she took his hand and led him into her bedroom.  He went willingly now that both of them had shed their clothing.  A few hours later, Adebowale was breathing heavily as he lay on her back with Corrine curled up in his arm, her body still very much entwined in his.

“I be da lion, no?” He kissed her on the forehead once he had regained his breath.

“Yes, you be the lion of the Serengeti.” She laughed, her eyes scanned over his body covered by only a sheet. “You come live with me.” 

“Naw…” 

“Doncha give me none of that African man bullshit.” She scolded him. “Ya be livin’ homeless, camping out with ya friend, Chibuike Chumabba.  Doncha wanna be with me.  I can do things fo’ ya, he can’t.” 

He pulled away from her suddenly and turned his back on her.

“Whadda think?” His feelings were hurt by her strong headed opinions, “Ya don’ know no African man.” 

“When is ya gonna let that stuff go?” She put her hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off.

“Dere is t’ings ya don’ know ‘bout me.” He pouted. She hated when he was like this, but this was how he was after visiting the cemetery.

“I dropped out of da university when my father died.  Ain’ nothin’ good happened since then.” He spoke words she had heard many times, but she knew better than to stop him.  

“You are a good man, Adebowale Abache.” She whispered into his ear, “I love ya more dan anyone I know.”

He moved a bit closer to her which was his sign that he would forgive her if she continued to confirm her love for him.

He did not want to tell her about his place in the family, but she already knew since she had met his mother when they first met.  She told her who his father was and about how he had arranged his acceptance into Oxford.  She also said that Sani loved Adebowale like one of his seven sons that his wife Maryam had bore him.  Due to his position as the president, Sani could not afford the gossip of having a son with one of his house servants, but the truth was no matter what he did, the gossip would persist.  By sending him off to the university, Sani could focus on important issues that faced his country even if the biggest issue was his own corruptive leadership.  Adebowale had been at home in September when the coup took place.  The junta rushed into Aso Rock Presidential Villa with rifles pointing at Sani. His other brothers and sisters were there, but when the junta came rushing in to remove Sani from power, they ran out of the room.  Knowing that they wanted to hang him in the courtyard, Sani glanced at Adebowale who was the only one not to flee the room and winked at him.  Removing a capsule from his shirt pocket, he popped the pill into his mouth.  Within the hour, Sani would be gone.  The soldiers would not be able to execute him in the courtyard and the BBC would later confirm that General Sani Abacha had died of a heart attack.

He would use her shower before leaving just as the sun was setting.  Before leaving, he embraced her, letting his tears fall in her hair.

“Stay.” She whispered as he let her go.

“I can’t.” He shook his head and with that walked away.  She watched until she could not see him any longer. Her own tears were now running down her face as she turned and went inside. 

  No one would guess that he had secrets he was keeping to honor his father. No one would guess that the tall homeless man with the dark skin was an African warrior ready to defend the honor of his people even at a great cost to his own well-being.  There were a lot of things about Adebowale Abacha that were not obvious to a casual observer.  Knowing that was solace enough for him as he hustled to meet Chibuike Chumabba for dinner.