THE THERAPIST
A tidal wave of hunger struck him. He let his breath out in a ragged gust and whispered, “This news is like a never-ending nightmare,” as he switched off the television. The constant stream of bad news was overwhelming, and he knew he needed to take a break from it before he got swamped by it again. Dealing with unemployment and the wave of uncertainty was hard enough without the added stress of the world’s problems.
As he pondered what to eat for the day, his mind raced with options. “A cup of garri or a loaf of bread will do,” he mumbled to himself. That’s what he always had in abundance in his house. The bread seemed like a good idea, but he never knew he had nothing left except for his breath. His stomach growled with hunger, and he went to his mini fridge in the hope of finding something to eat.
Nonetheless, disappointment washed over him as he remembered he had consumed the last slices the day before. Despite this, his stomach continued to protest, demanding food. But what could he do?
Where could he find refuge from the storm of hunger?
He wished for a miracle. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, searching for an answer to his dilemma.
The thought of it threw him into a tailspin of panic. And then it came to him, like a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds. He remembered that he had the royalty card from a mart nearby that he had yet to use. As he walked down the street, his face shrank, throwing stones at his reflection. Immediately, he entered the mart, and the mingling smells of frozen chicken, shrimp, and air freshener took him back to his school days.
Here, he could at least purchase something to survive on and watch the day go by, free from the constant barrage of bad news. Yes, that was exactly what he needed — with a little bit of cold water to quench his thirst amidst the storm of hunger.
Without batting an eyelid at the entrance of the mart, he accidentally stumbled on a woman’s toes, lost in thought.
“Is your vision blurry or what?” she snapped.
While she was still battling her inner battle, a mere man stepped on her and cleaned her toes.
She was expecting to hear the constant word “I’m sorry.” When she raised her head, she found Kunbi glancing at her.
Her anger was ragged, and he apologised, but it was too late. She wasn’t satisfied.
“You walk about aimlessly and without purpose,” she said. “It’s that obvious.”
Everyone around them watched in silence as she continued to denounce him. He tried to appease her, but she remained angry despite his conciliatory words and walked away.
Kunbi’s face darkened with frustration and disappointed, and he couldn’t help but feel a deep desire to have a business of his own. As he rode his bike home, his mind was racing with possibilities.
“I need to make a name for myself in this town,” he muttered to himself, his voice heavy with emotion.
He furrowed his brows, deep in thought, as his imagination began to run wild. He envisioned a life of luxury, success, and influence, like a movie playing out in his mind, rewinding and fast-forwarding through different scenes.
As the sun began to set, Kunbi’s mind was still preoccupied with the embarrassment he had faced earlier. He racked his brain, trying to figure out what his next move should be. He briefly considered selling bread, but he quickly remembered that he would need to register to sell anything in his estate, and the registration fee was too steep for him, only enough to feed him for a month. He also entertained the idea of starting a DJ business, given his love for music, but the cost of a DJ box was beyond his means.
After pondering for an hour, he suddenly had an epiphany — a memory of his last interview at an Oakland estate flooded back to him, and his eyes sparkled with renewed hope.
“I have found a solution already!” he exclaimed with enthusiasm.
Kunbi excitedly dialled his sister, Kikelomo. Ding click, Ding click, after constant chatter between Kunbi and her sister.
Kunbi grinned mischievously. “Your children will also benefit when money starts rolling in.”
“I can hear you, but why didn’t you join my husband? “Kunbi interrupted her before she could finish her statement.
“I didn’t like construction work.”
The silence wore on them before they ended the call.
***************
Alas, from the streets to an executive setting, Kunbi celebrated a good victory over the storm of daily hunger. But he had forgotten the dawn of time and never skipped anyone.
As he stood still, lost in thought, a memory suddenly flashed before his eyes. It was the story of a house built on sand, a tale he had heard as a child.
He swallowed hard, whispering, “Nobody will ever.”
Kunbi stood up from his desk and walked over to the window, his eyes sparkling with excitement. It was like a dream come true. Glancing around his office, his eyes were immediately drawn to the cosy sleeping sofa situated by the side of the room.
He chuckled. “The interior decorator did a good job.”
The orange sofa in the room looked comfortable, with soft blankets draped over it. The muted lighting and warm tones created a healing atmosphere. His desk was in the corner, with a small table and chairs for clients to sit and talk to him.
He couldn’t help but chuckle. “It works,” he said, dusting off the sofa.
“Please be careful with that frame; it’s very fragile,” he said to the worker, his voice as soft as the petals of a rose.
“I hope you didn’t swap the one I chose for your office.”
The worker reassured him with a nod: “No, sir, we don’t change things at Heritage House.”
Kunbi smiled, feeling relieved, and walked away, feeling as light as a feather.
As the worker began to hang the chandelier, his gateman, Bamife, suddenly sprinted towards him, his voice loud and frantic like a siren.
“Oga, one madam dey gate!”
Kunbi’s response was quick and sharp, like a bolt of lightning: “I have told you to use your intercom, Bamife. Will you come running every time we have a visitor?
Sorry, sir, sorry for yourself. Call the lady in.”
As the woman entered, Kunbi’s eyes met hers, and it was like a spark had been ignited. He knew right then that she was the perfect fit for the receptionist position. The interview lasted no more than 30 minutes, and they quickly agreed on salary. Kunbi introduced Stephanie Odi to his driver and gateman, saying, “This is our new receptionist.” He suggested calling her Steh for short.
The beauty of his office captivated Kunbi. He sat at the head of the table with his team, all eager to share his plans for the day. As he began to speak, his phone buzzed incessantly like a swarm of bees, reminding him of his sister’s request to pick up her kids from school. In a flash, Kunbi jumped out of his seat, feeling like a cheetah racing towards its prey. He hurried out of the room, his mind racing with the urgency of the task at hand. As he hopped into his car, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of exhilaration.
The driver was surprised that Kunbi didn’t call him to drive him and remarked, “Oga is really nice.”
Kunbi drove himself sometimes, and Bamife chimed in, “Na you dey enjoy now.”
None of the team knew why he drove himself sometimes, but it was always a mysterious act to them. They wondered why he didn’t just use a driver like most executives.
One quiet afternoon, Steph informed Kunbi that a woman was waiting to see him for a session, but her booking wasn’t listed in the mail. Kunbi instructed Steph to let her in and welcomed the woman into his office.
As she looked around, her eyes fixated on the small wallpaper on the wall that read, “Healing and self-discovery. I’m your TED talk.”
She became curious and asked Kunbi when he started his profession as a therapist. Kunbi tactfully complimented her and offered her a seat, using a subtle act of deception to make her feel at ease and forget all her questions.
The woman praised Kunbi, “I’m Celia Gomer. A friend recommended this place to me,” she said.
“Your non-judgmental approach has helped her in her journey of self-discovery.”
Evidently, Kunbi basked in the glory of his success as he listened to Mrs. Celia Gomer, a high-profile client who showered him with accolades for the brilliant session he had with her friend. But his moment of triumph was short-lived.
Suddenly, his alarm rang, reminding him, “Take the course for certification.”
He wanted to snooze it, and then came a shocking statement: “I want my husband,” Mrs. Gomer said.
Kunbi’s eyes widened as he tried to process what she meant. He knew that a street boy like him could never be trusted in such a high-profile therapy session, and he began to wonder if this was a set-up.
He tried to conceal his shock as he asked, “What do you mean by that?”
“I think my husband is cheating,” Mrs. Gomer said.
Kunbi’s mind raced as he tried to keep cool. Kunbi thought she wanted an assassin, or perhaps that was her own TED Talk. He asked her if she was sure or just speculating, but Mrs. Gomer’s response relieved the tension:
“I’m just losing it. He hardly spoke to me.”
Kunbi tried to sound confident as he replied, “Ah, I see. Maybe it’s just his business. You know, men and their egos.”
But even as he spoke, he could feel the weight of Mrs. Gomer’s gaze on him. She stood still, inspecting what she had witnessed.
After some constant chatter, Kunbi suggested that Mrs. Gomer could set up a company to partner with her husband for the project he was currently working on and split the profits 60/40.
“This way, he won’t know that you’re involved, and it could be a win-win situation,” Kunbi said.
Mrs. Gomer seemed to be interested in the business advice Kunbi offered and flashed a fake smile. He tried to steer the conversation in a different direction, but Mrs. Gomer persisted. However, his phone kept buzzing with calls from his sister.
He felt the weight of responsibility on his shoulders as he set out to retrieve his sister’s little ones from school. He knew that if he arrived late again, it would be like playing with fire. The last time he was tardy, the kids had raised a hue and cry, and their father had come down on him like a ton of bricks. The father had given him an ultimatum — either he stopped borrowing his kids’ car or picked up the kids early. The verdict kept echoing in his mind like a never-ending song, and the conversation had dragged on for what felt like an eternity.
Mrs. Gomer noticed the constant buzzing and insisted that he pick up the call. As Mrs. Gomer left, Kunbi released a deep sigh of relief and wondered how he had managed to get out of that sticky situation.
***************
Kunbi’s eyes widened in amazement, his jaw nearly hitting the floor. Undoubtedly, he thought he was settled for life. As he got swept away with different waves of applause from his clients, he was convinced that nothing could stop him now, as he dedicated himself to listening to people’s problems and offering solutions like a TED talk expert. However, little did he know that life can be unpredictable and fortunes can be fleeting.
As the saying goes, “One day is for the thief, and the next day is for the owner.”
With a tune in his heart and a spring in his step, Kunbi hummed a catchy tune that had been stuck in his head all day. He browsed the bread shelf at a mart, and then a friendly lady approached him.
“Hi there, can I help you with something?” she asked with a warm smile.
Kunbi was a bit surprised but welcomed the offer.
“Oh, hi,” Kunbi thought they had met before as her voice echoed.
“I was just trying to decide which bread to buy. Do you have any recommendations?”
“Sure, I love the sardine bread from this brand. It’s soft and delicious,” she said, pointing to a loaf.
Kunbi smiled. “Thanks a lot. I’ll give it a try.”
The lady smiled back. “By the way, I’m Sandra.”
They continued chatting about other food items and their preferences. They had a good connection, and before they parted ways, they exchanged contacts.”
“Thanks again for your help,” Kunbi said before leaving.”
“Anytime. Maybe we can have a drink sometime,” Sandra suggested.
Kunbi chuckled, “I won’t mind.”
Little did he know that this chance encounter would lead to a date.
Kunbi stepped into his apartment with a wide grin plastered on his face. He felt a strange sense of anticipation, like someone who was about to experience love again.
As he stepped inside, his mood was dampened by a message on his phone.
It read, “Be ready for war. You thought being a psychologist was just about adventure. The pain I will inflict on you will be unbearable. Be prepared”.
But Kunbi refused to let anything ruin his newfound joy. He brushed off the message, believing it was one of the usual messages he received from his clients’ spouses.
He sat on a couch in his house, reflecting on the session he had with a client.
“I’m glad I was able to help him see things from a different perspective,” he thought to himself.
Just then, his phone rang. It was his grandmother calling, asking him to come to the village and help Iya Eledu with a broken bone.
He grumbled, “Why not take her to the hospital?” but she pleaded he should just come.
He thought of the distance from Lagos to Saki, but after much persuasion, he agreed.
“Grandma, I’ll be there first thing in the morning,” Kunbi replied.
He then messaged his receptionist and asked her to reschedule all of his appointments from Saturday to Tuesday.
As he packed up for the journey, Kunbi’s sister, Kikelomo, called him.
“Uncle Kunbi, you stopped coming to my house since you stopped picking up my kids from school? And they asked of you,” she said.
Kunbi chuckled. “Actually, I have been very busy here and there,” he replied.
Her sister teased him that his business must be really blooming.
They chatted for a bit, catching up on each other’s lives, and informed her he was going to Saki.
“Again? Is Grandma okay?” his sister asked.
“Iya Eledu in the village has a broken leg, and they need my help,” Kunbi explained.
His sister knew that once he mentioned Saki, either Grandma was sick or someone had a broken leg.
She teased him, “Your best friend,” and Kunbi chuckled.
There’s something quite special about mothers, isn’t there? Whether they’ve given birth to a child or not, the love they carry with them always manages to shine through. Iya Eledu had a deep love for Kunbi and always found a way to send him something special whenever she had a friend or family member headed to Lagos. One of her favourite things to send was a batch of her famous plantains, perfectly ripe and bursting with flavour.
After the call, Kunbi sent a WhatsApp message to his girlfriend, Sandra, whom he met at the mart.
“Hello dear, I won’t be available for the next few days. I need to attend to something urgent in the village.”
She responded immediately, “Is everything alright? Do you need any help?” Sandra replied.
“No, everything is fine. It’s just a family emergency. I’ll be in touch soon,” Kunbi assured her.
As the wind caressed Kunbi’s face, he couldn’t help but feel uneasy. The journey to Saki had been long and tiring, and the smell of fuel only added to his discomfort.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he arrived at the quiet town. The sight of children playing on the streets brought a smile to his face, but he was too exhausted to appreciate it fully. As he tried to catch his breath, his grandmother appeared out of nowhere and gave him a quick hug before dragging him to her friend’s house.
“Iya Eledu dey come from farm na where something enter her leg. She used Rob Rub am. Na the next morning she know say the leg too heavy to carry,” his Grandma explained as they walked. Kunbi was shocked to hear about the woman’s condition.
“That sounds serious. I’ll try my best.”
After a few hours of working on the woman’s leg, the pain was alleviated, and she fell asleep for the first time in a while. Kunbi’s Grandma was amazed.
“Wetin you use? Kunbi gets a miracle hand,” Grandma exclaimed while Iya Eledu flashed a smile.
Kunbi chuckled, “It’s nothing special.”
His Grandma and Iya Eledu’s husband blessed him with a longer life prayer and even offered him some business opportunities. They advised him to purchase a plot of land to plant plantains and get some local women to wash shea butter for him. Kunbi blushed as he thanked them.
“It was my pleasure to help.”
He thought about it for a few minutes and whispered, “I can introduce this farm business to my clients. For partnerships or collaborations.”
Kunbi was elated with Iya Eledu’s recovery, and his heart swirled with emotions. Getting better, and the business opportunity that came his way? It was on a platter of gold, served to him by fate itself — a feast of possibilities, each morsel promising success and prosperity.
He weighed his options, turning them over like polished stones in his palm. His mind, like a chessboard, saw the moves clearly — the calculated risks, the strategic gains. He knew his clients would flock to his side, drawn by the allure of his plan. They were like bees to nectar, hungry for the sweetness of progress.
But life, that fickle mistress, had other designs. As the sun went down, the long shadows were cast, and Kunbi’s happiness was suddenly taken away, just like a kite caught in a sudden gust. He received a flurry of messages and missed calls that made him feel anxious and worried. He wondered why everyone was trying to reach out to him. His heart started racing, making him feel like a wild stallion galloping towards an unknown finish line.
And then, distraction arrived — a troupe of children was playing football with an aluminium bowl turned into a ball. He quickly sat on a weathered bench, observing the dance of youth. Their skills were like fireflies — bright, fleeting, and full of wonder.
“You guys are amazing,” Kunbi called out, his voice a bridge between worlds.
The children turned, eyes wide like moons. To them, he was a city coach, a sage from distant lands. They imagined fame, their names etched in headlines, their faces on billboards. Perhaps this stranger held the key to their dreams — the magic wand that could transform their humble game into a spectacle.
And so, as the sun dipped lower, unknown to Kunbi, his escapades had made their way onto social media and the news. He had become a local celebrity, known for claiming to be something he wasn’t. His social media was filled with nasty comments. His life was shrouded in secrecy, and he had always been careful to keep his secrets hidden from the world, but someone dipped them out.
The children’s laughter echoed in the field as they tossed the football back and forth. Suddenly, a notification popped up on his phone, interrupting his reverie. The message was ominous and sent shivers down his spine. He couldn’t believe what he was reading.
“I warned you to prepare for war, but you took it lightly. Now, the contract with Blue Media is cancelled. Don’t bother showing up. Be ready for an email from them. You’ve messed with the wrong person.”
His eyes widened in shock as he read the message, and his heart skipped a beat. A flurry of emails followed, including one about an international deal he was eager to close to become their staff counsellor. He had also been planning to start an evening show on Healing and self-discovery on Blue Media and help other youths. Everything he had worked for three years was slipping away from his grasp.
His girlfriend’s message arrived like a dagger to the heart, its words etched in digital ink: “I’m sorry, I can’t associate with fraud and liars. Don’t bother calling back. You’re blocked already.”
The screen blurred, and his breath caught in his throat. He had danced on the edge of deception, and now the music had stopped. His love life crumbled like a sandcastle, waves of regret eroding its fragile walls.
Next came his sister’s missive — a cryptic command to check social media. Kunbi’s trembling fingers unlocked his phone, and there it was: his name, a headline in bold letters.
“Not a Therapist, but a Scammer.”
The accompanying image was a distorted reflection of himself — an impostor masquerading as a healer. Fake stories swirled around him like vultures, accusing him of ruining lives with misguided counsel. His comments section buzzed with outrage, a digital mob baying for justice.
He knew the truth — the bitter pill lodged in his throat. He wasn’t a licensed therapist; his advice had been stitched together from half-truths and borrowed wisdom. But who would listen to his side of the story? The internet had no patience for nuance and no room for redemption. His reputation crumbled like ancient parchment, the ink fading into oblivion.
Everything he had built — the consultancy, the facade of expertise — now lay in ruins. The castle of lies collapsed, its turrets crumbling. Kunbi’s heart echoed the chaos, a chamber of shattered dreams. He glanced at his grandmother, her eyes as sharp as falcon talons. She sensed his distress; her intuition was a compass pointing north.
“Why you dey look like this?” she asked, her voice a soothing balm. He rubbed his nose and blinked away.
But storms leave scars, and Kunbi’s soul bore witness to the wreckage. He wondered if redemption was possible — if he could rebuild from the ashes and find a new purpose.
Kunbi trapped himself in a difficult situation of his own making. He wishes that the earth would swallow him whole or that he could become invisible so that he could escape the chaos of deception and disappear into oblivion.
However, the universe was indifferent to his plea and continued to move forward, its cosmic clock ticking away.
To be continued...
