Chigozie was surprised at how polished the language spoken by the labourer sounded. “Where did you learn to speak that way,” he asked.
“What way, Sir?”
“You don’t sound like a labourer. What are you doing here? Why aren’t you in school?”
“Sir, it’s a long story.”
“Indulge me,” Chigozie insisted. Patrick looked back at the site and Chigozie understood he was worried the foreman might punish him for not returning promptly.
“How much do you make here?”
“It depends on the work available. Today, I hope to get Two Thousand Naira.”
“I’ll explain to the foreman. Go on, tell me what happened.” Patrick was not convinced, so Chigozie gave him 2,000 Naira.
Patrick thanked him and gave him his life story in a nutshell. Chigozie, who had also lost his dad at a young age, sympathised with the boy. He reasoned that if his relatives had not picked him up after his dad’s death, he would not be a permanent US resident with the kind of job that enabled him to be putting up this commercial building for his mum’s comfort and sustenance at the age of 28. He wished he earned more, he would have offered the boy a scholarship but he had his mum and poorer relatives to care for plus the huge project (a three-storeyed building) he was handling. Nonetheless, he resolved not to leave him empty-handed.
“You said you’ve got admission. Find out what you need to get started: your initial fees ….”
Patrick interrupted him. “I’ve already done that, Sir. The acceptance fee is Twenty-five Thousand Naira plus Sixty-five Thousand Naira school fees.”
That sounded high for an undergraduate programme. Where do they expect people to come up with that kind of money in Nigeria’s bad economy, he wondered. Or it may be the boy was inflating the figures. Heck, he may not even have got admission but made up the story to take advantage of his kindness. He would need to verify his story before acting. But on second thoughts, he decided to finish with the matter there and then because he had too many things on his plate than checking a poor boy’s story and he was travelling back to the US in a few days. It would break his heart to forget and miss the opportunity of assisting a needy soul.
“How can I transfer money to you?”
“What? You mean now?”
“Yes, I’ d like to help you pick up your admission. A fellow like you doesn’t belong at a site like this.”
“Oh my God! I have an account with First Bank, oh my God!”
“Calm down, okay? I may not give you all you need but I will give you something reasonable. It may be because of you that I’m here today because I’d scheduled to see this site with the contractor on Sunday when no one will be around. I want you to determine to graduate no matter the difficulty. The God who brought me here today will see you through.”
“Amen.”
“So, can I have your account number?”
Patrick recited the number and two minutes later, his phone beeped. Chigozie had transferred Seventy Thousand Naira to his account. Patrick was still thanking him profusely by the time he drove off.
Ever since he had been seeking help to pay his second-year fees of Forty-five Thousand Naira, he had been wondering where all the Chigozies in the world were. He had been asking God to provide him with a sponsor: just one Chigozie to lighten his load. He wasn’t asking for someone to carry his whole burden but just a concerned man or woman to pay his fees so that he would be hustling for his sustenance, levies, books, etc. Plus his contribution to his mum’s care.
By 2 p.m., Patrick was getting agitated. He called his uncle’s line and he brusquely responded, “Nwoke m, how many times will you call me today?”
“I’m sorry, Sir, I just wanted to remind you that today is the deadline for paying the fees.”
“Why are they fixing deadline? Did they give anybody money to keep? And why are they charging you school fees- is that not a federal university?”
“What way, Sir?”
“You don’t sound like a labourer. What are you doing here? Why aren’t you in school?”
“Sir, it’s a long story.”
“Indulge me,” Chigozie insisted. Patrick looked back at the site and Chigozie understood he was worried the foreman might punish him for not returning promptly.
“How much do you make here?”
“It depends on the work available. Today, I hope to get Two Thousand Naira.”
“I’ll explain to the foreman. Go on, tell me what happened.” Patrick was not convinced, so Chigozie gave him 2,000 Naira.
Patrick thanked him and gave him his life story in a nutshell. Chigozie, who had also lost his dad at a young age, sympathised with the boy. He reasoned that if his relatives had not picked him up after his dad’s death, he would not be a permanent US resident with the kind of job that enabled him to be putting up this commercial building for his mum’s comfort and sustenance at the age of 28. He wished he earned more, he would have offered the boy a scholarship but he had his mum and poorer relatives to care for plus the huge project (a three-storeyed building) he was handling. Nonetheless, he resolved not to leave him empty-handed.
“You said you’ve got admission. Find out what you need to get started: your initial fees ….”
Patrick interrupted him. “I’ve already done that, Sir. The acceptance fee is Twenty-five Thousand Naira plus Sixty-five Thousand Naira school fees.”
That sounded high for an undergraduate programme. Where do they expect people to come up with that kind of money in Nigeria’s bad economy, he wondered. Or it may be the boy was inflating the figures. Heck, he may not even have got admission but made up the story to take advantage of his kindness. He would need to verify his story before acting. But on second thoughts, he decided to finish with the matter there and then because he had too many things on his plate than checking a poor boy’s story and he was travelling back to the US in a few days. It would break his heart to forget and miss the opportunity of assisting a needy soul.
“How can I transfer money to you?”
“What? You mean now?”
“Yes, I’ d like to help you pick up your admission. A fellow like you doesn’t belong at a site like this.”
“Oh my God! I have an account with First Bank, oh my God!”
“Calm down, okay? I may not give you all you need but I will give you something reasonable. It may be because of you that I’m here today because I’d scheduled to see this site with the contractor on Sunday when no one will be around. I want you to determine to graduate no matter the difficulty. The God who brought me here today will see you through.”
“Amen.”
“So, can I have your account number?”
Patrick recited the number and two minutes later, his phone beeped. Chigozie had transferred Seventy Thousand Naira to his account. Patrick was still thanking him profusely by the time he drove off.
Ever since he had been seeking help to pay his second-year fees of Forty-five Thousand Naira, he had been wondering where all the Chigozies in the world were. He had been asking God to provide him with a sponsor: just one Chigozie to lighten his load. He wasn’t asking for someone to carry his whole burden but just a concerned man or woman to pay his fees so that he would be hustling for his sustenance, levies, books, etc. Plus his contribution to his mum’s care.
By 2 p.m., Patrick was getting agitated. He called his uncle’s line and he brusquely responded, “Nwoke m, how many times will you call me today?”
“I’m sorry, Sir, I just wanted to remind you that today is the deadline for paying the fees.”
“Why are they fixing deadline? Did they give anybody money to keep? And why are they charging you school fees- is that not a federal university?”
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