Chapter 2: Baba Fatai's Offer

The producer na person dem dey call Baba Fatai. The guy no even hide him mind: he wan use my breaking of the '49-film rule' as big publicity, cash out big time. With small wickedness for him voice, he even talk:

"If anything happen to you for set, this film go sell scatter! No worry—the money go reach your family. I no go chop one kobo. Omo, this one na jackpot!"

Na so the man talk am with that Yoruba gra-gra, him eyes dey shine like say he see money for dream. As he talk, I dey watch the gold chain for him neck, the agbada wey he wear, the soft slippers—na person wey dey chop this industry raw.

Before this man find me, I don beg borrow from everybody. People dey dodge me like bad luck. Hospital come warn me say the organ donor dey coma, and dem must do the surgery within days. Make I ready the money for my pikin operation.

Even my old friends wey I help for past, dem turn face. Some dey tell me say their own mama dey sick, some just dey give me k-leg story. Na only my wife still dey strong for me, dey pray every night. Na when hospital call me that morning, tell me say 'Oga, na now or never,' my body begin cold.

As long as I fit save Chikamso, my son, I no send if na my own body dem go use. I sign the contract, no look back. The money land for my account immediately. I press my phone tight for hand, the plastic hot for my palm, like say the money dey burn through screen. As I see those plenty zeros, fear catch me small. I just know say na my life dem take price so.

I look my phone, see alert, my hand dey shake. I carry the phone go give my wife. She just hug me, begin cry. Na that day I understand say life be like market—anything you want buy, you go pay.