In the glory days of good times, Nigerians were known for their generosities at night clubs. As party animals, I called George whom I have not spoken to in years, inviting him to a birthday bash to be thrown by a friend who lived a couple of blocks from me. I had also asked him to invite some of his friends, over. I met George about a decade and half ago at a community college where I taught while he was still a student.

Interestingly, George honored my invitation, as I expected he would, though. He promised to tell some of his friends while I guaranteed a house full of Yank ladies. What really felt strange though, was to be this connected day after day with Nigerian men boasting to grace my friends birthday bash in the most flamboyant way. That, I agreed.

George had given most of his friends my telephone number (a tactic he envisioned would restart our quickies and hanging out, passing joints) for information regarding the party. As George and his friends passed out information, I equally did the same from my friend Stephanie--who left teaching to run her own business at home--to Angela, the party freak who loves hanging out with Nigerian men.

Apparently and ironically, George's desperation looking forward to this bona fide event was his known quest to flirt with women. I remember sometime ago when we use to date, and we had attended a party thrown by one of George's friends in a five star hotel, he disappeared with my friend, Carol, to a nearby motel for a quickie. Carol, 5 feet and 5 inches, with blue-green eyes and a blonde hair was my childhood friend. My relationship with her ended that night and I haven't spoken to her nor heard anything about her, ever since.

Anyway, George was just full of it. A little bit about George: Born under humble circumstances--his father, a manufacturer of mattress, had ballooned to one of Nigeria's richest men--was sent to the United States to study engineering, but when his father's empire collapsed, money stopped coming from home in order to continue his education.

George was left with one of two choices: Do the best out of a very bad situation or go back home. He worked hard--held three jobs--and continued his education. Earning federal minimum wage, he struggled to pay rent for his single room apartment, maintain insurance on his jalopy and save for his education. But like millions of Africans who sojourned here for a better life, George was compelled to take additional low-paying jobs to make ends meet. The American dream was fast fading, looking more like a mirage.

Then, one particular day, George's life took a turn for the better. He had run into the Nigeria criminal mafia at a street bar where he was persuaded to ditch work and "do the right thing." They exchanged numbers and George would call the next couple of days to start running errands for the 419ers. His first run fetched him what he couldn't make in a year with three jobs combined.

George amassed wealth. He had become king of the Nigeria criminal mafia, and had driven every late model of German automobiles. He dwelled in beach homes and threw parties at penthouses. He was untouchable and had taken over the leadership of the underworld after its leader had been slammed.

I remember when George made a kill, a whopping $50,000 cash, on a run and he requested we should go on a cruise to Alaska via Vancouver, Canada. It was the cruise of my life, deadly, though. We were drunk from 10 A.M. to 10 A.M. in the morning, 24/7, the entire period of the cruise. The cruise cost $11,000. George had it going on.

Knowing George's means of livelihood was not normal and the apparent consequences if he does not stop and plan well for the future, I advised him to start investing in mutual funds, stocks, treasury bonds and stuffs of that nature. I even offered to help him with good financial planners. George did not hear and did not see where I was coming from. At a time when his lavish spending was making no sense at all, and had totally become an embarrassment, in which I felt more perturbed, I forced him to try a $2,000 investment in buying and selling currencies. As per equity, his account fell on margin calls to a point updating his account in order to trade was ignored and abandoned. The account was closed and that was the farthest George could try in investing.

But as luck continued to be on his side, he kept making his kill in a big way--$100,000, his next hit run. He added another fast machine to his collection of German engineered automobiles. He frequently patronized baccarat salons in Las Vegas, Atlantic City, and the Indian reservations. Recognized as a big gambler in the Indian reservations, he routinely visited quite often he was offered rebates of up to 30%, which he would either squander on fast girls or return it back playing the slot machines. George had become a mogul and life now is on the fast lane. "Big Daddy," his friends and glamorous women would call him, a name that draws attention, especially the massage salons.

But George would make another miscalculated and illadvised mistake. He dabbled into a Yank, an investment banker, who had convinced him to buy stocks from a growing company specializing in stocks and bond funds. The gullible George believed him and invested $25,000 of his money in hi-tech stocks and the Blue Chip Growth Fund. As the dot com began to surge, George's $25,000 became a target of bad business and lack of sound investment strategy, with roughly three-quarter of his invested money gone.

At this juncture, George fell into a depression and began to drink heavily. He drank Remy Martin straight up, and was consuming two 750 ml of cognac daily. George, emotionally constipated, had lost all his belongings--cars, beach home and money--to alcohol, gambling and glamorous women.

Anyway, to cut this very long story short, George was able to attend my friend's birthday bash in the company of his friends. When George (now high on crack) and his friends arrived and in anticipation to find a lot of booze and food, they found nothing but my friends and I holding brown paper bags and listening to The Commodores "I Feel Sanctified." It was a BYOB (bring your own booze) party. They had no choice but to flirt with my friends, as I equally did. I had a quickie with one of George's friend called Lambert. He was the designated driver and had a lot going on for him. He seemed to be holding on to a corporate job and "happily married." Nigerian men.

Well, a BYOB party ends by drinking from your own brown paper bag and exchanging numbers. Now I am dating Lambert, a move that infuriated George who is now on skid row and chronically depressed. The once flamboyant rich guy now drinks from brown paper bags on the streets.

The last time I saw George was when he talked me out of my last $22 and vanished for a fix--a crack cocaine. What a life!

Brilliant narration and clever plot with little suspense. However, you forgot to say that like your character, this story is a work of fiction at the foot-note.

Since we are in the season of FBI, I hope they don't come knocking for your assistance.

A tale of a ne'er do well, which serves no purpose. A life style which is not only foriegn to our people, but also an exception to the rule.

Moreover, your admission of dating a married man clearly displays that you are a fool,
whether he be a nigerian man or otherwise.

Wonderfull work of fiction, but do you always have to potray yourself as a loose woman even if imaginary?

Ojoto:
Thanks. I love men and I am so lonely whenever they are gone.

Ijeomannuntu:
I have dealt with married men all my life. They are the ones that takes very good care of me; because, the single men ain't got it. I would like to meet you if you are married. How about that?

Yvette is a real nightmare with an incredible turnover of BiafraNigerian blokes. Like Quansah said, she still lags behind the lady that was laid by a whole football (or is it baseball) team.

he·don·ism (hdn-zm)
n.
Pursuit of or devotion to pleasure, especially to the pleasures of the senses.

Philosophy: The ethical doctrine holding that only what is pleasant or has pleasant consequences is intrinsically good.

Psychology: The doctrine holding that behavior is motivated by the desire for pleasure and the avoidance of pain.