on. I could only imagine what was happening at the other end.
‘Is it because I’m black? That’s what it is, is that not so? If I was a white man, you wouldn’t treat me with such disregard. Look, let me tell you. I might be black, but I’m not a monkey and I deserve to be treated with respect!’
Haha. Cash Daddy need never worry about being mistaken for a monkey. With the right diet and the right tutoring from superior brains, a monkey could probably learn how to program computers, pen great works of literature, make scientific discoveries. But no monkey born of creation or evolution could swipe cool millions of dollars with such ease. I could not vouch for the entire black race, but the niggers of Nigeria were certainly not monkeys.
‘You’d better be very sorry!’ Cash Daddy ranted on.
Then, he handed the phone back to Protocol Officer, who spoke to the manager before hanging up.
‘They said they’ll send a formal apology,’ Protocol Officer said. ‘They said they’re very sorry, that they’ll investigate which staff member spoke to Grandma and take disciplinary measures. They promised it won’t happen again.’
No bank wanted to be publicly accused of having issues regarding clients’ confidentiality.
‘Imagine the rubbish,’ Cash Daddy continued. ‘Confidentiality. It’s a simple word. What’s so difficult about that? English is not my father’s language. Yet I understand what it means.’
‘He promised it won’t happen again,’ Protocol Officer said consolingly.
‘How can they be telling people stories about my account?’ Cash Daddy hissed. ‘Just because I’m black.’
He continued frowning.
‘Where’s that form? Who has it?’
‘Cash Daddy, I have it with me,’ Protocol Officer replied.
He brought the sheet of paper we had just purchased from the NAP headquarters, extended it across the table, and sat beside me. Cash Daddy did not even touch the form with his eyes.
‘Kings, you have a good handwriting,’ he said. ‘Fill it.’
Protocol Officer repositioned the form in front of me. I removed a pen from my shirt pocket and started filling while Protocol Officer stuck out his neck and clung his eyes to my hand. Quickly and efficiently, I filled out the section for name, address, and marital status. In the section for date of birth, I wrote July 4 and paused. I looked up at Protocol Officer and tapped my pen in the space for year of birth. He considered the matter briefly before looking up at Cash Daddy.
‘Cash Daddy, what year of birth do you want us to put?’ he asked.
‘What are they doing with my year of birth?’ Cash Daddy asked gruffly, ‘Do they want to throw a birthday party for me?’
‘Cash Daddy, it’s because of the age,’ Protocol Officer replied. ‘You know they have a minimum age for people who want to contest.’
Cash Daddy dimmed his eyes and made a humming sound in his throat, as if he had been asked to recollect the year when, for ease of administration, Lord Lugard amalgamated the Northern and Southern protectorates of the British Colony, and bundled them up into one country which Lady Lugard had named ‘area around the Niger’ - Nigeria.
‘What’s the minimum age?’ he asked eventually.
None of us was sure. Protocol Officer placed a phone call to someone he was sure would know and confirmed that the minimum age was definitely thirty years.
‘Then let’s make it thirty,’ Cash Daddy said. ‘You know, in this life, it’s always better for one to start out early. It has many advantages.’
I did a quick calculation and arrived at a year of birth which placed Cash Daddy and me within the same age bracket. I ignored this water-to-wine category of miracle and continued with my task. When I arrived at educational qualifications, again I tapped my pen and looked to Protocol Officer for assistance. I already knew that the minimum requirement for governorship candidates was a GCE certificate. Protocol Officer considered the matter and arrived at another roadblock.
‘Cash Daddy,’ he asked, ‘what do we put for your GCE?’
‘I don’t know,’ he snapped. ‘Put whatever you like. When Dibia’s preparing my birth certificate, tell him to get me a GCE certificate as well.’
In moments of great stress, it is usually the most implausible fib that comes to mind. I filled in my own straight-A result for Cash Daddy. But that was not the end. I still needed help to know what secondary school he wanted me to state. Protocol Officer drew another blank and turned to his master for help. His master banged one hand on the desk and flailed the