Jeremiah believed small women were trouble. He had dated many; seven, eight, he could not remember, but to him, all of them were difficult people, and he liked that they were. Jeremiah liked it when his woman was aggressive and punchy and quarrelsome and small, so small he could do many things easily with her – say lift her up onto the kitchen table to kiss her neck or watch her lift herself on tiptoes to reach his lips.
Jeremiah liked women so petite it was easy to lift them onto his shoulders and run down the stairs and not feel the weight on his back or lift them unto the kitchen counter, like lifting macaroni with a fork. He liked having that sort of power. Then, he met Teniola.
Teniola was small and rich, the wife of a diplomat in Warsaw. He liked that he could have the wife of a diplomat and get away with it. The last woman he dated before Teniola was a banker with Stanbic IBTC who made him visit some evenings when she had the itch, and because he fancied himself an all-hands man, he gave her massages while she sprawled nude in bed, still smelling of stale perfume and sweat brought home from work. The other before the Stanbic IBTC banker was jobless but always had money to throw at him, and Jeremiah never knew where the money came from until she left town to marry an immigrant contractor from Lebanon.
There was one who had many children – eight or nine; and they were all grown and lived far away. She was in her late fifties and lived in a government flat all by herself except when one of her kids was in town. Jeremiah lived with her most of the time, eating off her, promising heaven and earth whenever his brother in the US sent him money.
And there was yet another who was a special adviser to a serving minister and who he got to know because he supplied her with hard drugs for her boss. She never seemed to have enough money to pay for hers, so she manipulated Jeremiah into giving her for free, promising him sex he never got. The special adviser to the minister was so beautiful, Jeremiah still dreamt of her. Of all the women, she was the one he could say he loved. But one thing was common with all of them, they were small women, women he made sure realised their disadvantage in height; a fact that he hammered into their brains – the idea that most men, except him, hated small women.
Jeremiah made Teniola believe he liked how small she was and that he could fit her in his palms so easy like a crystal, a diamond that he would polish forever, till it shone, and for his sweet tongue, Teniola and most of the other women before her succumbed and gave him all of themselves.
The women fell for him because Jeremiah was every woman's man. He was the kind of
man you could trust with anything. He did the dishes after every meal, insisting it was his job, and did the laundry while whistling to raps by Snoop Dogg and Puff Daddy and Eminem. Easily, he helped with repairs in the house –with him there was no spending money on the plumber or electrician or that sort of thing. The icing on the cake was that Jeremiah made sure his women called their family almost every other day – he said no one amounted to anything if they abandoned their family. And every morning, he called his mom, which Teniola loved – she fancied that men who showed care and love to their mother would extend more than same to their lovers. Above all, the women liked that Jeremiah was a tall man and he was proud of that, so much so that thoughts of it inflated his ego and made him strut like a peacock. Jeremiah was so tall that whenever he walked past, people turned and stared and talked. They talked because he was also tiny, or some said he was lanky; but the person who came to mind whenever people saw Jeremiah was Snoop Dogg. So, he claimed Snoop was his older brother who lived in America.
Years back when Jeremiah lived in the US, working at Tyson, a meatpacking plant in Amarillo in the Texas Panhandle, many people who worked shoulder to shoulder with him, cutting meat or most times sharpening axes and knives, teased him. They said his father gave birth to Snoop Dogg in the US, then returned to Nigeria to marry his mother and birth him. Jeremiah liked that. So, in his room back in Amarillo, he put up posters of Snoop Dogg – posters of him in a Bentley, another of Snoop dressed in grey baseball singlet and his lean arms filled with tattoos; and another of Snoop with numerous almost-nude women. And when he was deported to Nigeria, he made sure he bought posters of Snoop. In fact, he had a small photo of Snoop Dogg in his wallet, a photo he bought at a souvenir shop in Oklahoma, which he showed his women, many of whom hadn't heard of Snoop and were intrigued to learn of this hip-hop superstar. Jeremiah loved the power that came with being Snoop Dogg's brother and for that he got almost everything he wanted.
It was drizzling that Saturday afternoon when Jeremiah alighted from a taxi, disappointed that the song “Jerusalema” had just started playing on the taxi's stereo. It was a new song, and he liked that it made one jump up and twist their head this way and that, like one who had smoked too much marijuana and was about to run mad. He liked songs rooted in African dance and drumbeats so that one nodded continuously like a lizard when it played and cared about nothing in the world – not even if Donald Trump was declared a saint. And he hated Donald Trump, for it was shortly after Trump became president that he was deported. Jeremiah never forgave Trump for it.
He could still hear the music as the taxi reversed; and he walked, just the way Snoop Dogg did, to the front yard of a flat in Maitama where Teniola lived. The building was a terrace structure of six mini duplexes, surrounded by a well-cropped hedge of assorted flowers. There were exotic cars all around, and Jeremiah paused to take them in. Of all the vehicles in the compound, he liked the Mercedes E350 that belonged to his mistress the most. He smiled satisfactorily, knowing he was going to be driving in it all the way to the east as they were going on a love trip, the next day. At the thought of this, he jumped up and threw his legs front and back, front and back like the comedian Boy Alinco in the popular comedy series, Papa Ajasco; then, he twirled and whistled loudly. Recollecting himself, he turned about, this way and that, to be sure no one saw him and satisfied no one did, he proceeded to walk to the front door. After he knocked, he turned and ran briskly to the hedge and plucked a handful of flowers.
The lady who opened the door was petite, so small one who was as tall as Jeremiah would really need to look down to see her. And she was slim too. He lifted her up like a father would his daughter who just returned from kindergarten and closed the door with his heel. He carried her into the sitting room and laid her down as she protested in giggles.
'You look dashing.'
'As always, babe.'
He offered her the flowers.
'Aw! Aw! Oh Jerry, so thoughtful of you.' She took it and, realising he plucked them from the hedge in front of her apartment, threw it down on the couch and laughed gaily.
'You are so funny.'
'Better than nothing, mehn.' He dragged her to him, studying her face. She was fair. Her skin had been bleached such that the veins on them looked bluish and scary, and the ones on her face ran from her temple to her ear and was prominent whenever she laughed or smiled or grimaced. There were bags beneath her eyes, and they were dark as if someone had painted a dark ball on a yellow doll. Her lips were tiny and beautiful like a line drawn with a pencil on kiddies' sketchbook. Her hair was packed in a ponytail that ran down to her back, just the way made in Chinese dolls did. Jeremiah flipped his hand through the hair and said she looked beautiful.
'I missed you, mehn.'
'Oh, you did?'
'Mehn. I couldn’t stop thinking about that old man crawling all over you in Warsaw—'
'Oh, don’t be jealous.'
'How was your trip?'
He drew her to him, her apple-size breasts pressing unto his belly. He bent to kiss her forehead, then her ears and her neck as she moaned. Then, he took her into the couch.
When they were done caressing, both totally nude, he took out a wrap of white powder from his trouser pocket. Teniola giggled seeing it. He put out a little on his lap and took out a key from his pocket, scooped a little with it, and offered it to her. She sniffed, long and hard, inhaling all of it. Then, she threw back her head and closed her eyes, savouring the magic tickles the powder was making in her head, setting her brain on fire. Then, Jeremiah scooped some more and offered her. She sniffed all of it from the key and fell back on the couch, her small breasts staring at the white rose ceiling above her. Jeremiah bent his head on his laps and inhaled the remainder; and in a moment, they were on fire.
When it was dark outside, they talked about her trip to Warsaw to see the old man. There was no photo of Teniola's husband in the sitting room or anywhere in the house and somewhere at the back of Jeremiah's mind, it always perplexed him, but Jeremiah had seen him once on television. The diplomat was in his sixties with all white hairs that made him seem powerful and angelic. But as long as the diplomat remained in Warsaw, Jeremiah feared little of his powers as he messed with his wife.
Then, they talked about their trip the next day.
'You know the route so well?' she asked.
'Oh yeah, mehn. I have been to Abakaliki a lot of times to see my friend, Niyi. We were together in the US, but he came back to start a rice farm.'
'Why did you say you came back yourself?'
There was a bottle of Jack Daniels and two glasses on a bedside stool. There were studs of smoked marijuana all over the stool. The room was thick with the heavy scent of the weed, and Jeremiah liked this. He liked that Teniola was wild and adventurous. The room was small, taken up by a large bed covered with a duvet. At the wall behind the headrest was a large photo of a bare-chested woman and some fake paintings and photos in small frames on the walls all around.
'I came back to bury my father and couldn’t go back to America with their taxes and regulations. Mehn, I figured I gotta build me a business here,' he said.
Jeremiah's father died when he was a teenager, but the women didn't probe, and it didn’t matter. And now when he mentioned of hid dead father, Teniola reached out and stroked her chest, cooing as she did so. Jeremiah had learned long ago that women liked men who told them lies, especially if the lies were coated white and dressed in Santa Claus gown and cap. He did not like talking about his life working on the meat cutting line in the US and rarely talked about his life selling drugs and spending the money on women and gambling. When they asked what he did in the US, Jeremiah always said he helped his brother Snoop organise his tours and explained what tours meant to the women – if they asked.
Late that night, as Teniola packed a few of her clothes and toiletries into a bag, Jeremiah flipped the channels between Fox News and CNN and grimaced whenever they showed Trump. The next morning, they would stop by at his apartment to pick a few of his things and head out on their love getaway. When he saw CNN report that the Senate was not considering allowing the Democrats summon witnesses in Trump's impeachment hearings, he fell back and cussed.
The next morning, they had a quick breakfast of omelettes and chocolate beverages before heading out to the car. Jeremiah was going to be driving; and he was so elated he could nearly burst but didn’t want to show it so Teniola wouldn't think he was cheap. He had lied of how he took Snoop Dogg's exotic cars to the car wash in the US and ran errands in them. He was always surprised why the women never asked why he didn’t have a car if his brother was as rich as he claimed.
Teniola was dressed in miniskirt and singlet and though she was in her late thirties, Jeremiah liked that she looked twenty-six. It was why Jeremiah liked small women; they never really looked their age. He put her bag in the back seat, opened the passenger's side for her, and went to the wheel. As soon as they drove off, Teniola brought out a wrap of marijuana from the pigeonhole and a pack of sheets and began to roll one. She was a professional and she took her time, occasionally touching the paper with her tongue, left-right, right-left. When she was done, she lit it and handed it to Jeremiah saying, 'For you, J. With Love.'
Jeremiah smiled at her. They were at the traffic light by Berger Junction so as they slowed, he took the joint to his mouth and turned the stereo to TuPac's “California”, turning the volume to maximum and bouncing with the car. Teniola screamed loudly and began to roll a joint for herself, faster.
They collected Jeremiah's bag at his house and were now on the trunk A road leading to Lokoja, smoking joint after joint and singing along with the loud hip-hop songs of TuPac and Snoop Dogg playing from the car stereo – as Jeremiah rapped alongside, to the admiration of his woman. The Mercedes had a diplomatic plate number, and the screens were tinted, so police waved them on at checkpoints.
After about thirty miles, Jeremiah saw a sign on an elevated post by the side of the road:
Every second someone dies for over speeding. Slow down or be next.
He smiled, he was driving a 2018 model of the Mercedes Benz E Class; it was well-built and balanced on the road. Then, Teniola jostled and sat up. She turned down the volume of the music to be able to hear Jeremiah ask, 'Say tell, what is this car’s worth in the market?'
'Oh, you finally want to get yourself a car?'
'Yeah mehn. Talking to my bruv about sending one or sending me money to get one here in Naija.'
'That's interesting, J. I could hook you up with my agent.'
'I would love that. So how much?'
'Twenty-eight million in Naira, J.'
Jeremiah whistled and nearly braked.
'Damn it, J!' Teniola screamed.
'Apologies babe.' Jeremiah placed his hand on her lap. Shortly afterwards, he began to work his way down her underwear.
She grabbed his hand and said, 'You're driving.'
'It's fun to drive and drive.'
She laughed. Then, she took out a bottle of Jack Daniels and uncorked it.
'We are in a car,' Jeremiah said.
'It's fun to ride and drink.' She laughed and threw her small head backwards. 'But not for you. I am too young to die now.'
'So long as I drive and touch, I am content.'
They talked about her trip to Poland to visit her husband and how she would be travelling back in a few months' time. Jeremiah's hand parted her underwear, and his fingers began to work on her. Teniola lifted her legs onto the dashboard. And because she was small, it was easy for her to position herself comfortably between the cushion and the dashboard, moaning, turning slightly this way and that, as he worked till she climaxed, the bottle of brandy falling off her hands and pouring a little on the rug. She continued to moan like a cat while he drove, his hand still where it was until he heard her snores.
Jeremiah slowed down now and looked at her. Her hair was in short grey braids and her face looked beautiful, like that of a child as she slept. There was a rolled joint in her left hand, but Jeremiah didn’t notice the whiskey pouring on the rug. There were a few kilometres left before Lokoja; and as he alternated between looking ahead and looking at her face, he considered pushing her out of the car.
Jeremiah's heart began to pound heavily as he turned the radio off to think. He was in debt to the tune of over two million naira. If he sold the car, he could pay his rent and possibly pay for years in advance. He could pay off his drug debt to his boss in Wuse 2, go into the business full time, and become a lord himself. It was possible. He pictured himself moving into the kind of flat Teniola lived, where the rent was over three million naira a year. He would get a Mercedes in few months or a year max; he would get designer dresses instead of cheap clothes he bought from Wuse Market. He could do many things. He could. He could. Jeremiah turned again to look at the woman sleeping beside him, legs still on the dashboard, joint in hand – all he needed to do was give her a small shove and that was that, he would be on his way to fortune.
There was another sign on the road:
Lokoja. 2Kilometers. Drive slowly. The dead has nothing.
Jeremiah grinned. The dead has nothing. He thought about it. If Teniola were to die, the car would become his. He thought about it. The dead has nothing. He looked about as he drove, slowly now, the car stereo still turned off. The area was mountainous and rocky. Other vehicles zoomed past, a police truck drove past and slowed down, and he watched the occupants–four men at the back of the truck – point at the slow-moving Mercedes. His heart beat faster, but they didn’t flag him down. He moved slower until he saw an un-tarred road. It was a narrow farm road and Jeremiah could see maize and okro on all sides. The road was a bit muddy, so he drove slowly for two hundred meters or three before Teniola woke. She brought down her legs and yawned; then jostled up when she realised they were on a path.
'Hey J?'
'Yea ... babe. You awake?'
'Where are we? In the East already?'
'No mehn. No. Just approaching Lokoja.'
'Eish. Are these not farms? Why are we not on the expressway?'
'I need to ease myself,' he said. Teniola yawned and leaned back. She didn’t know how far away from the expressway they'd gone. Jeremiah braked.
'I am so pressed mehn. Could be the noodles last night … won't take a moment mehn,' he said as he hurried out of the car.
Teniola recalled he didn’t get out with a tissue, but by that time he had run into the bush. She laughed. She found the lighter by the cushion and lit her joint. She took a drag and pulled her head back on the headrest. Then, she noticed she was hungry and wondered how far from Lokoja they were. She closed her eyes to savour the marijuana, wishing they were already lodged so she could sniff some coke. She recalled the bottle of Jack Daniels and opened the pigeonhole, but it wasn’t there. A large bird flew over the windscreen, jostling her. She wondered how long it was going to take Jeremiah. She feared that robbers could be in the bush or large snakes or some creature. Then, she looked down and found the bottle empty, the entire content on the woolly rug. She cussed and by the time she lifted her head, her door opened with great force, startling her. Her relief of seeing Jeremiah was cut short as she was hit with a heavy stone on the face, splitting her forehead in two.
When Jeremiah hit her, the surprise on her face scared him for a moment. Teniola fell backwards, dropping the half-smoked joint on the wet rug, hitting her head on the wheel, not making a sound. Jeremiah saw blood splatter on the windscreen and on the leather chair. He dragged her out and looked about to be sure no one was watching. All the while, the car was steaming.
There was a rustle in the bush, and a flock of birds rose at once and flew into the sky. He looked up as they did. Then he waited, holding his breath. When everything seemed settled, he carried her, weightless as usual, few steps into the bush and dumped her without care on the grasses. He did not check if she was dead; he was sure she was. The blow had been hard and with force and being a small woman, he believed she had little strength and was surely knocked out. He got into the car and began to back away until he got to an okro farm where he reversed and faced the expressway.
Once at the expressway, Jeremiah caught his breath and sighed. He wiped his face with his palms and turned on the stereo to FM. He switched the channels from news to sports and finally stopped at one playing Jason Mraz hit song, “Life is Wonderful”. He sang along.
The song ended before Jeremiah got to Lokoja. He drove into a huge rest point housing a petrol station and a restaurant. There were numerous people selling onions in assorted baskets beside the premises and by the expressway. Behind those selling onions were suya stands where young men barbecued seasoned meat on charcoal. The aroma filled the entire premises. He made a mental note to buy some cuts when he was done eating. Some young men hawking caps and belts and recharge cards surrounded his sleek vehicle as he parked beside a mass transit bus. He stepped out and locked his new car, swaggering into the restaurant.
The restaurant was almost empty. Jeremiah ordered a plate of afang soup and pounded yam and took his time to eat. When he was done, he ordered a bottle of coca-cola.
'The big one,' he told the waiter. Then he made a call to his supplier. 'Yo! I have your money sort of, mehn,' he said. He looked about to be sure no one was eavesdropping. 'No… more than enough to cover my debt. I have a Mercedes. E Class. 350. Model 2018. Interested?' He listened to the man. 'Forget how I got it. The paperwork is yours to fine tune, boss.' Then, he smiled. 'Shit! Whatever the cost is you will take off five million naira for the paperwork? Shit mehn! … don’t do me like this, mehn?' Then he listened for a while and said 'Okay. Okay. Will be with you this evening, nigger.'
He ended the call and looked around, satisfied no one was looking in his direction. What he did not know was that for some time, his Mercedes was beeping and its headlamp flashing incessantly. Jeremiah went to the counter to talk to the girl who dished his food. She had a lovely smile and appeared to be shy. He thought it would be nice to change his taste to tall women. He smiled at the girl as he approached and she looked down, blushing.
At the counter, he placed his hand on the top and said, 'My name is Jeremi ... my name is J. Snoop.'
'Good afternoon, Sir,'
'Do you visit Abuja?'
'Once in a while …Why?'
'This place,' he looked around, 'is not for you. Can you visit in a few days, mehn? Come to see me? I will get you a good job, take care of you, and make you happy, mehn.' The girl appeared confused but smiled and lifted her face. Their eyes met. He noticed she saw he looked cute and tall. 'You need a man like me, babes. A man to take you out of this kitchen, mehn.' He dropped his phone on the counter. 'Your number?'
Hesitantly, the girl picked it and typed in her number with shaky hands.
'Thank you,' she said.
He smiled at her and turned.
'I will call you.'
Jeremiah stepped out of the door and the sun hit him, blinding him. He saw passengers alighting from a luxury bus, he saw hawkers running towards them. He saw his Mercedes headlamp blinking steadily, the horn blaring, and a few people surrounding the Mercedes, gawking at it and pointing. Then, he heard the sound 'Puff'. A ball of fire escaped from the roof of the Mercedes, some feet up in the air, before falling back to engulf the entire car. But before his eyes saw the fire, he heard the sound first. And it was a dreary sound, one he would never ever forget.
This story first appeared in the ANA Review 2024
(c) Cover image is a painting by the artist Azubuike Frank, privately collected by the author.
