Guardian

“I WANT my husband to be my slave and do whatever I want. That’s my heart’s desire. Men should be slaves to their wives. I’m sure Orilola is dating another woman; I can’t share my husband with anyone. He must do my wish and dance to my tune any day and any time. I’ll go and see Baba Ifagbemi at his shrine this weekend for a charm that’ll make Orilola become my slave so that I can toss him and use him anyhow I like.”

For ten minutes, Mrs. Orilola was talking to herself absent-mindedly. Her two children had gone to London for summer holidays, and they would arrive that afternoon with their father, Mr. Orilola.

Talking about money, you could never underrate Mr. Orilola. He was a very rich man. He was the chairman of many companies, home and abroad. He was a nice man as attested by a lot of people. He was love and simplicity reincarnate. He took special care of his family and the needy. He touched the lives of many people who were not even related to him. He was a rich man who didn’t believe in garnering titles. He had been given chieftaincy titles but he always turned such titles down and maintained just ‘Mr. Orilola’. He was a philanthropist who doled out millions of naira in the service of humanity and wouldn’t want his name mentioned like some egoistic rich men.

Mrs. Orilola was the only wife of the tall, handsome and ebullient multimillionaire businessman. They had been married for ten years and sincerely, it was a sweet, wonderful and lovely married life. Mrs. Orilola had everything she wished. Their beautifully-furnished mansion in highbrow Victoria Island, Lagos was simply breathtaking and out of this world. It was paradise on earth. There were cooks that took care of the family meals; drivers and housemaid that made sure the Orilolas did not labour at all. They had close to 30 exotic cars at their garage; and Mr. Orilola showed unlimited love and passion to his beautiful wife.

He would travel to the United States and Europe to shop for his family, particularly his wife. She wore the most expensive clothes and jewellery befitting a queen. Her skin was smooth and velvety, like the softest flower. The fact was that the Orilolas were living in superabundance.

That early morning, Mrs. Orilola was at the shrine of Baba Ifagbemi who was so skilled in the occult art of divination. Her mission was to get a potent love potion that would make her loving husband become her slave totally. In the whole of Idugan, a town on the outskirts of Lagos, no one could compete with the bald-headed old man in the occult art of divination.

He was feared by all and sundry simply because of his spiritual and metaphysical powers. “Now, Baba Ifagbemi,” Mrs Orilola said, “I need the most powerful love potion that would turn my husband into my slave. To act like my houseboy and do whatever I order him. Just name your price, I’ll pay it. I have to be at home before 3p.m. because he would be arriving home from London with my kids today.” She adjusted her headgear and knelt in front of the diviner.

“Irunmole, the spirits of evil and good have heard all you want,” Ifagbemi said, “but this kind of love potion will cost you N300, 000. The gods will take care of your heart’s desire. If you pay me the money, I’ll bring the love potion from my magical bag of power now and hand it to you.” He spat thrice inside a ram horn containing black soap.

“Money is not the problem Baba, as you well know I’m always loaded.” she said, then delicately opened her handbag and brought out three crisp bales of N1, 000 notes, N300, 000. She handed the three bales to the old herbalist. The diviner gave a toothy smile and giggled. He reached for a bag hanging on the bloodstained wall of his shrine. He opened it instantly and dipped his hand inside.

“Now, take this black powder,” he said, nodding his head confidently. “You’ll put it inside his food. Once he eats it, he must turn into your slave and do your wishes. He’ll take orders from you forever. This is the most potent love potion that the gods handed to my forefathers from generation to generation. Humans mustn’t play with the gods. There are powers beyond the reasoning and sense of mere mortals! You can take your leave!”

Before Mr. Orilola got home that day from his trip to London, his wife had already reached home. She prepared a special dish for her husband and sprinkled the love potion on the meal. She knew his favourite food and reasoned that if she prepared it for him, he would fall for the bait because it would be irresistible. Some few minutes after the food, was ready Mr. Orilola called his wife on her mobile phone informing her that he had arrived Murtala Mohammed International Airport, Lagos and was on his way home.

About 30 minutes later, Mr. Orilola’s exotic Mercedez Benz Jeep was at the gate of his mansion. His chauffeur honked once and the electronic gate opened instantly and he drove in. When Orilola stepped down from the jeep, his wife was already at the door to receive him and the children.

“Hello darling,” Mrs. Orilola exclaimed. “How was your trip? Hope you had a nice time.” She giggled and smiled bewitchingly.

“I’m okay, sweetie,” Mr. Orilola replied, taking off his suit. “How are you mummy?” the kids asked delightedly.

“I’m fine. Hope you enjoyed yourselves,” she said, hugging her children. The children scurried happily into their room the next moment.

“I bought lots of beautiful and precious things for you from this trip darling, things that would make you happier than before,” Mr. Orilola said excitedly.

“Your food is on the dining table dear,” she replied. “It’s your favourite food. Pounded yam and egusi soup with all the condiments that would sweeten your palate.”

“Thank you my dear,” he said happily. “You’re my angel, the one that always fills my heart with joy.”

Before long, he settled down to eat. And he did it with relish. He was almost through with the pounded yam when he developed stomachache.

“Oooophs, I’m not feeling well,” he said in pains, while holding his belly. “God, what’s happening to me?” he screamed. Mrs. Orilola who had gone into her bedroom, came running towards him when she heard his screams. Mr. Orilola was rolling on the floor, while clutching his stomach.

“What’s the matter darling?” his wife asked, really terrified. But he couldn’t utter a word. He was sweating profusely and shaking. The following minute, he started vomiting blood and gasping for breath.

“Yee, my God!” Mrs. Orilola screamed at the top of her voice. Before she could rush him out of the living room, Mr. Orilola foamed from his mouth and died. Their two children were already beside their dead father and were wondering what the hell was going on.

“Yee, help me! God, help me!” she continued to scream. This attracted the chauffeur, the security man and a couple of housemaids in the sprawling mansion.

“Ha, God! Ha! Ha!! Ha!!!” she repeated in tears, “I’ve killed my husband. I never knew it was food poison Baba Ifagbemi gave me to put inside his food. God, I killed my loving husband,” she wept. Three medical doctors soon arrived the scene with three plainclothed policemen.

The doctors tested Mr. Orilola and he was certified dead. The three policemen heard his wife’s self-confession. She was arrested for murdering her husband. She was handcuffed out of the magnificent mansion and taken to the police station. She made a statement which was taken as evidence, and remanded in prison custody.

About a month later, the case came up for hearing at a Lagos High Court. After four grueling hours of statements, counter- statements and legal innuendoes by the bespectacled elderly judge, Mrs. Orilola was found guilty of murdering her husband through food poisoning. She was sentenced to life imprisonment with no option of fine. She wept and wept as she was being led to the waiting Black Maria van that would take her to the Kirikiri Maximum Prisons where she would spend the rest of her life.

It was later revealed that the late Mr. Orilola made a very lovely will for his two children. They were to inherit his vast estate and business empire after his demise. It was also learnt that the late mega-rich business tycoon had a lot of money and billions of dollars in his account before his untimely death.

A lot of people who were beneficiaries of his big heart and others whom he had always shown kindness, celebrated his birthday every year as a mark of respect and gratitude.