"Big Men"

I walked into the party with my friend, 10-10. Young men and women were waiting around just inside the the large compound gate. We continued through the front door. The room was lined with white leather couches, glass coffee tables, empty bottles of Hennessy and BIG men (well-fed and important).

We walked directly to a man in a white button-down shirt. I was introduced to him as “the Chairman,” with no explanation. I was then seated next to another man who had lived in New York for 25 years while 10-10 made the rounds.

Where was I? Who are these people? I was the only woman inside. I was the only non-Nigerian (probably for miles). I made small talk...

So, what do you do in Benin City now that you are back from NY? He was a contractor and “dabbled” in politics. In Nigeria this told me one thing. Leave that line of conversation. Getting into a discussion about corruption in this country would not be a good idea. I followed his lead and we discussed the upcoming American election - a much safer option (socially and perhaps even physically).

I looked around my surroundings. The plot of land was small and the architecture felt cramped. The living room was taller than it was wide and had an overly steep staircase leading up to a sliver of a balcony which ran around the perimeter of the wall half-way up. The curtains were ample as was the decorative metallic hardware. The floors were polished marble. Each architectural and decorative element seemed to display wealth rather than service any function. Then I noticed the door.

The door was metal and 9-inches to one foot thick. “That is quite a door,” I commented to the nice man from New York. He informed me that it was bullet proof. “Why does our host need a bullet proof door?” It slipped. “For security,” was the answer I got, but not really the answer to my intended meaning. I decided, however, to save my hardline questioning for 10-10.

All of a sudden “the Chairman” stood up and the entire room followed suit. He walked out the bullet proof door and the rest followed out in a seemingly intentional pecking order. I sat alone, wondering what had happened. Again, where was I?

I found 10-10 and we said our goodbyes (to those who were left...mostly young men paying their dues by cleaning up after the party). As I settled into the car I asked about our host, my new friend and “the Chairman.”

My friend: a contractor for the Niger Delta Development Commission (NDDC), the government agency responsible for distributing oil revenues through public works projects in the Delta. *Note: This does not necessarily mean that the money ever makes it to public works.

Our host: contractor for the NDDC and cousin to the Chairman of the NDDC.

The Chairman: the Chairman of the NDDC.

...BIG men!