Choices and Consequences – Businessday NG
I woke up today with the feeling that there was something about this date. Then I remembered… it would have been Fred’s birthday.
Fred was my friend many years ago. He always came to visit his uncle, Caleb, during the holidays. Caleb was our neighbour, a young land surveyor who related well with us. Most evenings, when NEPA had done their thing, we would sit at a corner and gist until our parents began to call us in, one after the other. Those evenings are memories I still hold dear because they were simple, innocent times.
Uncle Caleb was older. Of course, he was a graduate and always had stories about life in the university. I listened with so much interest because I was eagerly waiting for my own admission into the university. His words painted the picture of a wider world: freedom, experiences and challenges. I would always daydream about how I would fit into that new life. But there was something I disliked: the way he spoke so highly about a particular fraternity. He praised them constantly, proudly pointing out that he was a member. I could see that he was planting ideas in Fred’s mind and also shaping his curiosity, and I wasn’t happy about it. But I was powerless to stop it.
Fred and I became close. We could sit for hours, talking about the future. My dreams leaned toward business. I wanted a degree but longed to be an entrepreneur. Fred, on the other hand, had his heart set on becoming a computer engineer. His plans were bold and his ambitions clear. I admired his drive, and deep down I believed he had what it took to succeed. He often teased me by saying I would end up as his wife. I used to laugh it off, thinking it was just a teenage joke. But slowly, his tone changed. He started asking me to have sex with him. That shocked me. We were only teenagers, still waiting for university admission. We had no business entertaining such thoughts, so I told him off firmly.
A few days later, I heard whispers that shocked me. Fred had gone around claiming I was his sex partner. The story spread fast, and before long, people began to see me as “an easy lay.” I was crushed. Even his uncle, who once related well with me, suddenly stopped speaking to me. He would ignore my greetings as if I had committed some crime. I was the one wronged, yet I bore the shame. It broke my heart deeply, but thankfully, this happened just as I was preparing to leave for campus.
By the time I returned from school, the rumours had died down, but the scars remained. The whole experience had taught me a painful lesson about trust and how easily a reputation could be destroyed. Fred continued coming around during the holidays, but I made sure to ignore both him and his uncle. I had matured, and I was too busy to pay them any mind.
A year later, universities went on strike. We were all at home again, and that was when I saw Fred. I was sitting outside my house one evening when he walked past with his uncle. This time, he wore a beret, the colour boldly declaring his allegiance to the fraternity his uncle always praised. He wore it with pride, his uncle by his side, smiling from ear to ear, his shoulders lifted like a peacock. I watched them, and though they weren’t my favourite people, something inside me broke. For reasons I couldn’t explain, I felt pity for Fred. He had chosen a path, but I wondered if he really understood what he was walking into.
When schools reopened after the strike, I returned to campus. Holidays came again, but Fred was nowhere to be seen. For three consecutive holidays, he did not come to Lagos. I found it strange, but I could not ask his uncle since we still weren’t on speaking terms. His absence stayed at the back of my mind, but I buried the thought.
Then came a chance encounter on Facebook. Fred’s younger brother added me as a friend, and we began chatting. Finally, I asked the question that had been on my mind for years: “How is Fred?” His reply was quick and unexpected: “Fred is dead.”
I froze. My heart sank. I asked how it happened, and he told me the story. Fred had been caught in a clash between two rival cults, and he was shot in the leg during the fight. When the police arrived to calm the situation, they arrested everyone. Fred was taken straight to prison alongside the rest, without any medical care. He begged them to call his mother, a medical doctor, but they refused. He pleaded for help as the wound worsened, but nobody listened. For two days, he nursed his injury. Those were the days before mobile phones were everywhere, so it took time for his family to even hear about his arrest. By the time his mother arranged for him to be moved to a hospital, it was too late. Fred died on the way.
That news shattered me. Fred had once been full of life, intelligence and ambition. He dreamed big and had the determination to achieve so much, but unfortunately, his choices had cut him down in his prime. Today, he would have been 50. I can’t help but think about the life he could have lived and the dreams he might have fulfilled.
And as for Uncle Caleb… wherever he is now, I wonder how he lives with himself knowing that he was the one who glorified the path that led his nephew to destruction. Fred was gone too soon, and the tragedy is that it didn’t have to be this way. His story reminds me that influence is powerful and can either build or destroy. No matter how intelligent or ambitious a person is, the choices they make will determine their future.
Life is fragile, and every day must be lived with wisdom.
