Resurgence

1. Worlds Apart

Tari face-palmed and sighed. “I don’t necessarily mean Christianity and Islam―”

“Wait a sec, the whole point of this bickering is to make me see reason as to why I should’ve called Dayo Tijani and his fiancée the most celebrated couple in the country and not in the world, right?”

Tari couldn’t help the smile of victory that stretched his lips, as he leaned back comfortably on his chair. “Actually in the state even, not the country. The country is...err, say―farthest-fetched. You don’t think people in the North, which is flooded with both uneducated and educated people in absurdly unequal proportions―facing all sorts of tribulations would give two shizels about one of the most celebrated novelists in African history getting married? Of course you don’t. Once again, you should know better.”

Ose feigned a look of disappointment. “But even you have to admit that is kind off anticlimactic. Surely, after calling this firm the biggest in the country, I wasn’t going to reduce the territory when describing the employment opportunities it produced.”

“But that’s your problem, not mine.” Tari shrugged. He continued to sway his chair— this time rocking it back and forth, mindlessly.

“Actually, it is yours because you were the one who said something about leaving here. Anyway, what the hell was I talking about before you goofed?”

“I goofed?”

“Young man, drop it.” Ose wore a deadpan expression with his head tilted to the side.

“Okay okay. We were talking ‘bout how no one gives two shits if Fola doesn’t show up to the office in a year, except the receptionist who gets a lot of—”

“Tips from him, I know. No need to refresh my memory. I’m not the one who has been passing out in my thoughts since I gave you the announcement in the morning.” Ose scowled. “And Tej’s work strategies? It’s good for business. No one cares if he is a playboy. He puts in work when he’s supposed to and he doesn’t show up here when he isn’t supposed to. Pretty sufficient if you ask me. Everyone can’t be a workaholic like you, Tari―”

“I’m not saying he should be like me―”

“That’s what you’re saying, man. Try to listen to yourself next time before you talk. So, we should be happy about him. Not we as in me and the rest, we as in me, you and the rest because he brings a lot of customers here to the firm. Is it until one of the daughters of Otedola come to seek him out here that you’d finally respect him?”

“I highly doubt that,” He chuckled softly. “I know one daughter is in a relationship with a musician that calls himself Mr. Eazi―”

“Look, you need to take it easy―”

“And the other one is a DJ, who according to her tweets is always touring countries all the time while claiming she hustled, despite being the daughter of one of the most powerful billionaires in the country―”

“There you go, you didn’t say the world. You stick to your principles, don’t you―”

“That one is a topic entirely for another day. One that will never come because I have better things doing with my time than arguing on the topic of whether kids of magnates work hard enough.” Tari finished.

“You see why you should take it easy on Fola?” Ose flicked both of his thumbs over his middle fingers—producing a loud thump sound to emphasize on his points. “He’s just like those kids, except the fame though. He quite damped on that side.”

“Yeah, and less money.” Tari spat. “What were we talking about again?”

“About how we should postpone the topic of whether DJ Cuppy hustled or not?”