 |
| Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie |
(By Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie) - As soon as he opened his eyes, he felt it. A strange peace, a
calm clarity. He stretched. Even his limbs were stronger and surer. He
looked at his phone. Thirty-seven new text messages – and all while he was
asleep. With one click, he deleted them. The empty screen buoyed him. Then he
got up to bathe, determined to fold the day into the exact shape that he
wanted.
Those Levick people had to go. No more foreign PR firms. They
should have made that article in the American newspaper sound like him, they
should have known better. They had to go. And he would not pay their balance;
they had not fulfilled the purpose of the contract after all.
He pressed the intercom. Man Friday came in, face set in a
placidly praise-singing smile.
“Good morning, Your Excellency!”
“Good morning,” Oga Jona said. “I had a revelation from God.”
Man Friday stared at him with bulging eyes.
“I said I had a revelation from God,” he repeated. “Find me new Public
Relations people. Here in Nigeria. Is this country not full of mass
communication departments and graduates?”
“Yes, Your Excellency.” Man Friday’s eyes narrowed; he was
already thinking of whom he would bring, of how he would benefit.
“I want a shortlist on my table on Wednesday,” Oga Jona
said. “I don’t want any of the usual suspects. I want fresh blood. Like that
student who asked that frank question during the economic summit.”
“Your Excellency… the procurement rules…we need somebody who is
licensed by the agency licensed by the agency that licenses PR consultants…”
