Hard times lay ahead, but he didn’t know it. He was so optimistic, full of hope that all would be well in his life after his graduation from university. Dimeji, a Nigerian graduate of the University of Jos, in Nigeria, had to go for his one year national service expected of any graduate of a Nigerian institution of higher learning. He wished his service year would end in a flash because he was in a hurry to move over to Lagos, in search of a job that would guarantee him decent living. On getting to Lagos at the end of his service year, Dimeji rented a room for a year, in a very remote area, a swampy area where a part of the sum of money he had saved up during his national service could afford him a roof over his head. The room he rented was in an uncompleted two storey building that he first feared it would collapse one day. But Dimeji’s fears were quickly put aside because he believed he would get a job fast, being a university graduate, and move into a decent apartment.

Dimeji had to share just one pit-toilet and one bathroom with twenty other tenants and their families. The sight of human waste on the bathroom floor was not a rare one at all. It was also common to hear polythene bags containing human waste, being tossed off windows into surrounding bushes at night. The state of poor hygiene in the toilet and bathroom degenerated to the point that Dimeji had to start going to nearby bushes to defecate, in addition to having his bath only at night in an open space, beside the building in which he lived. Dimeji got fed up but could do nothing. Jobs he searched for were proving elusive. He was becoming worried now. The roof of his room was peeling off. His Landlord didn’t care. Broken bricks nearly fell on his head one night. His room had windows that couldn’t keep the rains out, so his clothes and small mattress on the floor got soaked whenever it rained.

Time for Dimeji to renew his rent was approaching, and he still had no job. Feeding himself was now proving difficult. Thanks to the charity of a few of his fellow tenants. Dimeji was able to feed just once in a day from little money he got from them on weekly basis. He could not feed more than once because he didn’t want to be left with no money to go around in search of a job. He intensified his search for any type of job, but got none, all to his disappointment.

Then his rent expired. He couldn’t believe one year had just passed by at jet speed. Dimeji’s Landlord came banging on his door as if he wanted to yank it off. Dimeji quickly explained his predicament believing his Landlord would understand. His Landlord issued threats and gave him only a week to pay up. Dimeji’s heart throbbed as if it would rip off his chest each time he heard footsteps approaching the door to his room. He always thought it was his Landlord. Fear engulfed Dimeji’s whole life as the last day for him to renew his rent got closer. His Landlord eventually came and made good his threats. Other tenants had pity glued to their faces as they watched the little drama unfold.

“Have mercy, Sir,” Dimeji pleaded with his Landlord. “My luck will soon change and I will be able to pay.”

“Nonsense!” His Landlord screamed and kept busy. “How much are mercy and your luck worth?”

“Have mercy please…”

“I am a Lagos Landlord! You ought to know how we do it!”

“Please, Sir.”

“You’re most unserious!”

Dimeji took few of his belongings only. These consisted of his few clothes, pillow, blanket and mattress, and a pair of worn-out sandals. He had to leave behind some of his things his Landlord had thrown out that evening, which included his books, partly broken plastic bucket, soap dish, and cooking utensils. He planned to come back for them once he settled down again. He walked away as twilight arrived, sure of only one place to find shelter, having no relations and no friends in Lagos, and still harboring a glimmer of hope, against all odds, that the long elusive job he needed so badly would spring up someday.

“Under a bridge will do again,” he said to himself in a low consolatory tone that would easily pass for a whisper. After all, it was there that he lived before he could rent a room.

Dimeji was determined to get going despite his downfall. He soon joined a legion of exceptional beggars, men and women who were quite healthy, young, well dressed, educated, employable, but had to resort to begging, for their bread and butter, because of prevailing hard times. There came a day Demeji went out to beg and was unsuccessful. No one cared to show mercy. He didn’t get even a coin after wandering about under the scorching heat of the sun. Therefore he retired to his residence under a bridge. So tired, frustrated and with no idea of how his next meal would come, he thought there was nothing else he had to do but asleep. Sleep, he thought, would help him ignore the fact that he was very hungry. Dimeji next saw a young man. He was tall, light-skinned, wore well polished black shoes, a nice blue shirt and blue jean. The man had got off a category of small buses, dusty yellow buses, often in rickety condition, and popularly known in Lagos as Danfo. The man noticed Dimeji, looked at him like someone he knew, and walked past. Dimeji wondered why the man had done so.

“What does he want?” Demeji murmured and closed his eyes in an attempt to sleep, irrespective of all the noise around, which was a sickening mix of car honking, loud human voices and music being played at high deafening volume. Though he couldn’t sleep, he still kept his eyes closed. He later felt someone had come close to where he lay and was staring at him. His instinct was right, for when he opened his eyes, he saw the very man who had earlier walked past, standing right in front of him, his face, a portrait of surprise.

“Please don’t be embarrassed,” The man said. “Are you not Dimeji?”

Dimeji was surprised to learn that the man knew his name. He got up, wondering how that was possible.

“Yes,” Dimeji said, getting more curious to know what the stranger wanted. Obviously thrilled, the stranger laughed aloud. As he did, Dimeji wondered what was so funny about his answer. The stranger soon frowned on sighting Dimeji’s belongings that littered around. He could see Dimeji lived under a bridge, thought Dimeji must be sick in the head, but wasn’t sure, so he decided to inquire.

“What’s happening?”

“What?” Dimeji replied, getting angry. What Dimeji never needed was being mocked in his desperate state, and understood his uninvited guest had come for nothing else but that. “Just get off!” Dimeji lost his cool eventually and shouted.

“Don’t you recognize me, Dimeji?” Said the stranger. “I’m Tunde.” The name Tunde began to make sense to Dimeji, but he could not just place it. Tunde went ahead to embrace Dimeji, and was all smiles. Though Dimeji smiled too, and hugged Tunde as well, he was still very far from recognizing his all surprising guest. “This is Tunde. University of Jos,” Tunde went ahead to say. And that was it. Dimeji from that moment did not need to hear anymore word before realizing his guest was his good old friend. Untold joy rushed through his heart, widened his eyes with surprise, and made him explode in laughter. Both men embraced each other again; now tightly, amid thunderous laughter. Tunde and Dimeji were class mates back in their university days, having read theatre arts, and stood out as future great actors. And Tunde was now an actor in great demand, commanding six-figure sums of money for projects he chose to sign up for in Nollywood, the Nigerian movie industry. He remained humble though; little wonder he could still be seen in Danfo buses.

“What brought you here?” Dimeji asked Tunde when both friends had released each other from the tight embrace that looked like it would last forever.

“Honestly,” said Tunde, “i should ask you that.”

“It’s a long story,” Dimeji responded, his voice tinged with sadness.

Filled with pity on hearing Dimeji’s unpleasant experiences, Tunde became eager to help. Dimeji needed a nice cold bath first, he thought, a delicious meal and a descent place to live. Dimeji was understandably thankful. Tunde still lived in his family home, in spite of his success. Dimeji moved in with him and was well received. And soon, Tunde’s father became preoccupied with finding him a job. Dimeji was thrilled, but had hard times following him around like a Caddie follows a top golfer on a golf course, gone away? Two weeks later, he got invited for interview by Shell Petroleum. He was happy, yet nervous, because he would face a panel. Dimeji who quickly made other friends, confided in Shola, one of them, who gave him something to boost his self-confidence with.

Dimeji woke up by 5AM on the day of his interview scheduled to commence at 8AM, had his bath, dressed up, wrapped some brown dry grass in a sheet of paper, lit it up and smoked. He soon couldn’t stand erect anymore. He collapsed on the floor, only regained consciousness later in the evening, when he remembered, much to Tunde’s dismay and annoyance, what had happened. He was now hooked to Indian hemp. He began bringing his friends to smoke in the room he occupied. Everyone in the house soon lost the luxury of having fresh air around. Tunde did his best to warn Dimeji of the implications of his acts, but they all fell on deaf ears. Tunde’s father even threatened to alert the police and have Dimeji arrested. Dimeji laughed, gave a sarcastic applause in response.

Tunde’s patience soon snapped. He made plans, and as time went on, he demonstrated what he had in mind. Dimeji returned from a smoking spree one Thursday afternoon, and saw his belongings outside, the entire house silent and, under lock and key.

“Where is everybody,” he kept screaming until he got tired. Not even a voice did he hear in reply. Beside his belongings was some money. He counted it and realized it was an amount just enough for transport back to location of the bridge he had come from. A man in his seventies, who lived in the neighborhood, came around.

“Are you not the one that kept denying us fresh air here?” said the man. Dimeji kept mute. “Tunde’s father is my good friend. He and his family vacated this place because of you. And you have the effrontery to still come here?”

“Do you know where Tunde and his people are?” Dimeji asked the man.

“So you can go there and start your pollution job again?” The man asked alarmed, visibly angry, and being a retired soldier, and bent on making good his words, left with the threat of getting some soldiers to teach Dimeji a bitter lesson. The last thing Dimeji needed was some rugged soldiers descending on him like a swarm of bees. He knew deep bruises, swollen face and bloody eyes would be the result, so he began to pick up his belongings as fast as he could. He then ran off, boarded a bus fast and once again was destined for a residence under a bridge. What next now that he had blown his chance? Dimeji did not know. And sadly, the more he kept living under a bridge, the more his potentials idled away, due to prevailing hard times.