Eric Okeke lives in Nigeria and is a Corporate Storyteller, Motivational Speaker, Business Writer, Financial Journalist, Copy Editor, and Communications Professional. He started his journalism career in 1983 at The Guardian, published in Lagos, Nigeria. He later became Deputy Editor, Guardian Financial Weekly. He left the Guardian stable in 1988 to become Editor, The Financial Post also published in Lagos. Presently he is Copy Editor, BUSINESS DAY, the only daily business publication in Nigeria. Eric's strengths are creative writing, professional speaking, publicity, humour, brand/corporate storytelling. He lives and works in Lagos, Nigeria.

This is his fascinating story:

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ANEETA

Hello Eric. One thing puzzles me about that introduction - what is a brand/corporate storyteller?

ERIC

A corporate storyteller is a professional speaker and skillful writer who uses information about an organisation or its products and services (brands), and converts them into compelling stories for the various publics of the organisation. The strategy in this is to convey your message in a very natural way to your audience for proper understanding, comprehension, and great impact The storytelling can be oral or written.

It lends itself to creativity, and takes into cognition, who you are, your pains, passion, successes and failures, how you work, where you are going, and what you want to achieve, and why. This is the latest mantra in storytelling, and it is my specialty.
 

ANEETA

How interesting. You learn something new everyday. Now tell us, Eric, what kinds of stories do you tell?

ERIC

My stories mirror the everyday experiences of living and working in Nigeria. The narration is simple, always in the first person. These stories can be adapted for websites, corporate organizations to sell their brands, and explain their vision, mission, promote teamwork and other values. I can also write creative stories if there is demand. My stories also mirror the African perspective, they can be humorous, and sometimes have biblical flavour. I also write stories that sell brands and corporate bodies.
 

ANEETA

All right then. Let's continue. Tell us your story.

ERIC

My story is entitled 'You Never Know With Women'


Who are you? What is your moral standing on relationships especially when you are entangled with difficult situations? Do you compromise just to find an easy way out? Tough questions.
It is easy for a writer to postulate high morals as if s/he is above board. Not so with me. I had a bitter experience years ago which I want to share with you. It made me reconsider my way of using cars. This is my story.
 

Do you drive a comfortable air conditioned car? And do you easily lift pretty girls who stand on the roadsides? You better watch out because you may end up in a dramatic tangle you never bargained for since you never know with women.

I left the second church service at Christ Chapel, Ijora, Lagos, that Sunday afternoon feeling good. The Praise and Worship session really ushered us into God s presence. The songs were melodious and soul searching. And the message of the Pastor was clear - be your brothers/sisters keeper, and always help others whenever you can. I left the service that day with the peace and joy of God in my heart. Having made Jesus Christ the Lord of my life, I made up my mind to always apply biblical teachings.

 
That was my frame of mind that Sunday afternoon when I headed home, at Okota, Lagos. The road was clear and my car air conditioner was on. I raced down Western Avenue into Ikorodu road, turned off right at Anthony Village and connected the Oshodi-Apapa expressway. This is the day the Lord has made and I shall be glad and rejoice in it. So I thought. I never knew what was waiting for me in front of Berliet Motors, after Ilasa bus stop.
 

As I coasted down the expressway, I saw a shabbily dressed girl, early 20s, standing beside the service and express lanes of the highway. She waved frantically at the car in front of mine but the driver zoomed past her. As I approached her, she waved again.

A lot of thoughts raced through my mind that moment. This could be an emergency. This girl might just be a lucky victim of ritualists who were terrorizing Lagosians then. Or she might just be in serious trouble and needed urgent help. Besides, the Pastor s message was still ringing in my head. I wanted to play the good Samaritan and help the poor girl. How wrong I was, as I was to find out 30 minutes later.
 

I stepped on the brakes and anchored my Peugeot 504 saloon car by the road curb a few metres from where the haggard looking girl stood. What must be the problem? I thought, as she ran towards my car. "Mile 2," she blurted out. "Oh no, I am turning off at Cele bus stop," I replied. "If you can drop there and continue your journey, you can hop in." She bounced in. I engaged gear and drove into the expressway.

We had only driven a few metres when she fired her first salvo.
 

Her left hand shifted and began to caress my right thigh. "Can I keep you company?" she asked in her husky voice. I was disappointed though not startled. I took her for a cheap commercial sex worker (prostitute), and under rated her. Again, how wrong I was as I was to find out later.

I sighed and rebuked her. "Why do you do this kind of business? Is that the best you can do with your life?"

She retorted that it was not her fault and blamed her trade on the bad economy. She reeled out other vague reasons. But I was no longer interested. Highly disgusted, I raced towards Cele bus stop, eager to drop her and go home.

A few passengers stood at Cele that afternoon waiting for buses going to Mile 2. My girl urged me to turn into Okota Road before she drops. I obliged. As I did so, part two of my bizarre encounter started. She began to curse me, rained abuses on me and used unimaginable foul language for daring to, according to her, treat her with disrespect.
 

Then the first surprise. Still cursing and now visibly angry, her left hand shot out and grabbed my shirt collar, squeezing my throat. Sensing trouble, I kept my cool and pleaded with her to
let go. She vehemently refused with vigorous shaking of her head and threw the bombshell, "Settle me!"

 
"Settle what?" I asked in amazement.

She demanded money, claiming that after making love to her, I must pay her before she can let me go. That was when it dawned on me what my generosity had brought on me.
 

I was a victim of the settle-me vice, a ploy used by wayward and frustrated loose girls to extort money from supposedly gullible and unsuspecting men. I had heard so many of such stories, and each time I had a good laugh and thought I would never be a victim. And here I was in the clutches of a raw girl, who in normal circumstances, should not be seen with me let alone have anything to do with her.
 

Then the alarm! What will neighbors, friends, and colleagues say if they see me in this mess? What will they think of me? What will be my wife s reaction? Nobody will believe my story.
These "settle me" girls have perfected their art of money extortion. They surprisingly grab a man, raise alarm in a crowded place while demanding a fee for a supposed good time. Trapped in that set up, the male victim wishes that the earth opens and swallows him.

I tried to reason with my angry girl , but she got worse and banged her clenched fist on my car windscreen threatening hell and brimstone. An idea hit me. Drive to the nearest police station and hand this girl over. As I made to drive, she grabbed the steering.

Going further would land us in accident. She was really ready for a showdown.
 

I still kept my cool hoping she would listen to my wise counsel.
 

No way. I tried to trick her to leave, she was too smart for that. Then an uncontrollable anger gripped me driving me to pull her out of the car, beat her up and dump her in the bush. That was a ready option given that nearby Cele bus stop was almost deserted that Sunday afternoon. But a voice in my spirit warned me: No violence! No violence!
 

In exasperation, I thought, what next? But my girl was not yet finished. In a jiffy, she pulled off her gown and sat beside me in the car stark naked, no panties, no bra. Her left hand was still gripping my collar, her right hand clutching her dirty gown. You needed to see us. We were like a couple acting a movie.
 

But it was real. I was shocked by her nudity.
 

Should a girl go to the extent of stripping just to extort money?
 

I blamed myself. Why on earth did you pick this girl? So many blames. It was then that I remembered God. I prayed to the almighty to bail me out. I spoke in Tongues.
 

Hearing this, she was startled and mocked me saying, "You can continue saying that thing, I will not let you go."

I continued to blast in Tongues. As I did so, her rage slowly began to ebb. I noticed the impact and continued to speak in Tongues. Gradually, she calmed down but continued to hold my collar and was still naked.
 

Then a young man walked past, saw us and stopped. What is the problem , he asked. I narrated my story, but the tart interrupted, "Did I force you to stop? Did I force you to stop?
You stopped on your own and picked me. I did not force you to stop."

I agreed with her but did not say so. Another passerby intervened. It was difficult getting her to speak. She finally agreed and mumbled an incoherent story. The men pleaded with her to let me go declaring me innocent based on our submissions. And I was determined not to give her any money, for what?

How she wore her dress again, I do not know. As our mediators pleaded with her, she let go my shirt, and still cursing, her eyes darted across the road. I reasoned she was looking for a stone to smash my windscreen since she could not extort any money from me. Please, leave him and go , the men pleaded. Frustrated, she continued to rain abuses on me. All this while, my car engine was running, and my hands on the steering. As her right hand swerved to the door handle to open it, I quickly grabbed the gear knob pretending I was lost in thought. I was still praying that this girl should just leave with her trouble.

Suddenly, she jerked the door open and dashed out leaving the door ajar. Simultaneously,. I engaged gear and sped down Okota Road towards the roundabout. The front door slammed shut. I quickly looked through my rear view mirror with an expression of great relief and saw my erstwhile captor with a piece of rock in her hand glaring at my car as I sped away.

I got to my apartment two hours behind schedule. My wife was out of town and my junior brother who lived with me was not in. So this is it, I thought as I settled down on the settee in my living room. I thanked God for my escape. I was particularly happy that we did not attract a crowd of on lookers who would have jeered at me. I played the drama over in mind like a home video. Again, I thanked God. But I swore never to give ladies rides again.
 

For two weeks, I could not tell anybody the story, not even my brother. When I summoned courage and told my colleagues in the office, they laughed uncontrollably. I did not blame them. I laughed like that when other victims narrated the stories of their encounter with settle me girls.

So what do you think dear reader? I was naïve. You may be correct. I acted with zeal without knowledge. That s more like it. But I vowed never to be a victim again.

And so men watch how you give ladies rides on the highway. The "settle me" wolves may be on the prowl. You never know with women. Happy motoring.
 

ANEETA

Thank you, Eric, for sharing that story. That was quite a story. For those of you who would like to contact Eric, his details are as follows:

Email:   ericosamba@yahoo.com

Telephone:  234-803-301-4609, 234-1-3454510, 234-1-3454508