53: New Job

posted in: Season 3: Amsterdam | 8

Chapter 53: The new Job.

Very early in the morning the following day, i rode my new bicycle to the newspaper plant in Diemen. The manager who had interviewed me the day before was sitting at his desk. He greeted me and commended my punctuality.

I had worn a black Jean, a Shirt, pullover and a very well padded jacket. On my foot, i had opted for a sports pair of shoes to enable me ride my bicycle freely. I had also covered my head with a Russian furcap that also covered my ears.

I picked up three bundles of newspapers, tied them at the back of my bicycle and mounted the ride.
I had leant to ride bicycle back in Nigeria when i was in Junior secondary school. I had also used a bicycle for a few months back in Brandenburg Germany. Therefore, it was easy to master the piece of technology once more.

As i expected, the entire streets in Ijburg were deserted and lonely. There was no single person seen outside.
I rode past house number 12 and went all the way down to the end of the street, then i started distributing my newspapers slowly backwards.
I would go to each doorstep and drop a newspaper, then move to the next door and do the same.
Before i got to the middle of the street, the early rises had started going to work. I watched as people came out of their houses, entered their various classy vehicles and drove out of the Island through the main bridge near the biggest levee.

I worked my way up slowly until i got to number 30 down the street.

Number 30 was about 80 meters away from the number 12 where i was told Mr Clement lived.
I had parked my ride near a house where a man had came out from and had driven away.
I had also started sorting my newspapers, pretending to be looking for something in particular.

Then she came out. The woman i had seen with Clement at the Church. She was a black beautiful lady. She could have been from Nigeria or any other African Country. Or maybe she could have been from the Suriname or Antilles. I didn’t care where she came from anyway. All i wanted was a confirmation that Clement lived there. I had just made that discovery and it was time to leave the area.
I had stopped sorting the papers and had started distributing the remaining ones as fast as i could.
The lady who came out of Mr Clement’s house had entered into a garage and came out with the same Toyota Corolla i had seen with Clement at the Church. It could have belonged to her since Nigerians in Amsterdam hardly drove such new cars but i wasn’t there to determine who owned what.

I had walked up with my ride to Clement’s doorstep and dropped his own copy of the newspaper and moved to the next door.

As soon as i stopped at the next door to deliver the newspaper, I heard a door opened behind me, it was Clement. A quick glance had turned up Clement picking up the paper i had just left on his doorsteps. He was wearing a sleeping robe. The type you see the Royals families wore in Castles in Paris and Rome in olden days.
He was apparently living large after Hiring thugs to kill me.

There was the coward who had given a paltry €300 to people so that they would beat or harm me. I was going to teach him how to sponsor such operations.

There was him living like a king in an Island with a beautiful black woman who resembled Naomi Campbell.
The Naomi Campbell look-alike obviously had a good paying job. It was obvious she wasn’t Nigerian since Nigerian ladies in Abroad hardly attained that level of status in Central and Western Europe. And even when the Nigerian ladies did attain such levels, they won’t want to have anything to do with Nigerian men.
That was the pathetic situation we found ourselves in Continental Europe.
Ofcourse there were Nigerian ladies that had good paying jobs but almost all of them preferred to marry a foreigner; preferably white men. Therefore it was safe to assume that Naomi Campbell was either a Ghanaian or Surinames, although there were outside chances of her being a Nigerian. Definitely not Igbo woman since Igbo women had the general lazy belief that their husbands or boyfriends should be the one with the big money.

I watched Clement picked up the paper and returned inside the house without even looking my way. Peharps if he had looked my way to say ‘Hello’ or ‘good morning’ like the white men who had come out of some of the houses to pick their own papers, he would have seen or noticed that it was me; although i covered half of my face with the furcap.

As soon as he returned inside his house, i distributed the papers quickly to the rest of the remaining ten houses on that street and rode my bike back to Bijlmer.
I was done for the day. I had distributed two bundles and it remained one.
When i got back home, i dumped the papers inside my living room and went into the bathroom to take my bathe.

”Are you back already” the voice said from the living room.
It was Robin.
He asked how the work was and if i had enjoyed it.

”Its a nice job Rob, atleast it allowed my lazy ass to ride some sports bicycle around town. Better than sitting in one place everyday” i had said.

When i finished my bath, i rode my bicycle to Bulewijk.
Ify was still sleeping when i came. Since i was not in the habit of knocking on doors, i called her to open the door for me.
She did.
I told her that i found a job at the newspaper plant.
She didn’t believe that i could do that kind of work.

Samson was growing fast. It was supposed to be that way since everything needed to raise a kid was cheap in Western Europe.

”Ifeyinwa do you know anybody in England or Republic of Ireland” i had suddenly asked.

As an Igbo girl, she asked why i wanted to know instead of answering my question.
I told her that i want her and Samson out of Amsterdam as soon as possible.
She had hugged me and said that she loved the idea but didn’t want to leave me behind.

”I want to leave Amsterdam and i need you to leave before me” i had said.

”I don’t know anybody in Ireland but I know someone in Birmingham England” she said.

” The strength of a
woman is not
measured by the
impact that all her
hardships in life
have had on her;
but the strength of
a woman is
measured by the
extent of her
refusal to allow
those hardships to
dictate her and
who she becomes”

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8 Responses

  1. Jimmy Warlat

    following the Clement thingy closely and keenly.

  2. ”S8RENGHT OF A WOMAN”

  3. I know ify will like the idea of moving of Amstederm city for good.
    While clement wait for his punishment.

    ps: readers should always drop their comments while this story last.

  4. Khay Tunechi

    *achi* seconded.. a ‘thank U Zubby’ isnt too much askinq.. Or mayb d Boss shud resort to d 20comments b4 d nxtpost t

  5. Ify is just one lucky lady that has meet her god right here on earth.Many ladies will fast and pray to meet such a guy as Zuby.Good one bro….Keenly following…..!

  6. Khay Tunechi

    *achi* seconded.. a ‘thank U Zubby’ isnt too much askinq.. Or mayb d Boss shud resort to d 20comments b4 d nxtpost thinqy..

  7. Weldon Mr Zubby, you’re really doing a superb job. I think with proper management this blog will be one of the best and will fetch you a lot of cash. Ndewo nwannem.

  8. ify is realy blessed she met zubby.clement doesnt even know what awaits him, it will explode like boko haram bumb on his head.. Ride on ozoigbondu 1

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