Seams: The Next Decade - Episode 8

If you missed the last episode of SEAMS, catch up here

Farhad didn’t sleep much. He’d tossed the whole night, torn between anxieties about his strained relationship with his father and furious at Panlam, who’d stopped taking her calls. She’d sent him a single text after a day of radio silence to tell him she was angry he’d told Kike where she was, but that she still wanted him to come to the awards ceremony. She felt it was better if they were apart until then, so he wouldn’t have the opportunity to do something that would make her change her mind about him coming. 

Who does she fucking think she is? he thought as he rolled out of bed.

He hated himself for down paying a two week deposit at her favourite boutique hotel because she’d asked him to. He hated himself for returning there night after night because he was worried she’d come back and not find him there. The room still smelt of her, her beauty supplies were still strewn across the marble top in the bathroom. She’d left her heavier luggage and only taken enough clothes to fill her knapsack. He forced himself to shower, half listening for her. When he finally left the room 30 minutes later than he should have his mood was completely fouled.  

#

“Why does this feel like the reconciliation tour?” 

Kike’s hiccupy laugh crackled on the other end of the phone. Farhad could hear Adeola laughing as well, and cracked a smile. He hadn’t realised how easily his nephew could lift his mood. Kike’s mother was one of his paternal grandfather’s illegitimate children, sired back in the 70’s when Galadima Enterprises, their family business was still general convenience store making its first forays into importation. He acknowledged all his illegitimate children and kept meticulous records, but only the ones who had Hausa/Fulani heritage had their mothers brought into the large family through marriage. Alhaji for all his flaws, was unwavering in his commitment to keeping the clan connected and insisted all his father’s grandchildren were all introduced to each other. It had felt like a chore when he was younger, but it had given him Kike, and for that he was grateful. 

Adeola reminded him of his twin brothers and the bond he had with them before they entered their teens and their relationships strained. He called to speak with the boy every day when he was younger, but now that he spent more time with his father, it had gotten significantly harder to stay in touch. He made a mental note to plan a weekend sleepover just for the two of them as soon the maelstrom around him blew over.

“Because, you will be at the premiere, and now that Chibuzor has agreed to do the interview, he will be there too.” Kike said, her voice dripping with condescension. “I need to know you both will behave.”

He glanced over at Bilquis who stood by his office door, waiting patiently for him to acknowledge her. He didn’t like that she hovered when she sensed he was in a bad mood, but he allowed it because her heart was always in the right place. She gestured to the red speakerphone button, flashing to announce his father on the other end.  

Can you get rid of him? Farhad mouthed at her and put his mobile on speaker so she could hear Kike on the other end. She sighed and retreated. 

“I see your point, but we’re adults, it’s no big deal.” Farhad said, remote closing his office blinds to shield himself from Bilquis’s judgmental gaze. 

There was mischief in Kike’s voice when she spoke. “Really? Then why am I having to literally bully you into having lunch with him?” 

It was hard to argue with her logic. 

#

Farhad recognized the street as the Uber driver took the turn off Fola Osibo. He’d wondered if Kike had gotten the address wrong, because the last time he’d been to Hakeem Dickson, the place she’d chosen was a concept store run by a warm but eccentric couple. His doubts were allayed as he noticed a significantly more muscled Chibuzor, dressed in easy slacks, having a hushed argument with a slightly older, mostly disinterested man. They quieted as his car slowed to an idle in front of the building and he got out. 

“Hey.” Farhad said, offering a cautious handshake. 

The older man took it and shook firmly. “Hey, I’m Gozie, Chibuzor’s elder brother. Just here to make sure your little date goes fine.” 

Chibuzor huffed, slightly embarrassed by Gozie’s lack of tact. Farhad had changed a lot too. Hair cropped close to his skull to match his stubbly jaw, he wore in a tailored suit with a monogrammed breast pocket. The sterling silver cufflinks were extra insurance, in case you couldn’t tell from the subtler details that he was moneyed up.  

“Let’s go inside, the chef’s probably waiting.”

The decor inside the space hadn’t changed much. It still had black tiled floors with heavy nude blinds Farhad remembered from the last time he was there. Even the furniture was the same, its artisanal steel tables and curved chairs had simply been repurposed and feng-shuied into a visually pleasing arrangement. 

Gozie excused himself and disappeared into the service area of the restaurant while Buzor and Farhad waited, circling around each other as they explored this new iteration of the space. He returned with menus and the restaurant’s chef; a bald woman in slouchy jeans and a fanny pack slung cross-body over one shoulder. 

“Welcome to the Fishlady, table for two?” she said, gesturing towards an intimate place setting with flowers in a clear vase and an unlit, scented candle. 

Farhad chuckled. “Oh no, we’re not together like that, old friends.”

She nodded and busied herself with clear out the table’s accoutrements to hide her embarrassment. 

“Does this happen often?” Farhad asked. 

“All the time.” Gozie responded, “That’s why I usually tag along, in case we need to shift the dynamic.”

He handed them their menus and melted into the background, leaving them to order. They lapsed into awkward silence, scanning their menus as though it didn’t only have 10 items on the page. 

“Can I recommend the crab soup with a side of plantain pate?” The Fishlady offered, gesturing for the menu. 

Both men nodded enthusiastically, glad to have someone else take charge. The Fishlady gave a mock curtsey and excused herself. Farhad’s thoughts strayed to Panlam, and he felt his anger rise. But he also felt guilt that he was behaving exactly like she did, using silence as a weapon to cause discomfort to others.  

“I got a commendation from the US consulate a few weeks ago.” Farhad said, a peace offering to smooth the tension between him and Chibuzor. “Excellence in the execution of country-based operations. My credibility is so good with them now that I could probably walk into the nearest embassy and leave with a newly minted US passport.”

Chibuzor perked. “Since when did you start working with the US government?”

Farhad cocked his head. “No congratulations?”

Chibuzor rolled his eyes. “Congratulations. US Government, when?”

Farhad laughed, “Well, I started working directly with the consulate sometime after you cut all of us off and scrubbed yourself off the face of the earth…” 

“…and you started sleeping with the person who tried to destroy my life.”

The Fishlady returned then, her hands weighed down with trays topped with steaming bowls of crab soup. She set down her cargo, gauging the terseness between the two men and decided against her usual routine of explaining the peculiarities of Cameroonian cuisine. Farhad waited till the chef was safely back in the kitchen before he pulled out his phone, quick-scrolled to his messages and turned it over so Chibuzor could see.  

“Trust me when I say, I know better than anyone that Panlam can be difficult…”

“No, she can be a fucking asshole.” Chibuzor cut in, ferrying a spoonful of crab flesh to his mouth. “I know we are all assholes. Hell, even Louise who has every reason to be an asshole still showed up for me last week when Kike needed her to make me an express suit. Nobody likes Panlam’s brand of asshole.”

“You’re right. She can be… hard to stomach.” Farhad agreed, realising he wasn’t getting anywhere with line of reasoning. “But even you can’t argue that she’s got guts, and that her courage worked in your favour before. You can’t accept her only when it’s convenient for you. Whatever that is, it’s not a friendship.”

“Friendships are for people who don’t have bills to pay. Everyone’s grown up Farhad, we’ve all had to. Panlam can’t keep starting fires she has no intention of putting out. There are real consequences now for her bullshit.”

“I know, and I think she’s been very responsible these last few months.”

Chibuzor snorted, spilling soup on the table. “When did you become such a softie?”

Farhad reached over with a towel and dabbed the mess dry. “I’m not. I’m just more willing to accept people have flaws, even you. She told me you agreed to do the scene in Liaisons, all of it. She swears that was your idea.”

“I did, but I also changed my mind about adding it to the film. That was my choice to make.”

“She apologised.”

“Fuck her apology. Do you know why I really decided to scrub my digital footprint off the internet?”

No one did. Chibuzor had never spoken about it to any of them, even Kike whom he’d stayed close to after his relationships with the rest of the gang had deteriorated. His eyes seemed to glaze over as he spoke. 

“Dexter came back after the videos leaked. I honestly thought I’d gotten rid of him, but I was naive. He had more videos, not sure how. What mattered was that they were worse than the film, stuff I bleached out of my mind. He was asking for things I couldn’t give or he would release them. It was easier to make the Youtube video and at least spin some of the madness in my favour.”

“Dexter?” Farhad repeated, it wasn’t a name he’d heard in a very long time, one they’d all tried to forget.  

“Yup, that one.” Chibuzor said grimly. “I’m a Youtuber today because I know no one can blackmail me with anything if I get to spill the tea before they do. It’s fucked up, but this is the only way I know to stay in control. It’s fucking brutal what happened to him, but better him than me.” 

Farhad tried to offer another explanation but Chibuzor tapped his spoon on the rim of his soup bowl to halt the conversation.

“Eat, your food is getting cold.”

Farhad tried the food, dipping a chunk off his plantain paté into the soup and scooping crab flesh. Crab tasted somewhere between fish and alligator, with a slightly tangy taste that stung at the back of his throat as he swallowed. He was surprised to find he actually liked crab. He ate more, using the tapé as a makeshift scoop and avoiding the liquid which he wasn’t in the mood to tolerate. They finished at almost the same time, Chibuzor’s bowl mopped clean and Farhad’s bowl a left over lake of spiced meat water. Chibuzor looked over his shoulder to check if Gozie was still waiting and sighed in relief when he saw him engrossed with something on his tablet. 

“I probably wouldn’t have a life, let alone a social one if it wasn’t for him.” Chibuzor said, gesturing imperceptibly in his direction.

“I get that, my father handing over his business to me was the thing I had to ground me.” 

The Fishlady came back, cleared the table and left them mason jars of Pamplemousse mocktails. They drank, digesting all that had been said as Gozie took a call in the background, its general direction suggesting it was time to wrap up. 

“I wasn’t kidding about the passport; they offered a fast-tracked application so I can take a management position in the UAE, on account of my near fluent Arabic. I don’t even know how to tell Panlam that I want to take it.” 

“See I’ve already agreed to do the interview so I don’t hate her.” Chibuzor said, “I’m here so I clearly don’t hold a grudge against you either. Just tell her the truth, she’ll either take it well or she won’t. I’ll be happy for you either way.”

Gozie walked over to them, his mood worrying inducing. 

“We need to go, Kike needs us.”

Farhad stood, aping a clearly agitated Chibuzor. 

“What’s happening?” He asked. 

Gozie didn’t answer, he just ushered them out of the restaurant and into a waiting Taxify cab, pausing for a second to let Farhad decide if he would part ways or follow them. They rode in silence at the back of the car as Gozie typed furiously in the front passenger seat, periodically glancing at the rearview to check on Chibuzor. He was also on his phone, scrolling through his Instagram as though he was searching intently for something. His deftness suggested this was something he did often, and his forehead creased as he stopped mid scroll to mouth the words to a caption. Farhad looked over at the post, a blurry video shared on Instablog, a man in handcuffs clearly visible behind a police cell. He went straight to the comments and began to scroll, periodically taking screenshot. Farhad leaned in for a better look, Chibuzor’s interest was contagious.

The video was too blurry to guess the identity of the cuffed man, cowed in his pyjamas as the policeman moved him around. Farhad cocked his neck to read the elaborate caption that accompanied the post and felt his heart contract. 

“Breaking: Celebrated director Basim Adiemen arrested on charges of sexual misconduct.”