I arrived at the large black gate of the compound and knocked. After the third knock, I heard Khalid, the gateman, hurrying towards the entrance. The rhythmic slap of his rubber slippers against the concrete floor grew louder with each step until he reached the gate.
"Sorry, Sir, I didn't know it was you!" he pleaded, slightly taking a bow after every word.
"Are you all already sleeping at this time of the day?"
"No, oh, I ignored the gate on purpose. I thought it was those Jehovah Witnesses. They won't allow me rest, like I'm the only person in this Lagos that needs saving," he said. Khalid is a man of slim features and a loose tongue with lips thick and dark like that of a marijuana smoker.
"Is there anyone at home?" I asked after a chuckle.
"No, sir, no one is at home."
"Alright."
I walked past him and into the compound before making my way to the main house. The moment I stepped inside, something felt wrong.
