Diary of an Abuja Billionaire: Week 20

Jamal is an Abuja-based billionaire bachelor and businessman who works hard and parties hard. Welcome to his world.

 

Week 20

 

Monday

I was in hot soup again. Zainab had driven off from my wine bar in her Mercedes Benz CLA Class in anger. I’d grabbed the drunk girl by the throat and threw her to the floor before my security removed her from the bar. Zainab remained calm, but after she finished her cocktail, she left without saying goodbye. I fired all my doormen on the spot for disobeying my orders not to let any young woman inside when I was there. I went to Zainab’s office this afternoon, and she told me she’ll never go anywhere with me again.  

Tuesday

Ishaya Gumbo came to my office and said he wants to manage my Kaduna chain of hotels. I laughed. I told him he can start with being chief of staff in one branch and he was insulted. “Look, in Nigeria, nobody knows who you are. If not that you speak through your nose nobody will even look at you,” I said. He left my office in anger. I sent out a notice to all the security and management in all my bars, restaurants, outlets, malls, hotels and offices in Nigeria, that under no circumstance should a woman under 40 be allowed within 50 feet of the establishment when myself or my fiancée were there. 

 Wednesday

Zainab was joining three of her friends on a shopping trip to New York this weekend, and a fourth woman she didn’t know was also joining them last minute. “Hope you haven’t slept with her too,” Zainab quipped. We were seated at a table at an Ambassador’s reception. “Just how many women have you been with Jamal?” She wasn’t joking this time. “I never kept count my love. They’ve all paled into insignificance; they’re all just a hazy, indistinct memory now that I only have eyes for you.” She kissed her teeth and flicked her long, glossy hair in my face. I grabbed her chin, turned it towards me and kissed her. 

 Thursday 

I hosted a state governor at my office, very nice guy, but a terrible businessman: all his overseas investments where failing and he wanted my help. I paid for Ishaya’s mother’s medical bills in America and arranged for her to stay at a high-level hospice. “But my son,” she said weakly, after thanking me profusely for helping her. “Please look after him.” I sighed. “Your son has delusions of grandeur. He doesn’t know he has to start from the bottom. He doesn’t even have a degree!” She said she was also disappointed with his life choices. “He’s been very depressed.” Nonsense.

Friday 

Zainab left for New York for a week today. Her personal shopper Vivien had arranged their flights, hotel, restaurant reservations and transportation around the city, and as I dropped her off at the airport in my new Maserati, she kissed me goodbye. “I’ll miss you so much” I told. Her Louboutin heels were already out of the door and her Louis Vuitton travel bag on the crook of her elbow. “Just keep those women away and I’ll try and keep the men off too,” she smiled. Men? I frowned. If Zainab ever cheated on me I think I might kill her, then kill myself.

Saturday

 Aliyu’s wife’s sister was visiting them in London next week, so I sent one of my drivers to her house with sealed packages of fura and kilishi for him, as my chef Daniel knew where to get the best. Went with Stanley to a newly-opened nightclub in Maitama and drank too many shots. Before I knew it, five women surrounded the VIP area where we sat and one sat on my lap. Women. The public announcement of my engagement made them even more willing to sleep with me. I couldn’t even dance without one putting her hands over all over me. I got home and removed pieces of paper with phone numbers on them from the trouser pocket of my Paul Smith suit trousers.

   

Sunday 

Zainab was having fun in New York, they had dinner at a famous rooftop diner before going to a club. “I can have fun too” she said when we talked on Skype. Then I heard a man’s voice saying “C’mon Zee, let’s go!” I asked her who it was, but she covered her mouth in surprise and hung up. I called back but no answer. I called her phone an hour later and she said sorry they had to rush out. “But who’s the guy I heard?” I asked. “He’s just a friend,” she said. “I’ve known him for years. He lives in New York.” I wasn’t happy at all.