I had the honour of eating lunch with the governor of my state about two months ago. I had initially wanted to share this, but so it wouldn’t come off as showcasing, I held onto the story. Now, I feel it’s time.
It was a Wednesday around 11 a.m. when I got a call. I had recently been dozing in my room. As a young graduate and unemployed, what more could I do? When my phone rang, it was from a strange number. I was sceptical about picking it up—it could be one of those loan apps I owe. Thank God for Truecaller. It displayed the caller ID as "Ekiti State Governor." I was dazed. Well, maybe it wasn’t real—just a faker.
I picked up, and a strong voice came on, “Am I speaking with Sweetboy Ayo?” I said yes. “Hold on, the governor wishes to speak to you.”
It was at this moment I realised the call was real. Before the exchange of the phone could happen, I cleared my throat. Earlier, I’d had the last cup of garri I had left, and some particles had gotten stuck.
“Hello, how are you doing?” the governor’s voice came on.
“Yes, sir…daddy…oh sorry…Your Excellency, sir!” My voice was trembling. I was paranoid. What could have caused the governor, a sitting governor, to call me on a day like this?
Feigning ignorance of my trembling voice, he acknowledged my greeting and asked, “Are you in Ado currently?”
“Yes, sir,” I replied.
“Can you get to the State House before lunch? I would love to have your presence here.”
“No problem, sir!” I shouted. “How do I get in, sir?”
“Just mention your full name at the gate. Don’t be late.”
As I dropped the call, I was elated. It was surreal. I mean, I just spoke to the governor on the phone. Who would have thought?
I rushed to take my bath immediately. The governor had said, don’t be late, and I wasn’t about to mess this up. My wardrobe didn’t leave me many choices. I grabbed my jeans—the one I’d been wearing for three months without washing. It’s my best pair, and the day I wash it will mark its retirement.
For my top, I went with my white round-neck shirt from my NYSC days. It’s seen better days, but it’s still decent. I slipped on a shirt over it, deciding against folding the sleeves—who knew what I’d be dealing with over there? Better to look serious.
I threw my laptop, notepad, charger, and my old Oraimo power bank into my small school bag. That power bank has been my faithful companion for years, even though it betrays me at 40%. I also packed a bottle of water from the drum, a white handkerchief, and my black face cap—because the sun in Ado doesn’t play.
With everything ready, I knocked on Angola’s door to let her know I was stepping out. Then I slipped on my fake AirPods, hit play on Olamide’s latest album, Ikigai, and started my long trek to Fajuyi.
I reached the gate of the State House at about 1:34 p.m. I was sweating a little, but thanks to my white handkerchief, I kept wiping my sweat, especially the beads forming behind my neck.
Speaking to the protocol officers at the gate, I was almost out of breath.
“I am here to see the governor,” I said. It sounded like a weird request coming from someone like me. Until that day, I’d always thought it was a ridiculous thing to say.
The security personnel didn’t look at me funny, which boosted my already fading confidence.
“What is your name?” they asked. I stated it. They cross-checked and crossed it off the list. This suggested to me that others like me were with the governor.
I was given a ribbon to wear—I still don’t know its purpose—and a guard was asked to walk me to the venue for the lunch.
At the venue, I was seated in a small room and asked to wait a little. I happily did, as the air conditioning provided some much-needed relaxation.
A beautiful hostess entered the room, greeted me with a smile—flirtatious at best, though I knew it was just her job.
I was ushered into a larger room, lavishly decorated with creative bulbs. From the walls, it was evident that a lot of money had been spent on it. The paintings were unlike anything I’d ever seen. The portraits of the president and the governor hung on the walls alongside other captivating artworks I couldn’t even describe.
The room was bustling with dignitaries, mostly men. From the way they conversed and related to one another, they clearly held high positions in government. Among them were five women, all with heavily made-up faces—like a subtle dress code.
The governor and his wife entered, accompanied by three policemen. One would wonder why he needed security inside the State House. It was as if we had rehearsed it because we all chorused, “Your Excellency, Sir!”
“You all are welcome,” he replied. His wife, bending slightly, also greeted us. She seemed humble, or maybe it came with the office.
The dining arrangement had two sections: the upper section with the governor and high-ranking dignitaries, and the lower section, where I sat, filled with young individuals like me, some of whom had close ties to the government.
After the lunch, the governor addressed us. He spoke about the support he’d received from the people, the developments he was working on, and his targets for the end of 2025.
What amazed me was how often he referenced Ikogosi Warm Spring Resort. He ended his speech by inviting us to visit the resort.
Before the event ended, he called me out, and we chatted briefly.
“So, what do you do?” he asked.
“Nothing much, sir. I write for now. My fans on Twitter and WhatsApp say I know how to write a little.”
“Okay, can you show me that?”
“Yes, sir.” I brought out my laptop and showed him some of my fiction and non-fiction works.
“What made you start writing?”
“My dad,” I replied. “He once told me that the pen is mightier than the sword. For instance, as a governor, with your green pen, you can sign off billions of naira. The sword can’t.”
“Hmmm, that’s true,” said the governor.
“With that pen, you can pardon a prisoner or control a large audience with ease, but the sword involves force and coercion,” I added.
The governor read a few more pieces and praised my writing skills. He urged me to keep honing them and never to give up.
Before I left, as he’d done with others, he urged me to visit Ikogosi Warm Spring Resort.
He also gave me some money. Although I’d expected more, at least I wouldn’t have to trek back home.
When I got home, I was happy I’d made it to lunch. It was an exposure that gave me insights into governance and more
Your story seems like nonfiction though you used the fiction tag. You must have felt really great having lunch with the governor that afternoon. I suppose your meeting with the governor opened up several career opportunities for you in your country. This is the kind of experience that's usually unforgettable. Thanks for writing about it.
Maybe it’s the way I write but my fiction are often related as nonfiction. But this is actually fiction. Who I be to visit governor?😂
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