A snail killed me.

I know it sounds like this is a crazy person's memoir, and I must have reached the craziest level of crazy, but you have to believe me. I write this to warn you out there: don't be tempted by the amount you're handed. Do not, even for a millisecond, think you will be able to escape because it always, always finds you.

I was living my best life some months ago, having nothing but my one-rented-room apartment. You might think that moving from that stage of life to being in a luxurious condo with my personal chef had to make that life the worst. But I tell you this, nothing compares to the horror you go through when running away from it. 

The day I was given my new life, I had just woken up on the wrong side of my bed because of the rooster, which jerked me awake. Now that I recall the moment, I might say my anger had a significant influence on my decision. 

'Zuki, you will be rich enough to shame this landlord that keeps tying chicken to the front of your house.' I looked in my mirror—the most expensive item in my possession at that time. I contemplated killing the chicken and eating it as an act of revenge, but an owing tenant does not do revenge. 

I got dressed to go out in search of daily 2k. Wore my best sandals, complementing the faded jeans and teal button-up shirt. Then I picked up my backpack, which was more like a one handbag, as I couldn't afford to fix the torn part. I stepped out to the veranda, and sure enough, five chickens were tied to the rails. 

'What—' I brushed the back of my hand over my forehead. I looked up to the sky, 'God, see the disgrace I'm experiencing.' 

'Disgrace?' I knew the voice before I turned. It belonged to the stubby old man who walked with his back bent. His short legs seemed to be able to take him anywhere in the compound, and I hated how I did not inquire about the landlord before I started living in the compound. This is not the main warning, but do not live in the same compound as your landlord. 

'Ah, Ekaaro, sir. How was your sleep?' I summoned the most fake smile I could give. 

'Zuki, you neva pay me my money, you dey greet me good morning?' he came closer.

'I will pay na, Baba.'

'When? After I don die finish?' 

That would be nice, I thought internally. 'God forbid bad thing, wetin you dey pray for yourself no go come to pass.'

'Abeggi, make you try to dey show your real face. You and everyone wey dey this compound wan kill me. I dey see am for dream but he no fit come to pass. Pay me my money today or you go pack out.'

•••

The day went from bad to worse. On my way to the spot where we gathered to wait for employers to come our way, a bus conductor slapped me. He wanted to slap the woman behind me, but somehow, I managed to be the one to get hit in the face. 

'Manage am,' he laughed. 'Na heavenly slap.' 

Also, everyone at the center got to go to work except me. Apparently, I had overdressed for all of the people who wanted workers. I sat there for two hours, and when I was sure I wasted clothes, transport fare, and a slap-filled morning, I got up to leave. A car drove in—I think a Range Rover—which was odd because only pick-up trucks and nearly damaged buses came at all. 

'Hey, mister, are you the only one left?' the driver rolled down the window. 

'Yes. Are you looking for a worker? I am a hard worker, can do any labo—'

'No, sorry, I am not.' My face fell. 

'However, do you want money?'

Of course I wanted money. Everyone wanted money. Dangote wanted money. So I said, 'I can work very well.'

I wish I had gone closer to see his face because perhaps I would have been able to read his expression. I would have been able to tell that the laugh was a trap and the next words were chains. 

'I know you can work, Zuki. And your time to enjoy has come.' 

'How do you know my name? Have I worked for you before?' I scanned my brain and searched through all of the houses or factories I may have gone to. There was nothing familiar about the stranger. 

'How would you like ten million dollars?'

It took some time to process the statement: 'Ten thousand is good. Am I digging ground? Carrying block?'

He laughed, 'Ten million dollars, Zuki.' 

Ten. Million. Dollars. Wait—

'Million?' I couldn't even register the dollars behind it. 'I cannot kill somebody for you o.' I began to lament. According to Nollywood movies, that was how you got millions. 

'No. Nothing illegal. You just have to accept it, and I'll give it to you.'

I thought of it, 'Why?'

'Because you have been in want of money. Every day, you call for money, in your dreams too.' The man explained, and it baffled me how he knew. One thing came to my head. 

'Are you an Angel?' because some people once gave testimony that they were visited by an angel who asked them for a cup of water. But do angels drive expensive cars?

'No.'

'God then?'

'Neither.' 

'What are you?' I stood, ready to flee. The next thing that came to mind was ritual killer, using that huge sum to draw me to him so he couldn't attack and stuff me to the back of his car, cut off part of my body and turn me to the millions. 

'The one to give you want you've always needed.' 

I squinted, not believing a word. 

'Your mother constantly reminds you about siblings who are able to send her enough to cater for herself. You owe your landlord rent, and those chickens... let's not talk about that.'

The chickens!

'Let's say I decide,' I started, scratching the back of my neck. Ten million was really something. And if it was free, why not? 'What's the catch? What do I do?'

The man didn't come out, but I saw him relax close to the window like he had been holding his breath, waiting for me to agree. 'Nothing. Just avoid the snail.'

'Snail?' 

'Yes. That's all. Avoid the snail.'

•••

It was pretty easy to do, that's what I thought. I mean, a snail is a snail. The slowest animal to ever walk—crawl—the planet. 

The man did not hand over a bag of money like I expected. Instead, he told me to go home, and it would come. When nothing happened after I got home, I decided he must have been some newbie in scamming since he didn't get me to give him any details. Or just a looney. 

Baba came to my door, banging it like I was a criminal. My heartbeat tripled at that point. I had no money to give him for rent, which meant I had to pack out. And I had no one to go squat with. Under the bridge was likely the next choice. 

I stayed quiet, hoping he would think I was not around. 

'I see you as you come,' Baba shouted. He was a monitoring spirit in the form of a man, so I was not surprised by his words. 

'Come out before I call olopa for you.' His threat moved me. He had actually called the police on a previous tenant who had to spend a night in a cell.

'Wait, wait.' I called, chewing my fingers as I paced around the house, 'I am naked.'

What was I to do? 

'Come out at the count of three.'

'Baba, do you want to see my thing ni? I asked, still unsure of what to do. The bathroom window was too tiny to escape from. Why did the house have only one entry and exit?

'One.' He counted from outside.

Eii, why did that man give me hope?

'Two.' 

I rushed to the door, not waiting for him to complete the count. I opened it to see the head of the old man. Then he stepped backwards, a coy smile on his lips like he enjoyed the embarrassment he was dishing. 

'Now, wey my moni?'

I felt lightheaded. I was going to be homeless, and this old man had nothing but wickedness in his black heart. 'Baba I—' 

My phone buzzed in the back of my pocket. Again, and again, and again. I fished it out, frowning because my phone was always as silent as a graveyard. The words I read made my legs weak. 

First message; 

Last Bank

Acc: 16472054902

Bal: $10,000,000 

Second;

$5,000,000 converted to naira

Third; 

Naira acc: N2,825, 000, 000

Dollar acct: $5,000,000

I fell to the ground. My mouth hung open, and I was sure I didn't blink for a full minute. I wouldn't have if Baba did not speak. 

'You no fit pretend for me o.'

'Baba…' I trailed, unsure of what words to say. 'Baba, money.' I pointed to my phone screen. 

'You don dey craze?' the old man approached to see what I pointed to. He murmured about how I wanted to dupe him, and he would not fall for it. That was until he got a clear vision of what was written on my phone. 

He snatched it from my hand, disbelief written all over his face. Then he laughed. 'I believe sey you fit rich o. Eii, na me see that this your hard work will bring money.'

What?

'You be good boy. No dey sleep yet, dey go work. This don pay.'

I frowned, unsure if I had heard correctly. My landlord, the monitoring wicked spirit, was complimenting me?

He handed the phone back to me, a full smile on his face. A real full smile with all of his broken and discoloured teeth exposed. 

Wow. Money must be good. 

I stood up with pride, raised my shoulders and spoke finally. 'How much do I owe you? I guess I'm actually leaving this place tonight.' 

•••

For the first night being rich, I spent it in a hotel. After I paid Baba his rent—and added extra because he kept sweet-talking me—I carried a few things and went straight to a hotel in the area. 

I slept like I had never known the meaning of sleep until then. I ate like my stomach prepared to starve for the next couple of days. 

However, the last message bugged me. Along with the words the man said, Avoid the snail. So, when the hotel offered snail sauce for free, I yelled at them to never mention snails to me. I double-checked when I was about to leave to be sure I had no snail or snail sauce. I triple-checked before I entered the taxi. I quadruple-checked before I got down in front of my destination. 

I finally got over the snail fear when, after two weeks, I saw no sign of the animal. Maybe the man had been wrong. Maybe there was no need to be cautious but to enjoy the gift I now had. That was when I made the first mistake. 

It found me, the slimy brown-shelled animal, two days after my conclusion. I didn't think anything when I saw a snail in the sitting room of my new house. Why would you? A snail is a snail. 

It was large, the size good enough to be sold at an expensive price. I crouched over the thing, grinning at the fact that there was even a snail in the house. A white pristine two-bedroom apartment on the island. It wouldn't be bad to have a pet snail, I said as I reached out to touch it. But I stopped, not even remembering the reminder at that point, but because of the razor-sharp teeth I saw as it turned its head to me. I fell on the floor—I may have a habit of doing this.

The snail began to crawl towards me, and then I knew that was it. The snail to avoid. 

I moved out of the house, but it found me where I went. Over the next months, I hired all sorts of people to catch the thing: pastors, Imams, traders who knew about snails, pest catchers. Nothing worked, and it always found me.

I finally decided to kill it. I prepped down, acquiring hard objects, like pounding pestle. On the day I smashed it, I found it on my bed. If it were human, it would have crossed it's leg and said 'found you'. I slowly picked up my nearest shoe and threw it at it. Then rushed to the kitchen to get the pestle. It was gone before I came back. 

'Here, snail snail snail snail.' I chanted, holding the pestle tightly. I took slow steps, tiptoeing to make sure I didn't step on the demonic snail. 

'You know I will find you because you're in my house,' I called out to the animal. I checked the sitting room, the kitchen, the bathroom, and the visitor's bedroom. I found nothing, but I didn't rest. I checked and rechecked every space in my apartment. 

'You can't escape me,' I boasted, angry at the fact that a bloody snail didn't allow me to enjoy my life. Why did I have to be scared of a snail?

Finally, I found it in my corridor. I used all of my power and smashed it to pieces. Pounding and pounding that my neighbors below came to knock on my door. I threw it into the waste bin, packed it up and drove to the waste disposal area a mile from my house. I would take no risk and leave it for the waste men to pick up with regular trash. 

I flung it as far as I could and stood with a triumphant smile. I was free at last. 

But I wasn't. 

Three days later, I died. I was comfortable, excreting the loads of food I had eaten at the freedom party I had thrown days before. My guests had no idea what I meant by freedom, but people liked free parties. I balanced, feeling relieved with every drop of poo that popped out. 

I felt something like gooey slime on one of my butt cheeks and concluded it wasn't anything. Then, I felt a pinch on the spot. It was light at first, but it turned into a burning pain that jerked me up immediately. I struggled to see my buttocks and ran to the mirror. On it was the snail, head stuck in my butt cheek like there was a hole in it. I stood frozen. 

Slowly, it moved, going into my body, all of it, including the shell. I felt my eyes open wide, feeling the pain as the snail moved around my buttocks. I couldn't move from fear. Perhaps I was hallucinating. 

But hallucinations don't make you drop to your knees and convulse. My body began to shake uncontrollably. I felt saliva spill from my mouth. And my breathing slowed until it stopped. That was it. I was killed by a snail.