The dashboard said it was 01:12 and Ahmadu Bello road was unusually deserted on this wasted
Life was everything that any young man Akin’s age could dream of. He was the hottest thing on tabloids and every club across the nation had K Turton banging their floors and roofs. As high as wealth could fly, he was at his peak and had direct access to the most powerful politicians in Nigeria. Yet, this was never the plan
Akin Turton was a church boy gone rogue. He started out in the choir, singing and evolving into rapping. He could play at least three musical instruments and majored in Music at Unilag – a journey that saw him graduating top of his class. Two years after school, he was regular at church events and ministered to numbers unheard of, but “ministrations” didn’t put him in the spotlight.
Akin Turton wanted to be famous, he wanted to ride the best cars, tour the world in private jets, own private islands “for God”. He dreamed of building a music city that would be home for all struggling gospel artistes… He had good and grand dreams… ambitions that had the gospel on the forefront…
So when he was approached by AM records, with a deal that promised he would still do gospel music, he didn’t bother consulting God… every good and perfect gift comes from God, right? The common knowledge that AM Records was owned by drug lords didn’t bother him. Two albums down the line, K Turton went commercial and by the fourth, K Turton was raking in more cash than any artiste in the history of African Music industry has ever done – BUT… his content was sick enough to make the devil puke…
The gifts and callings of God are without repentance… the anointing was still there, just that it was corrupted. K Turton had everything going for him but he was empty. He knew it and craved to be at the feet of the master again… but he was too big to attend a church… His street cred was too high for him to be found on his knees…
He hopped clubs… blazed shows… changed female inspiration… but the emptiness got worse… He even tried adrenaline sports… still, sleep evaded him… when his homies were around he smiled but his tears were unfettered in their absence… this wasn’t living… this was wealth in the belly of the Cracken…
He took a swig from the bottle and climbed the steps by the embankment. He passed a row of stalls and stepped onto the bar-beach sand… he could smell weed but there was no one in sight… He had contemplated suicide on several occasions but had never summed up enough guts to go through with it… tonight looked likely… he pulled off his shoes… jeans… t-shirt… jewelleries… and took one last swig before tossing the bottle beside the pile… He wanted to take a swim…
When his feet touched the first wave that slapped the shore…
“Can you swim?” a voice asked… the voice sounded like a small boy’s
K Turton turned round to find a small boy, whose face he couldn’t make out, sitting beside his pile of clothes… His first reaction was to scream… but he was too scared to even scream…
“Remember when you used to tell God you would FOREVER sing to his glory?” The Small boy continued… by now K Turton was too weak to stand… he fell on his knees… “what happened to your promises about building a music city for gospel artistes?”
“beautiful words and ambitions” The small boy smiled and K Turton could feel the warmth despite the distance between them “but they were not as beautiful as the words that were written about you in the volume of books before you were born…”
“I’m sorry” K Turton finally whispered as he closed his eyes in shame and tears… “I’m sorry”
“Now that you’ve had your wish” The small boy asked “is everything perfect?”
K Turton lifted up his face to answer but there was just his pile of clothes…
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