THE MAN IN THE MIRROR
PrimeVistas Advisors
Victoria Island
Look. Look into the water.
Tomide stood alone in the firm’s executive restroom. Polished black marble countertops, matte gold fixtures and large frameless mirrors surrounded him, throwing soft reflections of his tall frame back at him.
What do you see?
Hie eyes clouded with memory and the soft ambient lighting of the restroom and the citrus eucalyptus scented air gave way to the dream.
The forest remained the same but the grass beneath him felt damper than the last time. Tomide moved through the trees without effort, drawn forward by a force he knew was coming from the teacher.
The teacher sat as he has always sat, in the place he has always been. He sat bowed and still, the veins in his cloak catching an impossibly bright light. Still guided by the quiet urging inside him, Tomide felt his head turning to the stream beside him. His reflection bobbed and swayed and then stilled. The teacher’s voice came from the darkness of his hood.
“What do you see?”
The eyes in the water bored into his own. He stared back, mesmerized.
“I see myself.”
“Look again.”
Tomide did, and this time, he saw it. A soft golden light bloomed behind the eyes in the water, faint at first, then steady. The light spread slowly until it morphed into a figure.
Tomide’s breath caught as the figure expanded and then collapsed into a single ball of light.
“That…that isn’t me.”
He turned to the teacher but saw him lean forward as if breathing into the ground. Tomide moved towards him and when he did, he saw the words etched on soil.
Ana amarath d’elaha antun, w’banuhi d’elaya kulkun
Tomide read the words aloud, stumbling over unfamiliar vowels and trying to make sense of them. He repeated with urgency as if knowing innately that he would need to remember. When he looked up, he found the teacher towering over him.
“To sleep,” the teacher commanded, his voice thundering and yet soothing. “To ash, to matter and to the forgetting.”
Tomide felt the grass rise to meet his knees, then his back. The darkness wrapped him tighter, warmer. He closed his eyes.
Tomide looked down at his phone. His eyes roved back and forth as he silently read the words in his notes app. He lowered the phone to the countertop, shaking his head.
“I wonder what that even means.”
His phone chimed an alarm and he realized it was time for the meeting with the firm’s first client of the day. Sliding his phone into his trouser, he cupped his hands under the warm stream from the sensor faucet, catching water cascading in a controlled sheet into his hands and splashing on his face. He grabbed one of the thick, folded cotton towel from the rack beside him and patted his face.
Tomide closed his eyes briefly, disengaging from the confusion of last night’s dream. When he opened them again, he stood tall and sharp in the charcoal black suit and crisp white shirt he had bought with his first salary three months ago. He ran a hand down his close cropped fade, rocked his shoulders back and forth to release the tension slowly building there. It was time for work. Dreams could wait.
****************************
Conference room
The sleek conference room was full that afternoon. Mrs. Fabiyi sat at the head of the polished oval mahogany table, her smile austere and unyielding. She chose understated fashion that day. A simple drop of pearl hung from her ear, framing a face that refused to soften with age.
Her hair, thick and threaded with strands of silver was gathered to a low bun at the base of her neck. Tomide watched her adjust the neckline of her green satin blouse before turning to the woman seated next to her.
“Mrs. George is here,” Mrs. Fabiyi nodded at the woman, “for the presentation. I am sure we are all ready for her.”
The rest of them nodded. Mr. Chukwuma, Tomide’s closest ally and one of the firm’s most successful advisors caught his eyes and smiled. It was a conspiratorial smile. Their little chit chat that morning had been about his ongoing feud with Mrs. Ogar.
I heard from Titi that she has asked them to stop including you in these presentations…that you are still new and all.
She hates me.
I don’t think so. It might be something more.
Tomide had seen his wink and caught on. He scoffed.
She is married.
She is not. Had an engagement but broke things off with the guy.
But she is Mrs…Ogar
You are the only one the calls her that. She is just Sonia to the rest of us.
He watched her this time. She looked up just in time to meet his stare. Her hair was braided all the way back, leaving much of her face and every fleeting emotion exposed. He felt a twinge of satisfaction as her artfully made up face tightened in a frown.
“Bidemi has told me about you guys. She says she has the most capable team.”
Tomide pulled his attention away from Mrs. Ogar and smiled as the others made polite noises. Mrs. George, sixtyish and afro wearing but still retaining some of her youthful exuberance, introduced herself. Recently retired after four decades in the oil industry, she was eager to grow her nest egg after cashing out her substantial pension and bonuses.
“I am not looking for a high risk investment. I am just leaving a highly volatile sector. I want peace of mind.”
“We have something you might like,” Mrs. Ogar said immediately. The slim intern beside her in collared blue dress beside her jumped to her feet and hurried over to hand a tablet to Mrs. George. There was a moment of silence and then Mrs George lifted her eyes from the tablet to Mrs. Ogar who took it as her cue to begin her presentation.
“I know you are conservative about your investment strategy, but I believe we can never lose by going big. With your background, I am sure you will appreciate the fifty percent in energy focused ETFs and commodities…”
Mrs. Ogar’s voice trailed off as Mrs George began to shake her head, a wince on her face. Mrs Ogar rushed through the rest of the presentation.
“…leveraging the sector you know best for higher yields. We can pair that with aggressive growth stocks and a dash of federal government bonds, it could outperform in a bull market.”
A look of uncertainty on her face, Mrs. George looked around the room.
“Anyone else. Perhaps we can look at other options.”
Tomide cleared his throat and Mrs. George’s eyes settled on him. Pushing away from the table, he rose to his feet and walked over to hand began his tablet to her.
He returned to his seat but did not sit down this time.
“Mrs, George, you have been one of the renowned professionals in your sector. You understand risks, whether local or regional. You have navigated market swings and know what it portends for one’s earnings.”
A small smile played on Mrs George’s lips and she gave a small nod.
“My plan honours that by focusing on stability with growth potential. We will allocate forty percent of your fund to diversified bonds and fixed income securities…think government treasuries and high grade corporate bonds, to provide a reliable income stream. This will shield you from inflation without the volatility of your past industry.” He paused, gesturing to the tablet he had given her. “Another thirty percent will go into blue chip stocks across sectors like renewables, tech, and consumer goods companies with strong dividends and consistency.
“I like that,” Mrs. George said, her eyes lighting up.
Tomide nodded, returning her smile. “Thank you Ma.”
She waved a sparsely jeweled right hand.
“Go on.”
“We invest twenty percent into emerging market funds, but with hedges to mitigate currency risks. As for the remaining ten percent, we will put in a mix of real estate investment trusts and a small gold position as a precautionary measure against economic downturns.”
“Good one, err….”
“Tomide.”
“Yes Tomide. I like the balance. It’s conservative but very forward looking. No heavy betting on oil or speculative ventures.” She shook her head and made a face. “I have had enough of those.”
The meeting ended soon after. Mrs. Fabiyi smiled her approval at Tomide as their client made small talk with Mrs. Ogar, Chukwuma and the other three advisors present. The two older women soon excused themselves, as did the rest of the team, leaving Tomide alone with Mrs. Ogar in an atmosphere that simmered with repressed rage.
Tomide gathered his papers and tablet, and watched her approach him with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“Impressive pitch, Tomide.”
“Thank you.”
“So listen, I’ve got a new client. A big fish from tech. He specifically asked for you. So, I am assigning you to their team immediately. It will be a great opportunity, trust me.”
Tomide met her gaze evenly, seeing through the veneer of civility. He knew the ploy all too well. There were whispers in the office. Grumblings about her reassigning advisors mid stream to insert favorites claiming client requests that never existed.
“I appreciate the thought…” He paused for a fraction of a second. “Sonia.”
Her brows dipped. He enjoyed the moment of revelation on her face. She knew that he had heard about her failed engagement.
“But I am committed to Mrs. George. She chose my plan, and I will see it through. If the new client truly wants me, they can wait, or perhaps you can handle it yourself.”
She walked up to him, close enough so he could smell the floral notes of her perfume.
“You won’t last here.”
He held her gaze unflinchingly.
“We’ll see.”
She whipped past him and stormed out of the conference room, her heels clicking like a countdown on cold fluorescent lighted tiles. He watched her retreating back disappear into a mass of stressed interns and junior advisors talking in loud voices about zoom links, market trends and Chowdeck orders.
*************************
Evening came and the contemporary glass tower that housed PrimeVistas and a clusters of top banks, oil services firms and a few tech hubs emptied of its occupants.
Tomide stood downstairs with Chukwuma discussing their meeting with a client the following day when Mrs. Fabiyi’s tinted Mercedes pulled up beside them. The tinted glass of the SUV wound down and Mrs. Fabiyi’s head popped out of the backseat window. She nodded at their greeting and turned to Tomide.
“Tomide, if you don’t have a ride home today, please let Sonia,” she gestured to the silver Camry pulling up behind her SUV, “drop you home.”
He began to tell her Chukwuma had offered him a ride home when he saw Mrs. Ogar put her phone to her ear and scowl in his direction.
“Tomide, tomorrow then,” Chukwuma said, the smile on his face full of meaning as he hurried in the direction of the car park.
Tomide walked towards the impatient honking Camry and only then did Mrs. Fabiyi’s SUV pull away from the premises.
They drove in silence, the tension in the car thicker than the Lagos humid air. Tomide kept his eyes ahead, watching the city begin to shed its polish as the tall imposing buildings of Victoria Island fell away and they descended down the bridge to Herbert Macaulay.
The road widened into a maelstrom of sights and sounds as yellow danfos, okadas, rickety Keke Napeps and hawkers moved with boisterous rapidity that felt almost surreal.
Mrs. Ogar muttered angrily under her breath, her cool exterior cracking a little when an okada rider nearly clipped her side mirror.
“Where am I dropping you?”
Tomide gave her directions to his house. They drew to a stop at the intersection at the end of his street in Abule Ijesha. Tomide saw Mrs. Ogar take in their surroundings, her nose scrunched up in disgust. He followed her eyes to an ensuing drama a few meters away where Sule the neighborhood suya seller stood behind his wooden table covered with sizzling skewers of barbecued meat, his face set in hard lines as he faced Razor, a popular street urchin.
“Please are you getting down here?” Mrs. Ogar asked, her voice dripping with disdain. “Or is there some other ghetto I am supposed to drop you at?”
Tomide ignored the barb.
“Thanks for the ride.”
She drove off almost immediately he stepped out of her car. He watched her car merge into traffic headed towards Bariga.
He began a slow walk to his compound, drawing level with Sule and Razor so that he was an unwitting spectator to their altercation.
“Uwarka!” Sule screamed, his right hand thrust outward in the classic local insult. “Shege dan iska, kai banzan ɗan kòra, ɗan karuwa. Ba zan biya ka ko sisi ba.”
Razor bellowed at the insult, looking around dramatically around as passerby’s drifted past. A few stopped to watch them.
“Ṣé èmi ni aṣiwèrè yìí ń bá sọ̀rọ̀? Èmi Razor? Èmi slasher?” He pranced about and flexed leanly muscled arms that poked out of white shirt with the words Old Navy. “Wo, bí wọ́n bá bí ẹ dáa, má ṣe fún mi ní owó mi, wàá rí wèrè níbí yi.”
A stranger bumped into Tomide, oblivious to his surroundings. The light from the headlights of passing cars highlighting the desperation and anger on his face, he screamed into the phone in his hand.
“Ovie, I don dey call you since, you no answer phone. Wey my money? Make e no be say my money don die for your aza o!”
Tomide was soon in the room he shared with John. The hum of old generators battling power outage around him, he sank into the leather couch he had bought on a bargain from a neighbour two compounds away and kicked off his shoes.
Drawing out his phone from his pocket, he opened the notes app, highlighted the text in the most recent note and searched for answers on Google. He had misspelled a few words but the predictive search feature of the search engine gave him his answer. He sat unmoving and stared and stared at the phone in his hand. The dream returned to haunt him. He remembered the teacher’s words.
Look in the mirror.
He rose to the his feet and walked to the mirror across the room. He sized himself up, looking for what he had seen in his dream, but instead he saw the disappointment in his own eyes. He looked down again at the phone in his hand.
Ana amarath d’elaha antun, w’banuhi d’elaya kulkun
Tomide sighed, his eyes lifting up to look at the ceiling where leaking pipes had drawn unsightly patterns that resembled ancient maps.
“If I am god, why the fuck am I here?”
Mrs. Ogar’s voice echoed in his mind, taunting him.
Ghetto.
“In a fucking ghetto.”
He drowned in the silence that followed his words, feeling waves of self pity wash over him.
He heard the teacher’s voice again.
Look into the mirror.
He did, this time with stillness that seemed to come from elsewhere. As he looked, he could swear he saw a smirk cross the face staring back at him. Tomide blinked and it was gone.
Puzzled, he looked around the dimly lit room. He told himself it was a trick of light and turned back to the mirror. Time ticked away and he remained in place, transfixed and mesmerized until the truth no longer felt like blasphemy.
I am god.
I don’t have to be here.
I can do anything.
I can be anywhere.
I am god.
The reflection smiled at Tomide. He smiled back.
© Umari Ayim.
2026