So Advanced Global Logistics sent me to Port Harcourt to meet with a new client who needed to launch a product into the market. As the second-most senior PR Executive, the task fell on me.
I left Lagos on a Monday, catching the 7:45 AM flight. During check-in, I spotted a good-looking young man. From his suit, which I estimated cost between ₦150,000 and ₦200,000 (yes, I have an eye for these things), I concluded he wasn’t a “hungry-man.” My first prayer: let him be on my flight. Answered. My second prayer: let him sit next to me.
As we boarded, I deliberately lagged behind to see his seat number—14D. Mine? 16E. Disappointed but determined, I walked to my seat only to notice it had a small tear. Jackpot! I called the attention of an air hostess.
“There’s no way I’m sitting on that seat,” I said, my face set in a no-nonsense look.
The closest available seat? 14E. I almost did a little shoki dance. I slid into the seat beside him, smiled, and said, “Hi.”
No response. Elaa.
As the plane took off, I tried again. “I’ll never get over my fear of takeoff, no matter how many times I fly.”
Silence.
I gave it one last shot: “Are you flying to Port Harcourt?” In my head, I added, “Or are you planning to jump off mid-air?”
Still silence.
That’s when I concluded: either he was deaf and dumb, or the biggest snob on earth. What was he even feeling like? He wasn’t that fine. (Okay, Dami, stop beefing.) Anyway, I grabbed my novel and focused on that.
After landing in Port Harcourt at 8:50 AM, I headed to a fast-food spot near the client’s office to fine-tune my presentation before my 1 PM meeting. I was busy on my iPad when a tray was placed in front of me.
“Can I join you?”
I looked up. Mr. Mute from the plane. I shook my head and returned to my work.
“Sorry about the flight conversation; I’m usually not that rude.”
No response.
“At least, you could take the high road and make me look like a fool by acting more mature than me.”
I smiled, finally.
“My name is Damilola Coker. And you are?” I said, not even looking up.
“Could this be the Damilola Coker of Advanced Global Logistics?”
“Hmm, should I call you ‘Detective’ now?”
He laughed. “My name is Gbolahan Oladiran. I work with the Lagos branch of Eldan Manufacturing Company. My supervisor told me that when I got to Port Harcourt, I should locate you. I’m here to explain the product basics and help you brainstorm ideas for advertising it.”
He extended his hand for a handshake. But at that moment, my interest evaporated. In my eyes, he was now junior staff. O ti lo! I wasn’t about to date someone below my level.
I see you rolling your eyes. Is it your “single”? Leave me to make my “choose” as it suits me. Tenkiu for your advice, but on to the next!
You see, my spec is simple: a godly man with a godly bank account. End of discussion. Yes, I’m a Lagos big geh, and I cannot settle for just any guy. What will my friends say? No way. I need someone befitting to join the Coker family.
My next strategy? Join a department in church. My church, especially the Island chapter, is a haven for big boys. I live in Oregun, close to my Ikeja office, but I intentionally attend the Island branch. The parking lot alone is a testimony—Range Rovers, Mercedes SUVs, Teslas—you name it.
Naturally, I joined the Ushering Department. I wanted the perfect vantage point to size up people as they walked in. After completing the required foundation classes, I was assigned the entrance as my duty post. Perfect.
Let me break down the categories of men I encountered in church:
- The Talakawas: These are hustlers and students who see church as an opportunity to meet high-profile members. They show up in crisp, starched shirts and linger near the entrance, pretending to make calls, hoping to sit next to someone influential. Obviously, not my target.
- The Hooked: These ones come with their entire family in tow—baby in hand, wife carrying a baby bag and handbag. While they give me hope for the future, they are, unfortunately, unavailable.
- The Disappointers: These guys are just wicked. They show up looking all dapper, smiling at me from a distance, raising my hopes, only for me to spot a wedding band. Why do they come to church without their wives? Smh.
- The Prospects: Now, these ones are my focus. They look rich, smell rich, and feel rich. The only issue? They hoard their smiles. But since I’m on a mission to be noticed, I endure.
Before every service, we hold hands and pray for the service. I always add my personal prayer: “Lord, let today be the day.”
After almost two months with no luck, I was ready to quit. Then, just after a Sunday service, as I chatted with fellow ushers, a cool-looking guy approached me.
“Hi. Please, can I have a word with you?”
Inside, I was doing the Alanta dance. Finally!
Oya, go and rest small. I’ll continue this gist another time.