Afterwards in my head the refrain ran: "Odinga, Odonga, Odinga, Odonga." The large, exasperated Nigerian man was saying it under his breath, as he failed to bring me into his scheme of things.

I had let the apartment to Joyous Gracious, his wife, who initially made no mention of a husband. Then in time, she brought him into conversation, he was a "businessman, very busy down the country". She was something of a matriarch among other Nigerian women, settling disputes over moneys and allowances and even boy-friends. When she laughed, they laughed. Her (my) flat in the inner city became as busy as a rural TD's constituency office. Joyous was good at explaining how immigrant women would get social welfare ("De Social") and how to fill in the forms correctly for the Supplementary Rent Allowances.

With the Nigerian women, the men stayed in the background. They reminded me of my own formidable aunts during my childhood on a Munster farm - forceful women, who banked the creamery cheques and set the service fees for stallions.

With that kind of economic clout, they knew the bank manager and the creamery manager and the solicitor better than their husbands or sons did - and boy, did they hold onto the purse strings. Their writ ran from job references to marriage prospects, to returning the many Department of Agriculture forms for headage payments and the like. "De Aunts" also dictated the local matchmaking. Legends in their own front parlour, they "made" marriages in the district, matching eligible females from tillage to the son who would inherit extensive "milking acres".

Many a would-be farmer's wife went to "De Aunt" for "vetting" before the church was booked. And made sure to be respectful to her afterwards.

I found the memory of these aunts useful when dealing with Nigerian tenants. It came easy to me to barter and bargain. "All right, you can have a new washing machine if you pay the rent on time - yes, a new machine, not a re-conditioned one."

I had also learned to appear ignorant when propositions were waved before my eyes. As "De Aunt" used to say of a neighbour, whose slow manner belied a sharp brain for getting grants: "He's a clever fool."

All this came to mind when Joyous Gracious asked me to meet her husband. He was in a three-piece suit with a white shirt and striped tie.

He formally shook my hand, but did not introduce me to the two male cohorts, who sat one each side of him. I felt like an emissary of a distant empire who had strayed into a tribal territory and might need creative thinking to exit amicably.

He questioned me about my business: what tenants I had, were they always in the country, how many on social welfare? All this in my own property, in the apartment his wife rented, from money paid by my government from taxes raised in my country? Brazen wasn't in it (or should that be reverse-colonialism?).

I played dumb, not appearing to understand he was offering me a share in a scheme. If I signed, as landlord, the rent allowances for fictitious tenants, he would "gift" me a proportion of the rents.

Remembering De Aunts' wisdom about the "clever fool" helped me hugely. I said I had probably misunderstood him, as the husband of Joyous Gracious would not think such a scheme would work in a country where he was a guest.

Such an idea was criminal, crazy and I would have no part in it. It could have everybody deported. We would all be rounded-up and put on a plane to Lagos.

That got a laugh, then he was solemn. He looked to his two cohorts, picked at his teeth with an ivory toot-pick.

"Odinga, Odonga," he sighed wearily and looked at me as if I had not got the full picture, like I had missed a great business opportunity. Which doubtless I had. I'm a bit slow that way.

But De Aunts, long gone to their big farm in the sky, would be proud of me.