WITHOUT A TRACE (5)

Monday September 1, 2014
Nowhere does man pit himself
against the machinations of nature
like many parts of Lagos Island. It’s
a vast area of water but man’s
stubbornness and an eye for profit
has prevailed on him to reclaim from
nature what is hers.
Even nature acknowledges she’s
losing the battle but every now and
then there are subtle reminders that
when man pits himself against an
invisible force, sometimes his
victory-if we can call it that is
Pyrrhic.
The rains have started again in
earnest and every conceivable stretch
of Lagos Island is flooded; the rains
don’t seem to care for the fact that
this is expensive real estate.
We’re at the marshes now;
treacherous areas of quick sand
where putting a foot wrong could
mean sinking beneath deceptively
deep sand.
It is here we find the inspector and a
couple of other officers. They’re all
sporting blue uniforms-a giveaway
for senior police officers- and the
same look of disbelief.
The area is cordoned, not like there’s
anyone around here who’s likely to
want to wander onto these parts.
Shoulder length wild flower grow here
and there, reinforcing the deception
that the marsh is firm ground;
eventually a lightly built police officer
is picked to go in but not without
precautions.
There’s a thick rope attached to his
belt to help pull him out if need be,
he’s a small man, it looks like he’ll
be fine.
When he gets in and takes a few
tentative steps, he sees the body; it’s
wrapped in a material that looks like
a sack of rice. The body is not
properly cover and it’s easy to see
that the lower half of the corpse is
naked.
The smallish officer’s face becomes
ashen as the smell of death
overwhelms him. He’s never been
this close to a dead body before and
it takes all of his willpower to slowly
hook the body with another set of
ropes with which it’s carefully pulled
inwards.
He looks around a little more hoping
to find the missing piece of clothing-
but there’s nothing. He’s about to
turn back when something in the
distance catches his eye.
It looks like another sack of rice in
the distance but he doesn’t seem too
sure.
“ I’m going a bit further” He shouts to
the people inland who can barely see
him by now, there’s a little more
space on the rope giving him
allowance to move forward.
It’s not a trick of his eye; it’s not his
mind making it up. In front of him,
wrapped crudely with the same
material as before, are three more
bodies.
Monday September 1, 2014.
The Inspector is puzzled; how did a
search for one person lead to this?
He stares at the four bodies, only the
first body is bloated with flies
festering, probably died not more
than four days ago. The remaining
three bodies would likely have been
here for a week.
All four bodies are women. All four
are naked from waist down. For even
the strongest of stomachs, it
presents a very disturbing sight.
The inspector takes a look at the
smallish man and seemingly gives
him a nod of comfort, the poor man
looks distraught.
Tuesday September 3, 2014.
Perhaps the Inspector decides it’s
time to pay Mohammed another visit,
this time at his residence; we see
him pull up to the mammoth
structure. He spends a long time
staring at it; the most surprising
thing about the building is not its
size, it’s definitely the absence of a
fence.
The big house simply opens onto a
lawn and a narrow walkway that
leads up to the front door, the
garage. There’s a lone car parked on
the lawn.
He’s halfway to the door when
Mohammed comes out; there’s a
scary looking scowl on his face and
his arms are held akimbo.
He doesn’t exchange pleasantries
when the inspector walks up to him;
“What do you want this time? I
already explained the first time that I
know nothing about Lily’s
disappearance! I even gave you her
phone”
“There’s no need to raise your voice
Mr. Mohammed, I just need your
help, no big deal”
“How can I help you?”
“I need the phone numbers and
addresses of all of Lily’s girlfriends;
all of them”
Mohammed’s face is a mask of
disbelief, “How in bloody hell’s name
do you expect me to have that kind
of information? I don’t know any of
them except in passing”
“I need it tomorrow Mr. Mohammed.
I trust you’ll be able to pull a few
strings, you’re a determined man”.
There’s something about the
Inspector’s tone that brooks no
questioning.
Tuesday September 2, 2014.
“I just need you to go in there and
see if you’d recognize any of the
bodies”
The inspector’s voice is calm and he
looks pointedly at Mrs. Adegbenro as
he says “You don’t have to go in,
I’m sure your husband can handle it
alone”
She shakes her head stubbornly,
indicating her resolve to get over
with it.
They’re gone for what could be ten
minutes or one hour, the inspector’s
pacing on the corridor makes it
difficult to keep track of the time.
Pale faces eventually emerge and
husband and wife hold themselves
straight as ramrod.
“So, how did it go?” the inspector
asks cautiously
“ We had to look at the bodies of four
strangers, none of them is Seyi ” Mrs
Adegbenro answers

Read More

WITHOUT A TRACE (4)

Saturday August 30, 2014

I don’t know why the words sound familiar but I’m sure they’ve been uttered by some wise ass somewhere; it is by no means an original thought; “The thing about the truth is that someone somewhere always knows where it is hidden”.

Perhaps this fundamental belief is what makes Inspector Friday such a tenacious man; this unwavering belief that with almost every case, someone, somewhere, would know something.

He’s not nervous yet, but he’s going to be soon enough if there’s no trace of Lily. His latest stratagem is simple; with the Adegbenro’s approval, he has put out a series of press statements informing the public of her disappearance.

It’s of course backed with a promise of a handsome cash reward of two hundred thousand naira for whichever lucky individual who would come forward with useful information.

It’s a simple matter of directing the Adegbenro’s on what to do as well as distancing himself publicly from the case. Theirs is a name which opens door and soon enough they’re on a breakfast program, shedding carefully practiced tears and begging the nation to call specific numbers if they happen to see or hear anything.

Inspector Friday’s confidence stems, it seems, from his extensive experience. Perhaps, he reckons it’s just a matter of time before someone calls to offer information. His usual restless nature, however, prevents him from sitting in the office and waiting.

He reaches into one of his drawers and pulls out a phone; I doubt he recognizes the model of the phone; it’s a Blackberry Porsche and it takes him more than a few minutes to search for the power button. He finally shakes his head in defeat, he has no luck finding it.

We can’t exactly blame him; barring a miracle, it’s not a phone he’ll ever be likely to afford on his policeman’s salary even with the healthy tip or two from concerned citizens.

One call to his tech buddy, Nnamdi and he heads out of the office for computer village. It’s not a trip he’s enthusiastic about but it beats sitting in the office twiddling his thumbs. Careful to remember his one indispensable accessory, the hand sanitizer, he sets out.

Saturday August 30, 2014

A hour and a half of navigating treacherous traffic gets him to his destination and his police tags earns him the right to park in a space reserved for only people with money to pay. Nothing comes free in Computer village, not even parking space.

Nnamdi is the quintessential Igbo hustler who has come to Lagos to make it big. With an accent thick enough to still be too much if it was shared among three people, he sports a colorful tee shirt, baggy shorts and an ostentatious pair of red crocodile skinned shoes.

He looks like a cheap version of an Italian mobster; he greets the Inspector with an easy smile, broad enough to be genuine but not long enough to boast of particularly close friendship.

Theirs is a friendship driven by necessity; the Inspector provides the necessary clout to scare some customers into paying long standing debts as well as the occasional need to get the innumerable Lagos council touts out of his hair.

In exchange, Nnamdi provides the Inspector with generous tips from time to time. His business is a thriving venture, having the force of a high ranking police officer to back it up is one of the necessary determinants of success in a city like Lagos.

The Inspector whips the phone with no pretensions to friendly banter and the whistle from Nnamdi is shocking

“Oga, your hand don touch am o, where you see this kain phone?”

His interest is piqued as to how a poorly paid police officer can afford a phone that costs a little less than four hundred thousand Naira.

“No be that one dey important, I need check the things way dey on top the phone” the inspector says.

Nnamdi flicks the power switch with a familiarity which tells us he’s a true gadget enthusiast, “The battery don die o, make I boost am make e fit on”

He finds the suitable charger and plugs it in and a few minutes later, the background light of the phone brings a smile to the inspector’s face.

“The person no put password o, na why we fit access the phone, if not, e for hard small” Nnamdi supplies.

In a few minutes he copies the details of the all the calls on the device to a notepad the inspector is likely to be more comfortable with.

Monday, September 1, 2014

With almost inhuman concentration, his attention is transfixed to his notepad; a pen is circling around the number; “112” and he wonders why she was on the phone to an emergency number for fifteen minutes.

The other numbers dialed are; Mohammed, Bashiru and a couple of unfamiliar names. It’ll be easy enough to get the transcript of all the phone calls.

The beautiful thing about being a policeman with all the right connections is having access to certain things without needing the wrangles of bureaucracy or stupid processes.

It may not be legal or admissible in a court but such trivial concerns do not bother the inspector; his first obsession is with knowing. He makes a note to call his contact who helps retrieve phone records. He pays heavily for these things but with the kind of tips he’s receiving from the Adegbenro’s, it’s well worth the effort.

The door to his office suddenly jerks open, with such urgency it gives him a start; it’s Felicia, who’s in charge of handling the phone lines connected with Lily’s disappearance and dismissing 98% of the calls as just desperate Nigerians SEEKING an extra buck.

Her rush is sudden enough for her not to offer any greeting or protocols; she’s out of breath as she says;

“Sir, we’ve found her body!”

                                                                                                     ...To Be Continue.

Read More

WITHOUT A TRACE (3)

“Bashiru bashiru” As the voice calls out his name, the quiver that runs through the length of Bashiru’s body is as though he has heard the voice of Lucifer himself.

When Inspector Friday comes face to face with him, he manages to regain his composure enough to muster a smile.

“Well done sir” he greets him; although it sounds far from cordial but it’s good enough.

“Bashiru, how you take sabi Seyi?” Inspector Friday inquires

“I no sabi anybody way dem dey call Seyi”, he answers

Apparently, it’s not the answer the D.P.O wants to hear and the slap he delivers is so quick, it could very well have been missed by a cursory observer. If the delivery of the slap was swift, the effect is stinging and instantly makes Bashiru stammer an explanation.

“I no lie for you Sir, I no sabi anybody way be Seyi”

Inspector Friday furrows his brows a little; he’s not a man people lie to, especially people who have had previous dealings with him.

Bashiru, who has had a number of run-ins with the police, knows Inspector Friday’s capacity for ruthlessness is unrivaled.

He’s not a man to be trifled with; but that’s not the only reason why Bashiru shivers, it’s more about the fact that Inspector Friday is only called in to handle the most high profile cases. He instantly knows he might not see daylight for a while.

Inspector Friday leaves the room for a few minutes and returns with a photograph which he immediately shows Bashiru.

“You sabi this girl?” He asks pointedly

The relief in Bashiru’s voice is obvious as he eagerly admits, “I sabi am Sir, na Lily be that sir”

“Lily? You sure?”

“Yes sir, na Ikoyi she dey stay”

“How you come take sabi am?”

“She be runs girl, I dey drive her go far places sometimes”

Inspector Friday’s face is a priceless vision right now; the surprise he displays even for those few seconds is astounding.

Perhaps Mrs. Adegbenro’s words, gushing with pride replays in his head, “My daughter sells jewellery, and she frequently travels to and from Dubai to BUY STOCK”

How does a jewellery trader know someone like Bashiru?

Bashiru is not your typical Lagos lowlife; a modicum of success in a few illicit ventures means he can stay away from the kind of activities that land others in jail.

“Wetin you talk say she dey do?” Inspector Friday inquires again, perhaps willing Bashiru to recant his earlier assertion

“I say she be runs girl; but she dey coded. Her and her friends dem, na Candy I first sabi, I dey do some small small work for Candy before she enter the runs. When she buy car, she no sabi drive so she dey settle me make I dey drive her sometimes”

Although Bashiru would never dream of lying to the D.P.O, he has learnt the art of being economical with the truth, there’s no need to admit he serves as more than just a driver to them, he’s their protection detail.

He suspects the D.P.O doesn’t know she’s a runs girl too so for the next few minutes, it’s easy to keep him distracted as he talks about the girls and their secret lives.

Thursday August 21, 2014

Inspector Friday swivels in his chair for what has to be the thousandth time; the dizzying motion helps him clear his head. He glances at his notepad and wonders; what connects Seyi Adegbenro/ Lily to Bashiru?

There’s no clear reason as to why she’s been missing for a while and if Bashiru is right, right before she disappeared, she was convinced someone was trying to kill her.

As much as it would be easy to pin this on Bashiru, he’d have to admit this is way beyond Bashiru’s pay grade. Kidnapping is not for the small fry in Lagos; besides, so far there’s been no body.

Welcome to Lagos where there’s an abundance of places to conceal bodies; if someone has already killed her, odds are, it would take several strokes of good fortune to find her body.

He writes down Mohammed’s name on his notepad; it’s not every day one gets to bring in such a man for questioning. He’s the kind of man who can get out of questioning with a phone call to the Commissioner of Police.

Nevertheless, Inspector Friday is going to try, if you know him like I do, you’ll know he’s a rare breed amongst Policemen.

He’s always determined to solve cases and never satisfied with easy answers; so what if he doesn’t mind a little tip every now and then; and what if he gets a little heavy handed with suspects?

They’re criminals anyway; they deserve whatever comes their way.

He’d just have to give it a shot with Mohammed.

Friday August 22, 2014

“There’s someone here to see you sir” the secretary’s sultry voice over the telephone momentarily distracts the D.P.O from examining his luxurious surrounding.

He’s shown into a large office where he’s confronted by a giant of a man; he’s never seen him this close up before and the difference now that he’s a few feet away is surprising.

“I’m Inspector Friday” he begins

He lets his words hang in the air for a few minutes and gets to observing Mohammed’s nuances. He looks comfortable enough and his body language gives nothing away. No twitches, no blinking, nothing.

“Your friend went missing a few days ago sir” Inspector Friday eventually breaks the silence and plods on.

“I’m surprised you didn’t call the police, which makes you something of a major suspect since you’re the last person who saw her”

The scare tactic works on Mohammed.

“What was I supposed to call the Police for? she came to my house, started acting crazy and just bolted. How do I know she’s being missing since then?”

“In any case, I surely wasn’t the last person to see her alive” he concludes

“Can you tell me exactly what happened when she came over?”

“Well, I hadn’t seen her in a while so we were supposed to catch up at my place for a while. I was the only one at home. I only went into the kitchen for a few minutes to get her something to drink when she started speaking frantically.

I thought she was making one of her numerous practical jokes but a few minutes later she started screaming, her driver came in and then she rushed out before I could even stop her”

“You’re going to have to accompany me to the police station to write your statement Mr. Mohammed; no one has seen or heard from Lily since that night.” Inspector Friday’s statement is forceful, brooking no questions.

It’s clear the D.P.O’s suggestion does not sit well with Mohammed and he seems to be contemplating a call to his lawyer or some powerful person.

Inspector Friday’s words cut into his thoughts “I’d advise you follow me, it’s really a very simple matter. If you call anyone, you might avoid writing a statement and coming to the station but if this case becomes public, everyone will have you pinned as the prime suspect. When that happens, whoever it is you want to call now won’t save you”

The final part is delivered as a threat and it has its desired effect.

“In that case” Mohammed begins, “I might as well tell you I have her phone, it probably dropped while she was running out of my house”.

As he rises, he looks into inspector Friday’s eyes, “I don’t have anything to do with her disappearance. I’m only going with you on the condition that if this becomes public, you’ll keep my name out of it”

A curt nod from the inspector settles it.

Monday August 25, 2014.

We hear his voice before we see who it’s directed at. The stern voice and the seriousness of his tone gives me little time to tell you about the palatial residence of the Adegbenro’s. Another time perhaps I might give you a grand tour.

“I have some disturbing information” He tells the couple

The composure they display is admirable, as though they’ve been braced all day for bad news.

“I only choose to disclose this because I believe we need publicity if we hope to find your daughter”

The tension in the room thickens, there’s a thin film of sweat on Mr. Adegbenro’s forehead

“Your daughter was a call girl” He finally says.

Mrs. Adegbenro’s shriek pierces the air and she starts to say hysterically “No! Not my Seyi, it’s impossible!”

She turns to her husband for assurance; “Honey, did you hear him?”

Mr. Adegbenro’s voice is as cold as steel when he tells his wife, “I’ve known about it for a little while”.

                                                            ...To Be Continue.

Read More

WITHOUT A TRACE (2)

She doesn’t look very much like a lady anymore, not with the rabid wildness in her eyes and the wind throwing her hair in all directions. Perhaps, her incredible speed on her feet is explained by her lithe form but I’ll be betting the impetus is this amazing madness which has her in its grip.

She’s stumbles into a side street as she walks to the front door of a house where there’s a lone sixty watt bulb hanging on the porch. We see her banging on the door furiously as she resumes screaming. Although it’s almost midnight, a man who looks to be in his seventies rushes out without hesitation.

He opens the door and lets her in; it’s amazing he doesn’t think she’s dangerous enough to kill him or be up to some unspeakable evil. Maybe it’s not so amazing because I can see her eyes and if you can see it too, you would finally understand she’s not faking any of it. I fear I would do you a great injustice by trying to describe it.

“They’re trying to kill me”
she screams again, tugging at her hair while she simultaneously glances at the road.

It’s enough to make the old man shut the door. He’s old enough for the creases on his face to betray what he’s thinking,
 “Who is trying to kill this girl?”
 “is she going to be safe here?”

He has the presence of mind to offer her a seat as he attempts to calm her down; it looks like it’s working because she finally stops screaming. For the moment, the old man is glad his wife is such a heavy sleeper.

If she were to witness this scene, she would undoubtedly throw the girl out without a second thought and start explaining to everyone who cared to listen how dangerous Lagos is and how people always come up with schemes to defraud you.

“Stay here, let me get my phone; whoever is after you, they won’t find you here but please don’t scream” the old man’s voice quivers with assurance and that honest sounding timbre only old men seem to possess.

He makes for the stairs to retrieve his phone from his drawer; he would definitely need to call the police but even as he ascends the stairs he’s thinking about how he doesn’t even know the number of the Nigerian Police Force.

By the time he comes downstairs with his phone in hand, her chair is empty. The girl is gone.

Wednesday August 13, 2014.

Bashiru immediately panics and it takes him a few seconds to decide what to do, Mohammed seems equally disturbed and by the time they have the presence of mind to go after her, any possibility of finding her is long gone.

With Bashiru at the steering wheel, they wander through various streets looking for signs of Lily. It’s been a little over five minutes and they aren’t having much luck till they spot an old man on the street.

Ordinarily, this little detail wouldn’t even seem strange but you must admit it’s been a strange evening. Bashiru slows down and pulls to a stop beside the man.

“Oga well done o, you see any girl for this side”

The man regards them with some suspicion and I suspect the wheels of his mind start grinding; he’s probably trying to decide if these are the men trying to kill her.

He reluctantly answers them; “I haven’t seen anyone”

Mohammed decides to chip in to try to put the man at ease; “We don’t mean any harm, she came over to my house and she’s been acting really crazy since she came and she just disappeared”.

The explanation seems to satisfy the old man, “I saw her, but she disappeared even before I could ask her what was wrong. I called the police a few minute ago”

Bashiru’s eyes immediately widen with fear and his outburst is rapid; “Oga, why you call police na? This matter never reach to dey call police”

He seems to eventually realize the futility of his protests as he rolls up the windows and drives off.

Monday August 18, 2014.

The elegance of the couple only serves to make their surroundings seem even shabbier than usual. Granted, it’s not even a clean place to begin with but their presence accentuates the grimness to an unbelievable degree.

The man at the counter is wearing a uniform that is as old as it is grimy and he seems uninterested in the couple although they’re standing just a few inches away from him. They’re separated only by the concrete counter with a tiled counter-top.

The man in the dirty uniform has a companion at the counter who is a tad cleaner than he is; she’s chewing gum loudly as she fiddles with a transistor radio.

In another life, the building was probably painted white before dirt and disregard rendered it this disjointed assortment of colours.

The couple stand for a minute or two before they decide to introduce themselves to the men at the counter.

“Good morning, we’re here to see the D.P.O” says the man. His voice is quite gentle and soothing. It’s the voice of a man of means.

The man at the counter whose name tag tells us he is Sergeant E.A Okon suddenly bursts into loud laughter and his companion, Sergeant O.A Udeh joins him. Their laughter is so in sync it feels like rehearsed.

“So, una no wan greet before because una no wan see D.P.O” Sergeant Okon admonishes them, Sergeant Udeh compliments this with an exaggerated hiss.

“Well, D.P.O is not yet on seat” He goes on as he mimics the man’s gentle voice.

“As you can see, we don’t have chairs so you can make yourselves comfortable outside” Sergeant Udeh adds.

The duo at the counter revert to their earlier duties and resume ignoring the couple. The couple do not seem perturbed as they maintain their standing position.

The woman eventually whips out her phone and as she begins to speak quietly over the phone, Sergeant Okon interrupts her in a loud voice “You cannot make calls inside here, please make your calls outside. This is a police station not a business centre!”

It’s the final straw and the couple make a beeline for the exit only to return a few minutes later with a man who has the blue uniform of seniority. He’s obviously the Divisional Police Officer.

Sergeant Okon and Udeh immediately abandon their previous preoccupations and snap to attention with backs as straight as ramrod,
 “Morning Sir!”
 they salute in unison.

As though they haven’t met the couple earlier, they turn to them and offer a polite greeting. The surprised look on the face of the man is nearly comical.

The D.P.O leads them into the place he calls his office but is in reality a cubicle which is slightly wider than a prison cell. He shows them to two weather beaten executive chairs.

The way and manner of his speech suggests he’s a no nonsense man who doesn’t waste a lot of time;

“Mr and Mrs Adegbenro, I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you but the looks on your faces tell me this isn’t a social call”

The man seems to weigh his words before speaking, “You come highly recommended Inspector Friday, a lot of your superiors seem to put absolute faith in you, I hope we would have no reason to doubt their high opinions”

The D.P.O seems to weigh their words carefully and a slight crease appears on his features. The man interprets his frown as a sign to keep speaking.

“Our daughter has been missing since Wednesday night and no one has any idea where she is. We’ve been in touch with her friends and neighbours to no avail. We’re convinced there’s some foul play involved”

The D.P.O leans in his chair for a few minutes and this time his words are far from friendly, “I want to believe you didn’t call my superiors because your daughter is missing.If that’s the case, simply file a missing persons report at the counter. This is the Criminal Investigative Division, we only investigate actual crimes, we don’t go around looking for people who haven’t even gone missing for a month”

There’s more steel in the man’s voice this time, “I know you do not usually do this, but like I said, I talked to your superiors, I can make this worth your while.”

Simultaneously we see him slide a cheque across the table, we cannot see the amount it’s made out for but it is enough to make the D.P.O’s demeanor change.

“So, where does your daughter stay and what does she do?”

The woman finally finds her voice and takes over.

Tuesday August 19, 2014.

The knock on the door startles Bashiru; he’s been on tenterhooks since Lily’s disappearance especially since nobody still seems to know where she is.

It’s not too early for visitors and one part of his mind tells him it can’t be anything good. “Who dey there?” he questions.

“Na me Lucky!” It’s his neighbour after all.

The moment he opens the door a fraction, his worst fears are confirmed. Standing behind Lucky are two plainclothes men who are obviously policemen.

One puts a foot to the door before he can even think of closing it, and he’s told he’s needed at the station for question.

They grip his arms tight enough to pursue any ideas of making a run for it from his mind and lead him to a waiting Peugeot 504.

                                                                          ...To Be Continue.

Read More

WITHOUT A TRACE (1)

Hi everyone, today we begin a new mini-series! *insert drum roll here* I have to warn you, this first post is a long one. Brace yourselves and be kind enough to drop a comment.
_____________________________________________________________
Without a trace was composed by Mr. Svengali.

Tuesday August 12, 2014.
The unusual calm of the street as well as the opulence of the surrounding structures make it hard to believe we’re in the restless city of Lagos. The city is renowned for its notorious hustle and bustle, rowdiness and its seeming inability to be devoid of commercial activity regardless of the hour.
There are no BRT’s to be found here, neither can we hear any anxious conductor charging his prospective passengers to “enter with your change o!”, no corner shops selling recharge cards or the aboki run haberdashery that defines the typical Lagos neighbourhood.
The bold “No Loitering” signs explain why there are no pedestrians to be seen on any of the expansive streets and if we are to judge by the eerie silence, it would be hard to believe people live around here. There are no “Okada’s” to be found here either; this is a gated community.
This section of Lagos is not for the strugglers or pretenders to new wealth; this area is reserved for the crème de la crème of the society. It’s prime property where the rich and famous buy and build houses right next to each other just to rub shoulders.
There are some truly beautiful houses here; some so beautiful they can take your breath away. It’s even more impressive considering such perfect structures are sitting side by side. Even here, amidst some truly elegant houses; some houses dwarf others in terms of beauty and sheer size. The most impressive structure to be seen around here is definitely House number 42.
As it turns out, house number 42 has a rather short fence with a motorized gate which slides at the touch of an unseen button. The magnificence of the building is immediately arresting; it’s a three storey structure with beautiful columns. The front of the building is designed with gold floating mirrors that mirror the reflection of the sun.
The garage of house number 42 doesn’t disappoint, there’s an autobiography black edition of the Range Rover Sport and a metal black Toyota Camry keeping it company. There’s a lone coconut tree just beside the gate with its branches swaying back and forth to the gentle ministrations of a midday breeze.
There’s a huge generating plant at the extreme of the fence, a humongous machine housed in a soundproofed cabin; it’s just one of the telltale trappings of comfort in upscale neighbourhoods.
It costs a little over $4,000 dollars per month to be able to afford a small apartment here. Although it’s midday and a work week to boot, we can hear voices in one of the apartments.
When we follow the voices, it’s from one of the five apartments in the building. If the exterior of the house is beautiful, the interior makes it look downright shabby. It’s furnished quite simply with colourful chairs and a large television adorns the wall.
The voices belong to two stunning young women; you’d quite not get the picture if I do not call them ladies. We learn their names are Lily and Candy; we also suspect these aren’t their given names.
One look both of the ladies and you’d doubt if the good Lord made us all out of dust. These two are some of the finest specimen of the Lord’s creation and their mannerisms suggest a certain hoity-toity that cannot be found even among the most earnest of the nouveaux riche.
They are splayed in positions of ease in the spacious living room with the television providing background noise. For people who live in such expensive dwellings, you’d almost swear they would be hard at work at this hour.
“How is Emeka?” Lily inquires
“Oh well, he’s sulking as usual, I told him I need a break from his childishness” The reply comes with a hint of a mischievous smile.
“He’ll be fine, you’ve been with him for too long anyway and the poor lad isn’t worth much these days”
As if on cue, Lily’s rebuttal elicits a chuckle from both of them.
They chatter away in this manner for most of the day; it’s dark outside when Candy decides to leave. They’re both seen walking out of the apartment to the garage and as she hops into her car, they exchange a bit of last minute gossip.
“I’m going to see Mohammed tomorrow” Lily informs Candy. She misses the gleam of envy in her friend’s eyes.
“He’s in town again?” she asks, “what’s he giving you this time, another new Range Rover?”
“I don’t know yet, but he’s promised he would be generous and you know he doesn’t make promises lightly. “
“Don’t forget we’re having dinner Friday night, I’ll kill you if you don’t show up” Candy says before she drives off.
Wednesday August 13, 2014.
We can hear her phone ring and although she ignores the call, it’s easy to see she’s startled by whoever the caller is. She’s feeling particularly jittery this morning and although she’s not prone to superstitions, she finds it hard to shake off a bad feeling-a premonition maybe.
It’s enough to make her call Bashiru, her makeshift driver who doubles as her bodyguard for any risky nocturnal outing. It’s a long established routine so it doesn’t take long before she sorts out the details with him.
There’s nothing to do for the rest of the day so she turns the television on and starts to channel surf. She settles on CNN and listens with remarkable patience to the retinue of scary news; Ebola virus, the ISIS crisis in the Middle East.
There’s an indefinable unease about her this morning and she surfs to Silverbird Television; a Nigerian station where there’s news about the recent abduction of fifty boys and the introduction of a new toll free emergency helpline 112.
This piece of information seems to hold her attention and we see her reach for her phone and dial the number; she’s seemingly surprised to hear it ring. She disconnects the call just as the agent on the other end picks up.
She has quite a lot of time to kill before her meeting with Mohammed and she spends the rest of it lazing around.
We spy Bashiru as he comes in a little after seven o’clock. Although he’s a typical Lagos hustler who could do absolutely anything to earn an extra buck, he has come into a stroke of good luck with his easy business of accompanying certain ladies like Lily to and from late outings.
His greeting is polite as he asks for the address and how long she plans to stay; he’s not at all surprised by her less than cheerful nature tonight, they all seem to have unpredictable moods.
He settles for waiting in the car while she gets ready and as usual, it takes another hour before she exits the house. It’s hard to believe someone can look so radiant and appealing in such a simple black gown but she pulls it off effortlessly.
It’s a short distance to VGC especially because there’s little vehicular traffic at this hour. It’s easy to spot Mohammed’s house because it reeks of old money. It has the kind of overstated elegance; the kind of -in your face- needs to impress beauty that comes off as garish.
 Bashiru figured out a long time ago that Lily and her circle of friends are Runs Girls, he’s not one to judge though, anything that provides a car this expensive and a luxury crib is perfectly justifiable.
Parked right in front of the house, with a good view of the front door, he settles in to while away time on his phone. In his experience, these things could range from as short as an hour to almost the entire night.
He would get his pay either way and to him, that’s all that matters.
Barely an hour into his uneventful watch, a shrill scream pierces the silence of the night. He’s not one to be scared easily but the scream continues and it’s coming from within the house.
In one swift movement, he jumps out of the car and makes for the front door and before he even gets there, the door swings open violently and there’s Mohammed looking like a frightened deer.
His words come out in stutters;
“I…don’t know…she’s screaming”
Bashiru brushes past him and bulldozes into the house. Although he’s braced for the worst with a local pistol tucked safety within reach under his bulky jacket, there’s no apparent cause of danger in the house.
Instead there’s a panic stricken Lily behind one of the chairs screaming for her life; her words are clear, but it’s so confusing
“They’re trying to kill me” She screams again
She’s tugging at her hair now, and Mohammed is behind Bashiru, looking even more perplexed.
“Wetin happen” Bashiru turns and asks Mohammed unceremoniously.
His still shaky voice explains “We were in here having a conversation and all of a sudden she just started screaming”
Bashiru moves towards her and tries to soothe her, she quietens for a while before she starts to go off on her tirade again “You don’t understand, they’re trying to kill me!”
“Who’s trying to kill you?” Mohammed inquires as he flanks her behind the chair and holds her forcefully.
She resumes her screaming and the look on her face is unmistakable; it’s a look of unbridled fear, it’s not one that can be faked. It’s the look of a deer that knows it’s breathing it’s last portion of air when cornered by a starving Lion.
“Just take her out of here before my neighbours start to wonder what is happening” Mohammed spits at Bashiru in panic; “Just take her home”
Bashiru tries to guide her away from behind the chair but she adamantly stays put. She seems to suddenly realize her phone is in her hand and she gets on the phone.
She’s telling the person over the phone “They’re trying to kill me!”
She keeps repeating it to whoever she’s talking to over the phone and while Bashiru contemplates how to get her back home without any further drama, she suddenly makes a dash for the front door.
I have never seen a woman run that fast but suffice to say, by the time Bashiru gets to the front door, she’s nowhere to be found.
                                                                                        ...To be continue.

Read More

LOSING YOU

“Your love for me is waning, I’m losing you”

Her oversize boubou which sometimes doubles as her nightgown hides the clenching of her hands. She’s wringing her hands now as though the words induce pain. She’s beautiful still, even with her brows furrowed as though in concentration. It’s the extra concentration which holds back the tears that threaten.

His reaction, if it can be called that, is a casual wave of his hand; he reckons she’s overreacting as always.
“I love you Nkem, but I hate it when you fret”

His words of reassurance tumble reluctantly. He reaches over and pulls her to himself and in one fluid motion, he arcs his neck to kiss her on her lips.

She finds herself staring at his slender fingers; she used to tease him about it. “Your fingers are so beautiful they should belong to a woman” were her first words to him when they were introduced.

It tumbles into other memories; Nkem remembers another time, when his lips would make her dizzy with love and light headed with lust. It feels like ages ago already.

Today is different, for the first time, she feels nothing- first she waits for the familiar thrill that always accompanies his husky declarations of love whenever he kissed her; but as he says

“Nkem, you mean the world to me”,

She feels nothing- just an unfamiliar indifference. She reluctantly tells herself she has lost him.

“You taste of her”

The words seem to utter themselves; and they break gingerly before she has a chance to take them back.
His cringe is automatic and there’s real hurt in his eyes now. He turns to his now familiar flailing of his arms that always signals his nervousness. It’s funny the little things you discover about a person when you’ve spent so long with them.

“Why do you keep bringing this up? You can admit it wasn’t my fault but you’ll never miss any opportunity to hit me over the head with it”

He’s raising his voice now as he gets off the bed to face her.

“If I could undo it, I would! But the deed is done; you can either forgive and forget or just leave me!”
She smiles a wry smile; she always knew it would come to this.
“What did you expect for sleeping with your secretary, a medal?”
His rage tips over and his incoherent words as he storms out of the room hang in the air
“I didn’t sleep with her!”
*

“Did you tell him yet?”

It takes Nkem a while to look into his eyes, and when she kisses him, she feels things, and the butterflies in her stomach are back.

“Yes” she answers finally
*
The silence of the house coupled with the darkness is unfamiliar, he starts to wonder if she’s home. One flick of the switch and the living room is bathed in the brilliant white light of the fluorescent.
It catches his eye at once; the note on the centre table because the centre table is usually bare. The folded piece of paper reveals a handwriting he recognises at once; the words are burning;

“I couldn’t forgive and forget. Goodbye”

Read More