by Adaora O
“I am so sorry. Please forgive me, my sweet cousin. I forgot and got carried away when I saw Nini.” Hands akimbo, Adaiba tried to sustain her angry stance but failed woefully. She could not decide which made her angrier. That Chinny wandered off and left her waiting and costing them their spot on the tricycle, that hunger pangs now sang in addition to banging on her stomach doors, or that it was practically impossible for her to stay mad at her cousin for long enough. The small smile that formed around Adaiba’s mouth indicated that Chinny had already been forgiven. Not many people who Chinny knew could offer themselves so freely. They did not have many childhood memories together as Ada was shipped from one aunt’s house to the other from as early as aged four. Her parents’ excuse for such a thoughtless act stemmed from their belief that rather than spend her holidays with her brothers, she stood to gain more in the homes of relatives who had female children. This, by their own postulation, would help her grow into a more rounded female. By the time Adaiba could clearly express herself, they realised that they unwittingly sold their daughter off to relatives who used her for varying forms of child labour, ranging from bar-soap selling to ice-water hawking. More heart-wrenching were the unclear memories of molestations which Adaiba tried to piece together. Her mother had wept bitterly and begged her to never mention it to any other person. Her bond with Chinny began to grow when she confided in her the childhood memories she had kept buried in parts even she sometimes found hard to reach.
“Good afternoon,” greeted Nini.
Adaiba responded good naturedly, “Good afternoon my dear. How are you?” Once the pleasantries were over, Adaiba informed Chinny that the tricycle driver abruptly changed his mind about making the trip. He ordered her to get down from his vehicle and get another transport option. While they discussed other alternative means to get to their destination, Nini became bored and busied herself with enjoying the view around her.
Chinny suggested they hike to Chief Utah’s villa and Adaiba erupted in uncontrollable laughter much to Chinny’s consternation. “What is funny?” she asked. “So what if it is a long distance, could you not have said so rather than laugh like you just saw the king’s fool?” Out of options, Chinny found herself in a strange terrain and felt like a child trying to get bubble gum out of her hair. Adaiba stopped laughing and was about to say something in retort when Nini, tense with fear and without looking away from whatever had caught her eye, pulled at Chinny’s arm.
The air tasted like ash in Nini’s mouth as she said in a high-pitched whisper, “I just saw something… I just saw something happen!”
“What is it?” chorused Adaiba and Chinny as they tried to follow Nini’s eye line. All three were now aware of an agitated crowd slowly gathering in the distance. They could see Nini’s mother returning from the direction of the agitation. She reached them, looking quite relieved but soon sensed their unease.
“Why do you all look like the dreaded mporokiki masquerade just appeared?” she asked, taking her handbag from her daughter. When she realised they were worried about the gathering crowd, she told them that the agitation was just about a certain Don Kay who stopped to fix his flat tyre but decided to dole out Naira notes to his fans amid their chants of “Don Kay… Don Kay… Don Kay.”
“It appears,” she continued, “that while he busied himself with spraying Naira notes and his driver concentrated on changing the flat tyre, somebody in the crowd stole his briefcase containing an undisclosed sum of dollar bills and now, the town’s champion is awfully distraught,” she ended, without as much as a shred of sympathy. Nini’s mother thought the man called Don Kay deserved the theft for so blatantly brandishing the wealth he got from heaven knows where.
“Oh, my goodness!” Wide-eyed, Nini whispered in a terrified voice as she cupped her mouth with a palm. She resembled a scared cat. Adaiba and Chinny were still taking in Nini’s mother’s narration when the little girl said something that had three pairs of eyes boring into her forehead.
Her mother asked slowly in a stern voice, “Eniola Arabella Okoye, what did you just say?”
9
Eniola drew in as much air as her lungs could manage and looking her mother square in the face repeated, “I can tell who took the case and where he kept it.” Pointing at Adaiba, she went on to explain. “Ten steps backwards from her, turn left, continue with your eyes till you spot a lame beggar sitting on the ground.”
“Is he the one with the case?” Chinny whispered.
“Not a ‘he’ but a ‘she’ and yes, she is sitting on the case,” said Eniola, her heart doing a rumba. Six eyes followed her instruction and as sure as the morning trailed the night, they spotted the beggar. Chinny started to ask how the lame beggar got hold of the case but froze as her heartbeat began a dance without rhythm.
“I recognise that girl!!! I know her. I met her once outside the bank. She was not lame then. How come she is not able to walk now? Did something happen or is she pretending?”
Eniola’s mother would have preferred to go on her way. The complications of being a key witness in any criminal case made the idea of being an ostrich attractive to Mrs Okoye as she tried to modulate her daughter’s testament. “Did you see her take the case? Remember she is lame or is at least pretending to be?” But her daughter explained that the girl did not take the case. A man passed the box to the girl who appeared reluctant.
“Where is the man?” Adaiba asked, looking around.
Ruffled and scared, Nini jerked her head in the general direction behind Chinny, who now stood beside her cousin, and said, “I am not sure! Maybe he went that way.” Mrs. Okoye’s eyes darted around and over her shoulders.
“This is what I do not want. Nini, if you say anything, the police will use you as a witness, fast turn you into a suspect, then the thief. I say we go on our way. The man is rich and will find a way to handle himself. We have an appointment to meet, Nini, let us go.” Taking her daughter by the wrist, she made to leave.
Chinny stood in front of Eniola’s mother. “Sorry ma, but you cannot just leave. I once had a friend who told me that if I see evil and make no effort to correct it, I am the same as the evil-doer. We must do something. We owe it to our existence to stand for what is right – even if it makes us uncomfortable.” Adaiba and Eniola nodded their assent. Feeling somewhat small, Eniola’s mother knew the young lady was right and slowly released her daughter’s wrist. Asking them to keep their eyes on the beggar and raise bedlam if she made any sudden movements, Chinny almost looked taller than her five-feet-six inches stature. She began to walk in the opposite direction and when Adaiba asked where she was going, “To tell Don Kay where his case is,” Chinny responded, marching off with determined strides.
Nini’s mother did not exaggerate regarding Don Kay’s state of mind. It was an agitated man who responded when Chinny spoke in a loud voice, “Please, I want to speak to Don Kay.” She did not explain for too long before he swung into hyper-activity. He asked his driver to position himself at a safe distance to the beggar. He dialled a number on his phone and the speed with which two plain-clothed police officers arrived on power bikes deserved a standing ovation. It is in one’s interests to be rich and influential. Things get done pretty fast, Chinny thought.
Adaiba, Eniola and her mother observed with growing trepidation from afar as Chinny talked with the policemen. Much to Adaiba’s shock, her cousin began to meander through the crowd until she stood before the beggar who, rattling the coins in her plate, called out in a small voice, “Please help me.”
Chinny took out some money from her pocket and began counting at snail speed. She stared the beggar straight in the face and barely moving her lips, said, “This place is surrounded by the police. Someone forced a briefcase on you. Hand it over now and tell the police everything.” To Chinny’s disappointment, the girl started a fierce denial. Chinny could not imagine why this child had become so immersed in the world of crime. But the stream
of tears accompanying the beggar girl’s denial indicated otherwise and Chinny’s thoughts took a different leaning. She must be terrified of whoever gave her the case, she thought, but pretended the girl’s tears did not tug at her heartstrings. In an even sterner voice, Chinny asked, “Who gave you the box you are sitting on?”
The fast throb between her collarbones at the base of her neck bore testament to the beggar girl’s unease as she let out a torrent of words. “Auntie, please you have to help me. My name is Nasa. My… err, the man. He gave me the box. He is my guardian – Uncle Godwin. I do not know where I come from because he refuses to tell me, and we move from one place to the other. I do not have parents… Uncle has been the only one taking care of me.” Looking over her shoulders, she continued. “He says I have no one else, that I must do what he says… always if I want him to continue to care for me.” She shuddered but did not stop talking, an increased urgency in her tone. “He is a devil. He makes me pretend to be blind, lame or mad in different places so that people will give me money. Then he collects everything in the evening. Any day I do not bring back enough money, he will not give me any food and I will sleep in the toilet. Any time he steals money, phones or earrings and watches, he will make me hold them until it is safe for him to collect them. He calls me an ingrate who does not want to face the reality of her destiny anytime I ask about my parents. And… and he carries a gun about. He told me that any day I tell anybody what he does, he will kill me. Please Auntie, you must help me… Please, help me. I beg you pleeeease!” the beggar girl implored.
Chinny’s eyes grew large and darted around, her initial courage now safe home and under the covers. A gun?! She thought this was a case of petty theft, but the beggar’s uncle was a full-fledged armed robber. “Can you tell me exactly where your uncle is hiding?” Chinny asked the teary-faced girl who now looked younger. Nasa jerked her head to her left and told Chinny her uncle hid somewhere behind a rusty zinc shed a few yards away. The policemen watched Chinny and the beggar with the stealth of vipers and picking up on their body language, began a furtive close-in on them from two opposite angles. A tad handicapped since they did not have any visual description of the man in question, the police called for back-up.
Nothing in all eighteen years of her existence prepared Chinny for the trepidation and uncertainty that tore through her. Certain they had an audience in the armed robber who would soon be forced out of hiding, she inhaled gulps of the fear-flavoured air, pulled the girl into a standing position and took the case. This got the attention of the few bystanders who began pointing and talking animatedly. The ensuing minutes went past in a flash.
Not about to allow an amateur girl-thief to rob him of his just-earned cash, Uncle Godwin scurried towards Chinny and Nasa and began crossing over to the other side of the road to intercept his money. At that moment, a toddler ran for his ball, which had rolled onto the road as he played with it. The toddler’s mother screamed, waving her hands at an oncoming truck with a full load of builder’s sand. The driver saw the toddler in time, took a left swerve and bumped into a cart parked against a tree, missing the child by a fraction. The cart’s wheel came off and began to roll, hitting the bread seller who Chinny never got around to patronising. The bread seller’s tray went up in the air, sending her loaves in different directions as she tripped, running straight into Godwin. He fell flat on his back and tried to get up at once but not before the two plain-clothed policemen reached and pinned him to the ground.
“Gun! He has a gun! He has a gun!!” cried a petrified Chinny. When one of the two policemen searched the thief and brought out the gun tucked in his pocket, the two officers burst into wild laughter.
“So, this is your gun?” they jeered at him, one officer knocking his head with the gun. They informed a relieved Chinny that she had been terrified of a dry toy water-gun. They roared in laughter as they placed handcuffs on the bewildered thief.
Don Kay and his driver met up with Chinny and the policemen who had now been joined by Eniola, her mother and Adaiba. Everywhere was a flurry of activities. People talking, picking up their scattered wares and others still running for safety, but the little toddler who caused it all seemed content at his mother’s feet, playing with his retrieved ball while his mother hurriedly packed up her vegetables. Home called. For the poor woman, it was enough trouble for one day. Moments after, a van came on the scene to take the thief, the beggar girl and the briefcase to the station for further investigation. The chatter petered out. The policemen respectfully asked Don Kay, Chinny and her friends for a brief stop at the police station. Everyone got into the passenger section while the beggar girl and her uncle were hurled into the barbed trunk of the van.
As would be expected the usual bureaucracy in public offices went on recess once the Divisional Police Officer identified Don Kay. Since Nasa did not have anywhere to go, they were told an orphanage would accommodate her temporarily, pending the conclusion of her background investigations. With all the statements signed, Eniola and her mother started towards the door. Chinny and Adaiba tried to figure out how to continue their journey. Not wanting to disclose their mission to anyone, they kept their ignorance to themselves. Outside the station, Eniola and her mother bade Chinny and Adaiba goodbye and had started on their way to a nearby motorbike park when Don Kay rushed out of the station panting, “Wait, wait one minute please,” nearly choking on his breath. They all shook their heads, declining his invitation for a brief chat and some drinks in his luxury car. Not able to contain his excitement, Don Kay implored, “Please, can I at least know who you are, where you are from and what I can do to show my appreciation?” Chinny was quick to tell Don Kay that helping him retrieve his briefcase of dollar notes served as their own little way of correcting the plethora of wrongs in their immediate environment. She told him that, but for the strength of character of the people she had learnt to surround herself with, she never would have been able to be of any help to him.
“We do not ask anything of you sir. That we rescued that little girl and retrieved your briefcase is enough incentive for us to continue to do the right thing,” she finished, looking pointedly at Mrs Okoye. Chinny’s impeccable diction was undisputable.
“Fair enough. At least, tell me where you all are from,” he conceded and Chinny made the introductions. Don Kay tried another shot at convincing his new acquaintances. Pointing to the taxi park right beside the cluster of motorbikes, he asked them to allow him to hire a cab that would take them to wherever they were headed. It appeared the man found it impossible to understand the word ‘no’.
Eniola’s mother spoke for the first time. “We are going to Royale Academy.” Lightly touching Eniola’s shoulder, she continued, “My daughter here passed the entrance examinations, so we are going to register for the interview.”
“So, what was your examination score?” Don Kay asked, his eyes on Eniola as he gave her a congratulatory handshake. The twinkle in his eyes as he looked at the little girl did not escape Chinny. Was this world filled with paedophiles? Why is this old man looking at Nini like that? The disgust Chinny tasted in her mouth escaped, spreading across her face. Nobody but Adaiba took note of her changed countenance as Eniola proudly rattled off her scores.
“A hundred and eighty-seven out of two hundred! Forty-five out of fifty in English, forty-seven out of fifty in science, forty-seven out of fifty in general studies and forty-eight out of fifty in mathematics.” Don Kay’s mouth formed an ‘o’ in amazement. He asked for her name again and told her he was sure her parents were proud of her. Eniola said her mother was, but could not tell her father’s disposition towards her academic success since he died when she was only eight months old. Don Kay nodded and whispered to his driver who went off in the direction of the taxi park.
Chinny noticed that rather than feel sorry for the little girl who just mentioned she lost her father as an infant, Don Kay’s eyes rested on Chinny with an obscure look on his face. He took
Eniola’s hand as he congratulated her yet again. Flummoxed by everybody’s ignorance of the lewdness that shone through this man’s eyes, Chinny became incapable of further self-restraint and yanked Nini’s hand away from Don Kay’s. She shoved her towards Mrs Okoye who took the cue and after thanking Don Kay and bidding everyone goodbye, got into the now waiting cab with her daughter.
“Thank you, sir, for appreciating us. We will be on our way now.” With the look on Chinny’s face as she spoke those words to Don Kay, one would think the air reeked of something offensive. He looked somewhat confused at her clear displeasure at something but did not dwell on it. Of course he is comfortable with the disgust people show him when they realise the kind of degenerate he is, she thought with indignation. Don Kay said something about selfless acts like those of today being refreshing. Chinny figured why Don Kay needed refreshing. He must be choking from his own stench, she thought, carelessly tucking the business card he held out to her into the back pocket of her denim trousers. She had a mission and was in a hurry to leave. She would ask the motorbike riders a few metres away for directions to Chief Utah’s villa. As Chinny scurried off with her cousin, she regretted wasting precious time in assisting Don Kay to find and retrieve his briefcase while her brother’s whereabouts remained unknown. The motorbike rider charged Chinny and Adaiba 70 Naira to Chief Utah’s villa. When they bargained, he argued that carrying two grown ladies would cause a lot of strain on his bike’s engine and that it made sense to make the trip on one bike rather than go on separate motorbikes at 50 Naira each.
When the bike rider stopped and pointed to a black gate some distance away, Chinny asked why he stopped them so far from their destination. An air of importance surrounded him as he listed a set of rules governing the vicinity, one of which prohibited tricycles and motorbikes from going any further. Chinny took out some notes from her pocket to pay for the fare, the diameter of the gulf between the rich and the poor heavy on her mind. “Auntie, your paper fall for ground,” the bike rider said in Nigerian pidgin, referring to Don Kay’s business card which fell out of Chinny’s pocket as she took out his fare. He continued as he zoomed off, “I beg pick am. If environmental force people see paper for here, they go ban us oo,” vehement about not making the environmental tax force agents place a ban on bike riding in the area because of littering. Chinny smiled at the retreating bike rider and picked up the business card. She chuckled at the real reason behind the bike man’s aversion to littering – not his immense love for his environment, but the potential consequences that non-adherence posed to his means of livelihood. Heavens forbid I cause anyone’s job loss, she thought, tongue in cheek. She was dusting off the dirt from the card as Adaiba informed her that if they did not get to a place where she could ease herself, she would have a huge embarrassment to deal with. Chinny did not respond. Her breathing had become laboured as she stared at her cousin with eyes nearly twice their original circumference. Alarmed, Adaiba shook her cousin’s shoulders.