by Leye Adenle
Amaka took her time before responding. When she did, she spoke to the entire crowd, not just the stout man. ‘I would be lying if I said there is anything I can do. The government cannot be stopped. You can only negotiate with them and hope they compensate you somehow. But if any one of you ever need a lawyer, just come to me and I will do everything I can.’
‘There is nothing you can do about the eviction notice?’ Ajani said.
‘No.’
‘Nothing at all?’
‘Nothing at all. I would be lying if I said otherwise.’
‘It is well. I understand. Thank you for your honesty.’ He spoke to the men. ‘Go and bring her.’
Amaka watched.
‘Be patient,’ Ajani said.
Two men returned with a young woman between them; the one she had tried to save from the mob. Amaka stood up. The men guided the woman to Amaka and sat her down on the bench. The woman stared straight ahead, her zombie-like gaze unwavering and focusing on nothing in particular. Amaka leaned forward so the woman could see her face. She waved her hand. The woman did not as much as blink or look at Amaka. Her eyes were red.
‘She told us her name is Chioma,’ Ajani said. ‘She said that the boy they killed was not a thief. He is her brother. In this Lagos, all you have to do is shout thief, and the area boys will descend upon the person and beat him until he dies, and then they will burn him, even if he is not already dead. She has refused to go home since yesterday. She’s afraid that the person who killed her brother will come and find her to kill her too.’
‘The person who killed her brother?’
‘Yes. She knows him. Let her tell you herself.’
25
A police van with its siren blaring drove ahead of Ojo’s car. Police officers sat in the open back of the van with their guns pointed at motorists.
‘Lagos is truly the only place in the world where you can go to bed a pauper and wake up a billionaire,’ Ojo said. Shehu listened by his side in the back seat of the Mercedes. ‘Look at me. Just yesterday I was no more than a joke to all those people, and today they are calling me Excellency. Imagine. Lagos na wa o.’
‘You were not really a pauper though, to be honest.’
‘No. But you get my point. In Lagos you can go from zero to hero in less time than it takes to…to… I don’t know. You know what I mean.’
‘A girl I know puts it differently. She says in Lagos you never know whose bed you’ll wake up in. One morning you’re on your tattered single mattress, plagued with lice, on the bare floor of your rat-infested face-me-I-face-you room, and the next day you’re waking up on one-thousand-thread Egyptian cotton sheets in the Intercontinental Hotel next to some senator who’s about to sign a five-million-dollar contract for you. My friend, you have woken up in the right bed this morning.’
Ojo stared out the window watching the low-rise towers of Dolphin Estate fly past. He heaved. ‘Shehu, I have a problem.’ He paused, then added, ‘Do you remember the girl that was with me at Eko Hotel?’
‘That pretty chick you picked from Soul Lounge?’
‘She stole something from me.’
‘That girl? What did she take?’
‘The memory card from my phone.’
‘She stole a memory card from you?’
‘Yes.’
‘What for? What’s on it?’
Ojo looked at Shehu. He checked on the driver. ‘Videos,’ he whispered.
‘Videos? What kind of videos?’
Ojo stared into his friend’s eyes.
‘Oh. I see,’ Shehu said, nodding.
‘No. It’s worse. Some of the…’ Ojo checked on Abiodun again. ‘Some of the girls are young.’
‘How young?’
‘I don’t know. Really young.’
‘Eighteen? Nineteen?’
‘Younger.’
‘How young?’
‘One girl said she was…twelve.’
‘Bura ubanka. Twelve. Olabisi. Twelve. Why?’
Ojo looked out his window.
‘If you want girls, I get you girls, but not kids, Bisi. Not kids. It is haram. And you recorded them. Why?’
‘What can we do, Shehu?’
‘We must find the girl.’
‘I know. Baba said I should tell him any skeletons I have so he can take care of it. I should tell him about this, do you think?’
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘No. Let me take care of it. This is…this is criminal. Twelve? Olabisi Ojo, twelve. Why?’
Ojo turned to look out the window. ‘Please, help me make this go away.’
26
Amaka tried again to make eye contact with Chioma. ‘My name is Amaka,’ she said. ‘I was there yesterday. Do you remember? I was trying to stop the men dragging you.’
Chioma looked at Amaka. She squinted, as if she was trying to remember, but after a few seconds she gave up and looked away.
‘I am a lawyer, I…’
‘Kingsley and his friends killed my brother,’ Chioma said, still staring into space. Her voice was calm and emotionless.
‘Who is Kingsley?’
‘My ex-boyfriend.’
‘Why did he… Why did he do it?’
‘Because Matthew went to confront him at his house.’
‘Matthew is your brother?’
‘Yes. He was staying with me.’
‘What was he confronting Kingsley for?’
‘I did not know that Kingsley filmed us sleeping together. He sent the video to his friends after we stopped seeing each other. My brother saw it.’
‘So your brother went to confront him about the video?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you have a copy of the video?’
Chioma turned to look at Amaka. She held Amaka’s gaze for a moment then she turned away. ‘No.’
‘I’m sorry I asked. I’m just trying to understand what happened. Why do you say Kingsley and his friends are responsible for it?’
‘I saw them.’
‘Where? Yesterday? They were there yesterday?’
Chioma nodded. Amaka reached out to hold her hand but she moved her arm away.
‘I begged him not to do anything. I warned him that Kingsley is dangerous. I said he should wait for me to return from work so that both of us would go to my pastor for advice. He insisted that he was going to confront Kingsley so I begged to leave work early. On my way rushing to Kingsley’s house, I saw the area boys chasing someone. One of our neighbours saw me. She was the one who told me that it was Matthew they were chasing.
‘I ran after them. Kingsley and his boys were among the people beating Matthew. I wanted to remove the tyre they put around his neck but people wouldn’t let me get close. I begged them but they did not listen. I told them he’s not a thief but they did not listen. They accused me of being a thief, too. Then they set him on fire. Kingsley helped them. I saw him. We looked at each other.’
‘If he was there and you saw him, you have to report it to the police,’ Amaka said. ‘I will go with you, as your lawyer.’
Chioma looked at Amaka. ‘Kingsley is a policeman.’
27
The police escort had gone around the 7th roundabout on the Lekki-Epe Expressway when a motorcycle with a driver and a passenger swerved in front of Ojo’s car, cutting the Mercedes off from the escort. Abiodun slammed on the brakes. Chief Ojo, not wearing his seatbelt, slammed against the driver’s seat and partially fell into the footwell. Shehu unclasped his own seatbelt to help Ojo. Abiodun spread his fingers at the careless motorcycle driver then opened the door to step out onto the road. The passenger got off the bike. In his hands was an Uzi that had been concealed between his belly and the driver’s back. He aimed at the windscreen before Abiodun had time to get out, and let out two short bursts of fire before climbing back on the bike. Hawkers and pedestrians on the side of the road ran away. The traffic warden at the junction fled. Motorcycles turned round and sped away. Cars reversed into the noses
of other cars and a few drivers abandoned their vehicles altogether.
The motorcycle was speeding away in the distance towards Ajah. The officers in the escort van ran to Ojo’s Mercedes and opened the back door. Shehu’s body was on top of Ojo, pinning him down. Ojo was screaming ‘Jesus, Jesus,’ over and over. The officers grabbed both men and pulled them apart. Ojo resisted, kept his hands over his head and tried to bury himself in the footwell. ‘Jesus, Jesus.’
The police officers stopped traffic at the roundabout, waving their guns about as if other assassins lurked among the motorists hiding beneath their windows. Pedestrians and people who had dared to come out of their cars were taking pictures with their phones. The police van reversed towards the Mercedes. Ojo, in the grip of two officers leading him to the van, turned to look at his car. The driver’s side of the windshield was riddled with bullet holes. Abiodun was slumped sideways onto the passenger seat, a smear of blood left on his headrest, blood flowing from his body onto the central console.
28
Amaka reached back and opened the rear door. Two men with browned bloodstains on their shirts and trousers helped the girl with her face hidden under a long piece of Ankara cloth into the back seat. Chioma lay down flat and kept the cloth over her head. The men closed the door and watched as Amaka drove away.
The gateman stared at the covered body in the back of her car as Amaka drove into the compound. Gabriel and Eyitayo were waiting in front of the large patio of their white bungalow. The husband and wife helped Chioma out of the car and led her, arms over her shoulders, into their home.
Gabriel placed three shot glasses onto the dining table and poured brandy into each from a bottle of Hennessy XO. He held one of the glasses up to Amaka.
‘I shouldn’t,’ she said, but she took the drink and downed it, grimacing as the liquor trickled down her throat. She had changed into a beige jumpsuit she borrowed from Eyitayo. They were about the same height, and Eyitayo was dark-skinned like Amaka. Gabriel liked to boast that she looked like Alek Wek. Amaka thought she was even more beautiful than the stunning supermodel.
Gabriel sat back down opposite her. Eyitayo was at the head of the table between them, staring at Amaka, her mouth wide open.
Gabriel downed his drink then poured another. As if taking her cue from him, Eyitayo picked up her glass and downed it too. ‘Oh my God, Amaka, they could have killed you,’ she said.
‘Yup,’ Amaka said. ‘But I’m alive, thanks to the market women.’
‘And the poor girl. To see her brother killed like that,’ Eyitayo said.
‘Animals. Their leaders loot the treasury dry on a daily basis and they do nothing about it, but some poor chap is accused of lifting a wallet and they burn him alive.’ Amaka held out her glass for Gabriel to refill. ‘You should have seen them. They were excited. They were enjoying it – like it was a party or something. And rather than help, people were just watching and filming it.’
‘This country,’ Eyitayo said. She shuddered.
‘I had it all on tape. I had them. If only I’d not lost the phone.’
‘What are we going to do now? He can’t be allowed to get away with it.’
‘He won’t. She doesn’t want to go to the police.’
‘Do you blame her? Her own boyfriend. Just imagine.’
‘Ex. I’ll get her to call him and I’ll record the conversation. Hopefully he’ll say something that will implicate him, then I’ll have something to take to the police.’ She checked the time on her watch. ‘I’ve got to run. I’m really sorry to inconvenience you guys like this. I didn’t know where else to take her.’
‘Don’t be silly. It’s no problem. Gabriel said you spent the night in a hotel. Why didn’t you come here?’
‘It was late. I didn’t want to bother you guys.’
‘Nonsense. You’re coming back tonight, right?’
‘Yeah. I just have to sort out some things, get my mobile phone lines back, apply for a new passport, see some people, then I’ll be back to get her. I just don’t want her to be by herself.’
‘That’s not what I meant. You’re not staying in a hotel tonight. And your god-daughter would be happy to see you.’
‘Thanks, dear, but I should be able to return home tonight. They can’t block the road forever.’ Amaka turned to Gabriel. ‘Did you get me the appointment?’
‘You know, Amaka, only a few people in this country have the kind of connections, and command the kind of respect it takes to call up a person like Ambrose out of the blue and demand a meeting.’
‘Tell me you’re one such person.’
‘I am. He’ll see you this afternoon. He knows your father. That helped.’
Amaka stood up and downed the last of her brandy.
‘Where are you going? I haven’t even told you when or where.’
‘I need to see someone in Ikoyi. When and where?’
‘Four o’clock. VI. He said he’ll text to let me know where he’ll be. Is Guy the someone in Ikoyi?’ Gabriel asked.
‘Oh shit, thanks for reminding me.’ Amaka said. ‘No, it’s not him. He returned to England yesterday. Shit.’
‘What is it?’
‘Just before the stuff at Oshodi, I sent him a message that Malik had found me. We haven’t spoken since then. He would have been trying to call. Damn. I have to call him.’
‘Guy is the oyinbo boy you brought to the Yoruba Tennis Club?’ Eyitayo asked. Amaka nodded. ‘Cute boy. And you dressed him up in your father’s clothes. Everyone was looking at the two of you. You guys looked so good together. So much chemistry. Are you guys an item, or an item in the making?’
Amaka smiled. ‘He’s alright.’
‘Is he coming back, or how do you people plan to do it? Long-distance relationships can be challenging.’
‘Early days, but we’ll see.’
‘Gabriel likes him. He’s rooting for him.’ Gabriel shrugged. ‘And who is Malik?’
‘An irritant.’ Amaka said. She held her borrowed phone and considered it. ‘Can I call him on yours? I haven’t retrieved my old lines yet and I want to keep this one for work alone.’
Both Eyitayo and Ibrahim unlocked their phones and held them out. She took Eyitayo’s and dialled Guy’s London number from memory. It rang for a while and she was about to hang up when someone answered.
‘Hello lover boy,’ she said. A female voice answered: ‘Sorry, you must want Guy. He’s in the shower. Do you want to leave a message or call back?’
‘I’ll call back,’ Amaka said and ended the call. She handed the phone back to Eyitayo.
‘That was brief,’ Eyitayo said.
‘He’s busy,’ Amaka said. ‘I must rush or traffic will catch me.’ She started walking towards the door when Eyitayo’s phone rang. She swung round. ‘If it’s him don’t answer.’
Eyitayo answered. ‘Hello? Guy? This is Eyitayo. Gabriel’s wife. We met at the party. Hold on for Amaka.’
Amaka took the phone and turned her back to the couple. ‘Amaka…’ Guy said, sounding out of breath.
‘Was that Mel?’ she asked.
There was a long pause. ‘Yes.’
‘Your ex-girlfriend. Cool. Sorry to disturb you. Don’t call back. This is Eyitayo’s phone.’ Amaka returned the phone to Eyitayo.
‘Everything OK, hun?’ Eyitayo asked.
‘Yes. See you later.’ Amaka walked towards the door.
‘Amaka,’ Gabriel said.
‘What?’
‘We had a deal, remember? I get you the appointment, you tell me what you’re up to. I’m not sending you the details till you tell me.’
29
Hundreds of men had gathered on the road and in between the cars parked in front of Peace Lodge, waving shotguns and machetes. Some of them had liberated campaign posters of the deceased Douglas from walls and were holding them above their heads. Together they chanted a chorus in Yoruba, proclaiming that ‘They killed our governor and we kept quiet; now that they have tried to kill anot
her, we will not let it happen. We will kill their entire family including their dogs and cattle.’
Hours before, a police van had charged the crowd and forced its way through the thugs to make it to the gate. Afterwards, word spread that the van had brought Ojo back to Peace Lodge. The party’s new candidate had indeed escaped the assassination plot. Police officers and soldiers did little to control the crowd; aside from a semicircle in front of the gate where the press had set up their cameras and military personnel behind them were holding people back.
The gate opened just enough for a man to squeeze through sideways. He surveyed the crowd, then tucked his head into the crack and spoke to people waiting inside the compound. The gates opened.
The crowd cheered at the sight of Otunba and Chief Ojo, escorted by a dozen other recognisable politicians and a dozen armed men; police and thugs.
Otunba held his hands up to silence the crowd, and like a school principal in front of his assembly, the multitude quietened. Otunba addressed them loudly, pointing for emphasis.
‘All those posters of Douglas, put them down. We are not going to vote for a dead candidate. They have killed him, but our new candidate is still alive.’
He held Ojo’s hand up and the crowd cheered again.
The press adjusted their cameras and held their microphones in Otunba’s direction.
‘Put away those weapons. People are looking at us. And you, pressmen and women, make sure you record our supporters. See how many there are. Make sure you capture them. I do not want to see any poster of our late brother, Douglas. We have not printed posters of our new candidate, but you can take his pictures now and we will use your papers tomorrow as our posters.’
The crowd cheered.
Otunba took the microphone, scanned the crowd, then he cleared his throat and began.
‘My fellow sons and daughters of Lagos, what kind of people attempt to kill two gubernatorial candidates in two days?’