by Helon Habila
—Sit here.
I was glad to sit, for my legs could barely support me. When I regained my breath I turned to the men around me, and they all stared back at me. Prisoners, like me. I wondered if they were being held for ransom, or if they had simply fallen foul of the Professor and were being kept here in the open as punishment. As I turned away from their faces I noticed a footpath leading away into a densely wooded area, and now I could hear voices coming from that direction. I wondered if it was an extension of the camp, and if there were more prisoners being held there. We sat for hours, we watched the shadows under the trees shift and grow longer and longer and still no one came to talk to us. We watched the camp going about its regular business. Every once in a while a militant would step forward and release a shot into the air, almost casually, and his friends would cheer him briefly before resuming whatever they were doing. Salomon still sat away from me, his head bowed. At last I stood up and faced the guards, and one immediately stepped toward me, his gun raised.
—I need to stretch my legs. I have cramps.
I went over and stood next to him.
—My name is Rufus. I’m a reporter. It’s very important that I speak to the Professor—I have an urgent message for him.
He looked at me, and I could see he was trying to decide whether I was joking or not. He was young, about twenty, he had cross-eyes and I couldn’t tell if he was staring unblinkingly at me or at something else, but his gun was without doubt pointed at my gut. He didn’t look threatening, and he even smiled at me when I asked him his name.
—Joseph. People call me Joe. Which paper you work for?
—The Reporter.
—So you be reporter and you work for Reporter.
—Yes, funny.
He nodded, smiling widely.
—I really have to see the Professor.
—No worry, you go see am. He dey busy right now.
Joseph continued to stare over my shoulder and to point the gun at me. When I got tired of standing I sat down again. One of the men dragged himself over, carefully reclining on one elbow, and, as I turned away from him, he tapped me on the shoulder. I was surprised by the sudden show of interest.
—Are you really a journalist?
—Yes.
I raised my head to see a line of about ten men emerging from the path—they were talking excitedly, and all carried sacks over their shoulders.
—They are getting ready for something big.
—What?
Now I turned to the man and looked at him closely for the first time. His hollow eyes were like those of a holy anchorite who has fasted for days and reached that stage of numbness from which there is no return, unless perhaps by electric shock. Without thinking I stood up and made for the narrow path. The guards, surprised, didn’t react till I had gone a few meters, then Joseph ran to me and held me by the hand, the wide smile still on his face.
—I have to see the Professor.
Joseph was roughly pushed aside by the other guard, a short, stout fellow with red, merciless eyes, who stood firmly in my path. He threw away his cigarette into the bush and moved closer to me till his gun made contact with my chest.
—Where you tink say you dey go?
—I have to see the Professor. I’m a reporter—
—Go back before I blast you to hell!
I went back. The reclining man tapped me again on the shoulder.
—Well, you are a very brave man.
He stared directly at me, as the light fell on his face through the few tree branches, leaving blotches of light and shade where the shadow mixed with light.
—What do you mean?
—You don’t seem to be afraid of their guns.
—Who are you? Why are you here? Are you prisoners, hostages?
—We are militants, just like them.
—Then why are they guarding you?
—We have a slight problem, that’s all. Each of us is here for a different reason. Those two sitting right under the tree, they are from a different gang and they want to join this gang, so they are being watched for a day or two to make sure they are who they claim to be. That one next to them, in the blue shirt, he is being punished. He used to be one of the Professor’s top men, he was sent to buy boats from a foreign dealer and somehow he lost a lot of money in the transaction, I don’t know how much, but the Professor is very angry with him, very angry. See that one over there, near the path, sitting by himself? Well, he made a mistake. He brought back the wrong hostage.
The man he pointed to was seated on the very edge of the patchy shade cast by the tree’s few leaves. He was a fair-skinned, balding man, dressed in green military fatigues, mostly now torn and dirty, his head bowed between his knees, exposing the round bald spot at the back of his head.
—The Professor needed to raise money quick quick to pay for a consignment of guns he was expecting from overseas, so he sent that guy over there, his name is Monday. His assignment was simple: take some of the boys, and enough guns and boats and everything you need, go to one of the oil companies in Port Harcourt and kidnap one foreign oil worker and bring him back. Well, he went, and he returns with this cheerful-looking man who keeps saying they are making a terrible mistake in kidnapping him. Well, they didn’t listen to him. They lock him up in one of the tents over there reserved for such purposes. They send their ransom demand, and they wait for the company to get in touch so they can begin negotiations, but surprisingly, the company shows no interest. Meanwhile, the hostage is treated like all other hostages, very good food, everything he needs, they even bring a doctor to see him when he has a problem. Well, eventually they discovered what was wrong. The hostage was not a white man at all, despite his very fair skin. You know what he was? An albino! And here he was eating the best food and sleeping all day, as if he was on vacation. Very funny, isn’t it?
—What do they call this place?
—Forest. And you, what is a reporter doing here?
—I was taken by force, together with that man over there. If I can talk to the Professor, I can prove who I am.
—Don’t worry, the Professor will see you eventually. His men will tell him what you said and he will want to verify if it is true. I just hope you can prove you are who you claim to be.
And, having said that, the man suddenly lost interest in me. He went back to his spot and to his ruminations.
20
I was somewhat cheered by the man’s assurance that the Professor would definitely see me, and even further cheered when a team of women appeared with food in a big basin and then proceeded to ladle out portions in plastic plates to each of us. The food wasn’t remarkable—rice immersed in a mess of beans—but it was filling. After eating I decided to tackle Salomon right away—I had given him enough time to recover, and perhaps what he needed to snap him out of his self-pity was conversation. I went over and sat next to him, and he looked up but said nothing. He was a tall, angular beanpole of a man. His skin and clothes looked as if they hadn’t touched water in a long time, and he gave off a musty smell that was quite overpowering, even in the open air. He kept licking his dry lips as he waited for me to speak, and I saw his hand shaking slightly. He kept darting glances at the guards, who were now watching us intently.
—Hi, Salomon.
—Hello.
—We need to talk . . .
—I don’t want to talk. Leave me alone, please.
—Look, Salomon, I know you’re scared of what might happen to you here. I’m scared too. But by talking to me, you’ll be doing yourself a favor.
—How?
—Once I have your story, they wouldn’t dare do anything to you, because they know when I go out there I will print it, and the world will know you are here, kept against your will . . .
—Nonsense.
—What?
I thought I was doing so well, and for a moment I was telling myself that even Zaq would be proud of my persuasiveness, but obviously the driver wasn’t persuaded.
—These people, they no care. They have killed before, and I know nothing is going to save me . . . nothing . . . The Professor is a madman. I have seen what he can do. A few days ago, just before we ran away, he shot a man over there. Point-blank. He said the man was giving away information to the soldiers, he screamed at him and called him a traitor, then he took out his gun and, boom! He shot him and said, Throw him into the water for the fish to eat. Just like that.
I refused to let my perturbation show. If I showed no fear, nothing would go wrong. I renewed my effort, and as I spoke I was aware my words were also aimed at myself, at my quaking heart.
—Well, but isn’t that another good reason why you should tell me everything? Isabel told me what happened, about her husband and your fiancée. The police have everyone thinking you’re some crazy kidnapper—don’t you want to put the record straight? This might be your only chance, you know. Don’t you want your family and friends to know the truth, the real truth?
—It is a long story . . .
—I’m very patient, and it doesn’t look as if we’re going anywhere soon.
—What do you want to know?
—Your side of the story. Why did you kidnap her?
—I didn’t kidnap her . . .
—Well, okay. Tell me about you and Koko.
I saw his eyes darken with anger, and he started to rock himself back and forth, back and forth, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees.
—Well, I knew she was pregnant. We lived together, and we were happy—well, I thought we were. I was happy. I was looking forward to being a father. I never suspected she was cheating on me, how could she? It was I who brought her to Port Harcourt from our village. She wanted to be a nurse, she took the exam, and as we waited for the results, she begged me to help her look for a temporary job, just till the results came out. And so I talked to my Oga. He was always good to me. A nice man. And he said, yes, why not? And that was how she started working in that house. I did everything for her. If only I’d known things would turn out like this. I should have realized something was wrong when she got her exam results and she said she wasn’t going to nursing school anymore. She said we needed the money for the wedding, and for the coming baby.
Salomon paused, as if to go on would be just too painful. He continued to rock back and forth, back and forth, the harsh sun overhead forcing the sweat to drip down his face, but he didn’t seem to notice.
The day she told him about James Floode, he had returned early from work. The madam didn’t need him for the rest of the day, so he went to his two-room tenement house and turned on the TV. Usually Koko was home from work earlier than he was, but today she didn’t return till after nightfall, and he had started to worry. He saw that something was wrong the moment she entered. She looked distracted, and she went into the bedroom without a word. When he followed her he found her lying in bed, her eyes closed. When he asked her what was wrong, and if they were not going to eat, she threw off the sheets and started raging at him. It was as if she had been waiting to do this for a very long time.
—You this man, why don’t you leave me alone? Don’t you know where the kitchen is? Or don’t you have hands?
—She had never behaved that way before, and I thought it was the pregnancy, so I said nothing. I just turned to go back to the living room, but then, as I turned, she made that sucking noise through her teeth and said, Mumu. I couldn’t believe my ears. I asked her, What did you call me?
—Mumu. Fool. Mugu. You heard me right. And I want to tell you, I am moving out tomorrow. No more marriage.
—Koko, have you been drinking? Is it me you are calling a fool?
—Yes. All this while I have just been pretending with you. And this pregnancy that you think is yours, it is not. It is the Oga’s pregnancy.
—I don’t understand.
—What is there to understand? Me and the Oga, we are in love. He is getting a divorce from his wife, and he is going to marry me. He will take me to London with him when his contract finishes.
Salomon didn’t know what happened; he said he saw himself standing over her, his fist raised. He must have hit her, but she didn’t cry, in fact her eyes were glowing with triumph, and she was still hissing at him. She said if he touched her again, he would not only lose his job, but she would make sure the Oga had him arrested. Slowly he lowered his hand. He went out to a nearby bar and he drank till closing time, and when he came back she wasn’t there—she had packed a bag and left.
—The next morning I decided to go meet the madam and tell her what had happened. She was very friendly, unlike the other oyinbo women I had worked with, who only shout orders at you. I remember, the day she arrived, I had picked her up from the airport, and she told me how tough it was getting through customs, and how they asked her to open all her bags, and how they had put their hands all over her things, including her underwear, a few of her things had been confiscated for further examination. She said to me in her soft English voice, I’m sure I’ll never see them again. Will I, do you think? She was like that when we drove around, asking questions, leaning forward in the back seat and talking to me.
—At the house I was told by the guards at the gate that Madam wasn’t at home, and I decided to check the European Club, even though it was I who always took her there. When I found her, she seemed very sad, and I knew she was dealing with the same problem as myself. But later, at my uncle’s motel, I realized she didn’t know it was Koko her husband was leaving her for.
He stopped his narration suddenly and stared past me at the sun that seemed to be hanging on the edge of the sky, all orange and red and purple, as if it were only a hand span away.
—Reporter—
—Call me Rufus.
—You know why I am telling you all this, Rufus? It is because some of us might not live to see another sunset like this one.
—Everything will be fine. You’re doing the right thing by talking to me.
—You must write it down exactly as I say, because I am the only one who knows everything that happened. I had a hand in the kidnapping, at first, but later I took care of her very well, otherwise . . . she wouldn’t be alive right now.
—What happened after you left her at your uncle’s motel for the night?
—It is a long story . . .
—I’m listening.
—I went back to my room, but I couldn’t rest. My mind was still worried. Later, when my neighbor Bassey came back, we sat down to drink and when he asked me where Koko was, I told him everything. When I left him, he went and told his friend Jamabo, a police officer, and it was Jamabo who came up with the kidnapping idea. Late that night they came knocking on my door. I listened as they laid out the plan. Jamabo said as a police officer he had seen many cases of kidnapping and it is like plucking money off a money tree—that was how he put it. And when I asked, What if we get caught? He said there was no danger of that: usually the police stay out of it, leaving the oil company to handle things its own way, which is what it prefers. But what of the woman? I said. She has done nothing wrong, will she be all right? Jamabo said nothing would happen to her. She would remain in the hotel room, we’d treat her well, and we’d let her go as soon as we had the money. It wouldn’t take more than two days in all. He said technically it wasn’t even kidnapping; I’d just be collecting payment for all the pain these people caused me, a refund for all my investment in Koko. And that was what convinced me. The Oga had insulted me badly, he’d taken away my pride, my dignity, my manhood, and all the time I was serving him honestly, diligently. I trusted him. And another point, the money wasn’t even coming out of his pocket: the oil company always pays the ransom, and Bassey said that
if you thought about it carefully, you’d realize that the money came from our oil, so we would be getting back what was ours in the first place. Well, I started to really think. This was the chance of a lifetime. And, like Jamabo said, it wasn’t a real kidnapping. So we all agreed. We were going to ask for one million dollars. Over three hundred thousand each. We would be rich. With that kind of money I could get out of the country and no one would ever find me.
And so, their plan carefully prepared, the three went to the motel early the next morning. Isabel looked surprised to see not just Salomon but also two other men with him, one carrying a duffel bag, but she let them in and turned to Salomon for explanation. Salomon just stood there, unable to speak, unable to look her directly in the eye. But when Bassey pushed him aside impatiently to face her, Salomon found his voice.
—I will tell her.
He took her into the next room and told her the two men outside would stay with her until her husband paid ransom for her. He said if her husband cooperated, she would be free in a day or two. Slowly she sat down on the bed, shaking her head.
—No, Salomon, you’re doing the wrong thing. Listen, they’ll catch you and you’ll go to prison—do you want that? I know you’re doing this because of your fiancée, but this is wrong.
He turned and left the room, locking the door behind him, but Jamabo went in again and inspected the windows, making sure they were all firmly secured. The men stayed in the living room all day, playing cards, and when night finally fell, Salomon checked on her once more to make sure she was okay—there was a fridge in the bedroom, with water and fruit and bread in it—and then he left. However, a big shock awaited him when he got home and turned on the TV.