‘But they are not around, so today you’re going to come. Besides it is Sunday, you need to worship God.’
‘All right then.’
‘It is a special Sunday, Adeline. It is Valentine’s Day.’
Miss Spencer smiled. She recalled when she was a young girl in Cameroon and how she would receive cards and flowers from boys on Valentine’s Day.
‘I am almost ready,’ Adeline told her.
Adeline Chuba was eighteen. From a distance her straight face could make her pass for a boy. Her large eyes were as slanted as those of a cat and her neck was smooth and elegant; a mere glance at it could set a man’s heart on fire. She had long legs like a gazelle, skin that was chocolate-brown and small but firm breasts. Miss Spencer always told her she was as beautiful as her father and as pretty as her mother. ‘If your dad were a woman, people would faint just looking at him,’ she would tell her.
Her father had once told her she had his pointed nose and his curved mouth. At primary school, a classmate of hers had tried to be her boyfriend. She had refused because her father had said that befriending a boy made one go to hell – that Jesus hated a relationship between a young boy and a girl, especially if the boy tried to kiss the girl’s mouth. ‘Your lips belong to Jesus alone. Only he has the licence to kiss them,’ Adeline’s father had told her the day she turned twelve. Adeline had noticed that when her father’s friends visited they would gawk at her, even the pastors, and if she left the compound with Miss Spencer, people would stare at her and praise her for her beauty.
Adeline loved the attention she received, especially from men. She enjoyed watching the pastors who were supposed to be holy men fawn over her. They fantasized about her, she was sure. But an experience at the hands of her uncle, Simon, when she was twelve always made her shudder.
Miss Spencer had travelled to Cameroon, so she was sent to Anambra to stay with her uncle, who had just divorced his wife. Throughout the time she was with him, she was uncomfortable – her uncle couldn’t stop staring at her. She had to stop wearing a nightgown around the house and wore loose trousers and shirts instead because he would stare at her breasts, which had already started to develop, and at her buttocks and hips.
One night, her uncle attempted the unthinkable – as she slept, convalescing after a bout of malaria, she felt someone lift her bedcover. She was dreaming. Adeline felt the person’s hands on her breasts and her stomach. She thought it might be Jesus, and then her hands sought the person’s head. The head was bald. But Jesus had long hair, she thought. Adeline forced her eyes open. She screamed.
Her uncle jumped up and hurried out of the room. She still had a week left to spend with him but they rarely talked to each other for the rest of her stay. She locked her room at night and wedged the door with a table and anything else she could find.
Miss Spencer’s outfit was made of Ankara material tailored to suit her plump figure and she wore a headscarf in the same fabric. She held a Catholic missal under her arm and a King James Bible in her hand.
‘Do you have the slightest idea that we are running late, Adeline?’
‘I’m ready now.’ Adeline buckled her shoes, picked up her missal and glanced at the mirror once again to check her reflection. She also had a novel in her hand called Envy by Sandra Brown. Adeline was an avid reader who never went anywhere without a book to read.
‘Why are you wearing a special dress?’ Miss Spencer asked.
‘Because I am in a happy mood… and you say today is Valentine’s Day. Maybe I will receive a most fabulous blessing from God.’ They laughed and their laughter walked down the stairs with them, leading the way.
St Mary’s Church in town was full to the brim. Adeline and Miss Spencer walked through the large car park and sat on a bench under a spreading ukpa tree, watching as luxurious, flashy cars arrived and parked. Men in rich Sunday outfits emerged from the cars.
‘Do you notice anything special?’ Adeline asked.
‘Yes, I think you’ve forgotten—’
‘Of course! The Islanders are coming for the special thanksgiving service. I remember now.’
It was a special mass at the big church in town as the Islanders were celebrating the Rice Festival, an annual event celebrated by all the thirteen wealthy families that occupied the Island. Rice was harvested during the dry seasons, especially in November. It would be parboiled and sun-dried between December and February, and around this time the Islanders would celebrate the bounteous festival. They walked to the entrance, but the crowd was so big that they had to shuffle to avoid jostling each other. Adeline held Miss Spencer’s hand as if she was her security from people’s stares.
Just before they stepped into the church, a very expensive fragrance caught Adeline’s nostrils. Instinctively, she turned in the direction of the scent.
And behold, she saw the face again. It was the same face that had stared at her at the café.
Blood surged through her veins and made her heart beat faster. Her eyes itched and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She started to perspire and felt she was losing control.
‘Please, young lady, move.’ An older woman nudged her and Miss Spencer pulled at her hand. They found a pew on the left side of the church where women sat. She looked round and the young man smiled at her. She watched as he walked to the men’s side. Miss Spencer knelt down and said a short prayer. When she arose, she asked, ‘Adeline, what happened?’
‘I… I’m all right.’
‘In nomine patris, et filii, et spiritus sancti…’
The hoarse words of the priest coming through the loudspeaker caught them unawares and Adeline was startled. They stood and made the sign of the cross almost at the same time.
‘Amen!’ the congregation chorused in unison.
‘His voice is bad,’ Adeline commented.
‘Please, can we talk later?’ Miss Spencer pinched her as the words of the priest came again.
‘Dominus vobiscum.’
‘Et cum spiritu tuo,’ Miss Spencer responded, trying to concentrate. She folded her hands on her chest and looked towards the altar with ecstasy.
Donaldo sat quietly as the choir sang the offertory hymns from the Catholic hymnbook.
From the time he sat down, he replayed in his mind what had happened at the church entrance. There was no doubt that it was the same face he had seen twelve days earlier. She likes me, he thought.
Then a hefty man approached and tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Hello, Donaldo. Time for the thanksgiving procession.’ He was one of his father’s bodyguards. Donaldo stood and buttoned up his suit.
‘Where is the Chief?’
As they went outside, Donaldo in front and the guard following, he turned to his right and saw her. The face that had so haunted his soul. Their eyes met again.
‘Son? Stand with me.’ The Chief held Donaldo’s hand. Donaldo hated how his father treated him – as if he was a small boy. Together they entered the church, processed down the aisle to the altar, and lined up in front of the priest. All the Islanders and their guests carried bags of rice, yam tubers, bunches of plantain and even goats. Some carried crates of eggs, chickens and baskets of fruit. A little girl had a blossoming hibiscus, which she handed to the priest. The altar boys collected the gifts and the worshippers knelt down as the priest prayed and sprinkled holy water on their heads and clothes, before returning to their seats.
The priest began to sing a traditional gospel song and the congregation joined in. He danced as he did so. The gifts were many, which was one of the reasons why the priest and most Catholic priests in Nigeria looked forward to every Sunday. The faith Nigerians had in the church was so strong that the country had been pronounced one of the strongholds of the Mother Church in recent times – financially, spiritually and socially. People donated everything they had to the priests, even to the detriment of their starving families. Families sent their loved sons to become priests, and to become a Catholic priest in Nigeria was an express road to w
ealth, nobility and respect. The continual ordination of young Nigerians supplied the Mother Church with enough manpower to send to other countries that were losing their faith. Countries such as the United States.
‘Ite, missa est!’
‘Deo gratias!’ The congregation waved their hands in jubilation to the heavens as the mass ended. They waited as the clergy and the servers marched round the altar and into the sacristy, before rising to leave, discussing the service in twos and threes. Some genuflected and made the sign of the cross as they left the church. Miss Spencer and Adeline followed suit.
Outside, Adeline wanted to see him again and craned her neck searching for him in every direction. When he’d walked down the aisle with his father, he had glanced at her and flashed a quick smile. She had been overjoyed.
Donaldo had put on his sunglasses. The blooming umbrella trees helped create pleasant shelter from the sun that had just begun to shine. Donaldo walked about looking for her. He was not going to make any mistakes this time. He remembered what Madam Vero always said, and at that moment she came up to him.
‘Donaldo! What are you looking for?’ Madam Vero asked.
‘I saw her. The girl I told you about.’
‘Igwarom, you did not tell me about her.’
‘Ma. She is here… I saw her.’
‘Then go after her,’ Madam Vero encouraged him. At that instant Donaldo turned towards the gate and saw her walking with the same woman he had seen her with inside. He could only see her back now. Adeline’s hips were so inviting. He wondered if anyone else had noticed them.
Someone tapped his shoulder and he turned. It was the same guard who had called him outside for the procession.
‘What are you looking for?’
‘There is this girl—’
‘A girl? Chineke. What are you waiting for? Go after her,’ he said.
‘Chike,’ Donaldo replied in desperation, ‘the Chief might need me. I want you to follow her. I want to know where she lives.’
‘Okay, Donaldo, anything you say.’ Chike was surprised to see him in such a happy mood. Everyone in the Chief’s household knew that the young man did not care about women. Chike slapped Donaldo on the shoulders jokingly. ‘Where is the lucky girl?’
Donaldo strained his neck to point at the two women, who were almost at the gate where a black Mercedes was waiting to collect them.
‘Donaldo, her back is gorgeous!’
‘Follow her. I will give you money.’
Without wasting time, Chike ran to the car and sped off, hooting noisily.
There were endless green forests on either side of the road that led to the biggest mansion on the Island. Donaldo walked down the road awaiting the return of the bodyguard. A strange feeling of anxiety encompassed him and his heart yearned.
As he walked to the mansion, his hands in the pockets of his plain trousers, a voice called and he turned around.
Donaldo called in response, ‘Hey, Ogiji!’
‘Happy Sunday, my man.’
Donaldo walked back to his friend and stretched out his hand.
Ogiji said, ‘Hope you are fine? I am hungry after church.’
‘Hunger? Forget it… you hunger for food, I hunger for more.’
‘The girl you talked about on the phone the other night?’
‘Yes.’
‘Let’s go then, let’s go and find her in town today… Just bring your car.’ Ogiji loved Donaldo’s car. But that was not the only thing he loved about his friend. Donaldo always gave him money, more money than Ogiji’s father made working at Chief Amechi’s rice mill. Donaldo had also bought him his mobile phone.
‘No. No need for that. I saw her today,’ Donaldo said. Ogiji’s mouth fell open. Birds flew across the road, singing, but their song was lost at the sound of Chike’s car approaching. It stopped and Donaldo rushed to open the door.
‘Where does she live?’ he demanded.
‘Hey, calm down.’
Donaldo wasn’t laughing. A lot of things weighed heavily in his heart.
‘What do you mean, “calm down”?’
‘Listen. I think I know where she lives.’
Donaldo’s eyes lit up. ‘Serious? If you come with good news, I will buy everyone drinks at the restaurant.’
‘Ozugbo nu. I come with good news.’ Chike was surprised at the young man’s behaviour. It was the first time Donaldo had really talked to him in the two years he had worked for the Chief.
They headed over to Donaldo’s favourite restaurant where Donaldo ordered tea, bread and boiled eggs and Ogiji chose fufu and esusa soup. Chike just drank beer after beer, while smoking his Benson and Hedges.
While they waited for their food Donaldo enquired, ‘How did it go?’
‘All right. I followed them down to the market and waited as they shopped. Later they were driven to a large compound, the Chuba residence. When I saw them drive in I came back here. I am sure that is where they live.’
‘Wait,’ Ogiji added. ‘How sure are you they live there? Just like they stopped at the market, they might have gone to say “Happy Sunday” to some friends. Today is Valentine’s Day, after all.’
‘Good point,’ Donaldo agreed.
‘That is where they live, I am sure. The men at the gate lowered their heads in greeting as the young lady passed. Donaldo, I think she is the daughter or a relative of your dad’s friend, Evangelist Chuba.’
Ogiji noticed that Donaldo looked unsettled at this information.
‘The address is 12 Obashi Crescent,’ Chike told him. Donaldo borrowed a pen and wrote down the address on a label he tore from a can of milk. Then he reached inside his pocket and gave Chike some money.
ELEVEN
Monday, 15th February 2010
There was a little drizzle that morning. Chief Donald Amechi was sure that it would make the harmattan worse. He sat in front of the small hall at the golf course, waiting for his guests who had been picked up from the airport in Enugu.
When he saw the cars driving towards the building, he walked inside and sat down on the chair at the far end of the long table. There were two bulky manila envelopes before him.
Two men walked in. Dr Bode Clark was dressed in a suit and his stomach protruded from his shirt. Alhaji Abu Rabiu Mukhtar was dressed in an overflowing babariga that he kept gathering up and placing on his shoulders, only for the folds of material to fall, and he would collect them again and place them back – that was the beauty of the babariga. The hem swept the floor as he walked.
They bowed before Chief Amechi.
‘Peace and love, brothers.’
‘Peace and love, our lord.’
The men sat down.
‘Dr Clark, you are everywhere these days.’
‘We are investing in everything possible. The President has been good to my business. When my companies develop new products he bans the importation of competing foreign goods or increases import duties on them.’
‘That is how it is supposed to be,’ Alhaji Mukhtar said.
‘I have to leave for a World Economic Forum round table meeting later today,’ Dr Clark explained.
‘Then I will be brief.’ The Chief opened the envelope before him and brought out some sheets of paper. He gave each of them some of the sheets.
‘These are the changes we need to make in the President’s cabinet.’
Dr Clark studied the names.
‘The Director General of the Nigerian Port Authority?’ Dr Clark’s eyebrows furrowed. The man in question was Alhaji Umar Hassan. But they needed to put in another member of the Sacred Order that they could trust.
‘Yes. We need carte blanche cover on our imports. The President must announce the removal of the man in one week.’
‘So Alhaji Umar Hassan must go?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I don’t trust him. You said he came to you to complain about JMJ. He may kick us in the balls… kick us so hard that recovery may be difficult.’
Dr Clark took a deep breath and
read the other names from the list. ‘The Minister of Information. The Minister of Defence. The Special Security Advisor to the President. The Inspector General of Police.’
Chief Donald Amechi nodded.
Alhaji Mukhtar was uneasy. ‘The Information Minister and the Inspector General are from the South. Why do we need to put in Northerners? These positions are currently occupied by Southerners whom we can control.’
‘Haaa, Alhaji. You can never control a man when you do not know the direction he faces when he sleeps—’
‘Unless you threaten his life and family,’ Dr Clark added.
‘Yes. Yes. But we don’t need to. When JMJ starts we need Nigerians to see that the North is in control of the sensitive positions. A Northerner is currently the Security Advisor, but we will remove him and put in our own man, a member of this Order who is also a Northerner. We’ll put in a Northerner as Information Minister. A Northerner is currently the Minister of Defence, but we’ll remove him and put in our man. As for the Director General of the Port Authority, a member of the Order, whether from the North or South, should take over the position.’
There was silence as each man studied the documents before him.
‘We can do this. Can’t we, Alhaji?’ Dr Clark asked.
The Alhaji hesitated. ‘We can,’ he responded.
‘Alhaji,’ the Chief said reassuringly, ‘your friend is the President. You have his ears. Work with Dr Clark on this. We want these changes to happen in one week. Two weeks at most. Do not hesitate to drop the hint that I know about these changes. The President owes me some favours.’
‘Yes, Chief.’
‘What means do we use?’ Dr Clark asked.
‘The means are outlined. We have some information on these men already. When the President is presented with this information, he will do as we say.’
Dr Clark, in a hurry to go, said, ‘Leave that to me, my lord. I am not the wealthiest African for nothing. I control the economy of Nigeria too.’
‘He should also know that the presidential election is next year. He wants to run for a second term. He understands what must be done in the South. I own most of the Governors.’
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