by Janet Kelly
I was led back into the main shack. Behind where the camera had been there was a small electric oven, wired up to a generator – the same one powering the light (remove s)s in our shack.
‘Look what I’ve got.’
The table in the middle of the room held a bunch of bananas, two boxes of eggs, a bottle of cooking oil, a cloth bag containing sugar and a jar of molasses. Gowon was looking pleased with himself.
‘But there’s no flour,’ I said, noticing the absence of a key ingredient.
He looked crestfallen.
‘I thought I had everything. I’m sorry,’ Gowon said, lowering his eyes.
‘It isn’t a problem. If you can get some flour for me then perhaps I can make the cake then,’ I said, wondering if he was going to cry. His mouth had dropped at both corners and his chest sank. ‘Bring everything to our shack. I can make the bread there and give it to you to put in the oven for later.’
Gowon took me back to our quarters, where Tracey was pulling at her eyelashes one by one.
‘Bloody falsies have all fallen out, apart from three on each side. I bet I look like Ermintrude,’ she said.
I hadn’t the faintest idea who Ermintrude was – probably some lower-class porn star from one of those Celebrity Jungle Brother programmes. I nodded in pretence of caring and went over to inspect the bowl, which contained a good amount of herbal drink. We’d each gone without our sedation, but it should be worth it.
‘Gowon has gone to get flour, then he’ll bring the ingredients for the banana bread over here. After that we will just have to hope we can figure out how we are going to make our escape.’
‘Total faith in yer, Cynth. If you can’t get us outta here, I don’t know who could.’
I wish she wouldn’t call me that. Tom has a habit of calling me Nanny Cynth, and it sounds so common. Like one of those women who go to the Gala Bingo down Pit Shaw Lane on a Wednesday afternoon. I could visualise ‘Cynth and Doris’ taking time out from their daily routine of domestic abuse and habitual smoking to stick holes in a piece of paper according to the random selection of numbers. Cynthia isn’t a great name at full length, but it’s decidedly downmarket when shortened.
‘Good. Well, when he comes back you know what you have to do. We need to make sure both of them are occupied.’
I thought of the arrangement I’d made with Gowon to explore our relationship further in Chike’s room, and so was confident Chike and Fasina wouldn’t be around. The idea appealed to me to some extent, but not as much as the thought of escaping this somewhat challenging imprisonment. I needed to get out and also to get some intellectual stimulation. Tracey’s conversation, combined with the banality of OK! magazine’s celebrity interviews had mixed into a toxic broth that had started to dull my senses.
Later that afternoon Gowon tumbled through our door clutching a large bag of flour and all the other ingredients I told him I would need for cooking, as well as some utensils. I asked him to go and get a tin for baking the bread and, while he was gone, put a good measure of flour and sugar into the bowl containing our saved herbal drinks. I made sure the liquid was totally absorbed, even though this meant compromising my judgement as a cook.
‘Peel those bananas, Tracey,’ I instructed as I stirred the molasses and eggs into a mixture that was beginning to look like a science experiment rather than a cake. I made sure to put in plenty of sugar to hide the taste of the distinctive herb.
Tracey had finished mashing the fruit when Gowon returned with a rusty-looking tin he said Chike had used for making the cake we’d eaten previously. It wasn’t ideal, but it would do the trick.
‘It looks good,’ he said, eyeing up the mixture, and I was grateful for his obvious lack of culinary expertise.
‘I hope you’ll enjoy it,’ I said to Gowon, giving him my best flirtatious look in the hope it would ensure total commitment to eating what I was preparing for him.
Tracey was keeping to her part of the deal, and remembered what came next without any prompting from me.
‘Let’s have a party!’ she said. ‘One everyone can join in,’ she added, giving Gowon a flash of a grin that made him look a bit awkward. I think she was trying to be alluring, but had exposed her spiky gap and he started to fidget with his shirt sleeve.
‘Tell Chiddy to bring his music and we can eat and dance,’ I offered, by way of distraction. We didn’t want him getting too nervous to join in.
We knew there was no reason for them not to take up the offer as they had been left in charge for the night. Gowon had said so when planning our night of physical exploration in Chike’s shack.
‘Here,’ I said, mashing the bread mix into the tatty old tin with the back of an oversized fork. ‘Put this in the oven for an hour on a low heat. When it’s ready, we can start our party.’
Gowon gleamed with anticipation. Being in charge for the night, coupled with expectations of carnal pleasure had gone to his head, or more likely his pants, which was a good thing because his distraction made my job so much easier.
‘I will tell Chiddy and be back later,’ he said, as he left us in pursuit of a hot oven. ‘We will have fun!’
Once the door had been padlocked, Tracey started to cry.
‘What in heaven’s name is the matter now?’ I asked her, trying very hard not to lose my patience. We’d been getting on so well and had been emotionally and physically enlivened by the prospect of at least trying to get out of the camp.
‘What if we can’t do it? What if it all goes horribly wrong and we make them cross? They might torture us,’ she sobbed.
I went over and gave her a hug. I actually wanted to slap her in the face but didn’t think that would produce the desired effect. What is the matter with these wishy-washy women? No wonder she’s never found a husband.
‘We’ll be fine. Just wait and see,’ I said, wishing I was as confident as I thought I sounded.
Tracey had calmed down by the time the men came back, complete with the banana bread that had gone a decidedly green colour. Thankfully no one seemed to notice and it was placed ceremoniously on the chair in the middle of the room. Gowon produced a pocket knife from his combat trousers and cut the cake into sixteen squares.
‘You have some,’ he said to us, picking up the tin and then, finding it was still hot, nearly dropping it before placing it back on the chair.
Tracey was about to take a piece so I stamped on her foot, pretending I’d lost my balance.
‘Don’t forget about your diabetes,’ I said to her in clipped tones, raising my eyebrows to alert her to the fact she must not touch the cake under any circumstances.
Thankfully she twigged.
‘Oh, yeah. Keep forgetting about that.’
‘We want you to enjoy it all. It’s our way of saying thank you for looking after us so well,’ I said to the men. They looked proud of themselves, as if they’d been keen for us to enjoy our stay and were pleased to be recognised for the effort they’d put into their hospitality.
They both took their first pieces and devoured them quickly. The sugar and molasses mix seemed to be a welcome taste for the men as they congratulated me on my cooking and relaxed into the idea of sitting around with their prisoners, eating hot cake.
I made some small talk about Nigeria generally, picking bits of information I’d gleaned from my evenings with Darius, while Tracey sat cross-legged on the floor staring directly across at both men, looking rather too intently for signs of impending weakness.
Chiddy stood up purposefully. He had certainly developed a different personality since our discovery of his love of rap.
‘I go and get da music,’ he said, and as he went to walk out of the shack he looked a little unsteady. My hopes started to rise and I looked over at Tracey and winked. She was already looking more confident about our plan.
Gowon leaned over for another piece of bread.
‘Will you not have some?’ he asked us. ‘It is very good.’
‘No, thank you,’ I replie
d. ‘I’m a little tired of bananas and Tracey can’t eat anything sweet because of her problem with sugar.’
Gowon looked concerned, not realising that had she actually been a diabetic the chances are she would’ve been dead, kept in captivity with nothing but eggs and bananas to eat twice a day.
Chiddy charged through the door with a large music system. So big it defied the description of ‘portable’. He pulled a socket on a wire through from outside and plugged in the CD player. Within a few minutes a tune called ‘Rescue Me’ was pounding through the walls of the shack, which I thought entirely appropriate under the circumstances.
The music was soporific through repetition, and for a moment I thought both the men were going to go to sleep as they were lying down with their hands behind their heads, tapping their feet but moving very little else.
Then Gowon sat up, looking quizzical.
‘What was in that bread? I feel strange,’ he said, looking over at Chiddy who was nodding his head backwards and forwards too fast to be anything to do with the music.
The heavy bass was giving me a headache and had a rhythm slightly out of sync with my heartbeat, which was disconcerting to say the least. But I knew I had to concentrate, so eradicated all thoughts of disorientation and focused on the task ahead.
‘It’s probably the sugar,’ I said to Gowon, who seemed happy enough with the answer. We needed a distraction.
‘Dance,’ I hissed to Tracey.
‘Wha’?’ she said, unable to hear me over the thudding sounds of Nigerian rap.
I waved my arms about and twisted around in what I thought approximated to a kind of dance movement. I probably looked like I’d been electrocuted, but she stood up and started to move to the beat with ease. Her years of clubbing had at last come in useful, and she stamped around, waving her arms above her head in full theatrical style. Chiddy was fascinated, but then he’d also been fascinated by a spider walking over his foot a few minutes previously.
The men sat up, leaning their weight on their hands, and watched Tracey for a while before Chiddy got up and joined her. It seemed Gowon had forgotten about feeling strange and was entranced by what was going on. Chiddy could barely stand, let alone dance, which I noted with some satisfaction. It was time to act.
‘So, when will we be alone?’ I asked Gowon. He looked puzzled. Partly because his brain wasn’t functioning but also because he couldn’t hear, so I repeated the question loudly.
Tracey heard me and looked over, smiling. She knew what was planned next and gave me a thumbs-up. Under normal circumstances I would’ve chided her lack of subtlety, but as both Chiddy and Gowon had lost control of most of their faculties, thanks to an overdose of herbs meant to keep their captives compliant, it was unlikely they’d have made anything of her gesture. Even if they had they wouldn’t be able to do much about it.
Gowon, spurred on by Chiddy’s attempts at dancing, struggled to get to his feet and lurched over in my direction, holding his hand out to pull me up. It didn’t work, as he could barely hold himself in one position, and so I put my arm round his waist and led him to the door, turning back to give Tracey a wink which, thankfully, she acknowledged. It was our good fortune that Chiddy had forgotten to lock the door in all his excitement.
He stumbled along, humming the tune of ‘Rescue Me’ in a decidedly tuneless way. I was thankful he wasn’t in the church choir as he’s the type of person who would sing hymns very loudly without understanding the annoyance he could generate. I always seem to get one of them behind me on the few occasions I do attend, adding further to the discomfort of being there in the first place.
We made it to Chike’s shack, which Gowon had decorated with a carpet of pink petals and a freshly washed bedcover. There was a bottle not unlike the one we’d seen them all drinking from the other night, and two earthenware glasses, placed on the desk. He managed to pour some of the drink for us both, swaying as he did so but amazingly not spilling a drop.
‘This is for you,’ he said, his eyelids drooping to the point of shutting, handing me mine. ‘It is our special drink, for special occasions.’
‘What sort of special occasions?’ I asked him, remembering that the men had been celebrating something. I wanted to know what had brought out such levity in them all.
‘Like now,’ he said.
He smiled as I sniffed. It wasn’t unlike cider so I took a swig, for courage as much as anything. He drained his glass, then unsteadily walked me across the room, having closed the door behind him. I noted it had a padlock swinging from a bolt but he did nothing to imprison me.
‘So, anything to report to me of interest? I asked him. ‘About the money?’ He looked blank, then a flicker of awareness spread across his face.
‘Ah, the money,’ he replied, grinning slightly inanely. ‘The bosses say it’s on its way. Lots of it.’
I questioned what he meant by a lot of money. Hundreds? Thousands? Millions? If it was either of the latter two, then my family would be hard pushed to find that amount of cash, unless they’d won the lottery in my absence or had an extremely successful PPI or no-fee accident or injury claim.
Gowon took my drink from my hand, leaving it free for him to hold, which he did before falling back on the bed and pulling me on top of him. He kissed me with his full, pink lips in a sloppy and undemanding way, pulling at my clothing, murmuring that he loved me and wanted me. And then fell asleep.
I waited a few minutes to make sure I could make a getaway without him noticing. I saw Chike’s shirt again and looked in the pocket with the bulge. I found lighter and what I hoped were car keys which I tucked into my knickers for safe keeping. We were certainly safe, judging by the state of Gowon who was out like a light, dribble running down the side of his mouth with every snore that came from the back of his throat. I went over and gave him a peck on the cheek before taking the key to our shack out of his pocket.
I scoured the drawers of Chike’s desk and found over five thousand US dollars in a variety of bills, which also made their way to my underwear along with a selection of Nigerian nairas. I didn’t know their value, but thought it would be useful to have local currency so I stuffed them in my bra. I shut the door and padlocked it securely, even though I was certain Gowon wouldn’t be awake for some time. Just one helping of the herbal drink would send us off to sleep for at least eight hours. They’d had a bit more than that.
I went back to our shack and the sounds of Chiddy Bang were still emanating at full volume from the sound machine. I peered through a gap in the door and was thrilled to see Tracey tucking Chiddy up in our bed. He’d also gone into a state of coma, so much so that he was unaware she’d tied his feet together with her leggings and his hands together with his own belt – tightly.
‘Good girl,’ I mouthed, motioning for her to leave. She looked a sorry sight in just her pants and T-shirt, but she didn’t seem to care. If anything she looked totally elated, having completed her mission.
Tracey and I made our way out of our shack which I locked using Gowon’s key. Although we probably had hours before they would wake up we were both keen to get as far away as possible, as quickly as possible. It was getting dark and the road looked treacherous enough.
Our bags were still in the first shack and so we packed up what we could into our hand luggage and got dressed. Tracey was delighted to find most of her cigarettes and her phone were still intact.
‘Funny thing is, I don’t even fancy a fag now,’ she said, sliding into a pair of cut-off jeans. ‘But I’ll take them just in case,’ she added, throwing them into her bag before picking up her phone to check it. The battery had gone dead.
I fished the cash and the car keys out from my underwear, much to Tracey’s amusement.
‘You ready?’ I said to Tracey as I picked up my bag. ‘Follow me.’
Tracey traipsed behind me obediently, tottering along in yet another pair of totally unsuitable shoes, which she had fished out of her luggage. I suspected all her footwear was of a
similar type so said nothing. If she wanted to break her leg then so be it, as long as she didn’t expect me to carry her anywhere if she did.
When we reached the car, a black Audi, I could hardly contain myself when the key immediately unlocked it. I have to say it was a daunting vehicle. What people might call a Chelsea Tractor, I think. Too big for most women to drive but they insist on doing so anyway, usually blocking every available parking space at the supermarket, or running over small children because they can’t see over the bonnet. It was our only sensible means of getting out.
‘Can you drive?’ I asked Tracey hopefully.
She shook her head.
‘No, I had lessons once but the instructor had just broken up with his girl so spent most of the time crying in cul-de-sacs. I took seven tests and failed ’em all.’
We’d no time to lose, so I hauled myself up into the seat, which wasn’t easy – like climbing Mount Everest without the aid of Sherpas. Being small made it worse, and so I hopped repeatedly on one leg to get enough momentum to leap up.
It was difficult reaching the pedals, but after some adjustment to the seat I got into a driving position, which required sitting so near the steering wheel it dug into my knees. We had over two thirds of a tank of petrol, so I started the car and put it into gear – or thought I had. I’d never driven an automatic before, and it took some getting used to, so we lurched backwards, ramming into a selection of bicycles and a large metal container that appeared to hold some kind of sticky, foul-smelling liquid.
‘Blimey, Cynth. You sure you’re OK to drive this thing?’
Not one to be beaten by a piece of machinery, I persevered and finally found a way of moving forward rather than backward, which was a relief for all concerned, not least Tracey who was gripping the sides of her seat so her knuckles had gone white.
‘Hurrah. Here we go,’ I cheered to myself as we bounded over the bumpy lane.
I thought we were on our way to freedom but then shouts could be heard behind us. I looked in the rear-view mirror and saw Chike and Fasina running through the camp behind us, dressed in black suits and carrying what I could only assume were pistols.