by Terry Morgan
CHAPTER 33
It was the US Ambassador who arrived to welcome the press contingent as they completed the setting up of their microphones and cameras. He sat at the top table, said a few words of welcome and then handed over to Daniel Bakare to chair it.
Bill Larsen and Halima sat together on Bakare's left. The room was full. Cameras flashed, Bakare smiled and Bill Larsen looked serious, but it was Halima with her hair tied in a simple band and wearing her black tee shirt, cargo pants and desert boots that got the attention.
"Can you tell us how you managed to escape, Halima?"
"How did you know it was the COK?"
"You think it was Yan Tatsine?"
"Who rescued you?"
"Can you describe the terrorist camp?"
"And how did you cope living in the army camp with Major Larsen and so many men?"
Halima answered each question in turn, speaking softly and clearly in her husky voice.
A few questions were then directed at Bill Larsen:
"Major Larsen. You run a private army?"
"Yes sir. STA. Special Tasks Africa. It's my company."
"And you have permission to operate from right on the border?"
"It's private land."
"Pastor Gabriel's involved here, yes?"
"Yes sir. It's his land and he helps fund the operation."
"Can you explain exactly what's going on there, Major? Private armies are controversial. And we hear that??."
It was Halima who raised her hand as if to stop the line of questions.
"Please," she said as all eyes moved back to her. "Pastor Gabriel wants to help poor African people to help themselves, sir. He wants to try new ways. It is his project. It is very important because the world has many problems, sir. It is the poor people who suffer. The rich get richer by making the poor work hard and then take all their wealth away. They dig for the oil and the gas and the precious metals they need in the West. We have seen it in Nigeria, sir. Nigeria should be very rich from its oil but there are many more poor people now. Too many poor people do not have good health or good education. There are too many people, sir. There is too much corruption sir and it is the rich who are the most corrupt, but it is the poor who suffer from their greed. And there are no jobs for young men sir. That is why they join the COK or travel to find a better life in your country."
Questions suddenly stalled.
Bakare, surprised by the sniffing going on around him, the nodding of heads, the smiles and the silence, took over.
"Halima is right," he said nodding his head. "That is why we have been saying that we must support new ways, new ideas, new opportunities. That is why we, in the US, have been fighting for a different approach to development aid. It is not?.."
But Halima interrupted Bakare this time. "Sir, sir, but you do not listen. You do not listen to Pastor Gabriel. He has been saying this for many years. I am a Moslem and I agree with Pastor Gabriel. He is a very good man, sir, with good ideas but bad people are trying to hurt him, sir. All he wants is to be understood and be free to try a new way."
Bakare nodded, looked at his notes and smiled, but there was more silence around the room until a hand was raised from the front.
"Halima, I think I speak for all of us here," said an African woman journalist. "What you say is absolutely right. I have followed Pastor Gabriel Joshua's work for many years. I was in the US just a few days ago, and he was on TV saying exactly what you've just said He has been saying it for many years. It is the system he is fighting against. Do you understand that?"
From the high, top table Halima looked at whoever it was sitting in front and below her and nodded. "Yes, I understand. But if the system is wrong and things are not working then we must change the system or try another way. That is what Pastor Gabriel says. He says change is difficult but change is possible. "
Bakare was nodding and smiling again and then the US Ambassador touched his arm. "Can I say something?"
"Sure, sir. Go ahead."
"I think few would disagree with Halima on this. She is a brave girl with an incredible insight. She deserves our support and our encouragement. That's why we spent this afternoon discussing how we can best help. I have asked USAID to look into this, perhaps by being a bit more flexible and open minded about funding and the types of projects the US government supports. It's also why the US Government just announced a major aerial surveillance operation to ensure we stamp out the remains of the COK. And for Halima, who suffered the atrocities of the COK and is now without any family, we've offered to fund a place at school and University to???"
At the back of the room, unseen by the media but watched by Bakare, the Ambassador, Halima and Bill Larsen a door opened and two tall Nigerians came in.
Bakare touched the arm of the Ambassador who had noticed movement but was clearly intent on winding up proceedings without any last-minute interruptions.
"Education," the Ambassador was saying in conclusion. "Education is what will make the difference????"
Bill Larsen touched Halima's arm and she followed his eyes to the back of the room. "Gabriel," he whispered. "And Solomon."
Larsen had never seen Halima smile but she now reminded him of Emma's smile in the only photograph he had of his young daughter. He looked at her again, nodded and found himself smiling at her.
The Ambassador had finished his summing up. "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen," and he moved ready to stand up. But then he sat down again because Daniel Bakare was whispering something. "Gabriel's just arrived. He's sat at the back. You might like to welcome him and ask if he has anything to say? What do you think sir?"
"That's the tall guy at the back?"
"Two guys, sir. The other one is Solomon."
"Ah yes."
The Ambassador held his hand up to stall the noise of packing up that had already started. "One last thing," he said loudly to regain their attention. "I understand Pastor Gabriel Joshua has just arrived."
Heads turned and Gabriel, having only just sat down, stood again and raised his hand.
"I'm sorry you missed the start Pastor," the Ambassador continued. "Your ears must have been burning. Is there anything you'd like to say before we finish?"
Gabriel looked at Solomon. Solomon shrugged. "No harm, Femi. We can meet Halima and talk to Bill afterwards."
Gabriel, wearing a dark suit, open-necked white shirt and two days of stubble, rose to his feet, resting his hand across Sol's shoulders. Everyone in the room turned to face him. For a moment, he said nothing. It was classic Gabriel, waiting for the moment, getting them to guess what he might say, dreaming up the right opening words. Then, in the commanding voice he usually reserved for the stage, he said: "Halima, I'm so pleased to see you at last. Bill has told me such a lot about you."
He paused as everyone now turned to look at Halima again. She was still smiling.
"I'm sorry it took so long to get here." He said. Then he looked at Bill Larsen. "Bill, my friend. Sorry, but I got detained. And I'm truly sorry about Benjamin."
He paused briefly, this time looking down at Solomon. Then he stood up straight. "Halima. I know you've said you'd like to go to University. That is good. We need many more young women like you. We need leaders with fresh ideas. So, I admire your courage, your ambition and your determination. But you know what, Halima? Look around you."
He waved his hand slowly, purposefully, indicating the people in the room and perhaps the world that lay beyond the four walls.
"You know what, Halima? This is university. It's right here. It's all around us. You were at university when you milked the cows at home, when you helped your mother in the fields, when you were abducted and when you escaped. You learned many things in your short time at Bill's camp. I know, because Bill told me what you were doing. And Bill learned many things from you because he was watching you and listening to you. You are already a good teacher, Halima."
He paused again.
"And you know something else, Halima? Money he
lps but you can manage without it. Money rarely brings happiness or self-contentment or understanding of life. All you need is a dream, a plan and the self determination to make your dream come true.
"Did you know that Sol and I went to the University of Makoko?"
He tapped Solomon's shoulder. "Right, Sol?"
Solomon looked up and nodded.
"Yeh. We lived on the University campus with black, smelly water slopping beneath the rotting floor boards. If we slipped, we fell in and if we swallowed too much we got dysentery. We had no pens, no pencils and we didn't have any lights.
"You know how we paid for our education? By making cigarettes out of dog ends for rich guests at the Holiday Inn. It's called living off your wits, Halima. It's called entrepreneurship: dreaming up ideas that produced a few Naira each day for a dish of jollof rice to keep us going until tomorrow. You know that?"
"I learned everything from reading discarded old newspapers and I can tell you the only light after the sun went down was the glimmer of light from Sol's cigarettes - he used to chain smoke to produce enough light for me to get to the end of an editorial in the Sunday Times. Hear him, Halima? He's still coughing now."
Indeed, Solomon was coughing, but mostly out of self-consciousness.
"But you know why I'm telling you this, Halima? Because you've seen a bit of what Sol and I are trying to do with our Project. The Project - an idea that came with no formal education and no money. But we needed start-up funds so we set about making money with a business - a business run on a strict basis of honesty, because honesty was another thing I learned from reading newspapers. But you know how hard that is in Nigeria? But even if you fail to earn yourself a single Naira or a dollar, the return from a business based on honesty is contentment and a feeling of achievement. What more do you need than that?"
Gabriel was on a roll but he knew he was being listened to. There was utter silence when he paused for a moment.
"People think I'm a Christian, Halima. You know that? But frankly I don't know what I am. I'm just me - Femi Akindele from the Makoko slum. Sometimes I wonder if it'd be better off admitting I was a Buddhist. When you've got a minute, read what the Dalai Lama, a Buddhist, says about happiness and you will understand. And read what another great hero of mine, Mohamed Ali, used to say. Ali was the greatest boxer, the greatest fighter, the greatest poet and inventor of unforgettable phrases the world has ever known. You're too young to know Mohamed Ali, Halima. But you know what he once said about study, learning and training? 'Never quit,' he said. 'Suffer now and live the rest of your life as a champion.'"
Solomon knew Gabriel would now take some stopping. He was speeding up. And not only that but he was only talking to one person in the room - a conversation across the heads of others that the others listened to because it seemed so private. It was a style he'd perfected. 'Yeh, I know, Sol,' he'd explained once. 'But for everyone to get up and walk out when I'm talking like that to just one of them is the ultimate rudeness. I'll stop when I'm good and ready.'
This evening, Gabriel was stopped far earlier than Solomon expected because suddenly the door behind them opened.
This was the door that was supposed to have been secured by Sheraton staff checking that everyone had a US Embassy ID badge hung on red white and blue ribbon around their necks - the door through which Gabriel and Solomon had just entered without being stopped or checked or handed a badge.
The long arm and hand pointing the gun that appeared around the door was spotted by everyone except Gabriel and Solomon who were facing the other way. There was a scream from somewhere and a shot was fired, then another and the arm withdrew. When Solomon realised what had happened, Gabriel was lying on the floor beside him in a pool of blood that was already soaking into the Sheraton carpet.
Solomon leaned over him, shouted something and commotion spread. Daniel Bakare pushed the Ambassador out through a back door behind the top table. Bill Larsen dragged Halima through the same door as she stood, transfixed by the noise and seemed tempted to run towards Gabriel. Everyone then pushed towards the door and out into the back corridor.
Solomon, bending over Gabriel to see where he'd been hit, then heard more shouting, a scuffle and three more shots from behind the door where the gun had appeared. He ran to the door, flung it open and almost fell over the body of a young Nigerian in a blue tee shirt. Another, older man with a brown cowboy hat hanging from a cord around his neck was slumped against the wall, holding his arm. Along the corridor and out into the main concourse of the hotel, guests and staff looked on in shock and horror but the man with the gun was already gone.