by Leye Adenle
Reporters jostled for space in front of Ambrose. He was standing outside his gate, flanked by elderly members of his party. Babalola watched from behind a window in an upstairs room - he couldn’t hear what was being said, but the script had been agreed amongst the party inner caucus, as Ambrose called his most trusted colleagues.
As he spoke, gesticulating wildly, Ambrose’s face was a mixture of anger and frustration, shots of saliva spraying from his mouth.
‘Enough is enough. We cannot allow these people to turn Lagos state into a bloody battlefield because of their greed or lust for power. Are these the kind of people asking for your votes? People who are killing each other just to become governor? If they can kill their own brothers, what would they do to you if elected? Yesterday, a plane crash, today, an assassination attempt. When would it stop? Who is next on their hit list? Our own candidate? Me? You, the electorate? They want to turn Lagos into war zone.’
A reporter held her voice recorder up to Ambrose. ‘Otunba Balogun Oluawo has gone on record to accuse your party of being behind the murder of Chief Douglas and the attempted assassination of his son-in-law and new party candidate, Chief Olabisi Ojo…’
‘And I am going on record to tell you that we are suing him for defamation today-today. We have instructed our lawyers. I am their victim. You are their victim. We are all their victims; victims of their lust for power. And we will not rest until we expose their faces. In fact, Dr Babalola has declared that the very first thing he will do once he’s in office is to direct the police to carry out a proper investigation and get to the bottom of these dastardly acts and expose the faces of those responsible. We will not let them get away with turning Lagos into a bloodbath.’
30
Amaka leaned on the frame of the car door; one leg inside and the other outside. Gabriel stood on the other side of the door, shielding his eyes from the sun, waiting for her to talk, but he was met with silence. ‘Come on, Amaka, what’s going on?’
‘You know Chief Olabisi Ojo?’
‘Not much. Only that he’s going to become the next Governor of Lagos State. Lucky chap. What does he have to do with you?’
‘What if I tell you I sent a picture of me and him together to his wife?’
‘What? You slept with him? No, Amaka. He’s a slime ball.’
‘No, I didn’t sleep with him. Come on, Gabriel. And, I thought you said you didn’t know much about him.’
‘Yeah, but everyone knows he’s a manshewo.’
‘Manshewo?’
‘Yes. Male ashewo.’
‘You’re crazy. Anyway, he’s the reason I was looking for Malik.’
‘OK. You’re starting to scare me again.’
‘I’m scared myself, and that’s why I’m telling you this. In case anything happens to me.’
‘You don’t look scared, and don’t say stuff like that. You’re really freaking me out. I have a feeling I’m not going to like where this is going.’
‘Ojo almost killed a girl at a place Malik owns. A secret sex club called The Harem.’
‘What? Let me guess, you decided to take the law into your own hands, abi?’
‘I met up with Ojo at his hotel. He thinks I’m called Iyabo. I spiked his drink.’
‘You did what? Amaka. Damn.’
‘I took a picture of us. My face didn’t show in it. I sent it to his wife.’
‘My God, Amaka.’
‘There’s more. I took a memory card from his phone.’
‘What is on it?’
‘Him having sex with kids.’
‘No way. Fuck, Amaka. Fuck. Do you realise what you’ve done? He’s going to do whatever it takes to find you and get that card back.’
‘He already found me. Malik called me, remember.’
‘Oh shit. Oh fuck. OK. I get it now. Ambrose is the leader of the opposition party. His candidate is the underdog who’s going to run against Ojo. You’re going to give them the memory card.’
‘No. I lost it. It was in my bag.’
31
Otunba held a sheet of paper in his hand. He was in the middle of his sofa, the vice president sat to his left, Ojo was on his right.
Laying prostrate on the floor, his head close to Otunba’s feet and his black agbada spread out on the carpet, the deputy governor wept.
About a dozen other politicians were in the room, senior members of the party, and with them, Shehu, watching with keen interest.
‘I just want him to sign the undertaking that nothing will happen to my son-in-law,’ Otunba said, holding up the paper in his hand. He refused to look at the sobbing man at his feet.
From the floor, the deputy governor pleaded, his voice strained with emotion as he directed his supplications to the vice president.
‘I swear on the lives of my children, I had nothing to do with it. Please, help me beg baba.’
‘Which of your children?’ Otunba said. ‘The bastard ones or the ones you were planning to take to government house with you?’
‘Baba, I promise you, I did not have a hand in it. I have never been involved in such. Please, baba, hear my pleas. I will swear on anything you bring. Bible, Quran, Ògún, anything, Baba.’
‘See? Someone that is ready to swear on anything, does that not prove that he does not believe in anything? What would be the value of his swearing? Just sign the undertaking.’
‘But baba, how can I sign an undertaking that I would not harm his Excellency when I am not guilty? Please, beg baba for me.’
The vice president spoke. ‘I had already boarded my jet when I heard. I was supposed to represent the president at a launching in Yola today; when I called him he had already heard as well.’
‘I did not do it,’ the deputy pleaded. ‘Please help me beg Otunba. Your Excellency, I had no hand in it, sir,’ he said to Ojo.
Otunba heaved himself to the edge of the sofa and looked down upon the deputy before him.
‘You are not governor material. I have told you before. Even the deputy governorship that we offered you is mere political calculation; it is not like you can run for governor one day.
‘You came here when I told you I was putting my son-in-law forward and you said no. To me, Otunba, you said no. Was I asking for your permission? Then when the party members confirmed our choice, you still had the temerity to come here today and be telling everyone that we have cheated you. You think they won’t tell me? Who cheated you? And then this morning you stood at the announcement and you gathered your face like this, so that the whole world will know you are not happy with our candidate, abi?’
‘No, baba, I did not gather my face anyhow. It was the sun that was in my eyes.’
‘Oh. The sun was in your eyes? Why wasn’t it in my own eyes?’
‘Oh my God, help me God,’ the deputy cried out. He buried his head into the carpet. His back shuddered.
The vice president joined Otunba on the edge of the sofa.
‘Baba, please, let him just give his word. No need to sign anything. Mr. President already assured me that he would give us all the backing to find the culprits. Please, Baba, do this for me. Please.’
Otunba remained on the sofa as everyone left. Shehu was the only other person sitting. Ojo returned from walking the vice president to the door. He sat back next to his father-in-law.
‘Come here,’ Otunba said to Shehu. ‘Stand there.’
Shehu stood in front of Otunba.
‘You too,’ Otunba said.
Ojo pushed himself off the sofa and stood next to Shehu.
‘Now, tell me, why is someone trying to kill you?’
‘You said it was the deputy governor,’ Ojo said.
‘Shut up. You must be a fool. Everybody knew he had nothing to do with it. Even Shehu knows it. I only used the situation to put him in his place. You must be really foolish to have believed he had something to do with it, in which case you really don’t know who was trying to kill you, or you are not that foolish and you are only lying to me that yo
u think it was him. Which one is it?’
‘I don’t know who did it, sir.’
‘You don’t know who did it? What about you, Shehu, who wants to kill your friend?’
‘Personally, I don’t think it was an assassination attempt,’ Shehu said. The gunman had a clear shot and yet he only managed to take out the driver.’
‘So you think it was a warning?’
‘Most likely.’
‘So, who is warning you?’ Otunba asked Ojo. ‘What are they warning you for?’
‘Maybe it is the opposition,’ Ojo said.
Otunba gave him a long look of disgust. ‘I asked you to tell me about all your skeletons so we can resolve them before something like this happens. Now tell me, who is afraid of you becoming governor?
Ojo and Shehu looked at each other.
‘What is it?’ Otunba asked. ‘The three of us will remain here until one of you tells me.’
‘There is a girl,’ Ojo said, still looking at Shehu. ‘Her name is Iyabo.’
‘Tell me everything,’ Otunba said.
For ten minutes, Ojo spoke, uninterrupted.
Otunba stared into the distance between Shehu and Ojo and nodded continuously while his elbows rested on his knees and his chin on his clasped fingers.
‘You were set up,’ Otunba finally said, still staring straight ahead. ‘You say you don’t know how to find the girl. That is not good enough. You have to find her. She is dangerous. The picture she sent to Matilda is just to let you know that she means business when she contacts you. She probably took more. She will send them to the press, use them to blackmail you, or she will go to the opposition. After your announcement today, her price would have gone up, but we cannot afford to simply pay her.
‘Find her, or find out how to find her and let me know. And bring me the picture on your wife’s phone. She mentioned something like that. I thought it was nothing. Now I wish I had taken it seriously.
‘The lesson I want you to learn from this is that actions always have consequences. It is your action, your carelessness, that has now cost the girl her life.’
32
Amaka pulled up at the side of the road in front of a shop with granite and marble headstones on display behind large floor-to-ceiling glass panes. Above the entrance, in the middle of the windows, a sign in gold script on black marble read: B. Adeniran & Sons. Solemn Undertakers.
Amaka looked around, checked the address in a text message and looked around again. She dialled a number and scanned the shops on the other side of the road.
Ibrahim knocked on Amaka’s window, making her jump in her seat. She ended the unanswered call to him and wound the window down. ‘You scared me,’ she said.
‘I’m sorry. How are you?’ Ibrahim said.
‘What are you doing here? Did someone die?’ she asked.
He looked at the shop. ‘I’ve always wanted to get a headstone for my father’s grave. I came to make enquiries.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’
‘Oh no, he died seven years ago. I just never got to it.’
‘I see. Where is your car?’
‘I sent my driver to go and fill the tank. Have you filled your tank?’
‘No. What for?’
‘We’re expecting riots. There’s been some sporadic outbursts that we have managed to contain, but once the politicians have had time to arm their thugs, we expect full-blown civil disorder. They might even declare a state of emergency.’
‘Over the plane crash?’
‘You’ve not heard? They tried to kill his replacement. The party already selected a new candidate. Chief Olabisi Ojo. There was an attempt on his life today.’
‘Really. He survived?’
‘Yes. You should not be driving about today. What was so urgent that it couldn’t wait for me to get back to the station?’
‘I want to report a crime.’
Shehu, a cigarette smouldering in his hand, watched a single dry leaf floating on the glistening swimming pool water. Ojo stood next to him by the empty pool house, in the shadow of the towering main house. Apart from toilets and private bedrooms, this was the only place in Peace Lodge where they could be alone. Politicians and their thugs had taken over the building.
‘I was afraid you would mention the memory card,’ Shehu said.
He had checked once, but Ojo looked back at the pool house to make sure there was nobody there who could hear them.
Almost whispering, he said, ‘Do you think I should have?’
‘Hell no. Nobody apart from you and I can know about that.’
‘What if she sends it to the press? Or hands it to the opposition?’
‘Well, that is why I must find her before your father-in-law or anyone else does.’
‘How will you find her?’
‘I know where you met her and I know what she looks like. I still have access to resources I can call upon – the kind of people who find people. I will find her.’
‘Then what?’
‘Then we find out what she wants, who else has seen the videos, and who she’s working for.’
‘You think she’s working for someone? Maybe the opposition?’
‘How can it be the opposition? Did they know Douglas’s plane was going to fly into his house and take him out?’
‘What if the opposition killed him?’
‘So they took Douglas out, and at the same time they sent some girl to steal a memory card from you because they knew Otunba was going to handpick you to be the replacement?’
‘You’re right. I’m not thinking straight. I’m stressed out, Shehu. Maybe I should tell Otunba.’
‘Look, ol’ boy, those videos in anyone’s hands are enough to make them your puppetmaster for life. Or even to send you to jail. Do you understand? Nobody, not even Otunba, can see those videos. Let me find the girl and neutralise the threat.’
‘Do you mean you will…?’ He waited for Shehu to complete his thought.
A man with a leaf skimmer walked out and approached the pool. He bowed at them, plunged his net into the shimmering water and dragged it across the surface.
‘I will do nothing more than your father-in-law would do,’ Shehu said. ‘Only, with me, no one else would get to know about the videos.’
‘Thank you, Shehu. Thank you so much.’
‘Get in,’ Amaka said. She reached over and opened the door for Ibrahim.
‘What crime?’ Ibrahim asked as he sat next to her. He searched for the lever to adjust the seat. ‘Are you talking about the lynching at Oshodi? The girl you said you saw?’
‘No. I found her by the way.’
‘Really? Is she alright?’
‘Yes. The boy they killed was her brother.’
‘Kai!’
‘She recognised one of the men who took part in the lynching.’
‘That is good. Bring her to the station to make a statement. Where is she now?’
‘She’s still in shock. I’ll bring her to the station when she’s stable. Listen, a few months ago some people brought a girl to The Street Samaritans. They found her naked and barely conscious on Lagos Ibadan expressway. She had been beaten up.’
‘A prostitute?’
‘No. She’s one of many girls kept as sex slaves in a building somewhere in the middle of the forest between Lagos and Ibadan.’
Ibrahim turned his body to face her.
‘She told you this?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you believe her?’
‘Yes. From the sounds of it, it might even be a baby factory. They continuously rape the girls to get them pregnant and sell their babies.’
‘The girl escaped from this place?’
‘Not so much escaped as she was dumped. They thought she was dead; that’s why they dumped her on the express.’
‘My God.’
‘I’ve been trying to find the place. She was blindfolded when she was taken there. She described it as a big building in a large compound surrounded by fores
t. I searched Google Maps. There are hundreds of such isolated buildings all over the place. I went to the Ministries of Lands and Housing in Lagos, Ogun, and Ibadan. She told me the name of the owner of the place. Malik. I was hoping to find the name on a certificate of occupancy or land title deeds.’
‘Malik, what?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You should have come to me. Where is the girl now?’
‘That’s the problem. After she recovered, we helped her relocate out of Lagos. I’ve not been able to get through to her phone since yesterday. I tried her number several times and sent messages. Her phone was still off as of this morning and she hasn’t replied to any of my messages. She would have let me know if she changed her number.’
‘You think something happened to her?’
‘I hope not. Maybe she’s not responding because it’s not my number that she has. I’m worried, though. Malik called me on my phone. He knows I am looking for him. He threatened me. The only way he could have learnt about me and also gotten my number is from her. He might have found her.’
Ibrahim stared at the dashboard for a while. ‘There is really nothing I can do right now. You can’t contact the girl, you don’t know how to find the building, and you don’t even know who Malik is.’
‘If I find out who he is, will you be able to do something?’
‘I don’t know. I need the girl’s statement. Find her and we’ll take it from there. For now, all I can say is that you should be careful.’
33
Tall trees formed a dense canopy above, and tangled vegetation covered the ground below. Two shirtless men dug with shovels as sweat rolled off their bare backs and mosquitoes hovered around them. Three feet down they reached the body. The men set their shovels aside and cleared the earth with their hands. The corpse had begun to bloat beneath the pink polo top and blue jeans. The men searched in the soil, one on each side of the uncovered grave. The one at the feet exposed an inch of pink plastic near the girl’s legs. He stood up with the girl’s phone in his hands, brushed it with his fingers, then wiped it on his trousers. When they buried her, they had tossed her belongings in with her: phone, bag, and shoes.
