by Leye Adenle
‘I’m not sure it’s a good idea to go anywhere again this evening.’
‘Are you afraid?’
‘Of your father-in-law?’
‘Of assassins.’
‘I’m more afraid of Otunba than I am of assassins, believe me. And you should be too.’
‘It’s all going to change soon. Very soon, it will all be different.’
Shehu sighed.
‘This place I’m taking you to, you have never seen anything like it before. If anyone told you a place like this exists in Nigeria you will say it is a lie. My friend, you are in for a treat tonight. Your eyes will see wonders and miracles.’
‘I’m not sure I like the sound of that.’
39
Two men wearing chef’s uniforms were tending to a goat roasting atop a spit, their sweaty, oily faces glistening in the leaping orange flames they tried to tame. Beside them another cook was turning skewers of suya on a charcoal grill. Smoke, laden with the aroma of spice and roasted meat, blew across the pool. Malik, his face hidden behind a white mask with holes for the eyes and nostrils, his white agbada plastered against his body by the night breeze, stood with a group of men in similar masks. The five Chinese men, an American, and two Nigerians had all paid their first five million naira annual membership fee and Malik was taking them through their induction, telling them about specific girls, boasting of orgies in the pool, reminding them of the special rooms for special experiences.
Across the pool in a white bikini, sprawled on a sun lounger, Naomi watched Malik. He gesticulated, shook with laughter, slapped someone’s back, looked around and nodded at her. On either side of her, also in bikinis and laying on sun loungers, were the half-Nigerian, half-Lebanese twins from Kano. They also watched Malik and the new clients.
The back door of the mansion opened. Sisi stepped out in a black, flowing, see-through slip. From across the pool, Naomi could see she wore nothing underneath. Ashewo, she thought. Prostitute. Sisi had a champagne flute in one hand and a smouldering cigar in the other. She sashayed in her high heels, and behind her the Ukrainian girls followed, all in bikinis, their creamy white skins untouched by the sun.
Naomi waved a buzzing mosquito from her right ear. Sisi led the girls to the men and Malik stepped aside to reveal his new staff. The American raised his glass of beer to the girls, for some reason the Chinese men clapped. The girls stood in an awkward row, each of them maintaining a pose as if they were in front of pageant judges.
Naomi shook her head. They didn’t even speak English. How would they communicate with the men? Malik encouraged the girls to talk with the clients. ‘Pretend you’re on a date,’ he would say. How were these girls going to date their clients when they didn’t even speak English? And Sisi, the bitch, the whore of whores who sucked Malik’s dick even when he was not there, had given her room to the Ukrainian girls. All the girls had their own rooms, rooms that they used when it was their rotation at The Harem. Often, Naomi would arrive at the mansion and find that a pillow was missing, or a chair had been moved, or a wine glass had been left on the bathroom sink, and she would wonder whose room her room had been when she was away.
‘Look at them, they look like ghosts,’ one of the twins said. ‘Ghosts that have HIV.’ The other twin agreed: ‘These ones look like they have full blown.’
Naomi thought the girls looked like models. Perhaps they were models back home. Had been models back home.
The wind picked up. The smell of suya and roasted goat came in wafts of smoke that stung the eyes. One by one, the masked men left with the girls. Sisi took the tall white man’s hand and led him out of the group and round the pool. They passed the spit and the barbecue and continued walking.
The twins sat up in their sun loungers and both adjusted their breasts and hair in the same movement. Naomi remained on her back.
Sisi stood over the three; the tall American loomed by her side.
‘Ladies,’ Sisi said. She looked at the twins in turn and the pair stood, smiling and pushing their chests out and into the hands of the waiting client. They entwined their arms in his, each on either side of him, and led him away. Sisi, sipping from her champagne flute watched them go, then looked down at Naomi, and without a word she walked away, her cigar smoke trailing behind her.
Naomi watched Malik snap fingers with one of the remaining black men. The girls that were still there stood in place till Sisi walked past them, waved, and they followed her into the mansion.
The wind picked up. Smoke blew thick from the spit and the barbecue. Malik led the men towards the building, turning to look at Naomi before he stepped inside. She nodded back but he had already turned away and entered the house.
Alone by the poolside, Naomi watched the cooks struggle with the smoke and look up to the sky, expecting rain. The air already smelt of wet soil.
Sisi did not come out for her. Nobody did. She did not know when she dozed off, but when she woke up it was because a drop of rain had fallen onto her eyelid. The cooks were gone, the spit and the barbecue emptied, and the night had grown darker. Another drop fell onto her belly. Moments later more tiny cold drops fell onto her. Beyond the tall fence, the forest rustled and branches waved in the wind. Naomi stood up from the pool chair.
Inside the building, the foyer was empty. Naomi went to the window and looked out onto the car park. The rain was roaring now. Six cars were parked outside. Malik’s Range Rover was in its usual spot, close to the gate and next to Sisi’s red Audi TT. He was always around before the clients arrived, and left before them - unless one was spending the night, which didn’t happen often. Dimeji had left after dropping her and the two girls. Naomi suspected Malik didn’t like him being there. Good riddance.
Malik came down the stairs and opened the front door. The wind howled, wrapping his agbada against his body. He hunched his shoulders and dashed out. The wind slammed the door shut behind him. She listened for his car, her heart already racing.
Naomi walked along the corridor. She stopped in front of her room and held the cold, polished chrome handle but she didn’t turn it. She placed her ear against the door, the handle still in her grip, then she lifted her head away. She began to turn the handle.
‘What are you doing there?’
Naomi turned round. Sisi was at the other end of the corridor. She had just come down from her apartment on the second floor. She walked towards Naomi. ‘I told you you’re staying with the twins, didn’t I?’
‘Yes, you did,’ Naomi said.
‘What are you doing here, then?’ Sisi was without her cigar and her champagne flute. She placed her hands on her hips and waited for an answer.
‘I forgot,’ Naomi said. She began to walk past Sisi but Sisi caught her by the hand and stopped her.
‘You forgot?’ Sisi said. ‘And that is why you were listening? I saw you.’
‘I lost an earring. I wanted to check inside.’
Sisi looked at her ears. Naomi wasn’t wearing earrings. ‘Malik just called me to say he’s coming back,’ she said.
‘Why?’ Naomi asked, then she thought she asked too quickly. But why was he returning, and why was Sisi telling her?
‘He’s expecting someone very important. I want you to go and freshen up and wait for me to come and get you.’
‘OK.’
As Naomi walked away, her heart beating fast, something occurred to her. Sisi had a phone. Even if she couldn’t get to hers, if the water had somehow gotten into the condom and destroyed the device, if she could just get her hands on Sisi’s phone she could still send the location of The Harem to Amaka.
40
Otunba passed the armed policeman at the gate of the three-storey pink building in Magodo where his convoy had stopped. The house, like the rest on the street, had been built to take up all the available space in its compound. Either side of the building, there was only a metre from the fence. A navy blue BMW and a gold Jaguar saloon were parked side by side. The front door had been left open. Another poli
ceman standing guard saluted.
Otunba walked across a large parlour busy with servants in white uniforms ferrying trays from a door that kept swinging open and shut. They carried the food up a marble staircase while others hurried down with empty trays. The room smelt of jollof rice and fried chicken, beer and egusi soup. Otunba went up the staircase. The servants bowed as Otunba passed them. They plastered their bodies against the wall and held their trays high above their heads to give him even more space. His hand trailed over the polished banister and he nodded as he passed each servant. At the top he dipped his hand into his pocket and held out a fist of cash to a man standing at attention. ‘Thank you, sir,’ the man said, bowing.
‘Share it with the rest,’ Otunba said.
The landing had sofas pushed against three walls that each had a door leading from them. The fourth wall had double doors in the middle and picture frames everywhere else. Laughter and loud talking came from the room behind the double doors. Otunba crossed the floor and opened them. Smoke and cool air washed over his face. Around a large dining table in the middle of the room, people were seated with playing cards in their hands. Some had cigarettes wedged between their fingers, others smoked cigars. A thin man with a slim face and a white Afro was smoking a pipe, and the only woman at the table – slim, older, her grey hair combed back – was smoking a joint. On the table, cards, poker chips, and bundles of dollars took centre stage among ashtrays, glasses, and bottles of beer, wine, brandy, and champagne.
At the far end of the table, Ambrose looked up from his cards that he was guarding with his other hand. He was the only person not smoking. His eyes locked with Otunba Oluawo’s. He reached for his champagne flute and raised the glass to his lips.
41
The gateman watched Amaka as she paced the compound, smoking. She stubbed out her cigarette, but instead of going up the steps and into Eyitayo and Gabriel’s bungalow, she lit another and continued to pace.
Gabriel was clearing dishes from the dining table when Amaka entered. ‘You just missed dinner,’ he said.
She had two boxes with her, a new iPad and a new phone. She set them on the table, sat down and slumped backwards in the chair.
‘How did it go?’ Gabriel asked.
‘I’m exhausted, Gabriel,’ she said. ‘I just want to go to bed. Where is Chioma?’
‘She had dinner with us. Eyitayo just took her in.’
‘In where? She’s coming with me.’
‘Amaka, we think you should stay with us till this thing is resolved.’
‘This thing? What thing? And what do you mean we?’
‘Eyitayo and I. I told her everything. We think it’s safer for you to stay with us till you can leave the country.’
‘Leave the country? For what? I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to stay and I’m going to get that bastard who killed Chioma’s brother, and I’m going to get Ojo and Malik. Ojo will not be governor of this state, whatever it takes.’
‘Even your life?’
‘Please, Gabriel, I can’t do this now.’ She stood up.
Eyitayo walked into the living room. She stopped at the doorway and looked at both of them. ‘What’s the problem?’ she asked.
‘She wants to go home tonight,’ Gabriel said.
Eyitayo walked over to Amaka, put her arms over her shoulder, and tried to lead her to a sofa. ‘She’s already asleep,’ she said. ‘I gave her a pill.’
‘Thanks,’ Amaka said. She eased herself out of Eyitayo’s arms, ‘but I really have to go home. Look at me. I can’t keep borrowing your things.’
‘Am I complaining?’
‘It’s not just that. Look, guys, I just really need to be in my own space so I can think.’
‘Amaka, they already threatened you. Do you honestly think they will stop at anything to stop you publishing those videos you took?’ Eyitayo said.
‘Gabriel shouldn’t have told you about that.’
‘Well he did, and I’m glad he did, because if he is ready to let you leave this house tonight, I’m not. Until you can leave the country, you’re staying here. It’s safer. Nobody will know where you are.’
‘My house is the safest place I can be right now. I’ve got armed police guards, remember?’
‘Shh,’ Gabriel said.
Eyitayo looked at him. ‘What?’
‘Quiet.’ He cocked his ear. They all listened.
‘Who’s she talking to?’ Eyitayo said.
‘Oh no,’ Amaka said. ‘It’s him.’
‘God will punish you for what you did, Kingsley,’ Chioma wailed into the phone. Tears streamed down her cheeks. ‘You will never know peace in your life.’
Amaka grabbed the phone from her hand. It was wet with her tears. She ended the call and tossed the mobile onto the bed. Chioma crumpled into her arms.
Gabriel and Eyitayo watched from the door. ‘I didn’t know she had a phone,’ Eyitayo said. She looked apologetic. Gabriel put his arm around his wife.
‘I’m taking her home,’ Amaka said. Chioma sobbed into her chest.
42
It had stopped raining. The wiper blades of the bulletproof Range Rover squeaked against the windshield. The driver switched off the engine and Shehu stepped out. Gravel shifted beneath the thin leather soles of his shoes. Other cars were parked around the large compound. All wet. Floodlights hid the forest beyond the tall fence. Shehu looked to his right from where he could hear the faint hum of a soundproof generator. Everywhere else the only sound was of crickets. In front loomed the huge, unpainted house.
Between two pillars that stretched the height of the two-storey building, and beneath the light above the front door of the mansion, a man stood in a black agbada, his face hidden behind a white mask and his hands clasped in front of his body.
Ojo walked up to the building while Shehu and the police officers watched. Underneath the light above the doorway, Ojo and the masked man spoke before the man entered the house and closed the door behind him. Ojo turned and beckoned to Shehu.
Shehu stood in front of Ojo on the gravel, just before the raised marble platform in front of the door. He looked at the police officers; their necks were arched, taking in the house.
‘What is this place, Olabisi?’ Shehu asked.
‘You’ll see,’ Ojo said, grinning. ‘We have to wear masks before we can enter. He’s gone to get them for us.’
‘I’m not wearing any fucking mask.’
When Malik returned, he had two masks in his hands: a pink one, the face of a pig ending at the snout, and a red one, a half face that looked like a snarling devil with a long nose that bent downwards. He handed the pig to Ojo and the devil to Shehu.
The three men stepped in through the doorway into the foyer. A row of girls in lingerie stood waiting for them; Sisi stood in front.
Malik turned to Shehu. ‘Sisi will look after you while I discuss some business with him.’
The girls stepped forward smiling and surrounded Shehu. Their arms went up his chest, down the side of his legs, and across his back but he resisted their gentle nudge to move him towards the stairs. ‘Nope,’ he said. He peeled the arms off his body. ‘I go wherever he goes.’
The girls looked at Malik. Malik held the chin of his mask to adjust it then he nodded to the side. The girls walked towards the door in the direction he had indicated. ‘That’s fine,’ he said. ‘You will also like what I have planned for him.’
‘I am alive today,’ Ojo said. ‘If I die tomorrow, I am OK. But as for today, I am alive.’
He was naked except for his mask. His arms were over the shoulders of two white girls on either side of him in the hot tub. He looked at each of them in turn. They continued to stroke his wet chest.
On the other side, the water bubbled around Shehu’s chest as he watched Ojo and the girls.
‘Old Navy, don’t be shy,’ Ojo said.
The head of a third girl rose out of the water. She wiped her face and smiled at Ojo as she filled her lungs. He put his hand
on her head and pushed her back under. He closed his eyes and threw his head back.
‘Oh yeah. Oh yeah. Yeah. Yeah.’
‘Do not do something nasty in the water,’ Shehu said.
Ojo opened his eyes. He looked at Shehu.
The submerged girl was coming up. Ojo put his hand on her head and held her down.
‘You shouldn’t be coming to these kinds of places,’ Shehu said.
‘Why?’
Ojo held the girl down in the water.
‘You are going to be governor.’
‘So? As governor I shouldn’t enjoy myself?’
‘As governor you shouldn’t expose yourself.’
‘All the girls are tested.’
‘Politically.’
‘Oh.’
The girl slid her head away from Ojo’s hand, broke the surface in a flash and gulped for air. Shehu used the back of a knuckle to wipe away a drop of water that had found his eyelid through an eyehole of his mask. The girl continued gasping for air. She said something to Ojo in Ukrainian, then she splashed water at him. Ojo slapped her with the back of his free hand. She fell backwards into the water and into Shehu.
In his office, hunching over his laptop, his white mask on the table, Malik watched Shehu put his arms around the girl. Malik stood up, picked up his mask and left the room.
Sisi knocked and then opened the door. ‘Everything to your satisfaction, boys?’ she said.
Ojo turned in the water to look at her. She put her hands on his shoulders from behind and slid them down his chest. She played with his nipple between her thumbs and forefingers and whispered into his ear. Ojo smiled. He stood, his failing erection hidden beneath the flab of his huge belly. Sisi and one of the girls helped him out and he picked up a towel and wrapped it round his waist.
