by Odafe Atogun
He roamed the city like a man knocked senseless by a vicious blow. Not knowing what to do or who to turn to, he returned to his house, which they said belonged to a dead man. First he checked the safe where he had kept his title deed for many years, but he could not find the documents. ‘Who am I?’ he muttered to himself and began to wander numbly through the house in search of clues.
His spirit lifted when he remembered his photo albums. It occurred to him that they could be the key to resolving his identity. In the albums were a number of photos he had taken with some of his neighbours – at birthday parties, naming ceremonies and other special occasions; photos of him and Lela, some taken on romantic outings, many more in that house of a dead man. He was ecstatic with delight.
For hours he searched desperately for the albums. He searched until sweat was running down his entire body, into his shoes, and every living part of him began to ache. Still, he searched; way past midnight. And as the city slept, gripped in one gigantic nightmare, he finally accepted, with crushing resignation, that his precious albums had been swallowed by the same mystery that erased his identity.
He would not give up. He needed to find something, anything, that connected him to a society that no longer knew him. There had to be something. He remembered the papers; he used to be front-page news before he went into exile. Frantically, he gathered all the old papers in the house and searched through them. But he couldn’t find a single mention of himself in any of them. Somehow, he had been erased from the printed pages.
Defeated and exhausted, he joined the city in sleep. When he awoke it was seven o’clock. ‘Is it possible that there is some truth in legend?’ he asked himself. For several minutes he tossed and turned in bed, and then he drifted into a state of half sleep, and lingered in that state until early evening when the frenetic noises of the city slowly began to ease.
*
Aroli paid him a visit that evening. He knocked on the door in a manner that would have woken the dead.
‘Find a seat, please,’ Taduno said awkwardly, after letting him in. ‘The place is dusty. I haven’t had time to clean.’
A huge smile remained plastered on Aroli’s face knowing Taduno must still be reeling from his loud knocking.
‘I’m sorry about this whole confusion,’ Aroli began, ‘but I’m sure things will sort themselves out.’ He shifted uncertainly in his seat. ‘How are you settling in?’
Taduno shrugged and laughed. ‘Well, I’m getting used to being a stranger.’
‘I’m sure you’ll not feel like a stranger for too long. Everybody likes you. They want you to settle in and see yourself as one of us. Let me know if you need anything. Feel free to come round to my place any time. I live three houses away. I . . .’
‘I know, Aroli,’ he interrupted him. ‘I know you live in a two-bedroom apartment in a block three houses away. I know you have a sister called Bukky, who used to live with you; then she got married and moved with her husband to Accra. I know you have a girlfriend called Janet, who you are confused about. I know your name is Rolland, but everyone calls you Aroli. I know you have a fake Mona Lisa, which you bought from Ojuelegba, hanging on the wall of your living room, above your thirty-inch Sony TV. I’ve visited your apartment many times before and you’ve visited me countless times. I know you, Aroli, I know you well, the poet/estate agent who goes around banging on people’s door with a gentle smile. How can I not know you?’ A faint smile warmed his face.
Aroli shifted uncomfortably, lost for what to say.
Without bothering to ask whether Aroli wanted a drink, he went to fetch two bottles of beer from the kitchen. He opened them and passed a bottle to Aroli, and together they drank in silence.
‘I guess you must be hungry,’ Aroli said, when they finished drinking. ‘Let’s go and get something to eat.’
They went to Mama Iyabo’s restaurant a few streets away where they ate amala and ewedu soup, and everyone gave him that polite smile normally reserved for strangers. And he smiled back at them in like manner, not because he saw them as strangers, but because he no longer knew himself.
*
He went out in the morning to get some provisions and the papers. Then he returned and locked himself away from the world for seven days and seven nights, hoping that by the time he re-emerged something would have changed about the city and that that something would have changed the city in a way that people would begin to remember him, and he would find Lela again, and all that had forced him to go into exile would have changed too, and it would be a happy homecoming for him after all.
His neighbours became very worried about him. They gathered outside his house every day for those seven days, wondering if he had done something to himself, debating whether to break down the door.
But Aroli implored them not to take a hurried decision. ‘After all,’ he told them, ‘Taduno is a nice man who would not want anything bad to happen to anyone, least of all himself.’ And so his neighbours exercised patience. And on the eighth day he emerged. And apart from the fact that his neighbours were delighted to see him, he realised that nothing had changed about the city. Nothing had changed about him either – except that he had grown a full beard.
THREE
It was while shaving off his beard that Taduno experienced his most lucid state since returning from exile; and it occurred to him that losing his identity was not so bad after all. He realised that he was no longer a man on the run from the law, as was the case before. Considering this advantage, he began to see himself as his neighbours saw him – a man with no past – and he realised that if he must find Lela and unravel the mystery that now surrounded him, he must continue to see himself that way.
During the time he had locked himself away from the world, he had agonised over Lela’s plight. He wondered why government agents arrested her, a simple teacher – a maths teacher for that matter – who worked only with equations and never involved herself with suppositions or anti-government activities.
He had always taken care not to reveal much of his life as an activist to her. Even when he had to go into exile he had simply left her a note saying ‘Where I go I know not’. Could it be that he compromised her with that simple note?
For a while this question haunted him. And then, making up his mind to find out more about Lela’s arrest, he returned to her parents’ house, where he found Judah kicking a ball on the street with a couple of kids. The boy was the lone star: he had on the trainers with red lights, the others played barefoot.
‘Judah,’ he called out.
The boy pulled out of the game and walked up to him. He had a smile on his cherubic face, unlike the last time when he wore a confused frown.
Taduno wasn’t surprised. Everyone was being so nice to him, Judah no exception. He smiled back at the boy.
‘Sorry to interrupt your game.’
‘It’s okay.’ Judah looked down at his trainers and then up at Taduno’s face, and it was clear that he still could not connect the two.
‘I want to talk to you about your sister.’
The boy nodded eagerly. ‘Have you found her?’
‘No, I have not, but I’m going to find her.’
Judah beamed. ‘Thank you!’
‘When was the last time you saw her?’
‘The day some men pushed her into the back of a black car, a big black car. It happened right there,’ he said, pointing to a spot on the street. ‘I was playing football with my friends that evening. I’m always playing football on the street, so I saw it all, I saw the men.’
‘How many were they?’ Taduno asked, with a faint smile.
‘There were four in all. Anti Lela was screaming for help, but nobody went to help her, everybody was afraid.’
‘What kind of clothes were the men wearing?’
‘I don’t know. Normal clothes, I think. They had guns and they waved their badges.’
‘Did they say where they were taking her?’
‘No, they didn’t say. They
didn’t talk to anyone, they just waved their badges. Then they got into their car and drove off leaving so much dust in the air.’
‘Did your parents witness the incident?’
‘No, they were inside the house. By the time they came running out, the men were gone and only the dust remained.’
He realised that it was pointless questioning Lela’s parents as their story would likely be similar to Judah’s.
He nodded in thanks and slapped Judah playfully on the back. ‘I’ll find your sister,’ he said, looking into the boy’s eyes. ‘You can go back to your game.’
‘Promise?’ the boy said, in an eager voice.
‘Yes, I promise.’
They shook hands, and in that moment they both felt something – like the rekindling of an old friendship.
*
He spent the rest of the day deliberating on how to begin his search for Lela. He struck off one idea after the other, until he came to the conclusion that the best place to start was a police station.
At first, the prospect of visiting a police station terrified him; but, encouraged by the knowledge that he no longer had an identity, he took a taxi to the nearest station where he found the sergeant on duty dozing at his desk with a half-eaten cob of corn in one hand.
The tiny office reeked of a terrible odour – a mixture of decayed food, saliva, sweat, urine, morbid fear and stale cigarettes. In spite of the fact that he had been in several police stations before, Taduno felt himself choking.
He rapped a gentle knuckle on the counter.
The Sergeant jumped in his seat and the cob of corn in his hand fell to the floor, disappearing under his desk. Quickly, he picked up his worn beret from his battered desk and slapped it on his head to dignify himself with an air of authority. Then he smiled – a friendly sheepish smile that revealed uneven brown teeth.
‘Good afternoon, Sergeant Bello,’ Taduno greeted, reading the name tag on the Sergeant’s chest.
‘Afternoon,’ the Sergeant replied. ‘How may I help you? In what way may I help you? And what help do you need?’
Taduno was not surprised at the rambling manner of the Sergeant’s questions. He was familiar with the ways of policemen, and he knew you must also respond to them in a roundabout way to get results. Or else, they will turn you round and around until they get you so confused you end up confessing to a crime you never committed. And then they will lock you up with a satisfied grin. And when you bribe them, they become your friend. But they tell you that you are still a criminal all the same, and that they are friends of criminals. And they remind you, in their own parlance, ‘Police is your friend.’
Taduno laughed to himself. ‘Oh yes, you may help me. But before you help me, I think you should know that I want to help you too. And in the end you’ll be helping me to help you.’
The Sergeant looked quite impressed by the response of the well-dressed man standing before him – no doubt, a respectable gentleman wise in the ways of the police. He nodded vigorously, a look of satisfaction on his round oily face.
‘I agree with you. How may we proceed?’
The smile remained on Taduno’s face. ‘Before we proceed you may want to pick up your corn. I think it must be somewhere under your desk.’
‘True!’ The Sergeant bent down and retrieved his corn. He blew on it, then he kept it away on the far end of his desk, to be dealt with later. He turned his attention back to Taduno. ‘Yes, we may proceed.’ He had a business-like air about him now.
Leaning against the counter, Taduno cleared his throat quietly. ‘As I was saying, I need you to help me help you. And after you have helped me I will help you.’
‘That makes a lot of sense to me,’ the Sergeant beamed, rubbing his hands together. ‘Please continue.’
Taduno hesitated for a moment then cleared his throat again. ‘I’d like to know what happened to a certain Miss Lela Olaro. She was arrested a couple of weeks ago by government agents.’
Sergeant Bello scratched his head and pretended to think for several moments. Then he nodded his head slowly, as if it was all coming back to him in a trickle.
‘You remember?’ Taduno asked eagerly.
‘Hmm,’ the Sergeant grunted. ‘Actually, I’m trying to remember. It is not so easy to remember, you know.’
‘Yes, yes, I know. That’s why I need you to help me help you. After you have helped me I will help you. Can you tell me what happened to her, please?’
Sergeant Bello scratched his head some more. ‘Was she arrested or kidnapped?’ he demanded gruffly.
The question caught Taduno by surprise. He thought very quickly, then he asked: ‘You tell me, was she arrested or kidnapped?’
Sergeant Bello hesitated.
Taduno pressed. ‘I’m only asking so that you’ll help me to help you, nothing more.’ He turned on a foolish smile.
‘True, true, I understand, my brother. I need plenty of help actually. Things are very difficult at home.’
‘So?’
‘She was kidnapped by the government,’ the Sergeant said in a whisper, looking furtively around to make sure none of his colleagues was approaching. ‘They only tried to make it look like an arrest.’
Taduno did not show his surprise. ‘I would think that government agents arrest people, not kidnap them?’
‘You’d be surprised,’ the Sergeant chuckled.
‘Where was she taken? Why was she kidnapped?’
The Sergeant’s face hardened. ‘I’ve helped you enough to help me!’ he hissed.
Taduno slipped a 500-naira note across the counter and left the station quietly.
*
Rather than take a taxi, he decided to walk home. He covered the six-kilometre distance in two hours without paying any attention to the bustling city life that raced past him. He arrived home tired and consumed by fear for the woman he loved.
Aroli was sitting on his doorstep waiting for him, glancing through an old paper in a distracted manner. He rose to his feet when he saw Taduno approaching.
None of his other neighbours paid him any attention. They busied themselves with their evening chores, their curiosity about him having died since he re-emerged into the world. As far as they were concerned, he was now one of them, having shown that he could survive seven whole days without seeing sunlight and without running mad or hurting himself.
‘I haven’t seen you around all day,’ Aroli said, after they had exchanged greetings.
‘I went out to attend to an urgent matter.’
‘I see.’ Aroli sounded curious.
Taduno fiddled in his pocket for his keys and opened the door. ‘Please come in.’ Somehow he managed not to show just how troubled he was.
‘Wow!’ Aroli exclaimed the moment he stepped into the house. ‘Looks like you’ve been doing a lot of cleaning. The place is spotless!’
‘It took me seven days to achieve,’ Taduno said.
‘Was that why you locked yourself away?’
‘Not really. Yes, I did a lot of cleaning, but it was more a time of soul-searching for me.’
‘I see.’
‘Take a seat, please.’
They sat opposite each other.
‘You said you went out to attend to an urgent matter?’
‘Yes, I have been trying to follow Lela’s trail.’
Aroli sat up. ‘What have you discovered?’
Taduno hesitated.
‘You can trust me,’ Aroli assured him.
‘Lela was not arrested. She was kidnapped.’
‘Kidnapped by who?’ Aroli asked, a frown on his face.
‘By the government.’
Aroli’s jaw dropped. ‘Where did you get that information?’
‘From a certain sergeant in a certain police station,’ he replied, not keen to reveal his source.
‘I don’t understand. Why would the government kidnap Lela?’ Aroli scratched his head.
‘I asked myself the same question, and the answer is not so pleasant.’<
br />
‘Which is?’
‘Security agents arrest you if you are believed to have committed an offence. But if the government sees you as a threat, they kidnap you.’
Aroli scratched his head some more, slowly, his brain ticking loudly. ‘That means Lela must be in grave danger.’
‘You get the picture.’
They fell into silence.
‘What are you going to do?’ Aroli asked, at last.
‘I intend to find her.’ Taduno’s voice was grim with determination.
Aroli shut his eyes tightly, as if trying to erase a bad memory, perhaps a reality too difficult to accept. ‘I don’t know how to put this,’ he began, uncertainly.
‘Put what?’ Taduno raised his brows in question.
‘You showed up claiming to be somebody we know. We all see you as a man who has lost his identity – in fact, a man who has lost his mind. But I have been worried since that first morning, and my mind tells me something is not quite right.’
Taduno remained silent.
Aroli continued. ‘You know too much about us to be a stranger, too much to be a man who has lost his mind.’
‘What are you driving at?’
‘I’m worried that it could be the rest of us who have lost our minds. I’m worried that a man who has lost his mind cannot be as sane as you are. You know so much about us, yet we know nothing about you. Is it possible that we are the ones who have forgotten the past? Honestly, I suspect that this could be the case.
‘Tell me about your life. I mean the life you used to live before we forgot you. I need to know about you. I need to know so that I can remember all that I have forgotten.’ Aroli was beginning to sound desperate.
Taduno sighed, touched by Aroli’s candour. ‘At first the life I lived was simple. But then things changed and it became complex.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s not something I can talk about now.’
