He found that she possessed all the qualities he desired in a woman. Full breasts and pointed nipples, a flat stomach and rounded buttocks. He was delighted with her. She was the woman the angel of God had ministered to him that he would meet.
After they talked, he visited her at the quarry where her mother worked. Franca was from Ezza, one of the clans in Abakaliki known for being industrious. The family were devout Catholics, and as a result were determined that their daughter would not marry the wealthy Evangelist. Franca herself would not even dream of it.
‘You are as beautiful as a butterfly. But you are poor and unkempt. By the time I take you to America and you have been looked after by beauticians, you will look like the Queen of Sheba,’ he had told her. Franca had refused. He tried for two months. Three months… Still, she declined his offer.
It was then that Chief Donald Amechi bought the quarry. Chuba told him about Franca. He came up with a plan. The Chief ordered one of his men to hide some money inside her mother’s head pan – the pan she used to carry quarried stones to a large heap from where they would be sold.
Franca’s mother was accused of stealing the director’s money, and was about to be burnt alive by a mob as was common; when a thief was caught, he or she would be burnt alive with used tyres before the police arrived, so as to clamp down on robbery and to prevent thieves bribing their way out of police custody. Chuba, who had been watching from the manager’s office, came out and stopped the beating. He reimbursed the money and took the woman away.
‘You should thank your God I came to buy gravel,’ he said to her.
‘Idike, thanks!’ she cried. She was very grateful to Chuba, who took the shaken woman to his house. She had never entered such a luxurious home before. She took a hot bath and was served white rice, chicken and sauce, given new clothes, wrappers and a huge sum of money. She felt like dying.
His plan only partially worked – Franca’s mother pleaded with her daughter to marry the Evangelist, but Franca still refused.
Chuba kept trying and Franca kept turning him down. Months later, his desperation reaching new levels, on Chief Amechi’s advice Franca was kidnapped by masked men and dumped in an abandoned building before the same men alerted the police and ran away. The police came and found a corpse beside her. She was charged with murder and detained.
Chuba allowed her to stay in detention for two weeks while instructing the police to feed her. Then one day, he came to see her.
‘I always come to bail detainees who have no one to care for them. What in God’s name are you doing here, my angel?’ he said. Franca was so relieved and, sobbing, narrated her ordeal to him. If only Chuba could save her?
‘I will help you. But first, you must help me,’ he told her.
‘I will do anything, Sir.’
‘I heard that you have been charged with murder. You could be hanged.’
‘Please help… help me,’ she begged.
‘Marry me. You see, I told you that God has destined us to be together. I was in time to save your mother and in time to save you,’ Chuba said. She was quiet, resigned to what she knew she had to do.
She was released and given the same treatment as her mother back at his house. He then sent her overseas for beauty treatments and training in the art of preaching and lectures on counselling. Soon after, Franca became Evangelist Chris Chuba’s wife, and in time a great evangelist in her own right. They developed the church together.
Since then, she did whatever he said. He would threaten to reopen the murder case if she disobeyed him. Chuba made sure his wife had no money of her own.
Three years after Franca gave birth to Adeline, she was diagnosed with fibroids and had to have a hysterectomy. ‘Pregnancy and breastfeeding will make you lose your angelic shape,’ he told her as she recuperated. ‘It’s God’s will. Perhaps He doesn’t want you to lose your beauty for the love He has for me.’
Franca knew her husband was evil but she could not leave him. So she grew to love her husband and his work, just like he said she would – his company, his wealth, his status and the international travel. She was adored by other great women of the world, advised wives of world leaders and attended global women conferences.
She loved her daughter and wanted to make her happy but there wasn’t any time for that. Although she loved her husband, there were three things she could not excuse: his treatment of Adeline, their only child; the beatings she received from her husband; and his aggressive style of lovemaking.
TWENTY
Saturday, 6th March 2010
Chief Donald Amechi and Evangelist Chris Chuba sat in the gazebo. The Chief had just returned from Italy and was in good spirits. They sipped from glasses of Rémy Martin. Oranges were in blossom and their fragrance filled the air. Soon, another man joined them, Chief Amechi’s manager. He was short, with a stomach as large as a water tank. He was holding a copy of the Sun and there were copies of the bestselling daily on the table in front of the two men.
‘Oh, you have copies of today’s paper? It is terrible. The attacks in the North. This new organization Jama’atul al-Mujahideen Jihad. What people!’
‘Hmmn,’ the Chief responded. Chuba remained silent.
‘How can this be happening now in Nigeria? The election is almost around the corner. What will happen with all these bombings and shootings and burning of churches?’
‘God is faithful. His hands grip us tightly. He will never fail us,’ Chuba replied.
When the manager had left, the Chief turned to Chuba, ‘It is working.’
‘Yes, there is no way another Northerner will rule this country for years to come. See, they are burning churches, schools and police stations. The Sheikh and his men have achieved more than we had anticipated. And the fools do not even realize that the terror they commit is only in their own backyard, that it benefits us, not them. Everything they destroy is in their land. People will hate the North and Islam even more.’ Chuba laughed loudly and raised his glass to his friend.
Chief Amechi said, ‘I have been in Italy and the news of the terrorist attacks in Nigeria was everywhere. We are giving Al-Qaeda a run for their money.’ The two men laughed sardonically.
‘Soon, the Government will get angry. Out of frustration, they will damn Transparency International, the United Nations, Human Rights Watch, and retaliate with military force. They will kill Muslims, and then every Northerner, Muslim and Christian alike, will hate JMJ. And a Southerner will win the next election. Even the Northerners will vote for us.’
‘Very true, my friend. May God guide you with wisdom.’
‘Sheikh Ibrahim is a good man. He is effective with the general administration of our affairs in the North. I will make a recommendation to the Universal Temple for his promotion.’
Chuba responded, ‘Oh, what a good heart you have, my lord.’
Donaldo was at the priest’s cottage. He was feeling extremely unwell with severe stomach pain. Father Simeon had given him some medicine and advised he rest at the cottage. Since his father’s return from Italy all he had heard was how well the negotiations had gone. Even without a final answer from the firm, the Chief was planning for Donaldo to travel to Italy, and the young man was feeling anxious and frustrated.
He sat in the sitting room from where he could look at the priest’s portrait he had made. Father Simeon was extremely proud of it and had invited many powerful friends and members of the church to admire the work. News had quickly spread about it.
‘The Bishop will commission you soon to make paintings for the Pastoral Centre in Abakaliki.’
‘That would be nice. I will charge him less, for he is a holy man.’
The priest was aware that whenever Donaldo was angry, just the mention of art was enough to light up his face. Another thing made him happy: the teachings of the church.
The priest had always hoped Donaldo would enter the priesthood. His mother had been a very devout woman, but he feared for Donaldo under the influence of his father.
They spoke about the priesthood, communion and the importance of faith, until the priest grew tired and sensed Donaldo’s concentration also faltering.
‘Get me cold water, Ite, please,’ he instructed and the servant left. When the servant came back, Donaldo asked, ‘What is the purpose of putting fragments of the Sacrament into the chalice during mass?’
‘What I say as I perform that act will answer your question. Haec commixtio, et consecratio corporis et sanguinis Domini nostri Jesu Christi fiat accipientibus nobis in vitam aeternam. Amen. May the mingling and hallowing of the body and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ be for us who receive it a source of eternal life. Amen.’
As the priest was saying Amen, a young, uneducated man in Sokoto drove an explosives laden car into the state police headquarters. Deep in his heart he was saying some prayers.
…may the mingling of my blood with theirs cleanse the land of the infidels. May the religion of God be established on earth…
And the car hit the front door of the gigantic building. His flesh was engulfed in flames, burning with the bodies of over fifty policemen and cell inmates. Some of the victims were devout Muslims. Later that evening, Sheikh Mohammed Seko drank some kunu with Shedrack Obong and blessed him for his benevolent heart.
TWENTY-ONE
Wednesday, 10th March 2010
Simon Chuba was in his elder brother’s house in Ishieke. He was dressed in black trousers, a red top and trainers. A long chain with a pendant of 2Pac’s head was hanging round his neck.
The air-conditioner was on, and its cooling breeze made him want to grab Adeline. But since his arrival, she had been noticeably avoiding him. They met briefly when her father called her to come and say hello to her uncle, but then she had quickly disappeared.
The two men were not talking to each other. The Evangelist was reading his King James Bible, while his brother stared at the religious and history books stacked on the shelves that lined the walls. Whenever they were together, they did not talk much, discussing only the business that brought them together before going their separate ways.
A large black rat stood nibbling at the corner of a cardboard box. It paid no attention to the men in the room. If they watched, it was none of its business. Soon they would leave it alone to enjoy the palace. And as it shifted to the other side of the carton, the knife came, so swiftly and silently that it pinned the rat to the box even before it could move. It gave a slight squeal and died.
Chris Chuba raised his head, just in time to see the rat Simon’s jack-knife had pinned to the box. He looked at his brother. Before he could speak, a third man entered.
They stood up and shook his hand. Chief Amechi wore a three-piece Bob & Bros suit. His full hair was well combed.
‘Sit down, Chief. We have been waiting for a long time.’
‘I had to take care of some business. Simon, good to see you.’
Simon replied without any emotion, ‘Thanks. I leave for Awka, today. So let’s talk, Sir.’
‘Chief Amechi, Simon has been of great help to our success over the years, so I trust he will not disappoint this time.’
‘Of course, I know. Simon,’ the Chief said as he looked at the younger man, ‘this might be the toughest assignment since you became our partner. I will get straight to the point.’
The maids had been advised not to bother about drinks. The room was soundproofed. They discussed how the Minister of Justice would be assassinated.
They had anticipated that Simon would be shocked at the mention of the name, but his face registered no expression, no surprise. The Minister was another stumbling block that must be removed. He was a bone in the throat of some highly placed senior brothers.
‘… I want a clean job. There should be no traces. No mistakes. No mentioning of the job to anyone. You are to carry out the assignment alone. I don’t care how you intend to do it, but that will minimize risks—’
‘I know my job very well. I do not need anyone to tell me about it. Your own job, Sir, is to give me the file and my cheque and I am out of here.’
Chuba smiled; few people spoke to Chief Amechi in that manner, he loved his brother’s nerve.
‘This is the document. All you need is here. If you have questions, call my special line. The Evangelist is not to be disturbed on this particular assignment. Understand?’ The Chief handed an envelope to Simon and looked at the Evangelist, who smiled and nodded his agreement. ‘You report only to me.’
Chief Donald Amechi stood. ‘I will leave now. We will create diversions as soon as this job is done. All arrangements for that are being made.’
‘Thanks, Chief. Simon will do a great job. I should hear about his death on the news within the next two weeks. May God bless you and bless this assignment,’ Evangelist Chuba said, raising his right hand to give blessings like a priest.
The men shook hands. The meeting was over.
When the Chief left, Chris Chuba turned to his brother and said, ‘Simon? Ka o di, God speed.’
Adeline kissed Donaldo. It was tender and her lips were full, soft and satisfying. She had only seen him a few times when work with the church was keeping her parents busy, but their relationship was already blossoming, and they talked often. The phone was her one luxury her father scarcely monitored.
‘Donaldo! Look at the chapel. It is poor, yet it radiates a kind of holiness and sanctity.’
‘Hmmn,’ he replied, lost in thought on the rock on which they were sitting. Donaldo saw Adeline as a gift from his mother. He recalled years back when his mother’s voice last spoke to him.
‘What is wrong, Donaldo? You look distracted.’
‘It’s Christiana, my mother. You made me remember her.’
‘Tell me about her.’ She caressed his neck.
‘She was lovely… fair and pretty. I remember she was very pretty. I still see her in my dreams. My father…’ He stopped and looked away, as if looking into her eyes would prevent the words from coming out.
‘My father used to beat her till she became too frail to fight him. I watched all the time…’ He stood and moved away from the rock. The memories were too hard. They tortured him. ‘She was always out of the house at the clinic. After every fight she would say to me, “I’m going to Enugu, I will buy you something on my way back.” They’d help her climb into a car. Sometimes, I’d watch from the window. Then, one day, I saw him push her down the stairs. She was pregnant. She rang me the next day and said she was in Enugu, for business. She wanted me not to be afraid. It was the day she promised me a teddy—’
Adeline put her arms around him. She noticed the hint of tears glistening in his eyes.
‘The next day, she died. It was only a matter of time before he killed her… I was so young, only six years old, I felt so helpless watching her fall, Adeline.’
‘How did you know she was pregnant? You were young then.’
‘I was looking through some of their things once searching for my mother’s belongings. There was the doctor’s report on the cause of death. It said she was three months’ pregnant. He killed her, he killed them both. I saw my mother bleeding. I saw the guard rescue her… and then she said to me that she was leaving for Enugu.’
Adeline kissed him to stop him from talking; she could see the pain in his face as he remembered his mother’s death. It was the first time he’d discussed the incident. They went towards the riverbank and lay down in the grass, Donaldo holding Adeline in his arms, caressing and kissing her gently. He looked at her, knowing he had never before experienced the emotions he was feeling at her side. They lay there for what seemed like ages – touching, kissing, exploring, their shared inexperience only adding to the joys of discovery – until the sun began to cast its shadows on the horizon, and the birds watched him enter her.
That evening, when Donaldo returned from dropping off Adeline, his father announced during dinner that Donaldo had been hired by the Italian firm. Donaldo frowned momentarily, but his father noticed. Chief Amechi was mad. He demande
d that Donaldo prepare for his journey to Italy, but Donaldo knew that the dream of going to Italy to start a career as a renowned artist was never going to be fulfilled. He had found happiness and joy here, more than he ever knew. Just when he was beginning to see light shine in his life, his ever controlling father had dealt him this deadly blow. He knew he would not agree to leave the thing that mattered most in his life. He didn’t care if the dreams of his father for him to become an artist in the league of Picasso or da Vinci worked out or not.
The argument that night was fierce. Madam Vero sat quietly and said nothing.
‘I never said I am not going,’ Donaldo said and drank some water from a tall glass tumbler.
‘You are indirectly saying you are not. Listen, son, you are all that I have. You are not going to inherit my wealth as a failure. I was never a failure. I have always succeeded where others failed… Over my dead body will you mess up my name!’ He pushed past his son, knocking off Donaldo’s plate of food and glass as he left the room.
The next day, Chief Amechi took Donaldo to Abakaliki town, to his big rice mill. One car was in front while two others followed as backup. Donaldo sat in the back of a Toyota jeep with his father in silence. When they passed girls, Donaldo would stare. The Chief noticed, but said nothing.
Chief Donald Amechi was not into women. His power and status in the Sacred Order had been his only passion and there were rules he must keep.
At the rice mill, the noise of the milling machines was deafening. Peasant women carried rice husks in big sacks on their heads to the disposal site, far from the mill. Donaldo watched with keen interest, wondering why his father had suddenly brought him here.
Donaldo watched as his father supervised the work. He stared at milled rice of many varieties heaped on large mats. The rice mill was the biggest in the country and his father had once told him that people from Togo, Ghana and Cameroon came to the mill. He shipped the rice to Europe where it was further treated and repackaged and exported all over the world, including back to Nigeria where it had originated.
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