Sheikh Seko was pleased, but he still had a few more loose ends to tie up. Then nobody would be able to dispute his power and control. He called to one of his men; plans were to be made.
As soon as the Evangelist and Miss Spencer returned from the hospital, after Mrs Chuba’s body had been taken to the morgue, he received a call, and while on the phone, he quickly turned on the television.
‘The idiot has been arrested. It’s all over the news.’
A reporter on CNN was talking about the murder of the world famous Evangelist’s daughter, Adeline Chuba, by her lover, a renowned artist who had begun to gain global fame and recognition.
Miss Spencer watched as Donaldo was handcuffed and dragged away by two hefty men, one on either side holding his arms as if he would attempt to run. Miss Spencer gripped the sofa beside her as she saw Donaldo’s face on the screen connect with hers. She knew what she had to do.
The Evangelist was relieved to hear the news of the arrest. He sat, his eyes focused sternly on the TV, watching the CNN report, and then his phone rang again.
‘Tune your radio or television, Sir,’ the caller informed him. ‘The President has received a vote of confidence.’
‘What?’ he screamed at the caller.
He hurriedly switched the channel to AIT and there it was. The news prompt running on the screen made his head ache.
The impeachment motion in the Senate against the President of the Federal Republic of Nigeria was today thrown out in what appears to be a monumental victory for the President…
News reaching us says that the Federal House of Representatives passed a vote of confidence on the President and Commander in Chief of the Armed Forces of the Federal Republic of Nigeria…
FORTY-NINE
Friday, 21st May 2010
The walls of the Sacred Order of the Universal Forces in Nigeria were crashing down with great force. Just as their members were co-ordinating an urgent meeting after the news of the suspended impeachment, they lost the only man who was the remaining link they had left with Jama’atul al-Mujahideen Jihad.
The day the older Sheikh was murdered was his happiest day on earth. That evening, the President of Nigeria made changes and announced Sheikh Kabiru Ibrahim as the Senior Special Advisor to the President on Islamic Affairs – the move was suggested by Professor Yerima Musa to halt the security crisis in the country. When he had found out about his appointment, he had called the new Sacred Lord and received approval, as it was another opportunity for the Brotherhood to have an eye in the presidential villa. Once the announcement was made at 4pm that Friday, Sheikh Ibrahim’s sitting room was filled with friends and associates who came to congratulate him. They made merry till evening.
Around 9pm, after he had said his Ishai Salat, he sat in his sitting room watching the news, disturbed by the failed impeachment and the news reaching him that Sheikh Seko had announced renewed war against the Government and had deployed his foot soldiers to all the Southern states.
Sheikh Ibrahim now sat alone, deep in thought, as his two wives and children had gone to bed. The door to the sitting room opened and his security man walked in. He had been with him for over five years and ran a small kiosk in front of the gate.
‘What is it, Suleman?’
‘Oga. I get message for you, e from oga, Sheikh Seko.’
Sheikh Ibrahim’s eyes widened. He hoped Sheikh Seko had come to his senses. He knew the man was ambitious, but he could not understand this sudden change in attitude. He beckoned Suleman to approach. The man came close and kneeled down at the Sheikh’s side to whisper into his ear. As Suleman began to relay the message, he drew out his blade from his waist band and, drawing closer, slit the man’s throat from ear to ear. Then he used the Sheikh’s dressing gown to wipe clean the blade and his hands, and left him slumped there for his children to find the following morning.
The message he whispered was:
Sheikh Seko says: And fight them until there is no fitnah…
FIFTY
Saturday, 22nd May 2010
Donaldo sat in one corner of his cell thinking about his life. His cell was a small square room, with a tiny window high up, close to the ceiling. There was a hole by the corner which he had to use as a toilet. There was no water to flush it down. The cell guard had told him that on Sunday morning someone would come to do that. For the first time he wished for his father’s influence – he knew if his father was alive he would not be in such appalling conditions.
He covered his face with his hands and recalled long ago when he used to have beautiful dreams, dreams as lovely as the colours of a rainbow. He used to own the world. He used to think no harm would ever come to him – but his father had ruined his life and stolen his innocence. He knew that it was the Chief who had made him what he had become – a murderer, awaiting conviction.
The cell door opened and a police officer led him into an empty room. Soon after he sat down, a young man walked in. He looked up to behold Ogiji, his friend. Ogiji’s face was full of agony. He stood, staring at his friend, the man he revered and worshipped, the man who had made his future bright and took care of his family – he wondered what kind of spirit had eaten up his soul.
‘I thought you would look worse than this,’ Ogiji said. ‘I got a flight home as soon as I heard the news.’
‘I haven’t showered. I defecate into a hole that is almost full. I sleep on a tattered mattress. How much worse would you have me look?’ He tried to laugh. ‘Thanks for coming.’
‘They have been saying you are sick. Coughing blood. What is it?’
‘I don’t know. They say it might be serious, but who knows. The doctors are not very concerned with prisoners.’
Ogiji nodded. He fidgeted a little, and then looked directly into Donaldo’s eyes. ‘Did you kill Adeline?’ he asked with a stern face.
Donaldo was silent, then nodded. ‘I understand how you must feel—’
‘You know nothing about how I feel!’ Ogiji erupted. He looked around the room. He had tipped the police officer so that he would leave them alone for as long as they wanted. ‘You are a monster. Like your father. I thought you hated him, his wickedness. Now I know you’re a witch! Human eater! That is what you are!’
Donaldo’s eyes welled with tears. He wiped them away with the back of his hand.
‘Donaldo, that girl loved you, man! She gave you all she had. Her lovely heart, oh Donaldo, how she loved you and you killed her. How could you? And the others? How many people did you kill? You are being detained for killing Adeline and your father. How many more, eh?’
Donaldo said nothing.
‘You can’t talk because you have nothing to tell me.’
‘My friend, there is evil in every man’s heart.’
Ogiji sighed and rubbed his temples. ‘Why did you kill that girl, Donaldo? She will never forgive you.’
‘Do you think I need forgiveness? I need death. I am scared but I wish I would die before I am convicted. I long to meet her.’
Ogiji began to walk out of the room. At the door he turned and said to his friend, ‘You shouldn’t have killed that girl!’ The echoes of the words reverberated. He felt like painting echoes. As he was led back into his cell, it came. Total darkness.
Miss Spencer zipped up the last of the four huge suitcases on the floor of her room at Ishieke. Looking into Donaldo’s eyes on the TV screen, the way the Evangelist looked at her, she could not bear to stay with the family. Memories were building a skyscraper in her mind, driving her crazy. Since Adeline’s disappearance she had cried every night, wishing she had defended the girl more against her father. Sometimes when she turned on the television she would see a telecast of the Evangelist, talking about holiness and purity and generosity. She could no longer stomach the hypocrisy.
When the last of her belongings were packed, she left the house and got into the taxi that would take her to the seaport at Calabar from where she would get to Limbe in Southern Cameroon – home.
FIFTY
-ONE
Sunday, 23rd May 2010
May in London was characterized by showers. Alhaja Amina Zungeru smiled at every passenger she saw as they entered the train, flashing her golden tooth. She made space for the lovely young man who sat beside her – she became shy at how intently he seemed to study her face. She sat quietly, reading Ahdaf Soueif’s book, Map of Love, till the train stopped at Paddington Station.
Alhaja Amina Zungeru did not alight with the other passengers. Blood dripped from her side to the glistening floor of the train. Ahdaf Soueif’s classic novel that she was reading a minute earlier lay on the floor, soaking up some of the blood.
The Evangelist sat inside a large office with Alhaji Damba Tambuwal and Professor Yerima Musa. He realized that Miss Spencer was gone, and he was miserable.
‘Alhaji, I am disappointed in a lot of things; it amazes me that the position held by Chief Amechi should be given to Dr Clark.’
‘Who should it have gone to?’
The Evangelist hesitated. ‘Dr Clark lacks zeal and strength. And I was the closest person to Chief Amechi—’
‘Dr Bode Clark is your senior in the Brotherhood. He has influence. Those are the two things that are considered.’
Professor Musa, who had wanted the position just like the Evangelist, spoke up. ‘I agree with Evangelist Chuba. Dr Clark lacks military will. But I do not agree that the position should have gone to you, Evangelist.’
Chuba was enraged. ‘Things are ruined now. Everything we planned. I have lost more than anyone else. I lost a daughter, I lost my brother. All in two weeks. Now my wife is dead. I am a devastated man.’
‘We all have paid a price, Evangelist,’ Alhaji Tambuwal reminded him.
‘What price did you pay? And this one here – we are aware, Professor, that you betrayed the Brotherhood—’
‘Betrayal is not a new thing in the Brotherhood. I was just protecting my people.’
‘You deserve to pay for this. Everyone deserves to pay just like I did—’
Professor Musa was angered by the threat. ‘Evangelist Chuba, you think you deserve the position as closest to the Chief, your good friend? Perhaps you are not aware that it was your friend, the late Chief, who influenced the decision for the sacrifice of your daughter in the first place.’ The Professor’s words hit the Evangelist so hard that his mouth fell open, but no words came out of it. He gawped at the man.
‘What?’ Alhaji Tambuwal asked.
‘Yes. So you see, there is no punishment for betrayal when it is in the interests of all. It takes a strong leader to recognize and appreciate that in this Order.’
The Evangelist rose. ‘So I have been made to take the fall for everyone. I conveyed the weapons twice, from Chad and from Mali to Nigeria. Twice. It was a big risk. I did that magnanimously for the Brotherhood… for our cause. Yet I was betrayed. I lost everything, my daughter, my brother at the hands of Malik Hassan. Yet I was betrayed.’
‘Calm down, Evangelist,’ Alhaji Tambuwal implored.
‘Don’t tell me to calm down! What happened to JMJ? You people in the North gained power and resources and took it for yourselves while people like us took the fall for you—’
‘Evangelist,’ Professor Musa said, ‘JMJ is on its own now. Sheikh Seko is a man on his own. We have learnt that he wasn’t doing this for the sake of Islam in the North. He was fighting for himself – he is an egotist, drunk on power and intoxicated by dreams and visions of greatness. There is no negotiating with him now, we have given him too much power and information. Kai!’
Alhaji Tambuwal added, ‘He was the one who ordered the murder of Sheikh Ibrahim. We do not know who is next.’
‘Spare me that—’
The Professor stood up and walked over to the Evangelist. ‘You claim to be holy now, eh? You claim to be the only good one, eh? “Professor Yerima Musa betrayed the Brotherhood and saved the President from impeachment. Sheikh Seko abandoned the plot and is killing everyone. The Sacred Order made me sacrifice my family?” What about you? What about your people?’ His voice towered over the Evangelist in his rage. ‘You deceived us to establish a terrorist organization in the North. In our own land! You had us use our religion in order to destroy it! Your plots are killing our people, men, women and children. Alhaji Umar Hassan, Alhaji Abu Rabiu Mukhtar, Sheikh Kabiru Ibrahim… name them, we lose our lives and property in thousands and millions… yet you dare open your rotten mouth to talk about your miserable prostitute of a daughter and criminal of a brother.’
The Evangelist grabbed the Professor by the collar and threw him to the floor.
‘I will kill you! I swear!’ he screamed.
Alhaji Tambuwal separated them.
‘To hell with you!’ Professor Yerima Musa screamed back.
It was late in the evening in Cameroon.
Miss Spencer hadn’t told her daughter why she had returned to Limbe with all her things. Her daughter Mary had thought that it was her usual annual visit but was surprised to see her carrying so much luggage. Mary saw her mother twice a year – when she spent a month in Cameroon and when Mary visited Nigeria to spend two or three weeks at Ishieke.
That night, as millions of people all over the world watched and listened to the telecast of Evangelist Chris Chuba’s sermon, Miss Spencer sat transfixed, her eyes capturing and drinking him in with hatred and anguish and guilt, her heart bleeding, her ears soaking in his words.
I see the illuminations of God. I converse with the supreme beings because I am a holy man. Amen! I had a happy family, but Satan ruined it. My wife could not bear the death of our daughter, and she succumbed to heart failure. But I am the prophet and messenger of the Almighty. Nothing will daunt me… with holiness, purity and prayer we shall win the war against sin, against evil and hatred and corruption and unrest all over the world. Against terrorism…
As Carol Spencer watched the Evangelist on television, she recalled many years back when the Evangelist was a young student in Yaoundé. They were so much in love. When he graduated he never visited her again until she sold all she had and journeyed to his Sanctuary in Nigeria and found him. He offered her the position she had occupied ever since and made her swear to keep their affair a secret and in return all her siblings in Cameroon and Mary would have the best education.
Miss Spencer’s eyes blinked several times, as they filled with tears. She thought of the secrets she kept, all the times she had ignored the Evangelist’s abuse of his wife. And now she had failed Adeline. Every time she closed her eyes all she could see was Adeline, her darling Adeline. She felt dizzy and ill. She began to see the television appear in seven places. Her forehead ached so much till she fell to the ground, and passed out. When she came to, she walked out of the front door into the street, tears streaming down her face, the world a blur. Some people shouted as she stepped into the busy road. She closed her eyes and saw Adeline’s face before the truck hit her.
FIFTY-TWO
Monday, 24th May 2010
Ogiji and Madam Vero were visiting Donaldo in hospital. It was early but the hospital was surrounded by press; they had been camped outside since Donaldo had been admitted the day before when he had collapsed.
The doctor informed them that Donaldo’s kidneys had failed, that he had allowed his kidneys to deteriorate without treatment.
‘How bad is it?’ Ogiji asked.
‘It is very bad. Seems he was taking some self-medication which was making him even more ill. The side effects of the drugs only worsened his condition. We suspect that he had been experiencing some symptoms for some time now and ignored these signs.’
‘Will he survive?’
Madam Vero interrupted. ‘Of course he will. Doctor?’
‘We have to be honest with you: without a transplant very soon, he will not survive. We have a call out but the chances of finding a match in Nigeria in time…’
Madam Vero fell off her chair and sprawled on the floor, sobbing. Ogiji and the doctor ran to her side and placed her carefu
lly back on the chair. The doctor called a nurse to bring her some water.
‘What can we do now?’ Ogiji asked him.
‘There is very little to do but wait. We are doing the best we can here. I advise you see him, keep his spirits up. My nurse will take you to him when you are ready.’
With that the doctor smiled and left Ogiji and Madam Vero to wait for the nurse. Madam Vero clutched on to Ogiji and wept.
Later that evening, Evangelist Chuba was dressed in jeans and a polo shirt. He wore a fez-cap. He sat in his hotel room, awaiting a phone call. He kept looking at the phone.
A young nurse came out of the nurses’ restroom. She met a police detective at the reception being given directions to Donaldo’s ward. He said he was assigned to guard Donaldo. She agreed to take the detective to him – the last guard had been called away and no one had been to Donaldo’s ward since. She felt sorry for the young man; when she last checked on him, his lips were black like her mother’s kitchen pot in the village. His face was swollen and his cheeks looked like a football. His eyes were red and he rarely spoke.
The nurse felt goose bumps on her skin as soon as she entered Donaldo’s ward with the detective behind her. She hurried to the bed where his swollen body was. She was scared to call his name. As she trembled she felt a shadow envelop her. She stared in his eyes. They were wide open. Fiendish.
As the Evangelist sat waiting, his phone rang.
‘Sir… The target is already dead.’
Evangelist Chuba was disappointed and furious. ‘Are you sure he is dead?’
‘Yes, Sir. I’m up there now, he has just been confirmed dead.’
‘Jesus Christ! I wanted to bring about the death of that dullard. Those Satans. The jihadists. They got to that idiot before me. May Satan receive his soul in hell!’
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