by Terry Morgan
CHAPTER 33
"At least 16 police officers in Nigeria have been killed in an ambush by a local militia outside Kano, officials have said. They were on their way to arrest the leader of an outlawed Islamic group linked to Boko Haram when gunmen opened fire, a State spokesman told CNN.
"The state police chief said that they were forcing local villagers to swear an oath of allegiance to the group and that, besides the 16 dead, 17 officers were still missing.
"One source at the hospital where the bodies were taken told CNN that many more policemen were killed in the attack and the number of dead could rise.
"Nigeria's President has also cut short a visit to Kenya to oversee the response to the latest violence.
"American citizens are reminded of the warnings that are in place for those travelling or working in the areas concerned."
The CNN report on the Embassy TV was a timely, last minute reminder to Larry Brown as he finished speaking to Kevin Parker and prepared to go the airport to catch the plane to Kano. Having just spoken to Kevin in England, Larry had been in no mood to abandon his plans but knew he would stand out like the affluent American doctor he was if he wore a suit and tie and carried a brief case. Instead, he changed into a pair of worn jeans and plain tee shirt and stuffed everything he might need for an overnight stay into a back pack.
The plane had been almost empty and the airport unexpectedly quiet as Larry arrived. But security was tight and police were on patrol inside and outside the terminal building. Once outside, Larry shopped around for a taxi driver who he could hire for what remained of the day and into the evening if necessary.
"Jonathan" looked the sort he could trust. The young man wore a clean, blue shirt a pair of shoes with the laces tied and a good smile on his face. His car, a Toyota, also looked as if it may recently have been given a wash.
"Where to, sah?"
"Kofar Wambai Road," Larry said, settling himself in the passenger seat next to Jonathan. "Start one end, drive along it and I'll tell you when to stop."
Larry didn't, though, anticipate having to get out and push-start the taxi. But, with the help of an armed policeman, the car eventually fired. Once moving, and with Jonathan's air-conditioning barely working, Larry tried opening the side window only for a truck to blow a cloud of blue exhaust in at him. So started Larry's second experience of travelling around Kano.
The day was hot, dry and still and this time the upside down, plastic banner advertising the Kofi Clinic hung limply outside the door. But the door itself was open.
Larry got out of the taxi, told Jonathan to wait and stood looking at the clinic again. It was the middle building of a row of three. All were single storey with identical, flaking, pale blue paint as if owned or rented out by one person. Whatever had happened in the adjacent, vacant premises was unclear. They were covered in Arabic graffiti but looked as if they might once have been repair shops or perhaps something to do with the local shoe making industry. It was hardly a place for a private medical clinic. The only other change from Larry's last visit a few days before was the wrecked car. Already covered in a fine layer of dust, it had probably once been a Peugeot. It now stood on its axles, its windows gone, its engine gone, its dash board and steering wheel gone - everything was gone except the body. No doubt that would also disappear soon.
But the narrow side street was busier than it had been on his first visit. Three local Hausa men, Moslems in long white gowns sat in a group on broken, wooden chairs next to the car wreck while motorcycles, dusty cars, and pedestrians jostled to pass the parked taxi. Jonathan sat inside his taxi and watched as the men watched Larry get out and look around. They watched him stand outside the clinic doorway and then venture just a few steps inside. Then they watched him come out and stand by the taxi as if he was leaving.
One of the men got up. Larry waited as the tall, almost black-skinned man with grey stubble and wearing a deeply embroidered cap came over.
"Yessah," said the man as if he might be able to help give directions or information on something.
"Sannu," said Larry which was the only Hausa word he knew. "I'm looking for the Doctor who ran this clinic," said Larry trying to conceal his American accent as much as possible and hoping the man might understand."
"Me ya sa," said the man, "Why? Why you want this likita? Bastad."
Larry thought he'd heard bastard so took it as a good start.
"Doctor Mustafa? It was his clinic."
"No good, no good, bastad man. Gone."
"Where?" asked Larry convinced now they were already talking about the same man."
"Not Islam, bastad man." The man's friends then wandered over. Then two more, also wearing long white gowns who happened to be passing by, stopped.
Larry leaned casually on the taxi's open door.
"I'm looking for Doctor Mustafa," said Larry, slightly louder for the benefit of the gathering crowd.
"Gone away," said one," No-one seen him since clinic closed down, man. Why you want to know?"
Larry wasn't sure what to say at first. "Was he at Dala Hill?" he asked.
They looked at one another. "You mean on top of the hill, man?" said one and two others giggled.
"Or near-by, I'm not too familiar with the city."
"You American?"
"Yes," admitted Larry. "I'm a doctor."
"Then you're too late, man. Pity you not come before." The man, younger than the others and clearly with a better command of English, seemed to beckon Larry with his head to come closer. Larry walked a few steps towards him and heard Jonathan in the taxi behind shut the door that Larry had been leaning on.
"You want a coke, man?" the man said in a quiet voice. "No beer here," he then whispered as Larry got closer.
"Sure," Larry said.
"Come," said the younger man and grabbed Larry by his shirt sleeve. He then turned and said something in Hausa over his shoulder to the other men.
Larry followed the younger man.
"My name's Larry Brown," said Larry thinking it polite and possibly safer to introduce himself, "Doctor Larry Brown."
"Abdouleye," said the Nigerian and turned to shake Larry's hand. "Come."
Abdouleye started to lead Larry along the side road back towards Kofar Wambai Road. "You been to Kano before?" he asked.
"Yes, once," said Larry, "Just a few days ago."
"You like this fucking hole?"
"It's interesting," said Larry as they passed a stall selling sweet corn and edged their way past diners and others standing nearby.
Abdouleye stopped at another stall. "Coke or Nescafe?" he asked.
"Coke," said Larry and waited as two cans were produced and handed over.
"400 naira," said Abdouleye. Larry handed over the money and followed Abdouleye once more. They kept walking, drinking from the cans as they went.
"So was Doctor Mustafa anywhere near Dala?"
"Yes."
"Was he living there?"
"He opened an office."
"An office?"
"Yes, his clinic was down there," he pointed towards the Kofi Clinic
"How long was he here?"
"About a year, come and go, come and go."
"Did he have many patients?"
Abdouleye shrugged.
"What do you know about him?"
Abdouleye stopped, pulled Larry to the side and into the shade of another stall. "Why you want to know? What are you doing here? It's not safe you know, even for a black American. Everyone can see you're not Nigerian."
"Yeh, I know," said Larry, "I didn't come here for my safety. I just want to know why this Doctor disappeared, where he is and what he was doing. I've heard stories and I don't like what I've heard. OK?"
Abdouleye looked straight at him for the first time. He pushed his cap back and scratched his head. Larry estimated he was about thirty, Moslem, educated.
"Well known, but no-one says anything. Everyone stays dumb. Typical Nigeria." Abdouleye said.
; "What's well known?"
"As a Doctor - he was no good."
"What happened?"
Abdouleye paused as if unsure whether to go on. Then: "He advertised for men to test a new medicine. Could earn a lot of Naira."
"No women?"
"Just men. He seemed to prefer poorer Hausa men from large households where the man is head. Money would go to the wives and children."
"Then what?"
"By all accounts they started to suffer with a cold or influenza but the symptoms worsened. He said they might need to go to hospital for more checks."
"Did many people get paid?"
"Sure. Probably several hundred, especially from the poorer, old sections of town."
"Then what?"
"Some got sick with a fever and coughing. The doctor said it was normal and they'd now need to go to hospital for the checks. More money was given."
"Then what?"
"Men didn't come back. The families went to his office but he was not always there. For a while he told them not to worry - the men were in hospital and still being checked. More money to the family."
"Then?"
"He disappeared. The families didn't know what happened."
Larry scratched his own head.
"And what are the police doing?"
"Nothing."
And the State Government - Health authority?"
"Nothing."
"Why is that?"
Abdouleye looked around him. The area where they were standing was close to the junction with Kofar Wambai Road. It was noisy and filled with cars, trucks, people walking or on motorcycles - the air smelled of smoke, dust and exhaust fumes. Arabic graffiti was everywhere. Arab signs dominated over Hausa or English.
"People are scared, man. They don't say anything. We've got a lot of trouble here. Last night - you saw the news? I'm a Moslem but things aren't good." Abdouleye, finished his can of Coke and slung it towards an overflowing trash bin but it bounced into the gutter. He watched it roll.
"Listen, man," he turned back towards Larry, "I don't know what you want or why you're here but everyone is shit scared. People don't report things any more - they just spread rumours."
"And the rumour is?" asked Larry.
"You want to know why I pulled you away from that crowd just now? One rumour is that Doctor Mustafa, so-called, was an American working for the Nigerian government. Rumour is they were testing a drug to use on terrorists. And why do they say that? A white man was also seen with the doctor six months ago."
Larry almost choked on the last few drops of his can of Coke. Abdouleye was still talking.
"But that wouldn't be a surprise would it? When you have the leader of Boko Haram saying they enjoy killing anyone that God commands them to kill - the way they enjoy killing chickens and rams - that's music to the ears of some people. But it's a declaration of war to others.
"American forces have already lost the struggle on the ground in Iraq, Afghanistan. They know they can't win and they can't afford to continue. That's why the West is reluctant to intervene anymore. The Nigerian army is struggling, the Nigerian police are struggling - insurgents are everywhere. They're coming in like marching ants, man - the Magreb, Chad, Libya. The place is a mess. The economy is a mess. Who in their right mind would invest here? And it's very easy for insurgents to recruit thousands more. If I was desperate enough, poor enough with no hope of a job and I was angry enough and put no value upon my own life let alone that of others, I'd probably think about it. So, perhaps the army and police are trying something different. If you can't shoot the fuckers, make them sick. That's the rumour."
"But why test it out on innocent Nigerians?" asked Larry. "It doesn't make sense."
"Yeh, I agree. But do you want to try quell a rumour?"
Standing in the shade of the food stall selling ground corn buns and pepper soup, with a dozen or more people standing or sitting around and others trying to listen to what was being said in English to the black man in jeans and tee shirt who clearly didn't look Nigerian, it was apparent to Larry that Abdouleye was no longer comfortable. Neither was Larry.
He thanked Abdouleye. "OK,," he said, "I get the message. Thanks for the help."
Abdouleye looked him in the eye and nodded.
"You speak good English," said Larry as they parted.
"Yeh," he replied, "I'm a doctor, too. I studied medicine in England."
