Nicely done......waiting for the next episodes...... Grt job

My dear aunty virgo,please i am contesting for miss nairaland and i would love for you to vote for me. the first stage took place yesterday and i came 3rd. second stage is today. please i need more voters,thats why i'm appealing to you and fellow readers to vote jennimma. i would post the link here soon. thank you for your votes. i love y'll
here is the link www.nairaland.com/1982159/miss-nairaland-december-2014-contest.

Virgo,i'm one of your biggest fans o. Thank you very much

Nmeri17:
oshe!! water and oil co-inhabiting like a couple on a three week honeymoon make the Angela girl no kukuma go carry belle as she no straff her friend with beneFEET and the bobo no gree straff im runs girl. deep calling onto deep hmmmm Virgo na only u waka kam??

Lol. I don't know what to say to this, but thanks for making me smile.

tunery004:
Nicely done......waiting for the next episodes...... Grt job

Thank you.

Jennimma:
My dear aunty virgo,please i am contesting for miss nairaland and i would love for you to vote for me. the first stage took place yesterday and i came 3rd. second stage is today. please i need more voters,thats why i'm appealing to you and fellow readers to vote jennimma. i would post the link here soon. thank you for your votes. i love y'll
here is the link www.nairaland.com/1982159/miss-nairaland-december-2014-contest.

Virgo,i'm one of your biggest fans o. Thank you very much

Okay dear. I will vote when the thread is open for voting.

virgo:


Okay dear. I will vote now.

umm...voting starts by 10am and ends by 6pm,dear

Jennimma:

umm...voting starts by 10am and ends by 6pm,dear

I just realized. Noted now.

EPISODE 7



ANGELA



We are at a police station in a place called Dambatta. The air is hot and humid. The rusty ceiling fan spinning in laborious circles from an equally rusting hook emits the occasional squeak but does nothing for the hot air. I fight the urge to fan my face with my hand for the second time, determined not to lose my composure. Naden is beside me, a silver ballpoint pen twirling between his fingers. He shows none of my discomfort and I can’t help but resent his cool disposition. My shirt is stuck to my back like a second skin and a trickle of sweat begins its journey from the insides of my thighs, tracing a path to my ankle. I squirm in my seat to dislodge the droplet hanging from my ankle and then clasp my hands over my notepad, my eyes temporarily falling on the grainy wood surface of the table exposed by long strips of peeling wood veneer. The floor is bare and dirty with several holes running along its surface. A lone empty sachet of pure water sits undisturbed beside the table. My eyes drift to the stained aqua blue of the walls and I wonder briefly about the cost of rehabilitating the police stations before the sound of dry coughing makes me turn my attention to the somber looking men across the table.

“So you said you picked her up from Nasarawa?”

One of the men, a smallish dark skinned man with a pinched mouth and full unruly eyebrows nods to Naden’s question.

“Ta wuche wurin nan…” the man catches himself and mutters incoherently before continuing in broken English. “Yes, we find her that night on Achaba going to Ungogo.”

“And you offered to take her home, is that right?”

Two of the men nod while their partner, a skinny man with a scar on his upper lip stares blankly at Naden.

“Munyi niyyar raka ta gida ne kawai. She is not talking truth.”

Naden nods. “So there was no form of assault…no rape?”

“No rape,” the smallish man confirms with a nod. “We only help.”

The interview continues for another fifteen minutes. I feel the need to contribute after monitoring the nervous twitching on the right hand of the slim one of the group. I smile at the man.

“Mr. erm….I am sorry, what did you say your name was again?”

“Tanko…Tanko Usman. Corporal Usman.”

I nod and reach for the papers in my folder. I read through the papers in it.

“So you picked her up on the twelfth of November at your checkpoint when she was returning home at night?”

The men exchange glances and then nod together.

“Yes we do.”

“And you took her to …” I lift up the case review paper to find the location of the crime. “Jakara police barracks?”

The men shake their heads this time. The smallish man speaks on behalf of his colleagues, face slack and eyes darting around the station.

“No we don’t.”

I turn the paper toward him.

“Well, according to the Plaintiff’s witness statement on oath, the three of you picked her from Wudil under the pretext of taking her home, took her to the room owned by one of you, and then proceeded to rape her for a period of twenty eight days, sometimes allowing friends to rape her as well.”

The men look confused. They turn their eyes to Naden.

“I not understand,” says the self appointed speaker.

“Angela…”

I turn to see a quizzical expression on Naden’s face.

“These are our clients,” he says, his tone flat and authoritative.

I frown. “And?”

“I will need you to stop trying to intimidate them.”

I scowl. “I am not intimidating anyone. I am just asking questions.”

Naden’s eyes turn speculative but he does not say anything else.

“Can I go back to the interview now?”

I do not wait for his answer. I turn my attention towards the policemen and interrupt their quiet discussion in Hausa.

“Sorry about that.”

I get silence and suspicious glances for all my trouble.

“So you imprisoned…or should I say….detained Miss Hussaina, for a period of twenty eight days until she eventually screamed for help one day, attracting the attention of your neighbour who reported to a senior officer?”

No answer.

I shrug and consult more papers. I lift another one to the men after giving it a quick glance.

“That is the medical report. It shows that the plaintiff suffered several injuries as a result of her ordeal in your hands.”

The men look at Naden again. I feel myself beginning to get annoyed.

“I am talking to you sirs.”

The police men ignore me, content to keep their gazes fixed on the man beside me. The table vibrates under my hand and I turn to see Naden thumping the sheaf of papers in his hand, his lips thinned in a determined line. He lowers the papers back to the table and then rises to his feet.

“Angela, I’d like to talk to you outside.”

I balk at the command and keep myself firmly planted to my seat.

“Angela?”

I incline my head upwards. “Why?”

I get no answer except Naden’s broad back. I watch his receding form disappear through the open doorway of the room with irritation.

Who does he think he is?

The silence in the room forces me to my feet and outside to meet Naden who now has dark shades over his eyes. I shade my eyes from the blinding afternoon sun with my hand and breathe in air heavy with the smell of charcoal and goat droppings. I deliberately keep my eyes on the road beside the station where a donkey is currently dragging a wooden cart piled with firewood and a little boy with wide curious eyes.

“I think you need to let me handle this.”

I cross my arms against my chest.

“And I am supposed to just sit there without saying anything?”

“You are attacking them. We won’t achieve much if you continue to attack them.”

“I am trying to get their side of their story.”

“More like picking holes in their story.”

I drop my arms from my chest and give Naden an incredulous look.

“You buy the nonsense they were feeding us with?”

Naden turns to look at the road as a trailer honks. Two children run past the station, barefoot and happy. They wave at us as they disappear down the dusty path at the end of the road where a cluster of houses sit on dry arid land.

“We represent them Angela,” he says, turning back to me with the same deadpan expression. “It is our duty to find evidence that will help their case.”

“Even if they are lying?”

“Did you read the statements from one of the witnesses about seeing the alleged victim in the company of these men some days after her purported kidnap?”

I remember the document and turn my nose.

“It still changes nothing. Not all witnesses are credible.”

“Just let me handle them. This is a very sensitive case.”

Naden’s statement makes me remember my initial reservations about the case.

Why had my father taken it up? What did he stand to gain?

I cock my head at Naden.

“Because the Inspector General is involved?”

Naden’s left hand goes into his pocket as he draws himself up, “because it is important to your father to win this.”

I have more questions but I know asking Naden will be a waste of time. I spin on my heel without another word and walk back into the derelict building with blue, yellow and green strips painted slapped clumsily on the side of it. There will be other days.



**************************



SOMEWHERE IN EHOR FOREST, EDO STATE



Boma sat on the bed in a corner of the mud hut and smiled at the girl sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest. The girl was young and had an oval smooth face. She was crying at the moment, tears dropping to the bodice of her black floral printed dress. She clutched a phone to her right ear.

“Yes mum…I will…”

She hiccuped and dragged a hand down her face.

“Okay…”

Boma stopped smiling, rose to his feet and approached the bed. He stretched out his right hand and growled.

“Give me the phone.”

The girl extended the phone to him, hand appearing to shake. Boma grabbed the phone.

“You know what to do. Bring the money tomorrow to Iyamu…Textile Mill….or something bad will happen to your daughter. Tomorrow o! Five o’clock sharp.”

Throwing the phone to the bed, Boma climbed into the bed. The girl did not cringe back in fear; neither did she continue her crying. She pressed the heel of both hands to her eyes and stopped the tears. Boma reached a hand out to run a lazy finger along the line of her jaw. She smiled and dragged herself into his lap.

“I hope you are happy now. You made me scare my mother.”

Boma laughed, his eyes glowing with humour and affection.

“You know you are doing this for us, don’t you?”

The girl kissed him and pressed her breasts into his chest.

“I know.”

“Good, because we have spent all the money my brother sent to me.”

They began to kiss, slowly at first and then the sound of dry leaves being crunched under approaching feet broke them apart before they heard the clearing of throat at the doorway. Cletus, Boma’s friend and partner, strolled into the hut, a lopsided grin on his face.

“Na wa for una o! Person no fit leave una for one second before the thing begin hungry una again.”

Lydia, Boma’s recent squeeze and prodigal daughter turned kidnapper’s accomplice beamed brightly at Cletus.

“We were not doing anything.”

Cletus, big boned and hairy, stood by the door and scratched his stomach.

“So how far?”

“I spoke to my mother,” Lydia said, running long fingers through her braided hair. “She will pay the money tomorrow.”

Cletus found another spot on his chin to attack.

“Correct girl,” he said after some seconds of scratching. “I hope say she know how much she suppose send?”

“Twenty million,” Lydia answered with a shrug. “She will pay it.”

“Correct girl,” Cletus announced again. He turned away from them towards the window, head angled low as he checked the sky. “Night don dey fall,” he said, turning back to them. “When we suppose leave this place?”

Boma checked his newly acquired Patek Phillip wristwatch for the time.

“Seven. Make sky dark small.”

Cletus hung around and discussed soccer.

“Mehn you for see wetin Arsenal do Sunderland today. See as Giroud just dey score goals anyhow.”

Boma raised an eyebrow. He was an ardent Chelsea fan who loved to poke fun at his Arsenal supporting partner in crime. “No be just Sunderland dem play? Why dem no score when dem face Bayern na?”

“Comot dia, if no be dat red card wey dem give us, we for win that match.”

The men argued, bragging about the match records of their respective clubs. Lydia sat in the background, a faraway look in her eyes. She was thinking about Boma’s next victim. She had an uncle. He was a rich politician who owed she and her brothers for taking their father’s land. It was payback time.

Later that evening, when the sky had darkened considerably, Boma, Cletus and Lydia walked out of the forest, using the trail that led to the expressway. Lydia wore a wig that covered most of her face, a shapeless dress hiding her slim figure. They found their way to The Sage Hotel in GRA. There, Boma called his mother in the bathroom and assured her of his safety. He hung up when she began to cry and beg him to return back to Bayelsa. He stood for several minutes after the call, head hanging with remorse. After leaving Bayelsa, he had vowed to abandon the life that caused his mother pain. Then he had met Lydia and his plans had changed.

Boma made another vow.

After this operation, I will stop.



********************

UPSTAIRS THE OYELOWO MANSION



Damilola Oyelowo sat in the middle of her bed, her phone beside her as she conducted a rather difficult conversation with her lawyer. He didn't seem to understand her recent change of plans.

“Why?” he asked for the second time, his voice shrill as it came out of the phone speaker. “Are you sure you are making the right decision?”

Damilola sighed and asked herself the same question.

Are you making the right decision Damilola?

“I just going to call him this afternoon but I was caught up in a meeting with a client.”

“Don’t bother,” Damilola said, stretching her leg in front of her. “I will handle things myself.”

Barrister Braithwaite, Damilola’s lawyer and friend tried to convince her not to abandon her plans to divorce her husband but Damilola’s mind was already made up. They said their goodbyes not long after. Damilola lay on her bed, looking at the ceiling for several minutes. Even though she approached hope with caution, she admitted to herself that her husband had changed. Just last night, he had sent a box of expensive Swiss chocolates through his niece to her. These thoughts continued to occupy Damilola’s mind until someone knocked on her door.

“Who is it?”

“Me.”

Damilola pulled the robe of her nightdress tighter around her body. It was her husband.

What did he want?

She opened the door. Martin Oyelowo stood before her in black cotton pajamas, his face contorted in a tight scowl.

“I am sleeping here.”

“Sleeping here?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Martin’s scowl deepened.

“Because this is my house?”

Damilola’s heart picked a beat. The look in her husband’s eyes…it had been forever since he looked at her that way. Damilola’s hold on her door grew slack but she was reluctant to give in without a fight.

“This is my room.”

“Is this my first time of sleeping here?”

“No...”

“So, open the door.”

Damilola wanted to remind her husband that the only time he had passed the night in her room was the day she woke up to find him sleeping in the sofa across her bed but she changed her mind and released the door. Her husband brushed past her with self assured strides and made for her bed. She watched as he claimed her favourite spot. As soon as he made himself comfortable, he faced her with a curious frown.

“How long do you plan to stand there?”

The question forced Damilola out of the limbo she had temporarily fallen into. She hid her uneasiness and walked confidently to the bed. She climbed into it, turned her back to her husband and pulled the covers to her chest. Ten years had passed since she shared a room with her husband. She did not know what to expect. Damilola Oyelowo slept fitfully that night.



*********************


NADEN



As Ahmed drones on about beautiful parks and traditional artifacts, I find myself still thinking about the interview with the policemen at Dambatta. After confronting Angela during the interview, she had gone back to harassing the officers as soon as we resumed the interview again. I make a mental note to talk to her father about her behaviour as we pull a stop before the hotel gates.

“So, we will see tomorrow,” I tell Ahmed after he unloads the attaché case holding case files from the boot of his car.

I pull out the room key from the side of the case and begin to open the door when I realize that Angela is not behind me. I look back to find her discussing with Ahmed. I wonder briefly what their discussion is about before closing the door behind me. The air in the room is clean and welcoming. I abandon the case in a corner of the room and walk to the bathroom. I am under the shower in seconds. I stand under needles of ice cold water and forget annoying females and cases that confuse me.



************************


ANGELA



The sound of the shower running is the first thing that greets me when I walk into the room. I rave silently against the management’s refusal to move me to another room. It had been a male receptionist this time, but nothing I had said or done could convince him that sharing a room with Naden wasn’t something I wanted. I had gotten nothing but apologies and a flash of perfect white molars.

I am sorry but we are overbooked. Sorry….sorry. I wish I could help…sorry.

I kick off my shoes and dump myself on the bed.

“Stupid hotel.”

I sigh and reach to massage my feet.

“God, I miss Lagos,” I moan to no one in particular. “I can’t live like this.”

“Me neither.”

I abandon my feet and turn sharply to the man behind me. Clad in nothing but a thick white towel that hangs low from his waist, he tosses the blue shirt and black trouser he had been wearing only a few minutes to the floor and turns to scowl at me.

“You will need to stop crossing me so often. I can’t put up with insubordination Angela. I won’t put up with it.”

The height disadvantage and the irritation of being talked down at forces me to my feet.

“And I won’t put up with your gagging me unnecessarily either. I am a lawyer not your secretary.”

Naden stares at me for a while. I do my best to ignore the droplets of water that appear golden against his well defined body.

“Do you want to go back to Lagos?”

The question is quite unexpected. I look at him suspiciously.

“Why?”

“I am not going to answer that,” Naden says, turning his back to me as he searches inside one of his bags for something. Minutes later, he stops his search, white T-shirt and black check pyjamas trousers in his hand.

His left hand travel to the knot on his waist and then he pauses to look me straight in the eyes.

“Excuse me?”

I leave the room with my head held high up. In the bathroom, I stop before the mirror to remind myself of the things I had learned today.

The police officers at Dambatta had something to hide.

My father had taken up a low profile case for suspicious reasons.

Naden disliked me just as much as I disliked him.

Naden had a nice body.



********************

NADEN



I am still tensed long after she has gone to the bathroom for her shower. I decide to take a stroll to deal with the tension. Outside the air is cool and I drag in several lungfuls of it as I walk past several room doors in our section of the hotel. Some lights are still turned on and I see shadows move purposefully behind curtains. I keep walking until I reach the end of the shrub lined pathway before turning back again. I repeat the walk several times, my head working out solutions to the impasse with Angela.

In the end, I decide that sending her back to Lagos is the best thing to do.

Feeling considerably lighter, I retrace my steps back to the room. I am a little disappointed to see that the lights are still on when I reach the door.

If only she were already asleep.

I draw in a deep breath and prepare myself for the unfriendly air in the room. I push the door open and freeze for a moment.



********************


ANGELA



I grab the falling neckline of my night dress but it is too late. The surprise and discomfort on Naden’s face means that he has missed nothing. I want to kick myself. I should have known he would return back to the room. Now the lump I had imagined was under my breast had magically disappeared, leaving me with an embarrassing situation on my hands. I keep my eyes to the bed and slip the strap of my nightdress back in place.

I catch Naden’s movements from the corner of my eyes as he goes about setting up his make shift bed with several sheets and his pillows. The lights go off soon after and I lie back on the bed, my mortification increasing with every passing second.

What have I done?

I try to sleep away the embarrassment, forcing my eyelids shut until my eyes hurt but nothing works. Things become worse when Naden receives a call from a woman I think is his girlfriend. I listen in the dark to the conversation.

No…not in Lagos…you miss me? Okay….sorry…I don’t know….will call you.

I stop listening at some point.

I think I am going back to Lagos.



********************



NADEN



The image is firmly imprinted on my mind and not even the surprise of hearing from Jewel disturbs the memory of what I had seen a few moments ago. I am irritated at myself.

I should have knocked.

I shake my head in the dark.

This is not working. She has to go back.

Tomorrow morning, I will call Martin Oyelowo and give him a condition.

Call your daughter back or I will resign.



Meaning of Hausa words used in the story.

Ta wuche wurin nan – She passed here

Mu ne kawai ya so ya riki ta gida – We only wanted to talk her home.

virgo:


I just realized. Noted now.

aunty virgo,the voting has started.you can click on the link and vote now

virgo:


Thank you.

U are welcome.... More ink to ur pen or is it more MB to ur fone

aunty virgo and my dear readers,thank u so much for voting for me.we made it to the next round. lets have fun again in the morning...lets win again.

Aunty virgo and my fellow readers,here is the link for today's stage www.nairaland.com/1983548/miss-nairaland-december-2014-contest. Please vote for Jennimma. I trust y'll won't fail me. Thank u so much

Virgo, today is friday na, av bin waiting for updates since morning........ Its quiet unlike u sha, I op u r gud.....
Still waiting............................................................................

Virgo!!!! We are waiting. Please update.

Hello dear aunty virgo and my fellow readers. Today is the grand finale for the Miss Nl contest. Simply click on this link www.nairaland.com/1986755/miss-nairaland-december-2014-contest. And type "i vote jennimma" voting starts by 10am till 6pm. I trust y'all won't fail me,thank you.

Wow! This is becoming more interesting. Phew! I could feel the tension. Nice work,Virgo.

EPISODE 8


THE OYELOWO MANSION


MARTIN OYELOWO’S STUDY



The young doctor left Martin Oyelowo’s study, steps brisk as he closed the door with a firm click. He left his patient looking at the newly delivered containers of diabetes medicine on his desk. He picked up one and read the words on the label.

“Glucovance.”

Martin set the container back on the table. The result of his last test had excited the doctor so that he spent most of the meeting oppressing Martin with his optimism.

This is quite remarkable sir. I don’t know why but things seem to be improving real fast. The hemoglobin test shows your blood sugar is now at seven percent. This is a very positive sign sir…very very positive.

Martin Oyelowo had mixed feelings. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or annoyed by the news that his diabetes was almost cured. He thought about all the plans that he had made and wondered what the future held now that his health was almost restored. Spine ramrod straight and fingers drumming on his table, he closed his eyes for some minutes.

What now?

His eyes flew open. There was also the matter of his divorce and the lawyer that had been the arrowhead of everything.

Tunde Braithwaite.

Law school classmate, former friend and suspected love rival.

He picked his phone and dialed a number. His eyes were narrowed and thoughtful as he waited for the call to be picked.

“Good afternoon sir.”

In his usual manner, Martin Oyelowo ignored the greeting.

“What do you have?”

“He has a retainership with OandO and PPMC.”

The left side of Martin Oyelowo’s face lifted with a small smile….

“Good.”

He ended the call and pulled out a lion head embossed leather bound journal with a gold buckle and the initials MO at the bottom. He leaned back into the soft leather of his high back swivel chair and went through the contents of the journal. He soon found what he was looking for. He reached for his phone again. The latest call was longer than the first and Martin Oyelowo even managed a laugh at the end of the call.

“Thank you Gabriel and tell madam I have not forgotten my promise.”

Reclining back in his chair, Martin allowed himself to feel a small sense of victory. Tunde Braithwaite had been dealt a financial blow, and that was just the beginning. Martin was not in a hurry. He would wait and see what the man would do next. If Barrister Braithwaite continued to chase his wife, he was going for his jugular – his law practice. Martin Oyelowo hated competition, especially competition from former friends who wanted his wife.

Martin watched Channels News afterwards. The news presenter was a young man with a shadow of jet black hair cut close to his scalp, his red stripped tie was tight against his throat as he talked about the just concluded Centenary celebration in Abuja. A photograph of the president smiling broadly as he sat on a cream sofa, hand resting on the top of the sofa and resting on the upper arm of a man dressed in white flowing robes was in the background and captioned with the words,

President Jonathan and Gambian president Yahya Jammeh.

A call from Yinusa Ali distracted Martin from the news. He lifted the phone off his desk and leaned away from the desk to speak to his friend.

“I did not see you at the club yesterday,” Yinusa said, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “What happened?”

Martin recalled the previous evening and his lack of enthusiasm for the usual boat club meetings with his friend. Somehow, he had found himself content to sit back in his study and count the hours until the next visit to his wife’s room. These days, he was beginning to prefer the soft mattress of his wife’s bed. Martin forgot about the phone call and spent seconds worrying about his recently acquired taste for sleeping in his wife’s room.

Maybe it was her bed.

Maybe he would order for one as soft as hers for himself.

Maybe

“Martin, are you there?”

“Yes.”

“So why are you scarce at the club these days?”

“I had some work to do.”

Martin’s statement wasn’t a lie. He had been spent nights going through the file of their case in Kano and figuring ways to win the case without soiling his hard earned reputation. The case was a sensitive one, no thanks the civil rights organizations determined to milk the fanfare generated by the case for all it was worth.

“Have you spoken to your people in Kano?”

“No. I will do that this afternoon.”

Yinusa Ali sighed loudly, generating static in the earpiece of his friend’s phone.

“We are already behind schedule Martin.”

It was Martin Oyelowo’s turn to sigh.

“Well, we are not exactly sleeping here.”

The Inspector General of police paused for some seconds before continuing,

“The president called me yesterday and asked questions about the case. He said he is under pressure…you know with the school killings in Yobe and the attacks in Adamawa, and all that. So he does not like the negativity this case is generating.”

Martin Oyelowo remembered reading something in the papers about the controversy the rape case was causing on Twitter. He felt vaguely annoyed by the fact that a few people with too much time on their hands could cause so much trouble just by writing whatever caught their fancy on a social network.

“I will see what I can do Yinusa. Leave everything to me.”

“Okay.”

Martins Oyelowo called Naden tare George next. As he listened to the phone ring, he looked sideways to check the table clock sitting on his desk. Eight o’clock. They still had one hour until the court sat at Nasarawa.

“Good morning sir.”

“I guess you are ready for the case today.”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. Is there anything you would like to discuss?”

“Yes sir.”

“What?”

“I want to handle the case myself.”

Martin Oyelowo frowned. “Why?”

Naden Tare George, current senior partner of Oyelowo and Co did not answer the question immediately, leaving his boss with a frown that grew darker by the minute.

“I am waiting.”

“We are having difficulties working together.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes sir.”

“I see.”

Martin Oyelowo cleared his throat and the frown on his face. He leaned to his desk and laid his hand flat on a white flat file, a speculative gleam in his eyes.

“Who do you work for?”

There was another pause at the other end of the phone. Martin Oyelowo smiled. And waited.

“You sir.”

“Good,” Martin said with a nod, one hand lifting the cover of the file to expose the papers inside. “As your boss, I have given the directive that you and Angela work on this case. I don’t care about your squabbles. All I want is results. Is that clear?”

“Yes sir.”

Martin made to end the call but Naden’s throat clearing stopped him.

“Anything else?”

“Yes sir,” Naden said, his tone low and measured.

Martin’s smile grew wide.

Naden was unrelenting in a way that reminded him of himself. It was what had drawn him to the young man the first day he had met him at the Federal High Court in Ikoyi. Naden had faced him from the opposite side of the court room, tall, uncompromising and brimming with brilliance as he argued in defence of the man Martin was prosecuting…. In him, Martin had seen the son he never had. As soon as he left the court that day, he had begun investigations into Naden’s background. He was determined to have Naden work for him. The young man had steel in him. He was different from that spineless Reuben. Martin Oyelowo had fantasies of a third generation successor. A grandson who would inherit his wealth.

He went back to the conversation with Naden.

“What?”

“We might have to move out of this place.”

“The Prince Hotel?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because we have been…sharing a room and it is not quite convenient.”

Martin’s brows dipped.

“That is your excuse?”

“Yes sir.”

“Well, it is not enough,” Martin said with a shrug. “Find a way to make it convenient.”

Martin Oyelowo did not wait for an answer. He ended the call and dropped the phone back to his desk. He began to read the papers in front of him. The papers contained interesting information on the man he had just spoken to.

Naden Tare George had an interesting family.


************************

bump

[b]Its happening live this weekend. Catch the
conversation live on Nairaland as our
popular programme 'Nairaland celebrity
interview' kicks off with more force.
Guess who we are bringing this weekend.
She is not story writer, neither is she a
poet. She is a Queen, our Queen. A beauty to behold.
I present to you, the most beautiful girl on
Nairaland. Miss Jennimma, winner Miss
Nairaland beauty contest 2014.
Do you have questions for the damsel?
Do you want to know the secret behind
her breathtaking beauty?
Do you want to know more about her? The phases of listening in which we enjoy the beauty
of God's handiwork on the beauty queen, her response to such factors as the
simplicity, balance, and proportion of her speeches,
and the eloquence of their her pure heart, then why don't u all fall or rather troop in and let's bombard the beauty pageant with questions. And the observable characteristics of her personalities including age, gender, educational level, group
affiliations, and socio-cultural background we ought to take not of when adapting to our interviewee.... Let's make it lively and I'm sure you all have a lot of questions
This weekend, join us and ask your
questions. Everything will be answered by
our guest.
Date: Saturday 15-11-2014
Time: 2pm-3pm
Venue: http://
www.nairaland.com/1952165/weekly-
interview-thread-subsidiary-
dammysammytv/9#27964171.
Missing the action is like carrying over a
course! Lol.... U can't afford to miss it like "Papa AJasco"[/b]

Aunty Virgo,whatever is keeping you from updating,i release you from it now! Please dear,come and update. We miss you.

aunty virgo hope all is well?

Seun:
bump

Seun, your anti-spam bot can be pretty frustrating.

Jennimma:
Aunty Virgo,whatever is keeping you from updating,i release you from it now! Please dear,come and update. We miss you.

Sorry dear. I am back again.

Mutaino7:
aunty virgo hope all is well?

All is well. Sorry for the silence.

NADEN


The court is full and the air condensed with different odours. At the other end of the room, several faces are turned towards the voice of the lead lawyer representing the Plaintiff. I watch the lawyer adjust his slipping bi-focals as he bends to pick some papers from the table before him.

“My Lord….according to section two eight two, subsection one of the Penal Code which defines rape…” the sound of papers shuffling fills the air as the lawyer consults the papers in his hand. “A man is said to commit rape who save in the case referred to in subsection two has sexua –”

“Barrister Shuaibu,” the judge interrupts, looking bored and unimpressed. “I can assure you that we know the provisions of that section. Kindly proceed with your submission please.”

There is loud snickering somewhere at the back of the court where a group of lawyers who are waiting for their cases to be called up have gathered to amuse themselves at the expense of fumbling lawyers. Barrister Shuaibu blinks at the judge as if unable to believe his ears. I almost feel sorry for the man. The last twenty minutes had been difficult for him as the judge had found reasons to interrupt his argument as a result of wrongly used precedents.

“Sir?”

The snickering becomes full blown laughter this time. The judge, balding and missing two incisors gives Barrister Shuaibu a pitying look.

“Are you sure you are ready for this case?”

Barrister Shuaibu runs his left hand across his forehead and nods.

“Yes sir, I am.”

“I am not sure,” Judge Abdullahi says, adjusting his wig. “You have been wasting our time since we started. That is not the sign of a prepared lawyer.”

“I am sorry sir.”

The court is silent as the judge flicks a lazy hand in the direction of the flustered lawyer.

“Go on.”

Giving a low bow so that his head almost touches the table, Barrister resumes his argument, his delivery careful and eyes following every emotion on the judge’s face. I listen and take notes. Soon it is time for witness examination. The police officers are led from the back of the Court and led to the witness box. Barrister Shuaibu leads the examination, peppering his questions with several I-put-it-to-you.

In your statement on Oath, you said on the night of the twelfth day of December two thousand and thirteen, you picked Miss Hussaina up because you wanted to take her home. I put it you that you are lying and that your motive for picking her that night was to rape her.

You said she consented to the attack. I put it to you that this is false.

I put it to you….

…..I put it to you.

I get tired of the bullying and rise to my feet to challenge Barrister’s Shuaibu’s mode of examination.

“Objection.”

I turn to the judge.

“The questions are argumentative and do not seek to elicit any new facts my Lord. Counsel to the Plaintiff is wearying the Court by making the witness repeat facts already known to the Court.”

“My…my Lord…” Barrister Shuaibu stutters, looking baffled. “I don’t understand Counsel to the Defendants’ position. I am only trying to establish the truthfulness of the witness’s story. Most of the facts mentioned in their statements are questionable.”

The judge stops looks up from what he had been writing to shake his head at Barrister Shuaibu.

“He is right. Objection sustained.”

Shoulders drooping, Barrister Shuaibu announces the end of his Cross-examination. The judge asks if I have more questions for the policemen. I shake my head.

“No sir.”

The judge motions the Court Clerk forward and asks him to set a date for the next hearing. There is sudden movement as the next case is called. I gather my files into the open attaché case at my feet. I am closing it when Angela grabs her journal from the table and twists around the chairs to walk past me. When I straighten away from the case and rise to my feet, there is no sign of her anywhere.


*******************

ANGELA

Ahmed is dozing in the car, head thrown back on the headrest of his seat and right hand resting on the wheel when I reach the car park. I contemplate leaving my robe and wig in the backseat and continuing my journey to the gate but I change my mind after minutes of trying to come up with a way to open the door without waking Ahmed. I wrap the wig in the robe, roll it into a tight ball and stuff it inside my bag.

Outside the court complex, the taxi is still waiting. I apologize to the man who calls himself Sylvanus and hand him the paper containing the address. Sylvanus looks nothing like the Igbo man he claims to be. Face almost oval and nose aquiline, he looks to me like the typical Hausa man. His accented English compounds my confusion over his ethnicity.

“I have just one hour. Can we make it to erm...”

Sylvanus nods. “Ungogo. Yes, we can make it there on time.”

“Great. Let’s go.”

Sylvanus puts his car into gear, reverses and roars off in the opposite direction. As we pass the open gates of the court, I see Naden standing with Ahmed, face turned in the direction of the gate. I smile as we join the honking line of motorists at an intersection.

Let him try to stop me now.


***********************

NADEN


I see her approaching the bend leading to room and lean away from the wall. Her strides are short and lazy. Her face inclined to the side and fixed on the window of the room, she appears to be looking out for something.

For me.

She is just inches away from me when I make my move.

“Where did you go?”

A startled cry escapes her lips and she tries to shake the hand I have clamped to her upper arm. She stops moving when she recognizes me.

“What was that for?” she says tightly, wrenching her arm free and straightening her blouse. “You hide in the dark and play games now?”

I step into the light, the distance between us shortening. In response, she falls back and crosses her arms across her chest, eyes darker than the night surrounding us.

“Answer me.”

“Answer you and tell you what?”

“Where you went after leaving the court.”

“How is that your business?”

I am angry. First at myself for worrying needlessly over her safety in the five hours that she was gone and then at her, for being so stubborn and defiant. I grab her arm and yank her towards the door. Her gasp of surprise and indignation is loud.

“How dare you? Get your hands off me right now.”

I ignore her. I push the door open and drag her inside. As soon as I turn from locking the door, I meet a flying palm. It connects with my face before I have the chance to react.


***********************

ANGELA


I am surprised, just as he is, at the loud thwack that sounds across the room. I stare at him horrified as his face contorts into a dark frown.

What have I done?

I back away from him as he takes threatening steps towards me.

Angela apologize, I tell myself as I bump into the wall behind me. Just apologize.

My tongue refuses to move. I hold out a hand to ward him off but only succeed in pressing against his chest. He is close now. So close, I can see the white hot anger in his eyes.

“For. Your. Own. Safety,” he says, his words an ominous staccato… “Never. Ever. Try. That. Again.”

The urge to apologize dies a premature death. I drop my hands from his chest and hold my chin up.

“Okay, please step away from me.”

“Apologize.”

I find myself scoffing at his quiet command.

“Or what will happen?”

“Don’t push me Angela.”

I roll my eyes. “Plea –”

The words hang unfinished on my tongue as hands suddenly grab my arms and pin me to the wall. I fight back. Kicking and shoving with all my might. When nothing happens, I threaten to scream.

“Let me go or I will scream.”

I don’t wait. I open my mouth. I barely manage a squeak when his hand closes over my mouth. Without wasting another thought, I bite hard into the flesh of his palm.

“Shit!”

His hand drops away from my mouth. I make another attempt to scream.

“Stop it!”

Something in his tone forces the scream back into my throat.

I realize that my arms have been freed. I also realize that I am moulded against his body, my breasts flattened against his chest and hips locked to his own. I begin to feel something, but it is not anger. It is something else, something dark and forbidding. My nipples tighten before I can identify the weird feeling. A line joining his brows together in a frown, Naden looks down at my chest and then back at my face.

Exhaling quietly, he pulls away from me and walks to the door. The door slams after him, leaving me alone with my confusion.

What just happened?


*********************

NADEN



My hand still stinging in the spot where Angela’s teeth had sunk, I lean on the wall and throw my head back. The sky is dark but tiny stars wink cheerfully at me. I drag a hand down my face.

This is getting worse.

I had gone from losing my temper to laying my hands on Angela. Remorse fills me.

I should have controlled myself.

Done with berating myself, I remember her reaction after I released my hold on her arms.

She had been aroused just as much as I had been.

I shake my head to get rid of the disturbing thoughts that follow this realization. I think about the fact that she disappeared from the court this afternoon.

Where had she gone?


******************

THE OYELOWO MANSION


Damilola Oyelowo slept still, her heart threatening to burst free from her rib cage. She felt her husband’s hand move up her thigh and settle on her waist. She tried to control her breathing, to appear normal before he suspected that she was awake but she could not. Then, she hoped he would move away, but her hopes were dashed when his hand resumed its upward journey.

What is he doing?

Damilola stopped pretending to be asleep.

“Martin what are you doing?”

The hand on her arm stilled in its movement.

“Please I am trying to sleep.”

Damilola dared to face her husband. She sank back into her pillows when she saw how close he was. His eyes were thoughtful, his lips twisted as he watched her.

“I want to sleep,” Damilola repeated, adjusting the strap of her Satin nightdress.

Her husband looked down at her chest and she found herself reaching to pull the sheets to cover herself.

“Okay,” he said at last, moving away from her and lowering himself to the bed.

Damilola turned back to the wall and watched it for one hour, and then she turned and watched him sleep.


*************************


While Damilola Oyelowo watched the wall, Martin Oyelowo slept with his hands under his head, elbows pointing outward as he tried to understand the changes that had come over him. Suddenly, he was noticing the smoothness of his wife’s skin and the breasts that still retained the fullness of her youth. He was noticing things he hadn’t noticed in ten years and he did not understand why.

Nothing annoyed Martin Oyelowo like puzzles.

Martin began to plan his move back to his room, away from disturbing thoughts, like how much he wanted to sleep with his wife.

EPISODE 9


G.R.A BENIN CITY


They were in an open air bar called Time Out. The place, noted for its offering of brash scarlet women and rambunctious pleasure seekers was filled to the brim as usual. That evening, as a live band played a Makossa tune on an elevated platform with two female dancers writhing suggestively in matching red leather shorts and sleeveless black mesh tops, visitors and patrons alike were gearing up for a promising night of fun. In a corner of the bar sat three people, two men and a woman.

The group exuded a collective indifference that set them apart from the crowd of noisy revelers. No one watching them would have suspected that the men were kidnappers or that they had emerged from the leafy confines of Ehor Forest four hours earlier.

Recently ransomed and free, the woman wore a white peplum top over black jeans, her wavy brown weave loose and resting on her shoulders. One jeweled hand rested possessively on the better looking of the men, eyes checking for potential competition as skimpily dressed women, exposing large swathes of skin jostled for the attention of the men in the bar.

“I don’t like this place,” the woman complained, pink glossed lips pouting as she looked around the bar. “I don’t know why Junior suggested it.”

The fatter of the men, clean shaven and well dressed now that he had three million sitting in his bank account, grinned at the woman.

“Women, na wa for una o. Una no get patience at all. We just land here na. Cool down. Your brother go soon come.”

The other man smiled at the woman.

“Relax babe. The day just began.”

The tension on the woman’s face disappeared and a reluctant smile formed on her lips.

“Okay.”

Conversation stopped at the table and they listened to the buzzing around them.

Oga try me. My breast stand well well.

All night na ten k. Kpa kpa kpa na just three k.

Who you dey price two k? I blame you? Na condition bend crayfish.

Im say make I come ring road? I no fit abeg. Tell am say I dey run things for GRA.

The woman sighed and shook her head.

Why couldn’t her brother hurry?

She was getting tired of the place, of the oppressive odour of desperation and cheap perfumes. Worse, she hated the women that constantly stared at her boyfriend like he was some sort of tempting dish they could not wait to get their hands on.

“Na im be that?”

Distracted from her thoughts, the woman raised her head and followed the direction where the fat man Cletus was pointing. She sighed again. It was Junior alright. No one could miss the twinkling studs in his ears and the wild dreadlocks that stood like dried cornstalks on his head even if he was in a thick crowd. Today, he had opted for something less ostentatious and was wearing a dark brown T-shirt over black leather pants. He stood at the entrance of the bar, conspicuous and clueless as his eyes scanned the crowd.

The woman stood up and adjusted the hem of her blouse.

“I am coming. Let me go and bring him.”

The men watched her walk to meet her brother. Each wondered about the formal greeting that passed between siblings but said nothing about it. Soon she sauntered back to them, younger brother in tow.

“Meet Junior,” she said to the men, reclaiming her seat again.

Junior stood awkwardly and toyed with the stud in his right ear. The men extended their hands at the same time. Junior smiled shyly, but did not take them. He chose instead to give them a short wave.

“Hi.”

The woman pointed to the seat beside her and said without much ceremony,

“Sit down.”

Junior sat down, one hand still romancing the stud in his ear.

“So, did he come to the house today?”

Junior nodded at his sister. “Yes, this morning.”

“Do you know what he discussed with mummy?”

“The money…”

Junior paused and looked at the two men with his sister, wondering if it was safe to discuss the issue of her recent kidnap. He did not suspect for one instant that he was looking at his sister’s kidnappers.

“Go on,” the woman said impatiently, waving at him to continue.

Junior exhaled loudly and shrugged.

“He came to talk about the money he borrowed her for those people to release you.”

The woman scowled. “Idiot! It is not even up to twenty four hours and he is already disturbing mummy.

Junior nodded. “I don’t know why mummy collected money from him.”

The woman stared at her brother but saw something else. It was the picture of two adults struggling beside a bed, the woman wild eyed and holding to the edge of her red wrapper as the man fought to get it off. She heard their voices.

Nosa leave my wrapper, leave my wrapper. E no go happen you hear, e no go happen.

The woman’s eyes were soon fixed on her, alarm and shame in their depths.

Lydia, leave that place. Go to your room, go to your room now.

“Lydia?”

The woman blinked and the past slipped away with the question of what happened that fateful night after she had closed the door of her room and crept into bed, fearful for her recently widowed mother.

“Did you hear what I said?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed.

“What did you say?”

Junior linked his fingers. She noticed a light sheen of pink nail polish.

Did he still do the things with those men?

“He is going back to Abuja tomorrow.”

The men with Lydia exchanged looks. Tomorrow was only a few hours away. Time was against them. They straightened in their seats and leaned towards Junior whose lashes were lowering flirtatiously much to the annoyance of his elder sister.

“What time?”

“I think he said his flight is leaving in the morning.”

Lydia made her calculations. They were good. By this time tomorrow, Senator Nosakhare Osarodion of Edo South Senatorial district would be whisked off the street on his way to the airport and taken to an undisclosed location by armed fearful looking men. Lydia saw the headlines in her mind and smiled.

Tomorrow couldn't come sooner.


***********************

ANGELA


We are sitting in court and waiting for the judge to arrive when the court clerk strolls back with a sheet of paper in his hand. Standing in the aisle separating the rows of seats filled with lawyers, he announces that some cases will not be heard today. I wait anxiously as he mentions the cases. We find ourselves on the list.

“Hussaina Abubakar, Civil society for the liberation of women and girls versus the Tanko Usman, Aliyu Nasarawa, Suleiman Bichi and the Inspector General of Police….”

Switching the paper to his left hand and using the right one to hitch up his oversized brown trousers, the clerk looked in our direction. I see Naden nod at him from the corner of my eyes.

“Your case is not holding today,” he says, turning and looking at Barrister Shuaibu who is sitting at his usual spot, face scrunched up in a serious frown as he consults his journal. “Your ruling is not yet ready. The case has been adjourned to next week….the seventeenth of March.”

I note down the new date in my journal. The brief silence that had greeted the clerk’s announcement is replaced by loud conversation as lawyers on the clerk’s list begin to reach for their cases. A lawyer saunters over to Naden, wig in the hand holding two phones. He and Naden exchange pleasantries. I get the perfunctory nod. I don’t care. I slip between them and walk to the car park to wait with Ahmed. Today I will not be visiting Ungogo.

Talk about a bad day.


*************************

NADEN


I step out of her way, my attention going back to the paper I had seen a few seconds ago as she cleared her journal off the table. The paper is still there. Barrister Ezekiel has stopped talking about the case and is now asking questions about her.

“She is pretty. How far?” he says, an eyebrow raised suggestively and in a familiar manner even though we only met at the last court sitting.

I give him a polite smile.

“We are working together on the case,” I tell him, reaching for the paper. I tuck it inside the breast pocket of my shirt and then shrug out of my robe.

“Of course, I know,” Barrister Ezekiel says with a laugh. “That much is obvious. What I want to know is, is she single?”

“I don’t know. I don’t speak for her.”

I look down at my watch and tell Barrister Ezekiel I am running late for an appointment. He shrugs and gives me a cheerful pat on the back.

“See you on the seventeenth.”

I nod and hurry out of the court room. In the passage of the court room, I bring out the paper from my shirt and read it. It is an address for a house at Ungogo. I stare at the neat letters for a second and then understand Angela’s propensity for disappearing after every court visit.

She was visiting Hussaina.

Why?

I look past the paper to the car park. Figures move in and out of my vision but I am lost in my thoughts. Angela was about to jeopardize our chances of winning the case. I had to know how far she had gone. I come up with a plan. It is not a perfect plan, but it is the only one I can think of.


*************************


THE OYELOWO MANSION

OMOLAYO OYELOWO’S ROOM


The old woman was just finishing her prayers when her granddaughter knocked on the door. She rose from her knees to see the girl poke her head through the door.

“Grandma?”

Fausat did not wait for an answer. She closed the door behind her and walked into the room. She walked a vanity table, a green and brown Persian rug to the bed where her grandmother was now sitting. Throwing her arms around her grandmother as she sat down, she pressed her nose into the woman’s neck.

“Missed my grandma.”

The old woman laughed and patted the back of her head affectionately. The young girl was the spark that made her world bright. She loved her dearly. It was a good thing her daughter had decided to send her back home. The pictures had never been enough.

“I miss Angie too.”

Thin eyebrows drew together as the old woman feigned ignorance.

“Who is Angie?”

“Angela,” Fausat said with a giggle. “It’s the short form of Angela.”

“Ah,” the old woman adjusted the wide neck of her buba. “Okay. Is that what you call her now?”

“Mmm hmmm.”

The sound of gates opening and closing disturbed their conversation. The old woman smiled inwardly. These days he returned home early. Her smile stayed in place as she thought of the nights she had seen him walking to the other room.

His rightful place.

She half listened as her granddaughter brought up the subject of her cousin’s absence again.

Her work in this place was almost complete.


***********************


MARTIN OYELOWO’S STUDY


Martin Oyelowo had been in his study for one hour. Dressed in a plain white shirt and blue check pyjamas, he was doing his best to concentrate on the television where his favourite news programme was running, but his mind kept drifting to thoughts of his wife. He had spent all day wondering just how close his wife had been with Barrister Braithwaite.

Had they….

He shook his head, refusing to complete the question. The thought of another man touching his wife sickened him. His phone rang. He sighed when he picked it and saw who was calling.

“Hello Olga.”

“Martin,” his Russian mistress said, his name heavy and foreign on her lips. Gone were the days when she got his heart racing with excitement just by mentioning his name. These days, he felt nothing but irritation when they spoke.

“I did not see you at the club today.”

“I got busy.”

“Ah I see. You are very busy these days.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Martin Oyelowo frowned. “Why?”

“I mean you have work before, no?”

“Okay?”

“And now suddenly you are too busy, yes?”

Suddenly struck by the inappropriateness of his relationship with the woman he was talking to, Martin Oyelowo shifted in his seat.

“Things are hectic these days Olga. I barely have time for entertainment.”

“Okay Martin. So when do we see?”

Martin Oyelowo closed his eyes and entertained new fantasies. Brown flesh replaced white flesh. Firm full breasts replaced small pert ones. He opened his eyes again.

He wanted his wife.

“Martin?”

“Sorry Olga, but I don’t know when that will be possible.”

Left with nothing to say, the former lovers bid each other good night. Martin Oyelowo struggled with himself for a few more minutes.

His bed or his wife’s bed?

Still undecided, he prepared to leave his study, taking his phones with him and turning off the lights and television. He walked upstairs with slowly. When he got to the landing, he stood in the middle and contemplated his next step.

His face grim with resolution, Martin made his choice and walked in the direction he had chosen.


*******************

DAMILOLA OYELOWO’S ROOM

THE BATHROOM


Damilola stood before the mirror in her bathroom and criticized her choice of sleepwear. The short satin and lace nightdress with its deep sweetheart neckline made her uncomfortable.

Who was she dressing for?

Damilola could not answer her own question. Instead she scowled at herself one more time and decided to go back to the room to find a replacement. She turned off the lights and left the bathroom. The sight in the room forced her to halt in her tracks.

He was here already.

Lying on his back, his phone held in front of his face, Martin Oyelowo appeared to be lost in another world but Damilola knew better. He was aware of her as well as she was aware of him. Forcing herself to overcome the embarrassment of being found in a suggestive little night dress that hadn’t even being her idea in the first place, she walked to the bed, berating herself for indulging in the five minute madness of lingerie shopping under the persuasion of Florence, her friend.

She sat on the bed gingerly, her back turned to him. She was conscious of every shift the fabric of her night dress made as she began to lower herself to the bed. Reaching blindly for the sheets, she pulled it over her body.

Damilola was beginning to relax when Martin cleared his throat.

“Are you sleeping?”

“No.”

She felt him move as the bed dipped. She stiffened, knowing for some reason that he was going to touch her. His hand settled on her shoulder.

“Damilola.”

She turned slightly towards him. His face was unreadable.

“I have rights.”

His words though tightly spoken were an echo of her dreams, but she did not know how to react. The dream had come true ten years late.

He tugged at the sheets.

Damilola held stubbornly to it. His eyes narrowed.

“Have you been with anyone recently?”

Shocked beyond words, Damilola stared at her husband, hands growing slack on the sheets.

“What?”

Unperturbed by her reaction, Martin shrugged.

“It’s a question. I need an answer.”

Damilola glowered at her husband.

“I am not you Martin. If I need another man, I would leave you…get a divorce to be with him.”

Martin’s lips thinned.

“I see.”

He remembered the sheets and looked down.

“Could you take that off?”

The change in discussion rattled Damilola. She became self conscious of herself and conscious of the need in her husband’s eyes. She wanted to deny him as he had denied her for ten years. Instead she said,

“Could you turn off the lights then?”

He did.

And then touched her.

And then she gave, and gave, until she was spent.

They separated afterwards without a word. Damilola slipped her nightdress back on and walked to the bathroom to release the flood that had been a trickle a few seconds ago.


********************


Martin Oyelowo questioned himself as he heard water run in the bathroom.

What had he done?

He remembered the wetness on his neck in the end.

Why was she crying?

He was transported back in time. They were young again. She was desirable and he was clueless how to respond to her emotions.


************************


ANGELA

I eye the phone sitting on the countertop as I step into the shower. I decide against returning it to him.

Why should I bother? I don’t owe him anything.

I hang the orange dress on one of the empty towel bars. My hands free now, I unbutton my shirt, shrug it off and then reach to unzip my skirt. My undies are next. Naked, I walk to the shower stall and proceed to wash off the disappointment of the day. Big guileless eyes haunt me as I soap and rinse my body.

Hussaina.

I rave silently at lazy judges.

“How long does it take to write a ruling?” I ask the empty bathroom.

Naden’s phone begins to ring. I sigh and turn off the water and leave the shower stall. The phone stops ringing as I reach for one of the towels hanging from the towel bars beside the shower stall.

I shrug. “It stopped.”

The phone comes alive again, light filling its screen.

Clap along if you feel like a room without a roof

Because I’m happy

Clap along if you feel like happiness is the truth

A knock jolts me into action before I can think of ignoring the phone. I snatch it off the countertop, but not before looking down at the screen.

Jewel.

I open the door slightly.

“My phone,” he says, right hand held out.

I give him the phone. Our fingers make contact. I withdraw my hand and shut the door. I stand for a while, feeling the water dry from my body. At last, I tug my towel loose and look down at my body.

“It’s nothing Angela,” I tell the person staring back at me with hardened nipples from the mirror. “You are just Hot. It is not him.”


*************************


NADEN


I enjoy the surprise in her eyes when she walks out of the bathroom. Cloaking the surprise with a haughty expression, she walks past me and the table of food.

“I ordered dinner,” I tell her as she dumps her on the heap of clothes due for laundry. I uncap the wine beside the dishes and uncap it. I fill the glasses and hold one out to her as she stands beside the bed watching me.

Her steps are slow and hesitant when she decides to approach the table.

“Why?”

I answer her question with a smile.

“Because I want us to be friends.”

Suspicion on her face, she pulls the chair opposite my own and sits down. We take turns in filling our plates with rice, chicken and vegetables. Then, we eat in civilized silence. As soon as our meal is over, she makes to stand up from her chair. I point at her empty glass.

“You need me to fill that for you?”

I pour more wine into her glass without giving her a chance to turn down my offer. Her body rigid, she returns back to her seat.

“Thanks,” she says, picking up the glass and taking small sips. I look away from her and pretend to be engrossed in my phone. From the corner of my eyes, I see her study her glass for some minutes before raising the glass and taking big gulps from it. It is not long before her movements become slow and less controlled. I raise my head from my phone and give her a smile of encouragement.

“Want more?”

She frowns and shakes her head.

“Not sure.”

I pick up the wine bottle again.

“Just one glass.”

I refill her glass for the third time. She shakes her head.

“I am okay, thanks.”

I shrug. “Okay. I guess we are done with dinner then.”

She nods and rises to her feet. I follow her progress. There is a quizzical expression on her face. She lifts a hand and touches her left temple.

“I think I have a headache. I need to lie down.”

I nod. “Okay, but first we need to talk.”

*************************

ANGELA

I think we are in bed, but I am not so sure. He stays above me, saying different things at the same time. I struggle to keep up but my attention is divided between my pounding head and his moving lips. I pick up some words.

…going

Why…

…Ungogo

His words make me remember Hussaina again. Sadness fills me.

I should have gone to see her today.

His eyes are so soft…so understanding. I am at peace. I confide in him. I pull him close and whisper about Hussaina, sitting on a hard bench and squeezing Naira notes into her mother’s calloused palms. I tell him a lot of things. I have no control over the things I tell him.

So…

…plan

…behind back.

His face changes and I feel him pulling away, taking the peace with him. I hold on his shirt.

“Stay…hold me.”

His body is hard, yet inviting. I press against it and push my hand into a warm place. I find something. It is part flesh, part steel and nice to touch. There is pressure on my wrist. It hurts. I tell him to stop. He stops. I go back to touching the flesh steel thing. Up and down. Up and down, until it completely transforms to steel. I hear a sound, like someone in pain. I stop touching the steel thing and look into his eyes. I tell him about my bathroom experience.

“My nipples…so hard…Hot…we should….sex.”

Then I laugh and laugh until my eyes feel heavy. I close my eyes, blissfully free and at peace.


*******************


NADEN


My arms are now completely numb but I am too surprised to ease her body to the bed. I look down at myself. Most of the bulge is gone, but the memory of her hand slipping past the band of my slacks to stroke me is still fresh, and so are her words.

My nipples got so hard in the bathroom.

Silly yeah? I think I am Hot.

Maybe we should have sex.

I turn to study her face again. The woman in my arms looks nothing like the ambitious lawyer or backstabbing colleague she is. The innocence on her face is striking. It invites me to hope, to believe that she is somehow different and the past two weeks have been a figment of my imagination.

I lower my head to the bed and groan.

Getting her drunk was a mistake. A very big mistake.

EPISODE 10

THE OYELOWO MANSION

DAMILOLA OYELOWO’S ROOM


Awake even before the first light of dawn broke through the dark clouds outside the window, Martin Oyelowo lay behind his wife, inches away from her sleeping form, his eyes on the fine hairs of her neck. The flowery fragrance of her perfume filled his nose and brought back memories. He remembered their wedding night.

He remembered lying in bed and wondering if she was going to remain in the bathroom the whole night. Worn out from the five hour flight from Lagos and the drive to their hotel at Paddington, London, he gave up waiting and began to sleep. It was the light tapping from persistent hands that brought him back from sleep. He had turned to see his wife, shy and uncomfortable in a short red see-through night dress. It would be their first night together. Her first time.

He remembered the look of discomfort on her face when he took her, the gasp of pleasure when she finally got used to him. He made promises.

I will never hurt you.

I will make you happy.

He had kept his promises for the first few years of their marriage. Completely besotted and charmed by her naiveté, he spoiled her with gifts and gave her everything she asked for. In the house his father had given him as a wedding gift, they made their first child, a beautiful baby girl with wide curious eyes and a quick smile. He called her Angela. His mother called her Ranti. Everything was fine until his wife fell pregnant for the second time.

Acute Aortic Dissection.

The diagnosis had put a strain on his marriage. After several arguments, his wife had turned to his mother for help and had gotten it.

You must be reasonable Tolu. It is her life we are talking about here. You will have a son if God wills it. Maybe this is not the time for it to happen.

He had done his best to understand, but after the abortion, he found himself withdrawing from his wife. His affairs started shortly after and he had not looked back.

Until now.

He returned his attention to his wife and saw her turn slightly before growing still again. Her movement caused the sheets to slide down her body, exposing her curves to him. Martin eyed her body for some minutes, the desire to touch her growing stronger as he continued to watch her. At last, he sighed and drew close to her. He felt her stiffen as his body came in contact with her own and knew she was not asleep. His lips pressed into a thin line and brows knitted together in a frown, he thought about the last few days. He still thought about the tears on his neck and the question that plagued him that night came back to haunt him. He touched her shoulder.

“You are not asleep.”

His wife turned to him. Eyes framed with long dark lashes stared back at him.

“No, I am not.”

The two adults stared at each other, each noting how little the other had aged. Damilola remembered thinking how nice it was that her husband looked after his body as her hands traveled over his chest the previous night, while Martin thought it was odd how her breasts remained firm after all these years, and how her face had retained most of its youthfulness, except for the small lines around her eyes.

Martin Oyelowo lowered his head and kissed his wife. It was not the slow languid kiss of lovers accustomed to each other; it was the passionate, eager kiss of lovers getting to know each other.



*********************


While Martin Oyelowo was wrapped in his wife’s embrace, the Inspector General of Police sat alone with the President of Nigeria in his office at Aso Rock Villa, waiting as the president answered a phone call. As the inspector general watched the president, he saw a side of him many Nigerians never saw. Sitting hunched over his gleaming mahogany table in a plain white golf T-shirt worn over black slacks, and missing his mild-mannered mien, the president’s eyes blazed with consternation, lips turning down at the ends. The left hand resting on the table was clenched into a tight fist.

“And how come the governor has not asked the commissioner to do something about the situation?”

The president listened some more and then slammed his fist on the table.

“This is not the time for politics. Get him to do something…..I don’t want to hear any excuse. I have too much on my plate now...Look Eghosa, do whatever you can do….Call a press conference, do anything…I don’t care what local government he is visiting, something must be done. I will tell Rueben to prepare a statement.”

The president slammed the sleek black receiver on the cradle.

“Stupid people,” he muttered under his breath.

To the Inspector General, he said,

“Do me a favour, make sure your men find Nosa before the end of next week.”

The inspector general nodded.

“Yes sir.”

The president’s brow furrowed, hooding his eyes.

“What about your case?”

The inspector general remembered his friend’s promise and tried to sound confident.

“We are working on it sir.”

“Please do your best to keep that case out of the news. These people are trying to pull me down. You know what will happen if they get their hands on this story?”

“Yes si – ”

“They will twist things around and before we know it, their newspapers will carry stories about this government, and I am tired…very tired of hearing these stories.”

“Okay sir.”

The president dismissed the inspector general of police and prepared to meet with his new Minister of Defence, the one that had been rumoured to resign a few days after he appointed him. The president prepared his notes for the meeting. He would also meet with the military chiefs and try to resolve the conflict between them and the new minister.

The president scowled and scowled as he wrote. His was the face of a man determined to win. What the president did not know was that there was no connection between his political adversaries and the cases for which he had summoned the inspector general. If he wasn’t so occupied with finding a solution to the impasse between the defence minister and defence chiefs, he would have known that the cases were more connected to a certain powerful lawyer in Lagos currently in the throes of an orgasm with his wife.



***********************


In a corner of the hut in Ehor forest, a figure sat bound and covered with an old dirty sack. Under the sack was a distinguished member of the Nigerian senate, Senator Nosakhare Osarodion. Stripped of his respectability and reduced to a fearful mortal with the picture of his death flashing wickedly in his mind’s eye, Senator Nosa perspired furiously and forgot to call on his Christian God. He chose instead, his traditional gods.

“The king that is greater than the king of the land, Olokun, please help me. Ogun send me help.”

His kidnappers stood with their empty rifles outside the hut and conferred among themselves. The men crowded the woman and hung on her every word, their faces slack with surprise.

“So he is a PDP member?”

The question was directed to the only female of the group, an attractive female with a personal vendetta to pursue. Lydia, the female in question, nodded slowly, a frown on her face.

Boma, the unofficial leader of the group and boyfriend to Lydia stroked his day old beard thoughtfully.

“Apart from the announcement on T.V, did you hear anything?”

Lydia shook her head.

“No, I did not.”

“Are there checkpoints all over?”

Lydia thought about her boyfriend’s question for some minutes. She had seen two checkpoints – one at Oluku and the other at Iruekpen. The one in Iruekpen had been manned by stern looking policemen who checked the cars of motorists with practiced efficiency and refused to respond to her greetings. She thought about hiding this information from her boyfriend but decided against it.

“I saw two.”

Lydia told Boma the location of the checkpoints.

“Kai,” Cletus, the third kidnapper said, his pudgy face twisted in worry. “Na trouble person don find be that. Why you no mention say the guy na PDP guy na?”

“How am I supposed to know?” Lydia said, her voice sharp with irritation. “You think I follow everything he does?”

“But na your uncle na,” Cletus protested again.

“I don’t think this has anything to do with his party,” Boma told Cletus. “He is a senator, so the reaction is normal.”

“Osho don talk anything?” Cletus asked, anxiety straining his voice.

“No, but before I came here, I heard something on the radio about his party people releasing a statement and…”

Lydia’s voice trailed and her eyes stared unseeingly past her boyfriend’s shoulders.

“Lydia?”

Her eyes focused again on Boma, she shrugged, “and something about Abati talking about it.”

Cletus wiped perspiration from his forehead.

“Na wa o.”

Boma looked closely at his girlfriend and saw that she was hiding something.

“What is it?”

Lydia blinked. “Huh?”

“You are not telling me something.”

Lydia sighed. “It is just something I heard from Junior.”

“What?”

“He said he heard from a family member that my uncle is quite close to the president, and erm…that he is supposed to help him in 2015.”

Cletus looked at the two lovers, his confusion mounting.

“Help am do wetin?”

Boma decided to answer his friend.

“Help him with the election.”

“Oh,” Cletus said, the confusion clearing from his face. “Okay. I don understand now.”

The friends fell silent. Boma tapped his empty rifle against his leg, his mind going through the options left to them. Lydia and Cletus looked at him expectantly.

“I think we should make that call this night,” he said at last, looking at Lydia.

Cletus reached into his trouser pocket and brought out the phones they had confiscated from their victim. He handed the phones over to Boma. They drew plans for the evening. He would call the senator’s family for ransom and give them a twenty four deadline with the usual warning not to contact the police. They tried not to get too ambitious. One hundred million Naira was okay. Visibly shaking from excitement, Cletus added his voice to the decision. Yes, one hundred million would do. After all, it was chicken change compared to what the senator earned in Abuja.

Lydia left them just as the place began to get dark. She would return to them the following day for more briefing. Boma kissed her goodbye and watched her pick her way out of the forest. After this operation, he would ask her to marry him.

That evening as Lydia drove home in her red Honda Element, she heard the voice of the governor come through her car speakers.

I would like to assure the public that contrary to the statement released by the PDP in the state, I have an obligation to protect every indigene of Edo State and that obligation will be taken seriously. I reject the attempt to paint me as inhuman by the PDP. I will not play politics with a man’s life. Senator Nosa is one of us and as the chief security officer of this state, it is my duty to protect him.

As I speak to you, the relevant authorities have been contacted and efforts are being made to secure the release of our able senator. A word to senator Nosa’s kidnappers, we are not a kidnapper friendly state. Our position on kidnapping is clear from the provisions of our law. God bless Edo state. God bless the federal republic of Nigeria.

Lydia thought of her boyfriend Boma, her face softening as she remembered how good they were together. She briefly entertained thoughts of marriage to him and wondered if her desire for revenge would put him in trouble. She shook her head.

“Be positive Lydia. They won’t find him.”

Holding on that thought, Lydia drove back to her GRA residence a happy woman. Her plan had gone flawlessly. Revenge was sweet.



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