₦airaland Forum

Dan Brown's Da Vinci Code.

Rubbish Book.

Dear Madge,

Its me again you must be thinking. But you will not be surprised either, I have maintained a certain doggedness where you are concerned from way back in college. I know my case as it is might be viewed as some form of entrapment. Feed her little morsels and slowly but surely she will come back into your world. There might be some truth to that. In the far recesses of my mind, such cunning might have played out. Though I would rather believe it is the re-establishment of communication lines between soul mates.

I know I sound different too. You must be wondering why my cockney antecedents (I surprise myself too, who would have thought I will be using words like ''antecedents'') are not too evident in my letters. Blame or praise the Nigerians, whichever one you choose. Honestly sometimes I suspect they keep a little pocket dictionary where their wallet should be. Blimey, they sure do use the most obscure and complicated words. An Englishman from the very heart of England, Stratford-upon-avon even, might proffer ''Madge is so beautiful. A Nigerian would offer ''Madge's beauty has a peregrinating shimmering quality of colossal proportions''. Madge I kid you not.

Thankfully, the example I just gave might be extreme. Mr. Jeun Okuwa, the party to whom much of this letter is devoted is made of more sensible stuff. Perhaps too sensible for his own good. Burukutu initially told me he arranged the meeting when I first arrived in Lagos. I later found out it was actually our Mr. Okuwa who suggested the meeting. It was more evidence of Mr. Okuwa err taking the lead in a police investigation. You remember I told you, it was he who made the link between the murders and informed the police.

We met in a choice hotel on the Island part of the city. I have since discovered, the police are using every opportunity to rack up the expense account of our ''big man''. I can't fault them here though. The police facilities here are pretty dire. They don't need interrogation rooms either. They know how to get confessions from suspects in close quarters. I probably am not being fair to the chaps. I thought the tightfists at Whitehall were destroying the force with their gross underfunding but we don't have it a single per cent as bad as these guys. Couple that with the really horrible stuff they must face. Really horrible criminals.

Okay enough of my digressions. One of the things you first notice about Mr. Okuwa are his eyes. Big robust eyeballs steady in the socket and in their gaze. They held something of a challenge, daring you to blink first. He sat right opposite me in the booth with Burukutu right alongside me in a sort of spectator pose. As we shook hands, Okuwa and I, his eyes never left mine. I have to admit, I found it somewhat unsettling. I will try to recount as best as I can now, how the meeting went.

''Good Afternoon Detective Dick McCrackles'', he greeted. I hope you notice the deliberate formality. His accent wasn't very thick either, not like most Nigerians. It was quite regal, straight from the spires of Oxford or Cambridge.

''Please Mr. Okuwa, we would be here all day if you insist on addressing me that way,'' I replied with a slight chuckle, trying to splice the air with some humor. ''Everyone calls me Dickie''. Of course I was expecting him to reply in kind and give me some appellation (gosh, I am a honorary Nigerian) for me to address him. Kinda like Burukutu who I have called B.K since we met.

He shrugged his shoulders in reply, like it didn't really matter to him. He sat straight backed and of course with the unflinching gaze.

''So, Mr. Okuwa, I hear you have been quite the detective''.

''Is that a question?'' he asked.

I guess I was taken aback momentarily with the continued formality. Really, I know I might be harping on a bit about formality this formality that, but you have to understand, you notice the relaxed demeanour of the average Nigerian once you get off the plane. From the customs to the restauranteur, there is a laid back atmosphere. But not our Mr. Okuwa.

''No, more like a compliment.''

''Well, I guess I should say thank you.''

''Hmmm. . . .well that would not be necessary.'' At this juncture, I decided to give up the whole try-to-break-the -ice-approach. I doffed my toughie police hat dismissing the fact I was on foreign territory.

''You see,'' I continued and leaning forward with my elbows on the table, ''Its not often one meets a real life Poirot.'' At this he sort of half grunted half shrugged his shoulders. I keenly felt his challenge again. I surmised he expected something more from the cop out of town, from the world famous Scotland Yard.

''You told the police all the victims were moderators on your forum?''

''Yes. Like it is in the statement and dossier I prepared for the police. The one I see in front of Inspector Burukutu.'' I could see Burukutu flinch slightly from the corner of my eye. I ignored his condescension and delved on.

''How does one qualify to be a moderator then?''

''I look for certain characteristics. Integrity mostly. Integrity assures me the individual will work hard to keep the forum clean, assure me the moderator can handle him or herself with respect at all times, assure me they can carry out simple instructions.'' He paused after this err shall I call it bossy speech before adding for good measure,'' unfortunately, you will have noticed we Nigerians are not one to possess such a quality, so I pretty much picked the best of a bad bunch.''

What I intended to be an informal chat had turned thoroughly uncomfortable. I felt like I was in the lone communist in the middle of a fascist gathering trying to convert them to my cause. The chap had that kind of effect. I could see Burukutu shifting uneasily too, which was eerily reassuring.

''You say these moderators are meant to keep the forum clean, I assume you mean the language on the site, etcetera?'' He gave his bored shrug again and then nodded.

''I also hear it gets very lively on these forums with opinions and stuff. . . .yours was no different was it?''

''Well. . .my site is rated the number one website of any Nigerian character. As at the time I left home, the membership count was just under half a million members of which about two hundred thousand are unique. Add to that our country is made of diverse tribes of opinions, so yes Detective, it is a safe assumption things can get a little out of hand sometimes.'' Really Madge, the written word cannot nearly convey the dismissiveness of the young man's tone.

''And I guess you want to ask me if it got lively enough to cause someone to kill four fellow forum members, three in Africa and one thousands of miles away. My answer to that is yes, it can get that lively, but good luck to you, trying to sieve through all the data and determining which one of the people they had differences with could possibly be mad enough to want to kill them.'' His voice had gone up a notch now, and I noticed the first register of searing emotion on his face. There was some silence now between us three, Burukutu looking down at his locked hands, seemingly impervious to the tension enveloping the table.

I decided to play him at his own game, and we just sat there, two of us staring at each other. I don't know if he felt his queer definition of integrity was being assaulted, because he decided to stare at his watch. I pretended not to notice and continued staring.

I guess it got too much for him and he asked testily, ''So would that be all Detective?''

''Not quite Mr. Okuwa.'' I leaned back in my chair now. ''I am still trying to understand how you fit into all this.''

''How do you mean?''

''Whats with you Mr. Okuwa. You sound all so worked up about these murders.''

''Its about integrity detective. One cannot stand still and watch while things go wrong. Its how our country got to be the way it is. Very few men of integrity.''

''Hmm. . '' I looked searchingly at him now. ''How close were you to the victims?''

''Not very close. It was largely by chance my coming up with the link between murders. I used to convene meetings between all the moderators say once a week to see how everyone was doing and knock heads together to come up with ideas improving the site.'' He had noticeably mellowed now. My meeting his challenge had seemed to calm him down. ''But sisi-gee, 6play and Lady Eko were repeatedly absent. I sent them emails threatening to deny them moderator privileges but still received no reply.''

''I notice you are using their online usernames. How did you recognise them with their real names in the media?''

'' Detective. . . .I treasure my site immensely. . . ''

''I can tell,'' I interjected.

He ignored my interruption and continued. ''. . . .it provides an opportunity for many of my compatriots to be in a vibrant community. There are many challenges our country faces, and I feel it is my responsibility to try to keep the site going. keep the interest going and all. So I take it upon to myself to know my members, especially the more active ones very well''.

''Hmmm. . .what is starting to concern me is maybe you knew them too well.''

The import of what I just said wasn't lost on him of course. He gave a chuckle now and simply raised his hands palms outwards like he didn't have anything to hide. It was only then I noticed the book that had been under his right palm.

At that moment, he looked at his watch and announced he had to leave as he lived on the outskirts of Lagos and wanted to avoid Lagos at night. Some of the formality was gone now, but I still considered him a git.

As he walked away, I called after him, ''I suspect we will be seeing a lot of each other Mr. Okuwa''.

To which he turned back and winked, ''Wouldn't have it any other way Dickie.'' before he disappeared into the hotel courtyard.

And there Madge is a summary as best as I can of my first meeting with dare I say the sinister Mr. Okuwa.

I think I should let my pen lapse here now. Recalling and writing has really taken a bit out of me and I am not one to write and come back to it the next time. I like to pour all I have at one sitting.

Oh before I go, you remember the book I saw with our Mr. Okuwa. It was the singular classic by Martin Debosky, the Russian American author. You know the one that trailed a murderer while the latter was on his murder trail. You remember it later emerged he was the provocateur of the murderer back then.

Oh well. . .Thats all from me for now. Bye Dear.

Yours

Dickie.