Tomorrow

TOMO RROW

EBOH KESIENA K.

TOMORROW A curtain has been dropped A cloud now envelopes In darkness the world is shrouded In this fierce myopia we can’t elope

Yesterday was when the sea was calm Today is when the storm prevails Wrenching us a skeletal anatomy Destitute of fortune’s oars

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Tomorrow may be for sorrow Again it may be sweet to swallow A pregnant cloud is all to be seen These are no times for authentic prophecies

To the hem of this turbulent sea I cleave Better than groping under a black blanket Up! Against today’s sorrows Coming, maybe never, is the morrow

THE BEGINNING

T

he woman’s eyes were opened now, and she was lying sideways and staring at the wall in front of her. Her little daughter was seated at the edge of the

bed, her cheeks resting on her palms like a hopeless orphan. Then there was a knock at the door. The woman turned lazily. “Baby,” she addressed her daughter, “go see who’s at the door.” The girl nodded and moved to the door of this one-room apartment. She opened the door. “Uncle, welcome,” she greeted, and smiled wearily. The man whom she called her uncle smiled too and hugged her. Then he moved in with her to the bed where her mother lay. The woman seemed pleased on seeing him; tears formed in his eyes. She knew why.

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He sat at the edge of the bed and carried the girl on his laps. There was a little silence before he spoke. “How do you feel?” The woman turned again to stare at the wall. “I’m better,” she said. He knew she was lying. “You can’t continue living like this,” he told her. “What can I do?” she replied. “I have to carry on.” He knew she could not carry on, on her own. She needed help else she’d be dead before she knew it. “You need help,” he said. She nodded slowly. “I know.” He reached out and held her hand. “You’re the only sister I have,” he told her. “You’re all I have. I want to help you.” Tears filled the woman’s eyes as he spoke. “I want to take her with me,” the man concluded. The woman turned sharply to face him, just as the little girl on his laps lifted up her face to gaze in his eyes. “You can’t,” the woman protested. “She’s all I have.” “I know,” the man agreed, “but you’re all I have too. You can’t have her if you keep on working yourself to death, and I can’t have you if you’re gone. Let me relieve you of the stress.” “I don’t want to leave my mummy,” the girl said before it was too late, “I don’t want to leave my mummy.” The woman began to cry. She knew the man was right, and it was best to let go of her child, at least for now. They would be together again in the future. The man looked in her eyes, and beyond her tears, he saw her submission.

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“I will take care of her,” he assured. “I promise.” The woman shut her eyes slowly. “I don’t want to leave you, Mummy,” her daughter protested, as it was clear her mother was giving in. The man cuddled the girl affectionately. “Your mummy will always come and visit you from time to time.” But she didn’t want that. She wanted to be with her mother always; she shook her head in fierce protest, and began to cry. “No,” she said. “I want my mummy.” The woman opened her eyes and beckoned to her daughter to come closer. The girl slid out of the man’s laps and into her mother’s arms. Her mother began to caress her. “It’s okay, my darling,” she said. “You’re not going away forever. Someday, we’ll be together again.” The girl still shook her head in protest. And it hurt her mother and made the woman cry the more. “Listen, it’s for the best,” she said pleadingly. “I can’t take care of you. Can’t you see? I’m dying slowly. Let your uncle take care of you. I promise I’ll always come around to check on you.” The girl’s bones were broken. She buried her face in her mother’s bosom and wept the more. “Promise me we’ll be together again, Mummy,” she said. “I promise,” the woman replied impulsively. “I promise.” And they lay there together, holding on to each other for a long time, and crying profusely.

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ONE

I

t was dusk. The children were playing outside like there was no tomorrow. The blasting of senseless music from all corners of this small village, Ekosodin, in

Benin City, was endless. Niye and Rachael were sitting at the front of Niye’s uncle’s apartment. “So how do you intend to get the money?” Rachael’s voice cut into Niye’s thoughts with minimal effect. Niye was staring bleakly in front of her. Tears had now found their way to the cornermost parts of her eyes, and were trickling down her smooth face. “Niye, can you hear me?” Rachael inquired with genuine concern. Then she tapped at her friend’s lap. Niye slowly drifted back to reality, dimly aware of her immediate surroundings. She grimaced at the sights around her.

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“Niye,” Rachael called, still peering in her friend’s face. “I’m here,” Niye said, looking in Rachael’s direction. Rachael frowned in distress at the sight of tears running down her friend’s cheeks. “Niye, why?” she asked. “Why are you crying?” Niye did not say anything, and as they were sitting close by each other, Rachael pulled her into her arms and began to wipe the tears off her face. “I understand,” Rachael said. “But maybe you’re just being pessimistic. Maybe he’ll give you the money.” “I wish,” Niye whispered. “You don’t know what it’s like living with someone who’s not your parents.” Rachael didn’t know whether to confront that statement or let it be. But as she was taking too long making up her mind, Niye continued. “They don’t really care.” Rachael now found her tongue. “I know. But all of it would end someday. Just believe.” “I do,” Niye said. “I know.” Niye stopped crying, and Rachael began stroking her long hair, like a mother petting her beloved child to sleep. Rachael’s mind was working. She loved Niye like a sister, like her own flesh. They had been friends since Niye had come to live in Benin City, although Niye was born two years after Rachael had left the production line. But now when Niye was seventeen, they were still together and agreed on all things except one. The one subject Rachael was now going to bring up. Although she respected her friend’s decision on the matter and sometimes wished she was like her, Rachael knew it was not working. Niye had to and Rachael was ready to talk her into, for her own good. “Don’t you think it’s time you had a boyfriend?” Rachael said, breaking the silence that had enveloped them, in two.

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Niye withdrew from her friend’s arms and sat upright in her own seat. “You’re bringing that up again,” She informed Rachael, her mouth pouted in annoyance. “But Niye,” Rachael said softly, “you can’t continue to depend on your uncle for everything. He can’t give you everything.” “I don’t need everything,” Niye pointed out. “Just the money for my S.S.C.E and I’ll be okay.” “And what if he doesn’t give you?” Rachael countered. Niye frowned at her friend’s statement. “Now who’s being pessimistic?” she queried. Rachael knew, like Niye, that she had the right to be pessimistic. Niye’s uncle was a bricklayer working at any site where he had the opportunity. On a very good day, he should make up to five hundred naira, and if he made that amount of money everyday, he would become relatively stable at the end of the month. But unfortunately, he didn’t make that amount everyday. He didn’t even have to work everyday, for as the dry season came to an end, so also did building and construction projects. And those projects that were yet to be executed would have to wait untill after the rainy season. From where, then, was he going to get the money for the S.S.C.E? Where was he going to get three thousand naira? When last even could he boast of having three thousand naira? Niye knew she had the right to be pessimistic. “Even if he doesn’t give me the money,” Niye continued from where she had stopped a while ago, “how is a boyfriend going to help?” Was Niye actually contemplating on having a boyfriend now? Rachael wondered. “By providing you the money,” Rachael answered promptly. “Three thousand naira is a lot of money,” Niye reminded Rachael. “To you, yes. But not to all others.”

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Niye fell back in thought. She was not contemplating having a boyfriend. Of course she was not. She had seen too many things that boyfriends did to girlfriends that she would rather marry at her age if she had the means than have one. But she knew she believed in love. Even in a world torn apart by hate, Niye believed in love. She believed that one day, when she came of age, she would love someone who would love her back, and then they would get married and have children and live happily ever after. Why, then, should she have a boyfriend now who would only use her and in the long run-or short walk-dump her? She couldn’t afford to take the risk. She couldn’t afford to sleep with someone who was not her husband. No, she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Not for all the money in the world. Her integrity and chastity would not be sold. “Rachael,” Niye began her conclusion on the whole matter, “I won’t have a boyfriend. Not for all the money in the world.” Rachael knew better than to argue with her friend or to try to convince her any further. She had done that so many times before and the end result had always been an emphatic “No.” So, why would this time be different? She sighed. She wished she was like Niye. Rachael had started having boyfriends since she was fourteen and lost her virginity when she was fifteen. If she had known then what she knew now, she would still have been chaste. But shove things, she had someone now whom she loved. He was her boyfriend, and she hoped-she knew-he loved her too. She would die if she lost him, she thought to herself. Jonathan was his name and he was twenty-four years old and he was rich. He was not rich on his own, for he was yet a student at the nearby University of Benin. But his father was rich and made sure he lacked nothing. Perhaps this young man can be of help to my friend, Rachael began to think. Jonathan would surely help. “Alright,” Rachael said, “I hope your uncle gives you the money. But if he doesn’t, maybe you should go to Jonathan.”

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“I can’t extort money from your boyfriend,” Niye protested. “It’s not fair.” “He has the money to give, over and over again,” Rachael assured her. Niye did not want that to be her last option. She had never asked any man, except her uncle, for anything, and she wished she wouldn’t. But she could. If her uncle failed to give her the money, she should. Jonathan was her friend. Rachael had done the introductions some months ago, and their friendship had continually grown to the point where Niye had begun to wonder how strong the bonds binding him and Rachael really were. But Rachael had continually boasted how much he loved her and what and what things he had done for her. But shove things, Niye was going to Jonathan if her uncle failed her. At least her friend had approved of it. “I hope my uncle gives me the money,” Niye whispered. “I hope so too,” her friend answered. “I should go home now. It’s getting late.” Niye observed her surroundings again. She noticed the music had died down, but the children were still playing outside. It might really be getting late, she thought. Rachael rose to her feet and stretched and yawned. Niye rose too. “Look at your tommy,” Niye teased her friend. “Did you accidentally swallow a cow?” Rachael laughed and looked at Niye, observing her. But as she could find no physical weak points from which to begin a defence, she just continued laughing. “I don’t blame you,” was all she could say. Niye was laughing now as she and her friend began to stroll towards the Tjunction ahead of them. Then she spotted Osato, her uncle’s daughter, playing in the sand. She suddenly remembered it was getting late. “Osato,” Niye called the little girl.

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Osato looked up and ran to her elder cousin, wiping the sand off her hands with the hem of her skirt. Niye dusted the young girl’s hair and regarded her with curious affection. Osato’s eyes were still sparkling white, her skin was mildly tanned, her nose was almost too pointed and her lips were full. Nothing had changed. “Go inside and have your bath,” Niye instructed. “Epa will soon be back.” “Okay,” Osato replied and hopped away. Niye watched her until she entered the apartment. Then she returned her gaze to the T-junction ahead of her. There she and Rachael would part for the night and then she would return home to wait for her uncle.

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TWO

A

nd she waited. In the darkness of her room, she waited. Niye hated light, especially when it was time to concentrate and meditate on matters arising.

So she waited and meditated in the comfort of the darkness in which she was immersed. Would her uncle give her the money or would he not? Had he even the money? Niye flinched at the thought of not writing the S.S.C.E. Without her Senior School Leaving Certificate, what future had she? She had planned to take the Senior School Certificate Examination, and then the University Matriculation Examination, and then major in English Language and Literature, and then graduate and get married and become a writer and… But those plans were made a long time ago. Those plans were made when her father was still alive. Those plans were made when she had everything going for her. Now she had nothing going for her, she thought grimly. Nothing at all. Her father had died and everything had fallen apart. And her mother; where even was her mother? Oh, her mother was somewhere in Warri, far away from Benin where she was, Niye suddenly remembered. And her mother’s face; could she still remember how it looked? Niye sighed.

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It had been seven years now since she last saw her mother-seven years ago when her father had died. And when he did, his greedy family members had set in to devour whatever good things he left behind, save his wife-her mother. But was her mother really good? Niye did not know. Her father’s family sent the woman packing from the home which her husband had built for himself, her, and his daughter. Niye’s mother had tried to raise Niye, her only child, on her own. But she had soon developed a heart condition resulting from stress-emotional and otherwise. It was then her mother’s brother, the only one Niye knew, stepped in. He cared too much for his younger sister to let her suffer, he had claimed. So he had offered to take Niye away and raise her on her mother’s behalf. And her mother had been forced to agree. But her uncle’s wife had been opposed to the idea. The woman saw Niye as a burden unnecessary for her family to bear. Her husband was barely able to cater for her, she had complained. How then will they survive with an extra mouth to feed? Perhaps in frustration, she had taken to maltreating the poor little Niye as her only form of consolation for her complaints which fell on deaf ears. Then she had gotten pregnant and died during childbirth. Niye, even till now, did not know whether to be happy or sad at her aunt’s death. For one thing, it had ended her days of physical abuse; and for another, it had completely changed her uncle’s outlook on life. He was now lacklustre and nonchalant, sometimes a drunk. But Niye had loved the child which her aunt had put forth which was Osato. Niye had regarded it and nurtured it like it was her sister, her own child. They had simply become one indivisible entity even to this night. Slowly Niye sat up as she finished reflecting on years gone by. She didn’t cry. Even when she thought of the unfulfilled promises her mother had made and the many tortures her aunt had put her through, she did not cry. Even when she

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thought about how much her life had changed over the years and how much better it would be should her father come back somehow, Niye did not cry. She had cried at these thoughts all her life that it wasn’t occurring to her to cry anymore. She got up and groped along the wall for the light switch. She found it and switched on the light. She looked around the room as if trying to make sure everything was intact. The bare cement floor was as it was before Rachael had come that evening. The clothes hanger was as it had been for a long time nowbarely hanging any clothes. The old, torn mattress still maintained its position, and the bedside table had not moved an inch. Niye nodded and smiled contentedly as she moved again to the bed, and sat on the edge, close to the bedside table. Then she opened the drawer and brought out the three things that brought joy to her life and gave her a purpose for living. Three things they were plus Osato making four. She studied the first. It was a picture of Rachael. Rachael, she thought appreciatively; what would she be without Rachael? It was Rachael who had loved her when her aunt had hated her. It was Rachael who had taught her the basic facts of life and the inevitable things that happen in a girl’s body. It was Rachael who had even taught her to say plain “No” to the illicit demands of the “opposition sex”. “Never tell them you’ll think about it,” Rachael had always told her. “That’s like saying yes. Just tell them, ‘No,’ and ‘No’ means No.” It was Rachael who had always been there to listen to her when she spoke, and wipe the tears off her face when she cried. And on the few occasions when she laughed, Rachael was sure to be present. She loved Rachael and Rachael loved her, Niye concluded. But the only thing with Rachael, which Niye was still trying to like, was Rachael’s temper. It was hell let loose whenever Rachael was angry, especially when her temper rose to the point where she began to vibrate. Niye still loved her despite her obvious weakness.

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She put the picture aside and began to study another. It was that of her father. She wouldn’t even have been born without him, Niye reasoned, and perhaps without her mother too. Her father had loved her when he was alive. She had always known that, for he had always told her so. And he had always showed it too. She remembered all the good times she had had with him; the fun and laughter and sometimes the tears when she misbehaved and was spanked. Her father also taught her many things, even things she supposed her mother should have taught her; one of which was the theory of virginity. He was always drumming it in her ears, but it was only when she understood the facts of life, that she came to appreciate the concept. And because the Bible endorsed virginity, Niye became more than willing to indulge in the practice. She had been successful so far, but it had not been easy. Her difficulties were further multiplied by the fact that she was beautiful. Niye was beautiful and everybody knew it. She had long, black hair that shone like heavily polished furniture. Her face was oval, almost the shape of an egg. She had blazing clear black eyes that were magnetic. Her nose was small and pointed like it was affixed only after she had been born, and her lips were almost always pouted in a way that was attractive. Her breasts were full and tight. It was only when she took off her clothes that one could notice a narrow aisle between them. Otherwise, both breasts seemed one and the same. Her stomach was a flat as a slate and her legs were long and straight. Her skin was altogether smooth and black. She was a ravishingly lissom being. Niye was beautiful and she knew it, for Rachael always told her so. “That’s why they all want me,” Niye murmured. “I wish I wasn’t that beautiful.”

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Truly at her age, Niye had been approached by boys in different shapes, sizes, and colours. She thought she could remember one whose skin was blue, and another who walked on his head. Oh, those were in her dreams, she recollected. Then she put her father’s picture aside and began to stare at her last purpose for living-a piece of paper. It was the last thing her father had given her. On his death bed, just before he passed away, Niye’s father had written her a poem which had now come to become her guiding principle and her philosophy in life. There is always a better tomorrow, she thought and smiled, displaying a set of perfect white teeth. Then there was a loud rapping at the front door. “Niye!” a somewhat angry voice she instantly recognised as her uncle’s, floated into her ears. Hurriedly she put her life together, and placed them in their place in the drawer. Then she got up and strolled into the sitting room. It was time to face her future.

BY THE time Mr. Efosa Esosa, a lean, thin-faced man with sharp features had finished eating and taking his bath, and was relaxing in front of his apartment, Osato was asleep and Niye thought it the right time to ask, that is beg, her uncle for the much needed three thousand naira. Slowly she opened the front door and went outside to sit by him, the way Rachael had sat by her earlier that evening. “What is it?” her uncle asked harshly, like he hated the sound of her presence. Niye knew she had better speak up now that he bothered to ask. “Epa, registration for our S.S.C.E is due,” she said immediately. “I see,” Mr. Efosa said calmly. “How much is it?” Niye swallowed hard.

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“Three thousand naira,” she managed to say. Her uncle didn’t flinch. He sat there staring in front of him like he had the money right there in his pocket. Or did he? “When does registration end?” Mr. Esosa asked. “On Monday,” came Niye’s sober reply. “And when was the announcement made?” Niye shifted uneasily. It was obvious that her uncle didn’t have the money, and instead of facing the facts, he was looking for a means to hook the blame on her neck. She knew it because she knew him. “It was made some time ago, I can’t really remember when,” Niye answered belatedly. “And why didn’t you tell me then?” her uncle continued his assault. “I was waiting for the right time,” Niye replied, keeping her voice as low as possible. “So now is the right time, eh?” Mr. Efosa’s voice suddenly shot up as he flung his face in Niye’s direction. “Is now the right time?” He was still looking at her. Niye knew better than to look in her uncle’s face when he was angry. She could collapse or die from the fright that lay therein, and no one would come to her aid. Ekosodin was a place where everyone-even the animals-minded their business. So instead, Niye was staring to the ground. Mr. Esosa turned his face away from her and began to stare again in front of him. He seemed pacified by her act of submission and humility. At least that was what he made of it. “Niye, you know the dry season is coming to an end,” he said, his voice shooting down as dramatically as it had shot up. “Jobs now are few and not paying. In fact throughout today, all I made was one hundred and fifty naira, and that was because a fellow bricklayer let me share his work with him. Otherwise, I’d have come home with nothing.”

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Niye did not need the explanation. She already got the point the moment his voice had shot up. “So Epa, what are you saying?” she asked, her voice unsteady like she were already crying. Mr. Efosa flinched and grimaced. He had to say what he had to say. Three thousand naira was a lot of money which he didn’t have and wouldn’t borrow because he couldn’t repay. Niye would have to wait till next year. He should be able to save three thousand naira for her in a year’s time. He cleared his throat and whispered something which Niye did not seem to hear very well. “What did you say, Epa?” she asked again. “I said I have no money.” Her uncle’s voice had shot up again, but he had not yet finished speaking. “In fact I’m tired of this whole…thing,” he continued. “If I had money, my wife would not have died the way she did! Maybe you should just go back to your mother. Next year, I’ll send money for you to write your exams. I am tired!” The tone in which he had spoken, and the bitterness with which he had poured out his heart, made Niye do nothing but cry. It was no point sitting there any longer, crying in his presence; she arose and hurried back indoors. Once in her room, Niye flung herself hopelessly on her bed, her sobbing intensifying. Her uncle hated her and she didn’t know why. Even if he hadn’t the money, he could at least have spoken to her in a decent and fatherly manner. She would understand. Instead he had blared at her like she was the reason he was poor, like she had forced him to take her away from her mother, like she was responsible for his wife’s death. And he did that almost every time-when he had the slightest opportunity- except when she told him food was ready. And that was becoming rarer and rarer. Niye wept bitterly. Why did he have to hate her so?

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And when Niye had gone indoors, Mr. Esosa began to ponder what he had just done. Niye was a girl who respected him like a father and loved his daughter like her sister. She was intelligent and well-mannered. And yet he was so harsh on her. He didn’t know why. All he could do now was blame himself for being poor; for if indeed he was otherwise, his wife would be alive today. His life flashed before his eyes like he were about to die and he saw the good old days he had had with Angelina before Niye had come into their lives and before she had died. He bit at his lower lip as tears began to trickle down from the corner of his eyes. Hurriedly he brushed them away with the back of his palms, and sniffed back his sorrows and pains. He could not afford to cry; for whether rich or poor, happy or sad, deceased or un-deceased, he was still a man.

THREE

E

kosodin is where the majority of the students of the University of Benin live. It is essentially a student community as it would virtually be a ghost place

should the students leave. Most of the houses are built like apartment buildings and are generally called hostels because it is anticipated that they would be inhabited by students. Each apartment is simply a room, a kitchen, and a bathroom; but generally called a room. There is a major street called Edo Street which branches

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off at different points to form other streets which would also branch off at different points to form other streets. At the centre of Edo Street is a T-junction that leads to every other part of the village. Ekosodin was a nice and serene place to live in, especially if you were a student or if you were not that rich or if you were that rich and would not like the crowd in the main city. She was walking down Edo Street this fine Saturday morning when it suddenly dawned on Niye that it would not be a bad idea for Rachael to go with her. Her uncle was off to work, that is to look for work, and Osato was secure in their neighbour’s apartment; so Niye was off to see Jonathan. She passed the T-junction and branched into Hill Crest Street, headed for Rachael’s place. Thousands of whistles were blasting in her ears form every direction, almost deafening, but Niye kept her head focused on where she was going. She wasn’t going to heed the calls of these “opposition sex” that were lined about the street. In fact Niye had vowed to have nothing to do with any student, except with Jonathan because he was her friend’s boyfriend. For one thing, Niye was afraid of students who were secret cultists, and since it was practically impossible to tell from a distance who was a cultist and who was not, Niye had decided that the best thing to do was to stay away from students altogether. She remembered once when there was a clash between two rival cult organisations. There were guns and machetes and every other thing evil. There were killings and maimings and destruction. In fact, as far as Niye was concerned, it had to be worse than the First World War. Secret cults were a menace to the country’s educational system and Niye wondered why anyone would want to belong to such organisations. She hated them with a passion. Well, thank God Jonathan is not a cultist, Niye thought with relief. But how could she tell?

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“It’s obvious,” she answered. Niye reached her destination and entered the premises. She sighed as she began to make unwholesome comparison between her and Rachael. Just look at where Rachael lived, she thought. It wasn’t the best place ever but it was far better than her uncle’s “cubicle”. At least it was bigger. And Rachael was living with her parents and brothers and sisters-people that loved her. That’s why Rachael was able to register for the S.S.C.E two days after the announcement was made. She knocked gently on the door, then knocked again. The second time, a little harder. The door opened and a nicely elongated, chocolate-coloured fellow stood in the entrance. He was smiling respectfully at Niye. His hair was plenty but not unkempt, his eyes were big and bulging. His face would have been the shape of a rectangle only that the edges were a little more rounded. His nose was almost too flat to be noticed, and his lips were actually too wide. It was only when he smiled that his face made sense. “Omo, how’re you?” Niye greeted, like she was adressing Osato, or perhaps someone younger than Osato. “I’m fine,” Omo replied, still smiling. “Is your sister in?” “Which one of them?” “My dearest.” Omo made a sound that seemed like disapproval. “Well, she went to town.” “But she didn’t tell me she was going to town today,” Niye mused. Omo shrugged. “I don’t know.” Niye shrugged; she’ll have to go alone then. “So what about Iye?” she asked as a final act of courtesy. “Who’s your Iye?” Omo eyed her jealously. “Don’t call my mother your Iye.” Niye laughed. “Is this how possessive you are? Is this how you’re going to act if I become your wife?”

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Omo broke down in a smile. He knew she was teasing him. It had always been that way since he tried to marry her and failed. “I should literally tie a string around your waist if you were my wife,” he answered, “and drag you along with me wherever I go.” “Ah, thank God I won’t be,” Niye said as if in genuine relief. “I can only wish the unlucky woman good luck.” Omo laughed. “I should get going,” Niye announced, glancing at the wristwatch strapped at her wrist-the one Rachael had given her on her last birthday. “So soon?” Omo asked. “I’m actually going to see someone,” Niye said. Omo wanted to ask Niye who it was that she was going to see, but he quickly decided it was none of his business. “Alright,” he breathed as if in distress, “should I see you off?” “No thank you,” Niye replied succinctly. “Extend my greeting to Iye and the others.” “Okay…take care.” “I will.” Niye wanted to laugh as she left Omo’s presence, but she restrained herself. As she stepped back into Edo Street, headed for the T-junction from where she would branch off again in the direction of Jonathan’s hostel, Niye could clearly remember the first day Omo had “expressed his feelings” for her. She had gone to see Rachael on that fateful day, and the elongated fellow had answered the door. Rachael was not home, he had said. And as she turned to leave, he had told her to wait. He locked the door and offered to see her off. She had agreed. They had walked on in silence for a while before Omo had cleared his throat and decided to speak.

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“I love you,” he had said abruptly. Niye had stopped automatically in her strides, like she had slammed herself into an emergency brick wall that had sprung up in front of her; her eyes and mouth opening wide, like she was staring at the president of the country who had suddenly began break-dancing in the middle of a press conference. “Do you hear me? I said I love you,” Omo had said again, his voice unsteady, like there was an atomic bomb pointed to his face and he was begging for his life. “So?” Niye had said calmly, the brick wall and the president disappearing. “I-I want you to be my…wife,” Omo had stammered. Niye had immediately erupted in laughter. She didn’t mean to, but she had to. The lad had a good sense of humour. “What’s so funny?” the fifteen year old had asked in sheer embarrassment. “I’m only expressing my feelings for you. Is anything wrong with that?” Niye had willed herself to stop laughing, and shook her head at the pathetic figure. She had then gone on to lecture him on the “Fundamentals of Progression in Relationships.” “First you have your mother, father, brothers and sisters,” she had explained. “Then you have friends, and female friends, and then a girlfriend, a fiancée, and finally a wife. Got it?” He had nodded his head like a malfunctioning robot and had thanked her profusely. That day they had agreed to be friends, but their friendship never grew beyond teasing and making each other laugh. Mostly it was Niye who made him laugh, although when he was in the right mood, he could be one hell of a clown. Omo had a quiet, serious face like one of those police detectives. But beneath that cloak was a jester eager to be released. They could sit together for hours, laughing in the most hysterical fashion, that anyone who saw them would reasonably conclude that they and madness were one and the same. Once, a renowned mad man had stopped by to invite them to his birthday party.

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Niye laughed now as she thought about three years ago. “Omo isn’t really that cute, but he makes me laugh,” she said. “That’s something. Everyone has their blessings.” She wished she could spend more time with him today. She knew he wanted her to spend more time with him today. But laughter was not on her priority list. She needed money, and that was why she was going to Jonathan. Maybe after Jonathan gives me the money, she thought fondly, I’ll go and see my darling. She reached Zenith Hostel and entered. She walked down the corridor to room five, Jonathan’s room, and knocked. A smooth voice asked her to come in without even asking who she was. “Thank God he’s home,” Niye muttered as she turned the door handle and went in. Jonathan sat up on his bed with a reflex the moment he saw her. Niye thought she saw something fly from his hands into the nearby kitchen as she entered. But Jonathan was an absolutely charming fellow. He was what every man would want their wives to be-beautiful. He was tall, such that Niye, who was approaching six feet, reached him at the shoulders. His eyes were simply alluring. Hazel they were; cajouling. He had the looks of one of those fairies they used in the movies. The expression on his face now was that of pleasant surprise and nothing else. This was the first time Niye had been to his place alone. The other times they had met, it had either been at her place or Rachael’s. “What a pleasant surprise,” Jonathan said as if he were talking to a goddess. “You of all people, here to see me!” Niye never imagined Jonathan would be so happy to see her. If she did, she would not have come alone. How would he feel when he finally came to realise that she was not on a casual visit but to ask him for money? Wouldn’t it mean she really

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could not visit him except she wanted a favour? He certainly wouldn’t feel good. But it was too late now to turn this into a casual visit as registration ended on Monday. Maybe some other time, she thought, I’ll pay him a real visit. “Sit down,” she could hear him say. He was still grinning at her. Niye sat down on the armchair close by. She had been here before, yet as always, she felt a stranger. Like the last time she was here, the armchair on which she now sat, had not been there. The place was changing everyday for good, unlike hers which was changing every minute for worse. She sighed inwardly. “So what do I offer you?” Jonathan asked, moving to the mini-sized refrigerator that was at one corner of the room. “Oh, nothing, thank you,” Niye replied, smiling softly. “Sure?” he asked surprised. “It’s your first time here alone. I should entertain you.” “I’m fine Jona. Maybe some other time.” “Okay, if you say so,” Jona said with a half shrug. Niye watched him as he moved languidly to the CD rack that was in proximity of the CD player. But she was still watching him as his hand slid from one CD to another. He’s really handsome, Niye thought to herself. No wonder Rachael likes him. But he’s not funny like Omo. That’s why I like Omo. As I said, everyone has their blessings… While Niye was beginning to childishly analyze who between Omo and Jonathan would make a better husband, she heard him speak again. “So what kind of music do you listen to?” Niye thought it was time she went straight to the point. “Jona, I’m here for something really important,” she said. Jonathan instantly turned towards her, concern plastered to his face.

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“Really?” He moved to the bed and sat at its edge, directly opposite Niye. “What’s the matter?” he asked. Niye suddenly found reasons to cry. “Jona,” she began amidst tears, “I’ve not been able to register for the S.S.C.E because my uncle doesn’t have the money. And registration ends on Monday. I need your help, Jona.” A smile of relief spread across Jonathan’s thin lips. “Is that it?” he asked. “Yes,” the crying baby replied. “How much do you need?” “Three thousand naira.” “It’s nothing,” he said. And then more affectionately, “Come on, wipe your tears.” “You’ll help me, Jona?” Niye asked. “Of course I will,” Jona replied. Niye wiped the tears off her face and smiled. “Thank you, Jona.” Jona was smiling broadly and staring at her. It was then the Devil entered him. “See how pretty you are without tears,” he commented. The young lady looked downwards in embarrassment. “Come, come and sit here by me.” A certain kind of fear penetrated Niye’s being as he said those words; she looked up at him impulsively. Why did he want her to sit by him? And she seemed to realise for the first time that he was on his boxers’, period. No shirt, no nothing. And she; she was wearing a long-sleeved print blouse and a denim skirt, the hem of which stopped inches above her knee as she sat there on the armchair.

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She found Jonathan’s eyes peering in between her smooth legs. She was uncomfortable. Nervously, she clasped her knees together. “I’m fine here, Jona,” she heard herself say. But she really wasn’t that frightened of Jona. He was her best friend’s boyfriend, and he loved Rachael. He would be crazy to as much as lay a hand on her…if that was what he was thinking. She surely would tell Rachael and Rachael would leave him and he’ll be heartbroken. Heartbreak, Niye was told, was the worst thing that could ever happen to a human being. It couldn’t be otherwise for Jonathan. So, there was no need to fear. Slowly, Jona got up from the bed and was approaching her. Niye saw the protrusion at the centre of his boxers’ and she swallowed hard. She should leave, her instincts told her, right now. “I should…go…now,” she heard herself mumbling as she rose to her shaky feet. As she reached for the door, Jonathan held her by the wrist. It was a simple hold, yet it was firm and imposing. “Why?” he asked as if pleading. “Why do you want to leave me like this?” He was looking down at the protrusion in his lower being and Niye understood what he meant. But what was she to do about it? Nothing. She tried to free her wrist from his grip, but he wouldn’t let go. “I’m going to scream, Jona,” she threatened in a trembling voice. “Let go of me.” Jona pulled her deeper into the room; he began to laugh. “Scream?” he mocked. “Didn’t you notice the quietness of the hostels? All students have gone to protest the hike in school fees. I didn’t join them because I didn’t need to.” Yes of course he didn’t need to. His father was rich.

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Niye felt ice slide down her spine. What was Jonathan thinking? What was he going to do? The hungry look in his eyes frightened her all the more. Oh God, was he going to…rape her? Of course he wasn’t. Jona was too gentle, too decent, too handsome, tooHis other arm slid around her waist and pulled her to him. Then he let go of her wrist. Her body was pressing against his. Niye could even feel the protrusion like it had penetrated his boxers’ and her skirt and was touching her raw flesh, edged between her thighs. Her breath escaped from her nostrils in shreds and her skin began to vibrate. She was afraid, so purely afraid. “Please let me go, Jona,” she begged. “Please.” “I want you, Niye,” Jona pleaded back. “Give us this chance. Let me love you.” “But Rachael is your-” Before Niye could finish her sentence, Jonathan’s mouth was gliding down her neck. She could feel something now, but she didn’t know what it was or why she felt it. But she felt it. She was too afraid to concentrate on her feelings. All she wanted to do was leave, to flee without looking back. Her hands moved to his head to pull it away from her. “What are you doing, Jona?” she muttered as she tried to wrestle free from his grip. “Let me go.” But he didn’t let her go, and she couldn’t wrestle free, for his grip was hard around her waist. And as she was trying to pull him away from her, the beast in him was awakened. Somehow her blouse fell apart, and since she was wearing no bra because she had none, his mouth was all over her chest. And it was painful, so purely painful. Niye was hitting Jona now, screaming for him to let her go. But he wouldn’t. He didn’t. Instead, his hand moved to her crotch and pulled away the last and most important of her defences. He flung her on the bed in one quick moment, and in the

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next, he was on top of her. His boxers’ had somehow disappeared but Niye could not figure out how. His whole body weight was on her, and since she was about half his weight, she could not roll from under him. She could only continue to hit him as hard as she could. He seemed aggravated, so he caught hold of her wrist and held them above her head with one hand. Niye tried to free her hands from his grip, but it was fruitless. He was strong. And she was helpless, hopeless. She was beginning to cry and to beg him to let her go. He didn’t seem to hear, for he said nothing. She knew the end was near. She felt her legs open wider and her skirt hitched to her stomach. Then she felt pain in the real sense of the word. She shut her eyes and began to scream, as Jonathan continued his business in her lower half. The scream only seemed to make him more savage the way he attacked. Gradually the pain subsided the more movements Jonathan made. Then suddenly he became still, and gasped as he jerked. Then he became still again and buried his face in her neck. All movement ceased; it was over. Niye knew it was over. Jonathan let go of the hands he had held above her head, but Niye did not hit him. She didn’t even move. But she was crying. Who was this that had done her so? The monster rolled from on top her to the edge of the bed near the wall, and she saw grimly the blood that had smeared her crotch. Jonathan saw it too. Then he saw blood stains on the bed sheet. “My God, you’re a virgin,” he gasped. “I-I didn’t know.” Niye did not say anything. She wiped the last traces of tears off her face and rolled off the bed. “I’m terribly sorry this happened,” Jona said and ran through an inner door. He soon returned with a roll of toilet paper. “Take. Wipe off the blood. Or do I help you?”

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Niye took the roll in silence and wiped her virginity off her thighs. As she picked up her clothing from the ground and began to put them back on, Jonathan busied himself with changing the bed sheets. By the time he was done, she was done. “I want to go,” Niye whispered. “Oh yes,” Jonathan said, like he had just remembered something of great import. He moved swiftly to the bedside drawer and brought out an envelope which he handed to Niye. “That’s five thousand naira, I think,” he said. Niye reluctantly took the envelope and looked in it. Then she brought out the notes. There were ten of them, five hundred naira notes, of which Niye took six and put the rest back in the envelope. Then she handed it back to him. “What?” Jonathan asked surprised. “It’s all for you.” Niye let the envelope fall to the floor as he was unwilling to take it anytime in the near future, and approached the door to go back home. She wouldn’t see her darling anymore. Not today. She should go home. Right now. “Niye, I really did not know you were a virgin,” Jonathan began his explanation. “I wouldn’t have…I really love you Niye. Please be my girl.” Niye barely heard him and was shocked the way he spoke. Her friend’s boyfriend had just raped her and still had the guts to ask her to be his girl! Wasn’t he ashamed of himself? Shouldn’t he be ashamed of himself? Niye wanted to say something, but she was too numb to speak. So she simply opened the door and left in haste.

AFTER NIYE left, Jonathan began to ponder what he had done. They had done, he told himself. I didn’t do anything to her. We did something together. But he had raped her, and that was wrong. Everybody knew he was wrong except him himself. Or perhaps he knew and just pretended he didn’t. Truly though, he didn’t know she was a virgin. If he did, maybe he wouldn’t have taken her the

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way he had. He wouldn’t even have taken her at all if not for that pornographic magazine he had been reading, the one he had flung into the kitchen, when she entered. It had heightened his arousal and he desperately needed an outlet for the pressure that had built up in him. Then she had presented herself. What else could he have done? And then, her dressing had been inviting. He could see between her legs for goodness’ sakes! How then was he to avoid making love to such a nubile damsel? Again, maybe she wanted him too. At least she wanted the money. Maybe she had thought he wouldn’t be willing to help, so she had dressed up provocatively to seduce him. All he did was save her the labour of seduction. Didn’t you see she still demanded the money even after they had made love? She should immediately have fled from his sight. Still, if only he knew she was a virgin… But for goodness’ sakes, why didn’t she tell him? If only she had muttered it. Perhaps she craved him so much and feared it might turn him off should she disclose her condition of virginity. Shove things, it wasn’t really that bad. He would have her. Now, he knew he wanted her more than he did Rachael and that his other girlfriend. He even thought he loved her in a way. She was fertile, nubile. She was the kind of thing he wants. And he wouldn’t really have to struggle to get her. He knew that girls who esteemed virginity, and then lost theirs, would cling to the one who had taken it away from them like a baby ape clinging to its mother. That was how he had won his former girlfriend. When Rachael had come along, he had asked her to leave him alone, but she wouldn’t because he had taken away her virginity. He didn’t think Niye would be different. She would come after him soon and she’ll be his. All his. And that object Rachael… There was a knock on the door.

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FOUR

N

iye was crying. She had not stopped crying since she returned from Jonathan’s place. The treasure she had hidden for such a long time now had

been forcefully taken away from her. And by no one but one whom she had trusted. “But Jonathan,” she called. “Why?” Why, Jonathan? Why? Niye’s pale mind roamed her brain helplessly for an answer. She found none. But she could see Jonathan the first time they had met. He

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had been so gentle, so kind, so friendly, so brotherly. Then suddenly, he had raped her. Niye was almost going crazy trying to find an answer to the question, “Why?” It was because she was poor, she concluded. It was because her uncle had no money. It was because she had gone to him for help. It was because her father had died. “Why Epa?” Niye screamed. “Why did you die?” Her life was crumbling now, she told her father, and ever since he was gone. All her plans, her dreams; they were gathering in shambles. Wouldn’t it be better if she were dead? If she had died along with her father? Wouldn’t it be better than selling her purity for three thousand naira? Niye wept bitterly as the whole event of previous hours seeped through her memory. She wept. “Sister, why are you crying?” a familiar voice asked. Niye looked in the direction of Osato who was standing by her bed now, tears forming in the little girl’s radiant eyes. “Did somebody beat you?” Niye managed to sit up and wipe the tears off her face. “Osato, I’m fine,” she said. “Are you?” The little girl was peering into her elder cousin’s face. “Go and play,” Niye told her. “Are you hungry?” “No.” “Okay. Go and play.” Osato did not move an inch. “Sister, I’m sad,” Osato said ruefully. “Why?” “Because you’re sad.”

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Osato might have been trying to help the only way she could, but in truth, she was doing more harm than good. That she was sad was only more reason for Niye’s tears to continue to flow. “Go Osato,” Niye whispered. “Just go.” “But you-” “Leave me alone!” Niye interrupted the girl harshly. The little girl’s mouth snapped shut in surprise and fear. Had her beloved Niye spoken to her that way before? She could not remember. Something was wrong; but as she was in no position to find out what it was, Osato turned and left the room. Niye regretted her action-the way she had barked at Osato. But of what help would Osato be? Her young, innocent mind would not understand what it meant to be raped, especially when it pertained to your first sexual experience. Niye sighed. She wished Osato was older. Niye opened her drawer and brought out the three thousand naira Jonathan had given her. She smiled despite herself. At least now she would take the S.S.C.E. At least now she could have a future. At least now she had hope. And Jonathan; she would ruin him. She would go to Rachael and tell her what he had done. And Rachael would break his heart and he’ll be doomed forever. Niye was going to Rachael. Right now. She put the money back in the drawer, and wiped the tears off her face. Then she got up and walked into the sitting room. It was then pangs of guilt stung her conscience as she saw Osato folded on the sofa, crying. Immediately, Niye rushed to where the girl lay, and carried her in her arms. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Osato rested on Niye’s chest and continued sobbing. “It’s okay,” Niye continued. “Please Osato, stop crying.”

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As she continued to address Osato soothingly, and as Osato was beginning to stop crying, there was a knock at the door. Niye laid the girl gently on the sofa, patted her cheek affectionately, and moved to answer the door. It was Omo who had knocked, but he hadn’t smiled at Niye when she opened the door. Niye sensed something was wrong. “Thank God, you’re home,” Omo said. Niye found it hard to look Omo in the face. A certain specie of embarrassment, fear and guilt, had crept into her the moment she saw Omo. She felt like she had somehow betrayed him. She felt like she owed hin an explanation, an apology. “Come in Omo,” Niye invited. “You must come with me,” Omo said, ignoring her invitation. “I don’t know what’s wrong with Rachael.” Niye’s heart skipped two beats. “What do you mean?” “She’s been crying since she came back from town,” Omo answered rather impatiently. “And she wouldn’t say what the problem is. She was talking about killing herself, so I-” “God forbid!” Niye exclaimed. “Please come,” Omo said. “I’m beginning to get afraid.” Niye immediately called Osato and took her to their neighbour’s apartment. Then she went with Omo to see Rachael. She was surprised how uncomfortable she was, walking with Omo; not that it was her first time walking with him; but this time, she was fidgeting and was feeling pains in her conscience. But she walked on with him, seeking a reason to laugh at the things he said as they walked, and finding none, even till they reached his house. She went straight to Rachael’s room. The sight of Rachael Niye saw frightened her and made her hesitant to approach.

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Rachael was sitting on the bed, her back resting on the wall. Her knees were facing the ceiling, her hands clasped around her shin. Her hair was flying in all direction, and her eyes were remote and expressionless. Her lips were pouted. It seemed she didn’t even notice Niye, for she was staring darkly in front of her. No tears. “Rachael,” Niye called. But Rachael did not answer. Niye instead went to her. “Rachael,” Niye said again, “what’s the matter?” “He dumped me,” Rachael answered. Niye could trace black lines of anger in Rachael’s voice. But she was yet to understand what it was that Rachael meant. “Who dumped you?” she questioned. “Jonathan.” Niye’s mind flickered on and off. “I-I thought you said he loved you.” Tears began to flow down Rachael’s cheeks. But the undiluted anger remained in her eyes. “I thought he did,” Rachael replied. “So what happened?” Rachael went on to explain what had happened when she had gone to Jonathan’s place earlier. She had simply gone to request the money on Niye’s bahalf, she began, when she noticed the staleness of the air. She thought he had been working out in his room, but she was terribly wrong. “…Then he just called me ‘Rachael’ and said it was over,” she recounted bitterly. She thought she had not heard him correctly. But as she noticed the red piece of toilet paper on the floor, she understood the staleness of the air and heard what he had said.

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“I immediately went on to confront him on my findings,” Rachael continued. “He didn’t deny anything. He just laughed.” He had laughed at her sardonically and told her how much of a fool she was to think he loved her. She was good at nothing, he had explained, and was too officious. “He said he had found someone who was better than me in every way,” Rachael narrated, “and that if I had come in earlier, I would have seen them in bed.” Rachael sniffed before she continued. “The girl must have been a virgin. I wonder what she gave him that I could not.” In anger, Rachael had slapped him across the face. She could have thrust a knife in his heart if she found one close by. But Jonathan did not slap her back. He had simply opened the door and asked her to leave. She could not stand the sight of him, so she left in tears. “I don’t blame him now,” Rachael finalised. “That virgin girl must have seduced him to make love to her. I wish I could see her; then I’ll crush her to pieces for laying her hands on my man.” Niye shuddered at the thought of being crushed to pieces. All the while as Rachael was narrating, she found herself swallowing stone over an over again, and she felt thousands of snakes slithering up and down her spine. Now that Rachael had finished, her mind was blank. Pain, anger, fear and bitterness accumulated in her stomach. What now was she to do? She was the virgin girl. Should she tell her friend so? Would Rachael believe she had been raped by Jonathan and not the other way round? It pained her that her friend, like she, was in pains. She was angry that Jonathan would not be heartbroken. Instead, he had comfortably shattered two hearts. There was fear at the possibility of her being found out as the man-thief. And she was bitter, for Jonathan had taken away her virginity.

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Then again, there was guilt. Niye felt responsible for her friend’s sorrows. If only she had not gone to Jona alone, she thought, Rachael would be happy now. But shove things, she would make up for it. Niye would go to Jonathan again…for her friend’s sake. It was the least she could do. She wouldn’t go now anyway. She hated Jona now, more than the Devil himself. She would kill him if she saw him now. She shouldn’t go now. Now, her friend was crying. Niye could not help but cry too. Slowly she moved to Rachael and took her in her arms, wiping the tears off her face like Rachael had done to her many times before. “Don’t cry,” she pleaded. “You’ll be fine soon.” “He broke my heart,” Rachael reminded Niye bitterly. “Another girl has taken him away from me.” Niye could say nothing, so Rachael continued. “I wish I was like you, Niye,” she said. “I wish I didn’t have to fall in love. I wish I was a virgin.” Heavy pain knocked at Niye’s heart as Rachael’s statements settled in her consciousness. She was no longer a virgin; she was no longer who she used to be. She had lost her treasure; she had lost her pride. And the more she comforted Rachael, the more she yearned to be comforted.

IT WAS about six o’clock when Niye heard a knock at the front door again. She knew it was not her uncle and it was not Rachael. So, who could it be? She wondered. Wearily she rose from the sofa where she had been hopelessly trying to sleep, and went to the door. She opened the door, and behold, it was Omo who had knocked again. Her heart skipped three beats at the sight of him solemn. What had happened? Had Rachael hurt herself?

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“May I come in?” Omo asked, forcing a smile to his lips. “Of course,” Niye replied, stepping aside for him to enter. He entered and sat on the floor that was always bare. Niye shut the door and moved to the sofa, and sat. “Hope no problem,” she asked without wasting time. “I hope so,” he answered. “Is there a problem?” Niye was confused the way he spoke. “What are you saying?” Omo rose from the floor to sit by her on the sofa. That fear penetrated Niye again; but she didn’t run away. She couldn’t run away from Omo. “Niye, the moment I saw you when I came here earlier today,” Omo began, “I knew something was wrong. Tell me Niye, what’s the matter?” Niye was relieved that this was about her and not Rachael, and felt herself suddenly full of gratitude and affection towards Omo that he was here because of her, because he cared for her. But she was fine, wasn’t she? He shouldn’t have bothered to come. “I’m fine, Omo,” she said. He took her hands in his. She felt the gentle warmth of his touch flow from her palms, even to her brain. Instantly, she remembered her father. “Don’t lie to me,” he told her. “Haven’t our friendship grown beyond that?” Niye suddenly found reasons to begin to cry again, and she knew for some reason, she could trust Omo completely. “I was raped,” she said bitterly, “by Jonathan.” Omo hunched his shoulders and shut his eyes so tightly, that one would imagine they’d never open again. He could have fainted, for what he had heard had been totally unexpected. What he had heard was a taboo. “I went to him for help,” Niye continued, “and he forced me. And because of me, he has broken Rachael’s heart. I feel so-”

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Omo placed his fingers on her lips to stop the words that were to proceed. Then he pulled her closer to him, so that her head was resting on his chest. Still she didn’t run away. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s one of those things.” Niye now increased her pitch of sobbing, like he had just told her how much of a talented crier she was. “Omo, I didn’t want this,” she said. “I wanted to be a virgin till I got married. And I can’t tell Rachael ‘cos she won’t believe me. I tried Omo, believe me, I tried to run away, but he wouldn’t let me.” Omo didn’t say anything now. He just held her close and let her cry; let her talk. “Omo, I’m tired,” Niye cried profusely. “I’m tired of my life. Will there be no time when I’ll be truly happy? Will I live all my life in tears? Look at me, Omo. All my life, my dreams; they’re falling apart. I feel like dying, Omo. Now.” Omo knew it was time he spoke. “I understand,” he said soothingly. “But it’s not the end of the world. Look at me.” He lifted her face to meet his gaze. Niye was staring into his eyes, searching all over it for reasons to live, to believe her case was not hopeless. “It’s not over,” he told her. “Things happen for reasons we might not readily appreciate. But we have to look beyond them and see life, the bright side of life. And even if we can’t fulfil all our dreams, someday we will fulfil the ones that matter.” He was barely older than her, he hadn’t spoken much; but Niye found herself being comforted by his words, trusting them with all her heart. She wondered if this was the clown speaking or someone else. She could see life and hope and…she could also see pain in his eyes. He seemed to be distressed, like he was speaking the way he was because of an experience he had had.

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And he was. If only Niye knew what he had been through in his life that was a little longer than hers, then she would have no choice but to stop crying and begin to comfort him. But he wasn’t going to tell her. He had decided long ago to live beyond the pains and the wounds he had gotten so early in his life-just when he was ten. So he held her in his arms and comforted her, speaking softly to her just like her father always did when she hurt herself, until eventually, she fell asleep.

FIVE

N

iye was happy. It was Monday now and she had just registered for the S.S.C.E and she was happy. She would go home now and begin to study, she

told herself. And she would come out in flying colours. She knew she would. As she continued her journey home, thoughts of Omo floated to the surface of Niye’s mind: how he had held her close and comforted her, how he had spoken to her. To her now, Omo was nothing but amazement. He was about a year older than her, yet he had spoken like one of those elders in the village. He simply reminded her of her father. And then there was that pain in his eyes as he had spoken to her. What was it that pained him so? What experiences had he had that even gave him a voice to speak? Niye wriggled free from the thoughts as she reached home. “Niye, welcome,” someone greeted from above. Niye looked up and saw her elderly neighbour in the porch of the apartment upstairs. “Ah, Iye, good afternoon,” she greeted back. “How are you feeling now?”

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The old woman lifted her hands skywards in genuine appreciation of the one far above. “We thank God,” she said. “I’m better.” “I can see it,” Niye concurred. “You’re looking stronger than ever.” The woman laughed bitterly, almost sadly. “I should go in now,” Niye announced. “Okay, my dear.” Niye would go in now, take a quick bath, and then go to bring Osato from school. When she got back, she would go and see how Rachael was doing. Or was she intending to go to their apartment because of Omo? Niye didn’t know. Then she would come home, eat, and sleep. When she woke up, she would… Niye suddenly noticed an envelope sticking out from under the door. She picked it up and looked inquiringly at it. To her surprise it was addressed to her. And for more surprise it was addressed to her “with love.” Might very well be from one of those stupid boys off the street, Niye concluded. Then she opened the door and entered. She began to open the seal of the envelope as she sank into the sofa. To her further surprise it was a letter from Jonathan. She took in a deep breath and began to read. “My love, the letter began. “How are you today? I hope you are fine. I hope you’re not still angry with me over what happened on Saturday. Honestly, I didn’t mean for such to happen. In fact, I don’t know what suddenly came over me that day and turned me into an animal. “I love you Niye, and I’ll do nothing to hurt you. I’ll do whatever it takes to prove my love for you and show you how sorry I am. I promise it will never happen again. Please forgive me, and come back to my waiting arms. With love,

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Jonathan.” Niye sighed and began folding the letter neatly. On a good day, she would rip such letters to pieces; but today she found herself folding this one neatly. And as she was yet making up her mind what to make of the letter, there was a knock at the door. She was too lazy to answer the door so she told whoever it was that had knocked to come in. It was a sturdy, heavily bearded fellow that entered. Niye shuddered at the sight of the person she had let into her uncle’s apartment. When he smiled at her, she couldn’t help but shudder more. He looked like a rogue, if anything, and Niye could only imagine what it was that he wanted. “Good afternoon,” he greeted. “Afternoon,” Niye replied. “Can I help you?” He took his time to look around the nearly empty sitting room before he spoke. “Are you Niye?” he asked. Niye swallowed. “Yes.” “Good then. I’m in the right place.” He would have asked for a seat, but he noticed there was only one sofa in the sitting room and Niye was sitting on it. He didn’t bother. “How can I help you?” Niye asked again. “My name is Tamuno and I’m here on Jonathan’s behalf,” he replied mechanically. A wave of relief and anger surged through Niye’s veins. What did Jonathan want with her now? Why had he sent this thug to her? She would have walked him out of her apartment, but on second thought, she decided to let him be. She should hear what Jonathan had sent him to say. “Please sit down,” she offered, rising from the sofa, the tone of her voice suggesting that she would only be too glad to see him leave.

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The young man didn’t seem to mind. He thanked her and sat on the seat offered him. Niye went into the kitchen and returned with a low stool on which she sat, opposite him. “Yes, you said you were here on Jonathan’s behalf,” she urged him to continue. “Oh, that is right.” The young man leaned forward. “I am a friend of Jonathan, and I know him to be a very happy and animated fellow. But these few days however, his moods have descended drastically. As a concerned loved one, I had had to interrogate him, and he told me what had transpired between you two. So, I am here on his behalf to make amends.” “So he couldn’t come by himself,” Niye said in a calm, angry voice. “He is ashamed of himself,” Tamuno put in promptly. “He cannot stand the sight of you. He is aware that he has lost your most esteemed respect and trust, but he still begs for your invaluable mercy.” “Well, I can’t stand the sight of him either,” Niye told Tamuno. “I’d kill him if I saw him.” Tamuno laughed sardonically. “Are you sure of that?” “I am,” Niye replied. “I hate him more than the Devil himself; and I have refused to forgive him.” The young man put his hand in his pocket and produced a handkerchief with which he wiped away tiny beads of sweat that had formed on his forehead. Wasn’t this getting harder than he had anticipated? Hadn’t the fine speech and impeccable English which he had taken time to register upstairs been enough to break the bones of this vibrant lady? “You have all legal right and moral justification to hate him,” Tamuno said. “I would do the same if I were you. But he is sincerely sorry. Believe me, he is; and the least favour you can do him now is forgive him.”

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Niye had no reason to believe what Tamuno was telling her. All he had spoken seemed to have been thoroughly rehearsed. But she thought about the letter. Maybe he was really sorry. Jonathan was too gentle to lay a hand on a female. Maybe something had really come over him that day. She should forgive him. If she didn’t, how then was she to go to him on Rachael’s behalf? She would forgive him, but as to what he had done, she could never forget. Niye heaved and took in a deep breath. Then she exhaled slowly, before she spoke. “Alright,” she said as if in resignation. “Tell him I’ve forgiven him.” “That is most-” “And tell him I’ll never forget what he has done to me,” Niye continued. “And as for my trust; he has lost it completely.” The young man thanked her and promised to convey her message in her own words, then he left. Niye took a quick bath, and went to bring Osato from school.

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

And on Saturday, Niye made up her mind it was time to see Jonathan again. At least now she could see him and not feel an urge to murder him. She still hated him though. She knew she did. She had taken Osato to their neighbour and was on Edo Street again, headed for Jonathan’s place. But what about Omo-should she tell him of her plans? Or should he go with her? She concluded it was unnecessary as she was no longer a little girl. She would go alone. Niye reached Zenith Hostel and knocked on room five, like she had done the previous Saturday. A smooth voice asked her to enter. How she hated the voice. She entered and sat on the armchair, like she had done the previous Saturday. And Jonathan seemed happy to see her, like he had been the previous Saturday. But she

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was not here on a casual visit. She was here for serious business. Her friend’s happiness was serious business. “I’m here for serious business,” she announced. That seemed to amuse Jonathan and caused him to laugh lightly. “Really?” he asked. “How serious is this business of yours?” Niye shot him an angry look. Her eyes were quick to notice he was not on his boxers’ this time, but was wearing a pair of denim trousers. And her ears were also alert to pick up sounds coming from other rooms in the hostel. She nodded in satisfaction, and then went on to answer his question. “My friend’s happiness,” she said. “I want to know why you have broken Rachael’s heart.” Jonathan was smiling at her. “I broke her heart because I love you, Niye,” he said plainly. “Rachael doesn’t deserve me, but you do. Just give us a chance.” “I don’t love you,” Niye responded instantly, succinctly, tersely. “But Rachael does, with all her heart. Please Jona, love her back.” Jonathan stopped smiling, and now looked genuinely serious. “I have tried, Niye,” he informed her. “I have tried to kill this feeling I have for you, but I have failed. I love you, Niye. It’s you I want.” “No, I-” Niye stopped abruptly as she saw Jonathan rise to his feet. It was then she noticed the denim trousers were loose around his waist. It simply slid down his legs as he got up, and he stepped out of it. He was naked now, completely naked. Niye knew it was time to flee. She got up, but her legs were trembling again. Jonathan grabbed her around the waist as she reached for the door handle. “I love you,” he said gruffly. “Give us this chance.”

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Niye made to scream, but his hand closed around her mouth just in time. His other hand found the zipper of her skirt and zipped it down, allowing the skirt to slide down to her ankles. He pushed her to the wall and glued his body to hers. His hand was still closed around her mouth, so that all her efforts at screaming ended up producing strangled, muffled sounds that could be interpreted to mean anything. And since she was half his size, his weight was enough to pin her to the wall. And he forced himself on her, like he had done the previous Saturday. When he was done, he began to beg for mercy. Niye left him in haste, vowing to hate him all her life and kill him when she had the slightest opportunity. She left him in tears, knowing that her virginity had been taken away from her the second time by one and the same person. She would never see him again. Never.

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SIX Niye was pregnant. It was about two and half months after Jonathan had forced her, in the month of July after the S.S.C.E, when she had woken up one morning, feeling dizzy and nauseous. The next morning the same thing had happened, and then the one after that; and then the feeling had stopped. She had been relieved. Then she realized startlingly, a few days ago, that she had missed her period, twice consecutively. She concluded that she must have started menopause early. Then, that feeling of nausea returned; this time, not only in the mornings, but in the evening as well. She must be sick, she re-concluded. She should go to the hospital. So, the day before yesterday, she had picked up her clinic card and gone for check-up. She had explained the matters on ground to the doctor who had then ordered some medical tests to be carried out on her. And when she had gone today to collect the test results, she was told she was pregnant. Now, she was back home and thinking. She should be crying, but she wasn’t. Why would she? She could not be pregnant. There were those who had sex everyday in every week in every year, and yet they didn’t get pregnant. So why should she be pregnant? For crying out loud, she had only had sex twice. And she had been forced those two times. The doctors must have made a mistake. Niye would go now to Rachael and tell her, her experiences. If Rachael said she was pregnant, then she really was. But if otherwise, she would happily come back home and continue the wait for her S.S.C.E. results.

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She got up quickly, washed her face, and set out for Rachael’s place. As she stepped into Edo Street, she prayed earnestly not to be approached by on of these “opposition sex” off the street. Since Jonathan had raped her, Niye had found it increasingly difficult to say plain “No” to the “opposition sex”. She had simply lost her confidence. She felt they could somehow see through her and figure out that she was no longer a virgin; that she was like every other girl, that she had no pride and no reason to refuse their advances. But good enough, no one approached her. She reached Rachael’s home and knocked on the front door. The door didn’t open. She knocked again, and again; and still there was no response. Omo wasn’t home, she remembered. He should be in school as it was yet Monday morning. But Rachael should be home as they had both taken the S.S.C.E and were through with secondary school. Niye knocked again; the door did not open. Rachael must have gone somewhere, she concluded, so no one was home. She should go home. As she turned to leave, the door slowly opened, and there Rachael was standing in the doorway. She must have just finished taking her bath, for a towel was strapped around her chest, down to her knees. “I thought you were never going to open the door,” Niye queried. “I’ve been knocking all my life.” Rachael laughed. “I’m sorry,” she apologised. “I was in the bathroom.” Niye eyed her admiringly and entered. “Where’s everyone?” she asked, moving to a sofa. “Gone to school,” Rachael replied. “I’m the only one home.” “What about Iye?” Niye sat on the sofa. “Market,” came the succint reply as Rachael sat by her friend. “It’s really amazing how life is,” Rachael said. “Just one moment we were praying for school to

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be over. And now I’m so lonely at home that I’d start school all over again if I could.” “You were so lonely that you could not come and see me,” Niye countered. “Or have you found yourself one bobby that you’re spending all your time with?” Rachael laughed. “Niye, you know I don’t want to have any more boyfriends,” she said. “I want to be like you.” The smile on Niye’s lips vanished instantly as she remembered why she was here. She should go to the point. “Rachael,” she began, “to serious business now.” Rachael gave her a sideways glance that was nothing but curiosity. “What business?” “Very serious business,” Niye replied. “I’m listening.” All the words were stuck in Niye’s throat. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came forth. She needed some time to think of what exactly to say. She mustn’t get Jonathan involved. She mustn’t get crushed. She needed time… “Why don’t you just go and put on your clothes first?” Niye said. Rachael looked at herself and realized she was still in her bath towel. “You’re right,” she said, finding a reason to laugh. “Someone might just come in now and find me naked.” She hurriedly got up and dashed out through a curtain. So now, what was Niye going to say? That she feared she was pregnant because she had slept with Jonathan and because the doctor had said so? “That virgin girl must have seduced him to make love to her. I wish I could see her; then I’ll crush her to pieces for laying her hands on my man.” But it was months now. Rachael must have forgotten those wild, angry statements she had made. She wouldn’t crush the virgin girl to pieces. She

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wouldn’t crush Niye. Besides, Niye did not seduce Jonathan; Jonathan had raped her. But would Rachael believe her? Rachael stepped back into the sitting room, now wearing a pair of flared trousers and a sleeveless top. Niye watched her as she returned to sit by her. “So, what were we saying?” Rachael said. “What’s this business?” Niye cleared her throat. “Okay, let’s look at something,” she began. “If a girl misses her period twice consecutively and wakes up in the morning feeling to vomit, does it mean she’s pregnant?” “And does that girl happen to be you?” Rachael asked in suspicion, her face swivelling in Niye’s direction. “Yes,” Niye said. Rachael turned her gaze to the wall in front of her. “Those are the normal signs of pregnancy,” she said. “But in your case, I don’t know what to say…” “Why?” Niye urged her on. “…because people have to have sex to get pregnant.” “I have had sex,” Niye informed her friend. “Twice.” Rachael’s face turned in Niye’s direction again, and the expression written on it was pure bewilderment, especially when she knew that Niye had no boyfriend. Or was Niye beginning to keep secrets? “When?” “Some months ago.” “Have you gone for check-up?” “The doctor said I was pregnant, but I didn’t believe it because…” Niye ended her sentence halfway as she noticed Rachael sinking into the sofa. Was she collapsing?

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“Niye, you have killed me.” Rachael’s voice was unstable now. “What have you done?” Niye convulsed with fear and uncertainty. “What have I done?” Rachael seemed to remember something and turned to her again. “Did the guy use any form of protection?” “No.” Rachael’s eyes shut tightly, the way Omo’s eyes had shut when Niye had told him she had been raped. “Why?” Niye asked, trembling. “Am I pregnant?” “I think the doctor’s right,” Rachael whispered, her eyes still shut. Niye’s mind suddenly went blank. She didn’t know what best to do in the instant: to cry or die? So she did neither. Thousands of thoughts flew across her face. Her uncle would disown her. Her education would become history. Her future would be bleak. Her life would be hopeless, destroyed and finished, worse than death… It was then she appreciated the gravity of the situation and broke down in tears. She began pulling at her hair. “I am finished,” Niye lamented in a loud voice. “Rachael, I am finished.” She rose to her feet and began jumping and rotating around a spot like a robot commanded to move in all directions at the same time. Her hand was lifted up to the ceiling like she was expecting to lay hold on something that was everywhere at the same time. She was turning and twisting like a ballet dancer, lamenting as her eyes were weeping. Rachael knew it was time to act, before her friend went completely mad. She got up and grabbed Niye by the waist. Niye protested and struggled for her independence. Why was Rachael holding her? She should be left to lament and cry. She should be left to die. She should be left to end her life, here and now. “Give me a knife,” she told Rachael. “Where is the knife?”

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“Niye, calm down,” Rachael pleaded. “People will soon start coming to ask what the matter is.” Niye continued to try to break loose from Rachael’s grip. But the older girl was firm. It was all she could do; she needed her friend alive. Niye was restless, but she could only struggle for so long. She became drained, and her tense body gradually relaxed in Rachael’s arms. “Knife,” Niye muttered finally, pleadingly. “I should die.”

SEVEN

N

iye’s head was on Rachael’s shoulder now, as one of Rachael’s arms kept her close. They were sitting on a sofa. She was no longer crying. “It’s not over,” Rachael whispered. “Yes,” Niye agreed.

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“God will make a way.” “He will.” “And all you have to do now is confront the bastard that got you pregnant.” Niye shuddered. “I wonder what he was thinking, not using a condom,” Rachael continued. “And you; you should have insisted he used one.” Niye did not want their conversation to stray in that direction. “It’s past now,” she said. “I don’t want to talk about it.” “You’re right,” Rachael agreed. Then there was silence again. Niye was wondering what Rachael was thinking. Had she already figured out it was Jonathan that had slept with her? “But who was this guy?” Rachael asked. “We should teach him a lesson.” Niye frowned and eased herself from Rachael’s arms. “You don’t want to know,” she told Rachael. “Why not?” Rachael asked surprised. Niye looked away. She didn’t want her friend to see the fresh tears that were now becoming visible in her eyes. “Who was this guy?” Rachael asked again. “Rachael, just forget who the guy is, please,” Niye begged. But it only made Rachael more determined to know who the guy that had slept with her friend was. Then she asked again. And even again, and again; until Niye was forced to conclude it was no point keeping the secret, secret anymore. Some way or the other, Rachael was always going to know. Niye cleared her throat and muttered something. “What did you say?” Rachael asked. “It was Jonathan,” Niye said more aloud. “Your boyfriend.” Niye shut her eyes and expected the worst-expected to be crushed. But she wasn’t crushed, at least not in the instant.

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“Jonathan,” Rachael whispered. Niye didn’t say anything. She was busy imagining what was happening in Rachael’s mind. “So you stole my man,” Rachael continued in a calm tone. Niye could locate points of anger and bitterness in Rachael’s voice. For crying out loud, why didn’t she tell this to Rachael before? Why had she thought she could keep it all to herself? Why did she have to tell Rachael now? There was no answer to those questions. “So you made Jona break my heart,” Rachael continued her allegations. Niye thought it was time she spoke. She knew Rachael had been calm, expecting her to say something for herself. And whatever she said now would be the difference between life and death. “That virgin girl must have seduced him to make love to her. I wish I could see her; then I’ll crush her to pieces for laying her hands on my man.” Sweat formed on Niye’s face. “I didn’t steal your man,” Niye began her defence, willing her voice to be steady and calm. “Jonathan forced me.” “Oh, he raped you,” Rachael said cynically. Niye was hurt. But still, she had to continue, to finish her defence. “That Saturday, I was at his place to ask for the S.S.C.E. registration fee,” Niye continued. “And he…he just forced me.” Ugly memories were now being catapulted to the forefront of Niye’s mind, and she suddenly found reasons to cry. “He raped you or you seduced him?” Rachael asked, still calm, ignoring Niye’s tears. Niye frowned, not in anger, but in pain; for her best friend, for the first time, had refused to believe her. She turned now to face Rachael.

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“He raped me,” Niye said, “like an animal.” “You’re lying, Niye.” Rachael’s voice was on a steady rise. It was one thing not to believe a person and it was definitely another to call them liars. “Me?” Niye pointed to herself. It was impossible for Rachael to call her a liar. There must be another Niye somewhere in the room. “If Jona raped you, why didn’t you tell me?” Niye realised she was the only Niye in the room and Rachael was talking to her. She had to defend herself. “It was because I-” “God! Niye, I can’t believe you did this to me,” Rachael continued, perhaps unaware that Niye had started saying something. “You of all people? You made Jona break my heart?” Tears were flowing down Rachael’s cheeks, and Niye felt guilty. She couldn’t find words with which to defend herself anymore. All she wanted was for Rachael to stop crying. “I’m sorry, Rachael,” she heard herself say. “Please don’t cry.” “Niye, I can’t believe you’re so wicked.” “I said I’m sorry,” Niye apologised. “Please forget about the past.” Rachael’s entire being began to tremble. Niye knew what that meant, and she was ready for what lay ahead. The crush. “Niye, please leave,” Rachael said, her face radiating enough heat to burn the sun to ashes. “Rachael, I-” “Go away,” Rachael said again, “before I do something we’ll both regret.” “I didn’t-” “Get out!”

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And there was silence. Niye’s face turned to the ground; she shut her eyes. Tears accumulated beneath her eye lids: tears of pain, of bitterness, of sadness, of guilt, of fear, of misery. She knew it was time to leave. She had to leave. “Alright,” she whispered. Then she forced her eyes open and lifted up her face. “I’ll leave.” She rose from the sofa and moved to the door. Then she heard Rachael speak again. “And I never want to see you here again.” Niye turned to face Rachael, sniffed and wiped the tears off her face, as if to invoke Rachael’s sympathy. “Are you sure of that, Rachael?” she asked. “If I as much as see you within a hundred yards of this building, I’ll crush you to pieces,” Rachael replied. Niye stood there staring into Rachael’s eyes. There was nothing there now but raw hate and contempt, in a place where there used to be love and sympathy. Niye didn’t know how she was going to leave when memories of Rachael occupied the largest space in her mind. The good times they had had together. The times Rachael had been there for her and by her. The times Rachael had held her close and told her all was well. The times they had laughed together, cried together. The times she had stared at Rachael’s picture, and concluded that she would be nothing without Rachael. That she loved Rachael… So this was how it was going to end. Their relationship would be severed because of a man. This was how they were going to be friends forever. “It’s okay,” Niye said. “You’ll never see me again.” AS SOON as she left Rachael’s place, Niye decided it was time she told Jonathan matters arising, the consequences of his cruel actions. She wondered what his reaction would be at the sight of her. Since he had forced her the second time, Niye had never been to Jonathan’s place and she had dismissed the numerous

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emissaries he had sent to plead on his behalf, even Tamuno. She could only wonder what would happen at his place today. She reached room five, Zenith Hostel, and knocked. That smooth voice asked her to enter, and she did. “Jesus! It’s a lie!” Jonathan screamed, flying to a sitting position on the bed. “Is this really you, Niye?” Niye’s dazed mind began to try to remember if she had a twin. She couldn’t remember any. “I came here for serious business,” Niye said blandly, and sat on the armchair. “Really!” Jonathan said, still soaked in excitement. “I can’t wait to hear it.” Niye looked at him full in the face. “I’m pregnant,” she said. Jonathan’s face became pale at once; his mouth flattened. “You’re pregnant,” he repeated. “For whom?” “You,” Niye replied. “But we did it only twice,” he countered. “You forced me twice,” Niye corrected. “Now see the result of your actions.” Niye could not hold back the tears that had formed in her eyes; she let them fall freely. Jonathan too seemed hurt. Wasn’t it enough that he had taken away her virginity? Did he also have to get her pregnant? He was pensive as Niye cried. What in the instant was the best thing for him to do? Slowly he rose to his feet and moved to the armchair. Then he sat on the edge. “It’s okay,” he said, pulling her against him. “Stop crying.” Niye did not stop crying; neither did she protest his nearness to her. She had lost Rachael now and she couldn’t see Omo again. But still she needed someone to

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tell her all would be well. And Jonathan here was doing just that. Why should she protest? “I hate you, Jona,” she said. “Look what you’ve done to me.” “Please baby, I’m sorry,” Jona said. “I didn’t mean to. I love you.” Niye didn’t know what to say, so she just kept on crying. But she still hated Jona though. She knew she did. “Listen,” Jona began. “You’re going to have the baby, okay? I’m in my final year, and I’m going to marry you.” Niye automatically stopped crying; not that she was relieved, but was just surprised. “You’ll marry me, Jona?” she asked, looking up at his face. “Yes, I will,” Jonathan replied, brushing the tears off her cheeks. “I love you.” Niye did not know what to think or do or say. But maybe Jonathan really loved her. Otherwise, why would he want to marry her? Maybe he was really sorry for what he had done. Maybe she shouldn’t really hate him so much. Maybe this; maybe that…It was all probability. “What do you say?” Jonathan asked, looking down at her. “I-I don’t know, Jona,” she replied. “I’m confused right now.” “Marrying me would be the best decision you’ve ever made,” he said. “I’ll make all your dreams come true. I’ll give you all you ever want. I’ll love you like I’ve never loved any woman before.” Niye still did not know what to say; her head was still on his body. His hand moved to her face, and then down her neck, and into her blouse. Niye knew what was coming, but somehow, she didn’t flee. Perhaps if she did, he would change his mind on marrying her. But she didn’t want to have sex with him. Not today. Not now. “Please Jona, let’s not do this,” she said. “Let us wait till we’re married.”

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“Why wait?” Jona whispered in her ear. “We’ll still be husband and wife soon, so what difference does it make? Besides, we’ve done it twice already.” Niye thought he had a point. It didn’t really make any difference, did it? She should just give him this chance. Deep down though, she knew she didn’t want to. So she closed her eyes and let her thoughts wander afar even as Jonathan’s hungry hands probed her body further and further.

EIGHT

A

nd he had made love to her. Now when Niye was back at home, when it was night, she didn’t know whether or not to regret letting Jonathan in. For one

thing, she had sinned against God because she had willingly committed fornication. But what else could she have done in the circumstance? She had had no other choice. God would understand, she consoled herself, he would. He knew that she did not want such to happen. He knew she was forced to willingly let Jonathan in. He knew Jonathan would not marry her if she did not let him in. And if he did not marry her, she had no life. Even if he did marry her, the life she would have was uncertain. God knew all that; so he would understand. But Jonathan was not the man Niye would have wanted to marry her. No normal woman would ever want to marry a man who had raped her. Niye just hated Jonathan. No matter how hard she tried to like him, she still hated him, even after this last contact. And she knew she had disappointed and embarrassed him in this

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last act of intimacy. She knew he had hoped that the lovemaking would be pleasant for them both, but that was no to be. She had been as stiff as a pole, letting her mind wander to her father’s graveside. It was only when Jonathan had rolled off from on top of her and was shaking her gently that she realised he was done. Simply, it was like making love to a corpse. So what kind of marriage would exist between them? What kind of bonds would bind them together-bonds of hatred? Could a marriage survive on hatred? Niye did not know. But she had heard that even marriages built on love sometimes collapsed. Still, she had no choice. She would have to marry Jonathan, at least if only because he took away her virginity. More importantly, it might well be the only decision that would keep her alive. But she knew she didn’t want to. Tears now began to roll down her cheeks as she remembered the life she had dreamed of having when her father was alive. Now, seven years after his death, she almost certainly had none. What life could she have when she had lost Rachael? Why must she lose all those that meant the most to her? Why was she so doomed? “Epa, please come back,” she heard herself muttering. “I need you.” She was lost now, she told her father. Completely lost. She continued crying in the darkness of her room. Then suddenly, the light went on. Niye looked in the direction of the switch and saw Osato staring back at her. “You’re crying,” Osato informed her. Niye sniffed in and wiped the tears off her face. “Have you finished your homework, Osato?” she asked. “Yes,” Osato replied. “Why are you crying?” Niye sat up and beckoned Osato to come to her. Osato went to her and took her place on her elder cousin’s laps. Then Niye wrapped her arms around the girl.

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“Why are you crying?” Osato asked again. “I’m not happy, Osato,” Niye replied. “One man made me unhappy.” “What did he do to you?” “He made me carry a load that’s too heavy for me.” “Then give it back to him.” “I can’t.” “Why not?” “Because the load is in my stomach and I can’t vomit it.” Osato was quiet for a while, then suddenly she looked up at Niye. “Are you pregnant?” she asked. Niye could not figure out how Osato’s miniature mind could discern that she was pregnant, so she was staring at her in disbelief. When did Osato become so precocious? “You’re pregnant,” Osato said. “How did you know?” Niye asked. “You said it yourself,” Osato replied. “But that shouldn’t make you cry. You should be happy you’ll have your own child soon; and me, I’ll have a younger sister.” Niye was forced to smile, despite herself, at the little girl’s reasoning. She wished the girl was right. She wished it was that simple. “I’m not happy because I’m not supposed to be pregnant yet,” Niye began. “I’m supposed to graduate from the university, and get married, before I get pregnant. Now I’ll have to leave school to take care of the baby, and I don’t even have the money.” Osato seemed to completely understand Niye’s explanation: the way she was nodding her head as Niye spoke. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Don’t cry anymore, okay?” “Okay.”

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“Promise?” “Promise.” Niye found solace in the girl that was on her laps. She hadn’t lost everything, she thought. She still had Osato. She cuddled the girl more tightly, for this was all she had now, and could not afford to lose.

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

By the time Mr Efosa Esosa had finished eating, and taking his bath, and was relaxing in front of his apartment, Osato was asleep and Niye thought it the right time to inform her uncle of matters arising. She knew her uncle might react rashly at first. He might even threaten to kill her. But once he knew who was responsible, and his promise to marry her, he probably would begin smiling. For one thing, Jonathan’s parents were rich and if he married Niye, that wealth would spread into her family. And that was enough reason for her uncle to be happy with her for getting pregnant for Jonathan. Niye found herself being thankful to God that it was the son of a rich man who had raped her. What if he had been poor…like her uncle? What hope had she then? But still, she wished she had a choice. She took in a deep breath, mumbled some prayers, and went outside to meet her uncle. Then she sat by him. He didn’t seem to notice her. He was staring in front of him, whistling an old tune. “Epa,” Niye began. “I have something important to tell you.” He didn’t answer her. Did he even hear her? His whistling did not stop; neither did his face turn in her direction. Maybe he didn’t hear her. But Niye knew better than to call him again. She waited patiently till he was done whistling, then he turned to face her. “What is it?” he asked in a tone that was characteristic of him.

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Niye tried to find her tongue, but she could not. It had simply slid down her throat. She couldn’t even remember why she was sitting by her uncle in the first place. “What is it?” her uncle asked again. The harshness of his voice this second time simply propelled the words out of Niye’s mouth. “I was raped,” Niye said. “I-I’m pregnant.” “You’re pregnant,” Mr. Efosa echoed gently. Niye looked away from him and swallowed hard, expecting the worstexpecting to be crushed. But she was not crushed. She was not even touched, at least not in the instant. “You’re pregnant,” Niye heard her uncle say again. His voice was surprisingly calm and Niye could only wonder why. Suddenly, he began to laugh. Startled, Niye turned to look at him. Hope he was not going mad. Then he began to shake his head in a pathetic fashion. “I knew it,” he said. “I knew you have been sleeping around with all the boys in the neighbourhood. Now you see the result? It is written, my dear, ‘whatever you sow, the same shall you reap.’” Niye was hurt at her uncle’s statement. She was hurt because she was reaping what she had not sown-what she had not even thought of sowing. And God knows she had not been sleeping with all the boys in the village. God knows she had slept with only one man and that one had forced her. “Epa, I’ve not been sleeping around,” Niye said in solemn defence. “I was forced.” “Will you shut your mouth or I help you shut it!” Mr. Esosa barked, lifting up his hands as if to strike her mouth shut. Niye’s face immediately turned to the ground.

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“You were forced,” he continued; “whom did you tell? Answer me; whom did you tell?” Niye was crying now. “Epa, I was afraid to tell you because I thought…” “You thought what?” the man barked again. “Epa, I went to a friend to help me with the money for my S.S.C.E,” Niye rephrased in a shaky voice, “and he raped me before giving me the money.” Mr. Efosa felt something that made his lifted hand fall lifelessly to his side. For a moment he said nothing. “Why did he rape you?” he asked finally, quietly. “Epa, I…I don’t know,” Niye replied. “Epa, believe me. I have never slept with any man except him. I wanted to be a virgin till I got married. I was forced, Epa. Please believe me.” Niye cried bitterly, and Mr. Efosa believed her. He too was hurt. And now, like many times before, he blamed himself for being poor. If he had had the money, Niye would have registered for the S.S.C.E without stress. It was because of him that Niye had been raped. He took away her virginity. He turned to Niye and felt for her, sympathy. “It’s alright,” he said. “I believe you. Stop crying.” Niye did not stop crying, so he moved closer to her and cuddled her like she was his own daughter. He cuddled her for the first time in seven years. And for the first time in seven years, he felt truly responsible for her. For the first time in seven years, he felt like a father to her. “I-I didn’t tell you because-” “I know, I know,” he cut her short. The more Niye cried, the more Mr. Efosa blamed himself for her tears. For goodness’ sakes, why didn’t he borrow the money for her at all cost? Now look what he had done.Tears were beginning to roll down his cheeks even before he realised it. When he did, he quickly brushed them away. And anger began to radiate within

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him. The least he could do now was make sure that the idiot who got his beloved daughter pregnant did not go unpunished. He should teach the fool a lesson. “Come, Niye,” he said. “Take me to the idiot.”

It was about ten o’clock when Niye and her uncle reached Zenith Hostel, and made their way to room five. Niye knocked gently, and the smooth voice asked her to enter. She did, and her uncle followed behind her. Mr. Efosa had planned to pounce on the idiot and give him the beating of his life. But that plan was instantly nullified the moment he stepped into Jonathan’s room. The idiot was not an ordinary idiot-he was a wealthy idiot. And Mr. Efosa would be a bigger idiot to lay a hand on the son of a rich man. What if he were thrown in jail? Where would he get the money to bail himself out? So he stood at the door to begin his confrontation. “So, you’re the one who raped my daughter,” he said. Jonathan seemed surprised at the question. He was surprised at seeing Mr. Esosa, even at seeing Niye. These people must be strangers. “I beg your pardon?” Jonathan said. Mr. Esosa turned to Niye. “Niye, is he not the one?” “It’s him,” Niye answered. Jonathan seemed confused and amused. “Could somebody please tell me what’s going on here?” he demanded. “Young lady, who are you?” Niye’s jaw dropped at the question. “Jona, it’s me, Niye,” she bothered to answer. “Have we met before?” Jonathan asked, as if trying to remember where he had come across the name. Niye’s eyes now opened wide. “You don’t know me, Jona?” she asked. “Are you denying me?”

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Jonathan peered at her for a while, and then his face lighted up as he remembered who she was. “Oh, you,” he said; “how could I forget you?” Niye heaved a sigh of relief. “You were here this morning and we had sex,” Jonathan continued. “So what do you want now?” “You raped me,” Niye said sharply. “Excuse me?” Jona countered. “We had sex this morning and you didn’t protest, did you? I didn’t force you, did I?” “Niye, isn’t this him?” Mr. Esosa asked. Niye could not say anything. She was moping at her uncle, and then at Jonathan, and then at her uncle again. “And by the way, sir,” Jonathan said to her uncle. “My name is not Jonathan. I am Eriso.” He handed his nearby student ID card to Mr. Esosa. Mr. Esosa examined it for a while and then handed it back to him. “Niye,” he said. “Let’s go home.”

NINE

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N

iye was lying on the sofa when she heard a knock on the door. Reluctantly she got up and moved to the door to open it. Her mouth went agape and her

eyes expanded to twice their original size at the sight of the person standing in front of her. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her palms to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. And when she reopened them, he was still there, grinning at her. She wasn’t dreaming. It was her father. She flung herself into his waiting arms and buried her face in his neck, her calf bent upward like she was kneeling in the air. “Daddy, it’s you,” she said. “It’s you.” “It’s me,” the man replied, and together they moved into the sitting room. “Where have you been?” Niye asked. “I missed you.” The man loosened his grip around her and ushered her to a sofa. He sat down, and she sat by him, cuddled up against him. “I missed you too,” he said. “How’re you?” Niye suddenly found reasons to cry. But she did not answer the question. She only cried. Her father put his soothing arms around her. How she loved those arms. How she missed those arms. “I know you’re going through a lot,” he said. “Daddy, it’s been terrible,” Niye told him. “I don’t know why I’m so doomed.” “I know it’s been terrible,” the man said. “But you’re not doomed. Never.” “Daddy, I-” “Things happen for a reason,” he continued. “Sometimes what we don’t deserve become our lot. But they happen today to test us, try us, and make us ready for what lay ahead. Journey through life is never smooth.” “I wish I had you all this time,” Niye said. “All these things wouldn’t have happened.”

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“That’s why you don’t have me anymore,” the man told her; “so they can happen. You can’t have me forever, Niye. Everyone must go some time. But you always can have you, your life. And all your dreams can become reality if only you find the courage and determination to fight through today, to survive. If only you are willing to rise when you fall, and keep on moving: stepping over obstacles, swimming every river, climbing every mountain. And looking beyond today at the day after, smiling in your suffering and pain and hoping tomorrow will be a better day.” Niye shut her eyes and tightened her grip around her father’s neck as she assimilated every word he said. When she opened her eyes again, he was gone. In his place was Osato, sleeping soundly by her. Niye could feel someone tapping at her gently. She looked sideways and saw her uncle beside her on the bed. Her arms were clasped around her pillow. “Take this money,” her uncle was saying, handing her some notes. “Go to Warri to meet your mother.” “Epa, I-” “Here’s her address,” the man continued, handing her a piece of paper. “And tell her why I sent you back. Tell her you’ve been sleeping with a lot of men, you cannot even remember their names or differentiate one from the other. Tell her you’re now a prostitute, a pregnant one. And that’s why I’m sending you back.” “Epa, his name’s Jonathan,” Niye cried. “I swear!” This was the first time Niye had had an opportunity to say anything to her uncle since they left Jonathan’s place the previous night. The man had simply ignored her like she was abstract, until now. “Epa, believe me,” Niye continued. “He forced me.” “Shut up!” Mr. Esosa thundered. “He forced you or you went to sleep with him for money? Did you not sleep with him yesterday morning?” Niye decided not to answer the question.

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“And his name was not even Jonathan; how can you explain that?” “Epa, I’ll take you to…” Niye wanted to take her uncle to Rachael, but she quickly remembered she’ll be crushed if Rachael saw her; so she halted in her sentence. “How can you explain that?” her uncle reminded her of the question on ground. The look in his eyes and the waiting in his mind showed that he earnestly hoped she had a reasonable explanation to offer. “I-I can’t,” Niye whispered. “But I know him as Jonathan.” Her uncle sighed and looked upwards, biting at his lower lip. Then he returned to face Niye. “You see how stupid you are,” he said. “You see how…And to think that I brought myself to believe you, determined to fight for you, only to be so embarrassed.” Niye knew her uncle was hurt, and she was responsible. She suddenly felt guilty. What was she to do now to pacify him? “I’m sorry, Epa,” she said. “I didn’t mean to.” “Sorry for yourself,” her uncle replied instantly, coldly. “Take your things and leave my house. Do you hear me? I don’t want to see you here when I get back.” Before Niye could say anything, he was out of the room, and soon she heard the front door slam shut. She wanted to cry, but could not. The tears would not form. But there was someone whimpering behind her. Niye turned to see Osato who had been sleeping by her, now awake and crying. “Epa wants you to go,” Osato said. “Why?” Tears began to form in Niye’s eyes as she realised that the last thing she had would soon be lost. “I made Epa angry,” Niye said in her uncle’s defence. “But he shouldn’t send you away,” Osato countered. “Who’ll take care of me now?”

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Niye was touched. She did not want Osato to speak any longer, so she placed her finger on the girl’s lips. “I’m not going away forever,” Niye said. “I’ll be back for you.” “Promise?” “Promise.” Niye opened her arms to receive the girl. “Now you’ll take your bath and go up to meet Iye,” Niye said. “I won’t go to school?” “Not today. You’ll be with Iye till Epa comes back.” Osato nodded her head and rested on Niye’s chest. Niye held her close for a long time. Her mind began to remember the words her father had passed on to her in the dream. She smiled, for her father, wherever he was, had not forgotten about her. And her mother? Niye was going to find out soon when she would face the woman who had given birth to her, for the first time in seven years.

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

“Airport junction, come down,” the driver ordered as he swerved the bus carelessly to the side of the road. Niye brought out the address her uncle had given her and peered at it, just to make sure she was on track. “No. 132 Airport road,” the address said, “by Hotel De Mark.” She alighted and took a moment or two to evaluate her surroundings. It wasn’t looking very different from where she had come from, only it was a little neater. This was Warri, she thought. This was where her mother was.

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She had to find her mother now. She had to find Hotel De Mark. And Hotel De Mark wouldn’t be far from where she was, so she should ask someone. Niye looked to her side and saw a mobile police checkpoint. The policemen would surely know where Hotel De Mark was. She strolled to the checkpoint. “Good afternoon, sirs,” Niye greeted the men. They didn’t answer. Or they didn’t even hear her. While some were sleeping, others were eating, and yet others were zealously collecting illegal fees from passing cabs. Maybe the drivers had no license or no seat belts; and instead of being taken to the station to be fined, they would simply give the policemen a tip and be allowed to go free. Niye hissed. “What are you hissing at?” a gruff voice asked from behind her. Startled, Niye turned around. It was a policeman, about the same age as her uncle, who was staring down at her. Instinctively she moved three steps backwards. “What are you hissing at?” the policeman asked again. “You don’t like what you see?” “I…I am looking for my mother,” Niye replied. “Oh, are you new in town?” “Yes.” The policeman was looking at Niye with a look she had seen in the eyes of many boys before; but not in the eyes of a man as old as her uncle. Why should he look at her that way? “So, where does your mother live?” the man asked. Niye handed the piece of paper to him. He looked at it and began to scratch at his head. Then he smiled. “I know the place,” he said. “I’ll take you there.” “Thank you… sir.” “But before we go there, why don’t you first come along with me?” “Sir?”

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“Let’s go to some cool spot.” “Sir?” The man was still smiling at her. “Let us do the thing,” he said, “if only once.” Niye knew what he was talking about, what he wanted, the moment he asked her if she was new in town. “What thing, sir?” she feigned ignorance. The expression on the man’s face was nothing but frustration. Was Niye playing hard to get or did she really have no idea what he was telling her? Then he willed himself to start smiling again. Niye wondered if his smile was supposed to impress her. If anything, it was depressing her. “I want us to have coitus,” he drawled. “Coitus,” Niye repeated. “Yes, coitus,” he replied. “I’ll give you whatever you want; pleasure beyond measure, wild screams and tears of excitement…What do you say?” “The first man who gave me wild screams and tears also gave me a baby, which is right now in my womb,” Niye replied pointing to her stomach. “You want to add another?” The man seemed shocked. “You want to make them twins?” Niye asked again. “That’s Hotel De Mark,” the man said, pointing at a three-storied building three poles away. “I hope you find your mother.” “Oh, thank you,” Niye said to no one in particular. “I would never have been able to find it without you.” She could have exploded in laughter as she left the checkpoint, but for her own good, she restrained herself. But someone really had to instil some discipline in these policemen, she thought.

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And her mother; how would she look now? Niye could remember vaguely how her mother had looked when her father was alive. She had been very beautiful, with dark, long hair, and a smooth shapely body. But now; how would she look? Then this baby in her womb; would her mother believe it had been planted there by one and not two people? Would her mother believe she had been raped? And what if her mother didn’t believe; would she send her back to her uncle? No. She should believe. She had to believe. Niye had travelled with no luggage whatsoever because she expected her mother to believe. She expected her mother to sympathise with her and take her back to her uncle and plead on her behalf. Niye was sure her uncle would listen to his sister’s voice. He had always said he loved her dearly. Was that not even the reason why he had taken Niye away from her in the first place? So, that was what her mother should do-sympathise with her and take her back. That was why she was her mother. She should believe. Niye reached the hotel, and for a moment she surveyed the building. Such a fine name; such an ugly place. It should have been a local brothel, if anything. Then Niye began to look around at the smaller houses. She spotted No. 132 and began to approach it. That was where her mother was-the woman who had given birth to her seventeen years ago, and whom she last saw seven years ago. Tension and anxiety which had nothing to do with matters on ground were mounting inside Niye. She would see her mother today. Soon. She could almost leap for what should be joy as she continued to approach. “Niye!” Niye looked to her side and saw a pale, scrawny woman with a basket on her head approaching. The woman was smiling at her. But had Niye seen this woman before? She didn’t think so. It was only when the woman threw her basket carelessly away from her head and began to run towards her, that Niye recognised her as her mother.

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Impulsively, she too began running towards the woman, screaming, “Iye! Iye! Iye!” for she had found her mother. They collided in a passionate embrace, no one willing to let go of the hold. Not anytime in the near future. They were solemn now, as though they were sad. “I missed you, my daughter,” Niye’s mother said. Niye did not know what to say to that. She missed her mother dearly, but didn’t think her mother missed her too. If her mother did, then why did she abandon her for seven years; not even a letter to ask how she was doing? Niye herself would have come around sometime to visit her mother, but her uncle of course would not have the money for such “long journeys”. “I love you,” the woman spoke again. Niye felt tears from her mother’s eyes drop on her shoulders, and she felt her mother was sincere. She loved her mother too, she concluded. Just maybe. There were scores to settle though. A lot of scores to settle. The woman would have to explain why she had abandoned her only daughter whom she claimed to love, for so long. Yes, she would have to explain that. And as Niye continued to listen to the beating of her mother’s heart, little did she know that this might well be the last time she would hold her mother close. Might well be the last time.

IT WAS about five o’clock when Niye woke up from sleep. She had been so exhausted after the journey that she had immediately gone to bed. Now she was awake, and it was time to talk to her mother. She would first inform her of matters on ground, and if that went well, she would go straight to the scores which they had to settle. Slowly, Niye sat up on her mother’s bed and began to look around the room. It was smaller than her room in Benin, and unlike her uncle’s apartment, her

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mother’s was a single-room apartment. There was only the bed on which Niye sat now, a bedside table and a mirror in the room. Niye shook her head. See how her mother was living, just because her father had died. Her mother had become so lean and pale that Niye could not even recognise her when she saw her earlier. Her mother now had simply lost her beauty, just because her father had died. Niye felt like crying. But where was her mother? “Iye,” she called. “Where are you?” Niye didn’t have to wait long before her mother rushed in like a man whose wife had just put to bed for the first time. “My daughter,” the woman said, all smiles, “you’re awake.” Niye managed to put a smile on her lips, just so that her mother wasn’t smiling in vain. “Yes,” she replied, a yawn accompanying. Her mother went to her side and began to stroke her hair. “How did you sleep?” she asked. “Fine, Iye,” Niye replied. But she couldn’t keep on smiling. She was too grieved to keep on smiling. Her smile gradually faded away. “What is it, my daughter?” the woman asked. “You don’t look happy seeing me.” “It’s not you, Iye,” Niye said. “It’s…something else.” “Look I know I have offended you in many ways, and I can explain what-” “Iye, I said it’s not you,” Niye said, aggravated. Her mother was looking at her in a way that suggested she was finding it hard to believe what Niye had said. “So what is it?” the woman asked in resignation.

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Niye couldn’t speak. God! Wasn’t it a shame that she had to see her mother for the first time in seven years with a baby in her womb? How would her mother feel? “What is it?” her mother asked again. Niye swallowed hard, and looked away from her mother, if only to hide the tears that had formed in her eyes. “Epa sent me away,” she said. “Why?” her mother inquired in a voice laden with surprise and concern. “Because I…” Niye broke off. Niye’s mother waited patiently for Niye to say the reason why she had been sent packing; but as Niye was unwilling to speak, she decided to help with possible clues. “Did you steal from him?” she asked first. Niye wondered what there was to steal from her uncle. There were only plenty things to steal to him. “No,” she replied. “Did you maltreat his daughter?” “No.” “Did you fail in your exams?” “No.” “So what did you do?” Niye shut her eyes to let the tears fall. She should speak now, or forever remain silent. But she could not turn to face her mother. The shame was too much to bear. She mumbled something which her mother did not seem to hear clearly. “What did you say?” the impatient woman asked. “I got pregnant,” Niye whispered. “I was raped.” Niye expected her mother to say something, but the woman did not speak. So Niye went on to narrate what had happened at Jonathan’s place the two times

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she had been there. And even when she finished, her mother did not say as much as one word. It was only when she turned to look at her, that Niye realised her mother was now lying on the bed, her pale skin paler. “Iye,” she called. But the woman was simply looking in her direction and not saying anything. Niye felt her heart begin to beat faster as she reached out to feel the woman’s pulse, and listen to the beating of her heart. Her mother’s heart was not beating; neither could her pulse be felt. The woman was gone. She was dead. Niye’s mind suddenly went blank. What now should she do: cry or fry? No one would take her back to her uncle and plead on her behalf. No one would sympathise with her and tell her all was well. The woman who had given her life was now dead. She was now an orphan. Niye opened her mouth wide and screamed, her hand clasping around her mother, shaking her vigorously. She could not be dead. No, her mother could not be dead. She must have accidentally fallen asleep. “Wake up, Iye,” Niye screamed. “Wake up!” The woman did not wake up. Perhaps she did not even hear Niye. But Niye continued to scream and to shake her mother, determined to give her life as she had done to her seventeen years ago. The curtains flew open and neighbours rushed in, alerted by the sounds Niye had let out. They did try to separate Niye from her mother, but Niye would not let go. She would not even believe that her mother was dead. But finally, Niye realised that nothing she would do could bring life back into her mother. Reluctantly she let go, and held her face in her hands, and cried. She remembered that day, seven years ago, when she had parted with her mother. The promise her mother had made that they would be together again, the tears they both had cried as she was cuddled in her mother’s arms. Now the woman was gone. They would never be together again.

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“Why, Iye?” Niye asked, tears streaming down her face. “ Just Why?”

TEN

I

t was night now, and Niye was back in Benin, in a cab, headed for Ekosodin where her uncle lived. She could not stay in Warri, for she knew no one there.

The only one she knew was dead. She could only go back to her uncle, and hope he’d take her in. Her mind was blank; not because she wasn’t thinking, but because she was thinking a thousand and one thoughts that she ended up thinking of nothing in particular. “Where did you say you were going, again?” It was the old, toothless cabby who was asking. But Niye did not hear him. Or she heard him and counted his voice as one of the louder thoughts speaking within her. “Where are you going?” the driver asked again. Still Niye did not respond. The man began to peer into the rear-view mirror. Was she deaf, or dumb? Or both? He should find out. He swerved to the side of the road and turned off the ignition. Then he turned in his seat to look at the person he had picked up. “Hey.” Niye heard him this time, barely. She became suddenly aware that the car was now static. “What’s wrong with the car?” she asked. “Why are we not moving?”

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“I forgot where you said you were going,” the driver replied. “And I’ve been trying to ask you, but you seemed unreachable.” Niye sighed. “I’m going to Ekosodin.” The driver nodded and started the ignition again. But his eyes did not for one moment leave the rear-view mirror. He was observing this young girl. “So, where are you coming from at this time of night?” he asked. “Warri,” Niye replied, just for the sake of replying. “What did you go there for?” the man asked. Then he smiled knowingly. “You went to see your bobby?” Niye forced herself to smile. A nice chat with this old man would not be too bad for her health. “I don’t have a bobby,” she informed him. The old man did not seem to believe her. “You teenagers,” he said; “is there any one of you that does not have a boyfriend?” “We all are not the same,” Niye told him. He nodded. Then he shook his head. “I wish I was a teenager. Your life is so sweet. No stress, no nothing; just enjoyment all the time.” Niye wished he was right. But before she could make any attempt to correct him, he continued. “You have nothing to worry about, no pains to feel. Your parents provide you with everything you need.” He shook his head again. “I wish I was still a teenager.” “What if you don’t have any parents?” Niye asked him. “You don’t have parents?” he asked in return. Niye shook her head slowly, pathetically. “Things don’t work well for everyone,” she said. “Some of us have to struggle to survive.”

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“Struggling is for us, the adults,” the man responded. “I struggled to make sure my children went to school, and my family was in need of nothing.” Niye smiled weakly. Wasn’t she proud of this man? As old as he was, he still struggled to make ends meet. She wished her uncle was like him. Not that her uncle didn’t struggle, he just didn’t make ends meet. “That’s good,” she said. “But some of us teenagers have to struggle for ourselves. Tell me; how many children do you have?” “Legally or illegally?” Niye laughed and said, “Both.” “Oh, then, they should be…” “You’ve forgotten!” “The last time I checked, there was about ten of them.” Niye laughed again. “And when was that last time?” “Last night.” Another round of laughter. “So tell me about your illegal children.” “Biologically I have two,” the man began. “But when my younger brother died, I had to take in his children. There was eight of them.” Niye whistled in disbelief. “Why eight?” she asked. “Isn’t that too much?” “He was a good striker,” the man replied. “And he loved to score goals.” Niye understood him, and found herself laughing again. “So you took in all eight,” she said. “Yes,” the man replied. “It had not been easy, but it was worth it. At least today I’m proud when they come and visit me with their own families.” Niye was surprised at the man. “So why are you still a cab driver? I mean, you’ve got people to take care of you.”

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The man smiled in a way that told Niye he had been asked that question several times before. “I love to work,” he said. “I love to struggle and survive on my own.” They had reached Ekosodin now, so he parked the car. Then he turned to Niye. “Have I been of any help?” “Sir?” “I know you’re going through a lot right now,” the cabby said. “It’s written all over you. You may not have your parents, or all those you love anymore. But you can always have one thing in this life that no one can take away from you.” He was smiling at Niye in a way that was both friendly and eerie. Niye began to wonder if he was a spirit. “What can I possibly have now?” she asked. “Choice,” the driver replied. “Whether you live or die, are happy or sad, rich or poor; it’s a choice you’ll have to make. Always remember that.” Then he gave her a hopeful smile, and Niye smiled back at him. “Thank you, sir,” she said. “I won’t forget that.” She was dipping her hands in her skirt pocket, searching for her change. “Don’t worry,” the driver said. “Just go.” Niye smiled again. “Thank you very much, sir.” “No problem.” She got out of the cab, watched the man reverse, and waved at him as he sped out of sight. Then she turned to begin her journey home-her uncle’s home. Whatever was going to happen tonight, she was ready. She was ready now to face what lay ahead. It was her choice if she lived or died, was happy or sad, rich or poor. That was what the old man had told her, and she had believed him. So she was not afraid of anything.

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The sky was cloudy and soon, Niye knew, it would begin to rain. So she quickened her steps until she reached her uncle’s place and knocked on the door. “Yes?” her uncle’s voice asked. “Who is that?” “Niye,” she said. Instantly the door opened, but it was not her uncle who opened it. It was Osato. Niye could hear her uncle barking at Osato to “come back here!” but the little girl did not listen. Her beloved Niye was back for her just like she had promised. Wasn’t that enough reason to be happy? She ran straight into Niye’s waiting arms. “How are you, Osato?” Niye asked. “I missed you,” Osato replied. “Me too,” Niye said. “You kept your promise,” Osato said. “You’re back!” “Osato, I-” “What do you want here?” her uncle interrupted from the door, his arms folded across his chest. Niye put the little girl down. “I told you not to return, didn’t I?” he questioned. “Epa, please,” Niye said. “Take me in.” “You have a mother, don’t you?” the man queried. “Go to her.” “I have no one but you now, Epa,” Niye implored. “Don’t send me away.” Niye saw her uncle’s face stiffen as she spoke. “What do you mean you have no one?” he asked. “Is Warri so big that you couldn’t find your mother?” “I found her,” Niye answered. “So?” “She collapsed when I told her I was pregnant,” Niye said plainly. “And now she’s dead.”

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“What!” Mr. Esosa screamed. “Niye, you’re joking.” Niye wished she was. “Epa, it’s true,” she said, tears forming in her eyes, “I-I…” She could not continue, for her voice had been sealed by sadness. And as her uncle watched the tears run down her face, he knew she was telling the truth. His sister was dead. Mr. Efosa looked up. Were these tears that were forming in his eyes? He knew they were tears, but now for the first time in his life, he did not make any attempt to wipe them away. His sister had collapsed when Niye told her she was pregnant, and then she had died. Now like many times before, the blame rested on him. How could he have forgotten she had a heart condition? He should have known such bad news would be too hard for her fragile heart to handle. He should have known better than to send Niye to her. He had killed his sister, the one he loved the most. He let the tears fall freely. Niye could only wonder what he was thinking as she let her own tears fall. And Osato; she too was beginning to cry because Niye was crying. “Epa, I’m sorry,” Niye muttered, for what else could she say? What else? Mr. Efosa’s gaze slowly descended from the sky, to the ground. It was because of this stupid Niye girl, he reasoned. If she had not messed herself up with boys, she would not have gotten pregnant and he would not have had to send her to her mother. Now look what she had made him do. Suddenly, that evil specie of anger erupted from his bone marrows, and flooded his system. He would kill Niye now, if she stays one minute longer. “Get out of my sight,” he told Niye. Niye looked up at him and she knew she had to leave. Fast. Without saying another word, her uncle entered into his apartment. “Osato,” Niye said hastily, “I have to go.”

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“To where?” Osato asked in panic. “I don’t know,” Niye replied. “But I have to leave now.” Niye turned to leave, but Osato clasped her arms around her waist. “No,” Osato said in tears. “You won’t go.” “Osato, please,” Niye cried back. “I have to go. Epa is angry with me.” “I’m coming with you. I can’t live without you.” The cloud was black; the rain began to drizzle. Niye was touched. She looked up at the sky and bit at her lower lip, tears pouring like a waterfall down her face. “God,” she cried. “Why? Why have you done this to me? What have I done to deserve this? God, why? Why? Why?” But the sky simply stared down at her. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled; but no answer tumbled. She knelt down by Osato. “I love you, Osato,” Niye said. “I’ll be back for you.” “I want to go with you,” Osato informed her. “I can’t live here all alone. You’re all I have, Niye, please don’t go.” Niye couldn’t suffer Osato to speak anymore. The words the little girl was saying were stabbing at her heart, her body, her soul. So she placed her fingers on Osato’s lips, to hush her before it was too late. “You have to be strong, Osato,” she said. Osato was shaking her head in disagreement. She didn’t want to be strong. She was too young to be strong. “Listen to me,” Niye said forcefully. “You have to be strong. We might not see each other again for a long time, but one day we’ll be together, okay?” Niye did not know whether or not she believed what she was telling the little girl-that one day they would be together again. But she had to say it, if only to give Osato hope. Osato was slowly nodding her head, like she understood perfectly what

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her elder cousin was telling her. She was staring at her elder cousin’s eyes, wondering when next, that is if ever, she would see those eyes again. Niye wondered if after seven years, she would have a heart condition and Osato would come looking for her with scores to settle, with a baby in her womb and would tell her she had been raped; and then Niye would collapse and die. Was that how it was all going to end? Suddenly, Niye cuddled the girl in her arms, savouring the touch of her body. This might well be the last time she would hold her. Might well be the last time. “Don’t forget me,” Osato told her. “I won’t. I promise. Just be strong for me, okay? Promise me you’ll survive.” “I promise…and you?” “I will survive.” They were cuddled together, crying together, until Niye saw her uncle approach from inside the apartment, a machete in hand. He was coming straight to where they were, and Niye knew it was time to flee. Hurriedly she disengaged from Osato and began to run, to run for her life. “Are you still here?” her uncle asked, beginning to chase after her. “I will kill you, murderer.” Niye fled from his sight, and he chased after her with one intention in his heart: to kill her. And she ran with one instinct in her being: to survive. She ran with all she had left. She ran in any direction-every direction. She fell and rose, stumbled and regained balance. She was tired, but still, she ran. He chased after her, determined to end her life, for she had ended his sister’s. Even when the rain began pouring, he did not give up the chase, as long as she continued running. Although he had had nothing to eat throughout that day, he kept on pursuing; till his body shivered in the cold and his vision became blurred; till he fell to the ground, and became barely aware that he was helpless as the rain

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poured down on him. He should make it to his feet and continue the chase. But as much as he tried, he could rise no more. All he could hear were the sounds of a storm, and of thunder rumbling above him. But even after he fell, Niye continued running, for little did she know that her uncle had fallen apart. She fell and rose, stumbled and regained balance, until it was clear to her that she could run no more. She was exhausted, and let herself fall to the ground. She was ready for him, she was ready to die. So she waited for the sharp edge of the machete to send her to the place where there was no life. But the machete did not drop on her, for the machete had since been motionless. Wearily she lifted up her face and looked behind her, but her uncle was not in sight. She breathed heavily in relief as the rain poured on her. She should go somewhere now. But where? Her face was wet, but she didn’t know if it was the rain or her tears or a mixture of both. She should go to Jonathan, she concluded. He was the only one who would take her in at this time of night. Even if she hated him, he was all she had now. Slowly, she rose to her knees, then to her feet. But what was happening to the water around her? It had suddenly turned crimson. It was only when Niye looked down at herself that she saw blood trickling down her thighs, her shin, even to the ground.

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ELEVEN

R

achael had now come to her senses; this night she could not sleep. She had tried to, but she could not. When she closed her eyes, all she could see was

Niye pleading and begging her to come back. She sat up and turned on the lights. “I was such a fool,” she announced. “A big one.” How right she was. Wasn’t she such a fool to have thought Niye had seduced Jonathan? Wasn’t she a fool to have severed her relationship with her best friend because of a man? For crying out loud, what had come over her that day that had made her act so unreasonably?

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Rachael was sorry for what she had done. She was completely remorseful; but would Niye forgive her? Would she even have the courage to face Niye? She imagined the pains that Niye must be going through. Niye needed her now more than ever, but she was not there simply because of Jonathan. She cried, not for Jonathan, but for Niye-her love. She would make it up to her, she told herself. She knew she had to. “Are you crying?” It was Omo who had asked. Somehow he had appeared beside her. “You’re not asleep,” she told him as she wiped the tears off her face. “It’s just almost ten,” he informed her. “Why should I sleep now?” “You’re a student,” she said. “You should sleep early.” Omo sneered at her. “You should say that,” he said, “because you finished school months ago.” “Yes,” she agreed. He lay on the bed. “So why are you crying?” he asked again. “Another heartbreak?” She smiled weakly. “I wish.” Omo seemed surprised. Perhaps he couldn’t imagine anything worse than heartbreak, especially as it pertained to Rachael. “What could be worse than heartbreak?” he asked. “Losing your best friend.” Omo sat up with a reflex. Was she saying that Niye was dead? “What happened to Niye?” he asked. “I lost her.” “What?” “She…” “She’s okay, isn’t she?” “Yes…I guess so.”

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Omo heaved a sigh of relief. “So how did you lose her?” he asked a little less concerned. “She…how do I begin now?” “Anyhow.” “She got raped by Jonathan, and she told me, and I didn’t believe her.” “And…” “Well, I told her never to come around me again. I thought she seduced him.” “What? Why did-” “I know,” Rachael interrupted him. “It’s crazy. I was…I wasn’t normal then.” Omo was looking at her as if to evaluate if she was normal now. “So you both are through as friends: is that what you’re saying?” Rachael suddenly found reasons to begin crying again. “I miss her terribly,” she said. “I’ll do anything to bring her back, especially now she needs me.” Omo was angry. Why hadn’t Rachael told him this since? He had been wondering why Niye had not been to their place ever since. He would have gone to check on her, but for the stressfulness of his school work. But why would Rachael ever think Niye had raped Jonathan? And why didn’t she tell him this before? Or didn’t she know Niye was his friend too? “Omo, I need your help,” Rachael said. “What?” Omo asked angrily. “Please help me go and talk to Niye. Tell her-” “I can’t.” “Omo, please.” “I can’t. I mean, what were you thinking when you told her you never wanted to see her again?” “Omo, I don’t know. Please help me. She needs me. She’s pregnant!”

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Omo felt his brain being electrocuted as Rachael mentioned that last statement. Shock waves spread from his head down to the soles of his feet. He shivered lightly. “What did you just say?” he asked; his voice barely above whispers. “She’s pregnant for Jona,” Rachael replied. Omo was silent for what seemed like forever. Then he rose to his feet and began to pace about the room. “She’s pregnant,” he muttered, “for Jonathan.” Rachael was watching him warily. He turned to face her, his eyes narrowed in anger. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded. Rachael swallowed hard. Had she seen her brother look this way before? She couldn’t remember. She suddenly had an absurd feeling he would hurt her. “I-I…Omo, I’m sorry,” she stammered. “And even at that, you still had the conscience to abandon her.” Omo was shaking his head in disbelief of how cruel his sister was. She was wicked. “I did not-” “You’re so cruel,” he said. “And I hate you.” “Omo, I didn’t mean to,” Rachael pleaded. “Please help me go to her.” Omo didn’t know what to do to Rachael now. Snapping her neck didn’t seem a very bad idea. He could have done it…but not now. There were much more important things to do now. His beloved Niye was in pains. She was his priority. He should go see her. She needs him. He turned like a robot and left Rachael’s room. He entered the sitting room and headed for the front door to go outside, to see Niye. Rachael was calling after him and warning him of the dangers in what he was about to do. “If Mummy and Daddy were at home,” she was saying, “you wouldn’t be doing this.”

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Omo opened the door and went out into the night, into the rain, to see Niye.

HE WAS thoroughly drenched and shivering when he reached her uncle’s place. Now it was his heart that was discharging the electric current which was radiating around his chest. With shaky hands, Omo knocked on the front door of Niye’s uncle’s apartment. The door immediately flew open, Osato standing in the entrance. Her face was wet with tears, and Omo didn’t know why. There was even no form of lighting inside the house. It was as dark as a cave. “O-Osato,” he stammered, his teeth chattering as he spoke. “Where is NiNiye?” “I don’t know,” Osato replied deadly. “What do-do you…mean?” “Epa chased her with a knife because she was pregnant,” Osato explained. “Maybe he has killed her now.” Osato resumed crying. Omo’s teeth immediately stopped chattering; not because he was no longer cold, but he had simply forgotten he was cold. “Your father wanted to kill her?” he asked. “Yes,” Osato replied. Omo looked in the direction of the T-junction. He could see nothing but rain. The rain was simply a huge silvery-white wall in front of him. He bit at his lower lip. He had no choice. Rain or no rain, he was going to find Niye tonight. “Okay Osato, go back inside,” he said, and turned to leave. “Where are you going?” the weeping child asked. “I’m going to find her,” he replied. “Let me come with you,” Osato said. “I’m scared.” “Osato, the rain is not good for you,” he told her. “Stay indoors, I will bring her back.”

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“Promise me.” “I promise.” And with that, Omo started for the T-junction to find Niye. He was cold and shivering, but he was determined to find her, dead or alive. No, not dead. Niye should not be dead. He would find her. Alive. He continued in the rain, and instinctively, he began to run; for who knows: his quickness might be the difference between finding her alive or dead. But in what direction should he go? Where could she be? Omo didn’t stop to think. He just found himself running, as if running for his life. He found himself running, and in the direction of Zenith Hostel.

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TWELVE

N

iye was knocking on the door of Jonathan’s room, cold and shivering, and exhausted and hungry. At first there was no response. When she knocked

the second time, there was still no response. Hope he was home, she thought. Please he should be home. Didn’t he know she had nowhere else to go? He should be home, if only tonight. Niye knocked again, and this time she heard Jonathan speak. “Who is it?” he asked cautiously. She heaved in relief before she replied, “It’s me, Niye.” Jonathan hesitated before he spoke again. “Who?” “Niye.” There was another round of hesitation before she heard the key turn in the key hole, and the door open slowly. “Come in quick,” Jonathan said. She entered. Her mind began to wonder many things. For example, why did Jonathan have to ask her who she was this time? And then the door had been locked. And he had even asked her who she was twice. What was wrong?

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Immediately Niye entered, Jonathan locked the door again. Then he switched on the light, moved to the bed, and sat. The armchair was there beside Niye, but she didn’t sit. She preferred to stand and stare at Jonathan. He got the message instantly. “Look, Niye, I’m sorry for denying you before your uncle,” Jona began. “I had to do some thinking, and I decided your life was not worth wasting.” “You began wasting my life the very day you forced me,” Niye told him. “Then, I don’t want to continue wasting it,” he responded promptly. “My life is really complicated right now, and I don’t want you to be entangled in it.” Niye didn’t want to talk for long. She had little strength to spare on words. She wanted to eat, and sleep, and become Niye again. Jonathan seemed to have realised that the Niye he knew was not the one standing in front of him. “What happened to you, Niye?” he asked. “You look horrible. Where are you coming from?” “My uncle drove me out of the house,” she said. “And he chased me with a machete to kill me…And all because of you, Jona.” Jonathan seemed touched. “I’m really sorry,” he said. “I would have married you if I could, but-” “Forget it Jona,” Niye halted him. “Just forget it.” Niye could see his eyes glisten in the light; but she didn’t know whether it was tears that were forming or if that was the way his eyes normally glistened in the light. “Niye, you have to leave now,” Jonathan said. “You can’t stay here any longer.” “I have nowhere to go, Jona,” Niye said. “You’re all I have now.” She cried as she spoke, and Jonathan was hurt. Why did he have to be so cruel to this Niye of a girl? Now look what mess he had made of her and her life.

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But he could swear he never meant to do any of the things he had done to her. He just did them. Slowly now, he rose to his feet, and moved to where Niye was. Then he embraced her. At that moment, that thing in him arose. Now, like every time before when he had been with her, he had just one desire: to make love to her. Now, like many times before, he knew he could not quench this hunger. This thirst. He wanted her more than anything, more than everything. His lovemaking to her today would be exceptional. Perhaps this would be the last time he would ever see her. His hands slid round her waist and tightened her to him. Then he began to kiss her in all the places that was her face. “No, Jona,” Niye said.” Don’t.” Now, like before, Jonathan did not listen to her. His hand reached beneath her skirt, beyond her defences, and began to massage her roughly. Niye felt her lower hairs being pulled out of their roots. It was a feeling of absolute pain and she began to scream. But she knew no one would hear her, for the sound of the rain was deafening. Her screaming only seemed to make Jonathan more violent. He tore apart her last defence and began to massage her all over her body; gruffly, brusquely. He didn’t even notice the blood all over Niye’s thighs. He was completely immersed in his own world of fantasy. All he wanted was to sastisfy this hunger, quench this thirst. Fast. He lifted her and threw her carelessly on the bed. Then he fell on her, and plunged his tongue into her mouth, down her throat. Niye was suffocating, dying. When he withdrew his tongue, Niye found herself gasping for air, trying to catch her breath. She had not been given a single chance to try to defend herself. None at all. But she was dying, it was painful, and she wanted him to stop. Jonathan found his way into her. He was jerking uncontrollably, his motion resembling that of an overly zealous carpenter sawing on light wood. Niye found herself jerking along with him, the bed creaking mightily under them. She was

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breathless, gasping and panting like an athlete who had run a marathon at full speed. Pain! Unbearable pain! Breath! Less and less breath! “Jona, stop!” Niye yelled. “I’ll kill you, Jona, stop.” Jonathan did not take her seriously, neither did she herself. It was only when she saw a penknife lying idle nearby that the Devil entered her. She needed him out from on top her. She needed to breathe. She needed to live. Impulsively, Niye picked up the knife and thrust it in Jonathan’s back. She stabbed him again…and again. Jonathan screamed and rolled from on top of her. She too screamed like one startled, jumping up from the bed like one stung by a bug. The knife fell from her hand. Jonathan rolled to the ground and began twisting and turning, painting the floor red. “Niye, why?” he muttered, his hand reaching for the wound on his back. “You have killed me.” Blood was gushing from his back, and he seemed to be making an effort to breathe. Niye’s hand closed around her mouth in horror and confusion. “I-I’m…sorry,” she stammered. But Jona kept writhing and groaning, and blood kept on pouring from his back like a fountain of living water. Niye couldn’t stand the sight; she turned and fled from his room and out of Zenith Hostel. She had begun running again, Jonathan’s groaning image tormenting her mind, chasing after her, fuelling her legs. She ran in the rain with strength she never imagined she had. She ran until she slammed into a brick wall. She fought with the wall, to push it out of her way, but it stood its ground and held her firm. “It’s me,” the wall said forcefully, holding her still. “It’s Omo.”

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Niye saw his blurred image, and immediately, all energy she possessed was drained out of her being. Instinctively she threw her arms around his neck and rested her head on the place that was his chest. Niye didn’t know what Omo was doing here, or how he had found her in the rain. But somehow, she knew that she had come to end of her journey because she had found Omo. She was relieved because he was there. Omo turned with Niye to take her home, but her feet were dragging on the ground. She could barely stand. “Carry me, Omo,” Niye muttered. “I’m tired.” It was the last words she would speak that night, for by the time Omo had hauled her over his shoulder, Niye had already drifted into the realm of unconsciousness.

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THIRTEEN

I

t was at about seven o’clock the next morning before Niye stirred in her sleep. Her eyes opened slowly and she was aware immediately of where she was and

who it was that had brought her there. She was on her bed, and Omo it was that had brought her there. She smiled as she saw Osato at her bedside, the little girl’s head on her knees. “Osato,” Niye said hoarsely. Osato immediately swivelled in her direction. “Niye!” she screamed excitedly and flew into the bed, into Niye. “Thank God, you’re awake.” “I’m so happy to see you,” Niye said. “Me too.” Niye held the young girl close, like she last saw her decades ago. “Where is Omo?” Niye asked. “He’s in the kitchen. He’s preparing breakfast.” Niye wondered what breakfast there was in her uncle’s apartment to prepare. “Please call him. I want to see him.” Osato dashed out of the room to fetch Omo. Niye stretched and yawned. She realised she was renewed. She now had strength and new clothes on, which

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meant somehow, she had eaten and taken her bath the previous night. But she couldn’t remember when. Omo walked in calmly, smiling as he went over to the bed to sit by Niye. Niye realised that Omo had a handsome smile. She had never really bothered to take notice of this before. Omo took her hands in his. “How do you feel?” “Far better than yesterday,” Niye replied. She suddenly felt she would feel much better with Osato out of the scene. “Osato, go and take your bath and get ready for school,” Niye said. “No,” Osato protested. “I want to stay with you today.” “Get ready for school,” Niye told her calmly. “I’ll still be home when you get back.” “What if Epa gets back before then?” “Just get ready for school.” Osato grumbled her way out of the room, and then there was silence. There were many things to say, but no one knew what exactly was right for the moment, or how to start. But Omo should take the initiative. He was the man. “Niye, I really need to apologise for…” he halted. “I really did not know you were pregnant until last night.” “No, no,” Niye protested. “Don’t apologise, please.” “I should,” Omo protested back. “I should have been there for you all this while.” Niye freed her hands from his, and placed her index finger on his lips. “You’ve done enough for me,” she said. “I’m the one who should be grateful.” Niye smiled at him and released his lips so he could smile back. He did. “What were you doing out there at that time of night?” she inquired.

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“I was looking for you,” Omo replied. “Rachael told me what had happened between you two and last night I thought it was only proper I saw you.” “And you were out in the rain to find me?” “Osato told me your uncle chased you away, so…” He shrugged. Niye shut her eyes and looked away. Tears were forming, but she did not know why. Overwhelmed by emotions she could not explain, she turned and hugged him. “Thank you, Omo,” she said. “Thank you very much.” Goose pimples rose on Omo’s skin. “It’s what friends are for,” he replied. “You’ve done what more than any friend could do,” Niye said. “You’ve saved my life.” Slowly, she let go of her grip, and she saw tears in Omo’s eyes. But she didn’t know why those tears were there. “Are you crying, Omo?” she asked. “Why?” He simply smiled. “I’m just….” There were no words left to express himself. He didn’t even know what it was that he wanted to say. But Niye seemed to understand, for she was feeling the same way. “It’s okay,” she said, cuddling against him. “I understand.” Niye rested herself completely on him. How she loved to do that. His body reminded her of her father’s: soft and comforting. Even if there was little flesh, she felt no bones. “Would you have breakfast now?” Omo asked. “I’m not hungry,” Niye replied. “You fed me last night, didn’t you?” “Yes,” Omo replied. “And you bathed me.” Omo was shaking his head in protest. “I had Osato do it,” he said.

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“But you were there,” Niye told him. Omo was embarrassed. Was she offended? “I’m sorry,” he said. “I had to.” Niye smiled. “It’s okay.” Then there was silence again. She began to wonder if there was any other man on earth like Omo. Jonathan’s attitude had forced her to conclude that all men saw women as women if only they had protrusions on their chests and hollows between their legs. But here was Omo seeing her differently, ignoring all the things that many men saw as important. Wasn’t he special? Niye decided there and then that Omo would be a part of her life. He was what she had imagined a man to be, he was a real man. He was the only real man in the world. All the others were a bunch of “illusions and oppositions.” And now, she should tell him of what had happened last night. He was a part of her and should know all about her. “I had a miscarriage,” she whispered. Omo said nothing. He had sensed that already because of the blood he had seen when Osato had bathed Niye. He had been excited then but now he was wondering if it really was good news. That was a baby whose life had been terminated. Should he be happy about that? I mean, who knows what that baby would have been had he been privileged to come into the world? But it wasn’t Niye’s fault that the baby had to go. It wasn’t Niye’s fault at all. Niye began fondling with the buttons of his shirt. “Did you see Epa?” she asked. “No,” Omo muttered. “Where is he, then?” Omo began to wonder what must have come over Niye’s uncle to make him want to kill her the previous night. “Why did your uncle want to kill you last night?” he asked.

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“He sent me to my mother,” Niye began. “And she…she died when I told her I was pregnant. And she was the only sister he had, so when I got back…” Niye left the rest of the sentence for Omo to discern, as she could no longer continue for the pain that was emerging in her heart was great. When Omo put his arms around her and began to tell her it was okay, the pain seemed to increase. “I didn’t mean to kill her,” she told Omo as a matter of sincerity. “I didn’t mean to-” “You didn’t kill her,” Omo informed her. “It was not your fault.” “Oh Omo, I wish I was like you,” Niye said bitterly. “I wish I didn’t have to go through all these pain. I wish I lived with those who love me. I wish I had those to provide for me. I wish-” Omo placed his fingers on her lips to stop her from continuing speaking, for little did she know that the things she was saying were resurrecting the pains that had long been buried in his heart. Little did she know that he too wished he was like her. “Everyone has their problems, Niye,” he told her. Then he added that he wished he was like her too. Niye lifted her head from his chest and looked up at his face. She saw in his eyes the pain she had seen the day he had held her close and comforted her. “Why would you want to be like me?” she asked. “I wish I didn’t have to live everyday, knowing that the very next day I might die.” Fear clutched at Niye’s heart. What was this that Omo was saying: that he was going to die? Didn’t he know he was all she had now? She couldn’t afford to lose him. She couldn’t. But she was yet to comprehend him. He was strong and healthy, so why should he talk about death? “I don’t understand, Omo,” she said, her voice a step away from panic.

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Omo shut his eyes tightly. And when he opened them again, there were tears. “Of course you don’t,” he said. “I know you don’t.” “Then make me,” Niye told him hastily, impatiently. “What do you mean?” Niye noticed he was trying to avoid her eyes, so she held his face still and peered into it. “I don’t want to lose you,” she said. “Tell me: what is it?” “I’m…positive,” Omo said. “I’m HIV positive.” Tears began to run down his cheeks, and Niye was hurt that Omo was hurt. What he had said struck her like lightning, and she shuddered. But her mind did not go blank. She was simply HIV positive now because Omo was positive; so she cried for him, with him, because of him. The pain she saw in his eyes, and the yearning; he needed someone to tell him all was well. He needed Niye. Slowly, she let his head fall on her shoulder, and she wiped the tears off his face like a caring mother. “I was ten years old then,” Omo began his story, “I fell ill and required a blood transfusion. There was only one person in my family who had enough blood to spare, and he was my uncle. So he was my donor. When I was twelve he died positive, and then my parents thought it wise to check my status. I was found out to be positive.” Niye wondered how she never got to know about this all the years she had known Omo. And Rachael. “I’m sorry,” Niye said. “But you won’t die. I know you won’t die.” “I wish you’re right, Niye,” Omo said. “It’s only a matter of time, probably a few more years, before the symptoms begin to manifest. What hope do I have?” “You’re right Omo,” Niye said. “You might not have hope. You might not have anything, but you can always have one thing: choice. Whether you live or die, are happy or sad, rich or poor; it’s your choice.”

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Then she lifted up his face to meet her gaze. “You’ll always have me,” she added. “I’ll always be here.” Omo kept on staring in her eyes, making certain that she meant what she said. He was comforted when he found the truth in her eyes: she would always be there for him. Slowly he rested his head again on her shoulders. “I don’t want to lose you,” he said. “I won’t lose you.” With his head on her shoulder, and her hand on his plenty hair, Niye felt a feeling gradually erupt from the deepest recesses of her heart. It was a feeling she had felt for no man before: an aching, a longing to hold and to cherish the man whose head was on her shoulders-to cradle him closer, and never let go forever. It was a feeling of want-of need-of desire. She didn’t care now whether he was positive or negative or even multiplication or division. All she cared for was him. All she wanted was him, just him, the way he was. But suddenly, out of nowhere, there was a bang at the front door, and another louder one and the third louder than the second. Omo and Niye bounced off the bed, startled, like two young people caught in flagrante. “Could be your uncle,” Omo said. “My uncle wouldn’t bang at the door,” Niye replied. “Then I should see who it is.” Omo slid out of the bed, and Niye followed behind him, to the sitting room, to answer the door. He was first shocked at the sight of the people who had knocked, then amused. What was wrong with Rachael? He thought. Did she have to declare him missing to get the police searching for him? But little did he know that the policemen were here for Niye and not for Omo. There were two of them, policemen, one tall and the other short. Without smiling, they introduced themselves, their badges handy as means of identification. “This is the residence of Niyemamwen Atche,” the tall one said.

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It was a statement, and yet it was a question, for the policeman was looking at the two teenagers in front of him, waiting for a response. “It is,” Omo responded. “And how can we help you, officers?” “Is the lady in?” the policeman questioned. Omo looked to Niye who stared back at him bleakly. “I am Niye,” Niye said. The shorter policeman’s eyes narrowed. He looked at Niye all over again, as if evaluating her from another point of view. But the taller officer didn’t seem surprised. He simply nodded his head. “You’re under arrest in connection with the murder of Eriso Onaghinor,” he told Niye. “No, officer,” Omo protested, shaking his head vigorously. “There must be a mistake somewhere.” “Hold your peace, young man,” the shorter officer declared prophetically as the elongated one brought out the cuffs and cuffed Niye’s wrists. “Officer what are you-” “You have the right to remain silent,” the officer said, actually looking at Omo although he was talking to Niye. “Anything you say can, and will be used against you in the court of law.” Omo’s confused mind now figured that Eriso Onaghinor was Niye’s mother. But for crying out loud, Niye did not kill her mother. She did not mean to. “She did not kill her intentionally,” Omo told the policemen. “It was an accident.” The policemen who were now making their way away turned instantly to look at him. They didn’t say anything. They would go now to the station, process a warrant, and come back to take Omo. He should tell them what he knew about Niye killing a female. Eriso Onaghinor was male.

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They ignored Omo as he continued to scream and protest, and they kept on walking away. Niye uttered no word. She knew her fate was sealed, for she had killed the one she knew as Jonathan-the son of a prominent chief in the Benin Kingdom. She had no hope. This was now the beginning of her end. So she turned to look at Omo, with tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Good luck with your life.” Omo stood where he was, affixed to the ground, even as Niye was being led away. But he was full of anger he didn’t know what to do with. He just stood where he was…till they were out of sight. He began to wonder what was wrong with the policemen. Couldn’t they see that Niye was not the type to hurt a fly? Didn’t they realise they had made a mistake? Something was definitely wrong with them. And they had even infringed on her rights. For crying out loud, she didn’t have to be cuffed. Who knows if they even had a warrant for the arrest? He would go now to the station and give them a piece of his mind. But in the midst of his motion, he heard a tiny voice speak. “She didn’t do it.” Omo stopped in his strides and turned to see Osato behind him, crying. He seemed surprised to see her, for he had completely forgotten she factually existed. He could no longer go to the station immediately. He could not leave Osato here crying and alone. He’ll have to take her home. He gestured for her to come to him, but she didn’t. Instead he went to her and carried her. “I know,” he said. “She didn’t do it.” “Then why did they take her away?” “They must have made a mistake somewhere.” “Will she come back?” “We can only hope so.”

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FOURTEEN

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s he made his way home with Osato, Omo continued to wonder what was wrong with Niye’s uncle. Wasn’t it irresponsibility for one to chase their

daughter out of their apartment and voluntarily get lost in the process? Wasn’t he irresponsible? Just where could he be now? He needed to be informed of matters arising. Niye was still his responsibility whether he liked it or not. At least, Osato was. As for Niye; well Omo was ready to be responsible for her. He had promised himself that. So now, first of all, he had to find Niye’s uncle and inform him of matters arising. Then he would go to the police station and give those people in uniform a piece of his mind. They had to know they could not infringe on everyone’s rights.

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They had to know that all people were not ignorant fools. He certainly was not one, and he was going to make sure they knew that. Omo reached home and knocked on the door. He didn’t have to knock a second time before the door flew open, Rachael standing in the entrance like she had been waiting there all night for him to return. An expression of surprise and fear spread across her face at the sight of the little girl in Omo’s arms. “What happened?” she asked. “Where is Niye? Why is Osato with you? Did you tell her I’m sorry for what happened?” She must as well have been talking to a moving statue, for in the moment that was what Omo was. He simply walked past her and entered into the sitting room. Then he placed Osato on a sofa. It was only when he spoke to the little girl that Rachael was relieved her brother had not gone dumb overnight. “Are you hungry?” Omo asked the little girl. Osato nodded. “Give her some food,” he said to the space in front of him. “I’ll be back.” “Where are you going?” “Sister Niye was arrested by the police,” Osato informed Rachael. “They said she killed someone.” “What? Killed who?” Rachael screamed in alarm. Omo turned to face her. “One Eriso Onaghinor,” he said. “I suspect that would be her mother.” “That’s not her mother. That’s…” Rachael’s mouth fell apart and her eyes bulged. “That’s who?” Omo asked. “Oh my God!” Rachael exclaimed. “It’s not true!” She began shaking her head vigorously as if to literally force a stubborn evil thought out of her mind. Omo swallowed hard. He didn’t know and couldn’t guess what was coming. But he knew it was bad news, so he swallowed in anticipation.

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Even Osato seemed to be interested. At least she was confused now, not knowing why Rachael was shaking her head. “What did sister Niye do?” she asked. “Who’s Eriso Onaghinor?” Omo asked; his eyes fixed on Rachael. Rachael stopped shaking her head as it dawned on her that the thought would not leave. Then she turned slowly to face Omo. “That’s Jonathan,” she muttered. Omo suddenly felt his brain being electrocuted. A wave of electricity flowed from the hair on his head even down to the nails on his toes. He could have fainted, for what he had just heard had been totally unexpected. His eyes went shut. And when they finally reopened, he began to pace about, completely confused as to what to think and what not to. “She could not have killed Jonathan,” Rachael said. Omo didn’t know what to say to that. He had seen Niye run out of Jonathan’s hostel the previous night. Surely, something must have happened there to make her run. But could it be that it was because she had killed Jonathan? Could she have killed Jonathan? “Omo, say something,” Rachael said. Omo began tapping lightly at his forehead. “She was running out of Jonathan’s hostel when I saw her last night,” he said. Rachael was now confused. “What did she go there for?” “Epa chased her out last night,” Osato responded. Omo was still pacing, and Rachael was silent. No one knew what to say, not even what to think. But the more Omo paced, the more he convinced himself that Niye could not have killed Jonathan. For some reason, he became sure. He turned sharply to face Rachael. “Niye could not have killed him,” he told her.

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Rachael took her time before she nodded in what would be agreement. She couldn’t speak. She could only nod. Omo turned and started for the door. “Where are you going?” Rachael inquired. “To look for her uncle.” “He’s lost?” “He hasn’t come home since last night,” Osato answered. “I want to go to the station,” Rachael said. “I want to see Niye.” “No,” Omo said sternly. “Stay home and look after Osato.” Omo didn’t wait to see whether Rachael had agreed to his terms. He turned, went out straight through the open door, and shut it behind him. He was headed for anywhere, to look for Niye’s uncle.

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

Chief Onaghinor’s wife was sprawled on the floor, wailing. She had not stopped wailing since the previous night when it was reported to them that Jonathan had been murdered in cold blood. Even now as almost millions of sympathisers were trying to console her, she would not stop wailing. “Oh, Jonathan my son,” she lamented. “Who has taken my son away?” She rolled from one end of the parlour to the other and back, crushing everything that lay on her path to pieces. “My son, my only son,” she continued to lament. “Oh, my God; punish. Oh, punish. Sweet Holy Ghost Fire; burn, burn them to ashes.” “Iye, it’s okay,” one sympathiser said. “Your crying would not bring him back.” The rolling woman was aggravated by the sympathiser’s statement. She stopped rolling and lunged forward at the woman. Her hand found the woman’s neck and began strangling her.

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“Is it your nonsense words that will bring him back?” she asked the younger woman who was now struggling under her. “Tell me, will you bring him back?” The younger woman could not free her neck from the older one’s grip, and she knew that her end was near if she failed to make amends sooner than later; for although other sympathisers were pulling on Jonathan’s mother, the older woman simply would not let go. “I didn’t mean what I said,” the younger woman cried in pain. “Please cry, continue crying, maybe your tears will bring him back.” The chief’s wife seemed placated; slowly, after a while, she let go and continued rolling…and wailing. But the chief was far away from the scene. He was in his bedroom. He had refused anyone seeing him since the previous night when he heard the news of his only son’s death. He was lying on the bed now, staring up at the ceiling with his big round face, his large pot belly staring as well. He would easily pass for a pregnant woman whose time of delivery was almost due if he was seen afar of. The chief was not crying. But he was grieved. He should have sent the boy abroad to study. The boy would still have been alive today. But his mother had been afraid to let the young lad go so far away from home, to a strange land where he knew no one. She was afraid to lose him. And now, even when he was near home, they had lost him. But who was this that had killed him? Imagine how gruesomely he had been murdered-knife to his back and rope to his neck. It was only a devil who could murder someone that way. The chief’s heart now was smeared with one desire: to bring the perpetrator of that dastardly act to book, come what may. He had already been in touch with the Inspector General of Police and the Police Commissioner in the state, and they had promised to act speedily. So now he was waiting patiently but anxiously to hear back from them. He should hear from

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them soon. All through the night was enough time to find and apprehend the culprit. Chief Onaghinor looked at the wall clock. It was nine o’clock. If he does not hear from them in the next thirty minutes, he would have no choice but to get the president himself involved. His son’s killer must be found and brought to book at all cost, and that shouldn’t take long. The phone rang. Immediately, he rolled out of bed and picked up the receiver. “Yes?” He waited as he listened to the person speaking on the other side of the line. Then an expression of surprise and disbelief enveloped his face. “A girl?” He listened some more before he spoke again. “Alright,” he said. “Keep her in custody. No bail whatsoever. Do you understand?” The person at the other end must have understood. He had to understand. This was one of the most influential men in the state speaking. “I want her interrogated and charged to court in the next forty-eight hours.” The other person must have disagreed with him on this one, for his face suddenly became smoky. “I don’t care the procedures or the amount of time it is supposed to take… Just do it!” he barked into the phone. It would be nothing but a miracle if the policeman at the other end didn’t have his ear drums busted. Then the chief nodded his head. “Good,” he said. “I’ll be at the station in no time.”

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FIFTEEN

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iye was placed behind the counter. She shouldn’t be put in a cell yet, not until the chief had seen her. In the meantime, the two police officers that

had taken her captive had returned to her uncle’s place to pick up Omo. “Hope they don’t find him,” was all Niye continually muttered as she sat there on the bare floor behind the counter. She didn’t care about herself now, for she knew her end was near. All she cared for was Omo. She wished he would have a pleasant life no matter how long or short it was going to be. But why did Omo have to be positive? She asked. Why did he have to live a life of pain and misery? Now that she wasn’t there for him, who was going to comfort him, be by him? Who? Niye wept as she thought about him. Her sobbing increased when she thought about Osato, her dearest, her love. She even cried for Jonathan. Even though she hated him, she never meant to kill him. She didn’t hate him that much. But what had come over her that night, she did not know. She only knew that he was dead because of her and Omo would be lonely now because of her. She continued crying. Even as much as she cried, the three officers at the counter did not bother to give her as much as a glance, let alone urge her to stop crying. They even seemed elated she was crying, and since they were ladies, they spent their time comparing and contrasting their boyfriends. Then the chief entered.

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“Good morning, sir, good morning, sir…” the ladies continually greeted him. He should be a god: the way they bowed their heads in reverence as they greeted. “Where is the girl that murdered my son?” Chief Onaghinor asked. One pointed accusingly at Niye who was shuddering behind the counter. The chief stretched his neck like a giraffe to look at the poor thing behind the counter. Niye could not discern whether he felt for her pity or enmity, with this look in his eyes. “Is the IPO on seat?” the chief asked after he had satisfied his eyes. “He has been expecting you, sir,” one of the officers said. The chief turned and walked past the counter, headed for the IPO’s office. He didn’t need to knock. He just opened the door and entered. The IPO rose to his feet as Chief Onaghinor entered. “Chief, you have come,” he said. “Please sit down.” The chief sat opposite him, and then he too sat. “Is that the girl that killed my son?” Chief Onaghinor asked. “We have reasons to believe so, Chief,” the IPO responded. The chief seemed alarmed. “Oh, so you’re not even sure.” “We’ll know our stand after interrogations have been done, Chief,” the IPO said. “And when will that be?” “After the SSS detectives return.” “Where did they go?” The wiry man who was the IPO exhaled. He was exasperated but he dared not show it. “They are still on investigations,” he said carefully. The chief nodded slowly. Then there was silence.

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“Like I told you,” he began, leaning forward, “I want that girl interrogated as soon as possible and charged to court in the next forty-eight hours. I want to see justice done.” “Justice has to be a little bit slow, Chief,” the wiry man said, “for it to be efficient.” “What are you implying?” The IPO readjusted in his seat. “Chief,” he began, “the girl cannot be charged to court in the next fortyeight hours. It’s impossible given the circumstances. I mean, it might take more than forty-eight hours to be certain that she really is responsible for your son’s death. Right now, she’s only a suspect.” The chief looked at the wiry man and decided not to argue with him. “How soonest can she be charged to court?” he asked. The IPO smiled. “You worry too much, Chief,” he said. “I assure you, we’ll make sure she’s brought to book.” “I want that done as soon as possible.” “No problems, Chief.” There was a knock at the door. “Who is it?” the IPO asked. “Detective Udoh,” came the reply. “Come in,” the IPO ordered. The tall detective, the officer that had arrested Niye, entered. He stood before the IPO and saluted, totally ignoring the chief. “What did you find?” the IPO asked. “Nothing,” the detective replied. “We couldn’t find the boy.”

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“Very well,” the IPO said. “We still have enough evidence to pin her to this important one. So carry on interrogations immediately…And report first thing tomorrow morning.” The detective saluted again, and left. Then the IPO turned to the chief who was about to speak. “Have you contacted the DPR yet?” the chief asked. The wiry man frowned. Obviously he had not done that. “Chief, that will be done after we have interrogated the lady,” he began his explanation, “and are convinced beyond every reasonable doubt with the evidence we have, that she is responsible for your son’s death.” The chief nodded his head slowly. “I should leave,” he announced, as he watched the IPO exhale in relief. “Keep in touch.” The IPO grinned. “No problems, Chief.”

IT WAS time for interrogations. Niye was bound in cuffs and sitting at a table in the middle of an empty room. The air here was stale as there was no window whatsoever, present. The tall detective was sitting opposite her, and the short one was standing behind him. “I am Detective Udoh,” he re-introduced. “And this is my partner, Detective James Steward, but we call him The Squeezer.” He smiled as he saw Niye shudder. Then he continued his introduction, this time introducing Niye. “And you are Niyemamwen Atche,” he said, and waited for a reply. “They call me Niye,” Niye whispered. “Good. Since we all know each other again, why don’t we begin? First-” “You should read her, her rights again,” the shorter man suggested calmly.

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“Oh, yes,” the one opposite Niye agreed. “You have the right to remain silent. Whatever you say can and will be used against you in the court of law…You have the right to a lawyer. If you have none, the state will provide you one…Are we clear?” Niye nodded. “But it will do us all much good if you answer all questions thrown at you truthfully,” The Squeezer said darkly. Niye swallowed hard. She was ready for whatever it was that they were going to ask. She would tell the truth as she knew it, as she had never known herself to be a liar. “So you killed Eriso Onaghinor,” Detective Udoh began. He was waiting for Niye to answer the statement made. But Niye was simply staring down at the table. “Speak,” Detective James said. “No question was asked,” Niye informed him. He nodded his head slowly, evilly. “Did you kill Eriso Onaghinor?” Detective Udoh asked this time. “I don’t know,” Niye replied promptly. Detective Udoh relaxed in his chair. “You were at his place last night, weren’t you?” “Yes.” “At what time exactly?” “I don’t know.” “Please estimate.” “Between ten and eleven.” “And that was about the same time Eriso Onaghinor was killed.” Niye didn’t know whether this one was a statement or a question, but she decided to answer all the same. “I don’t know.”

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The detective nodded. “So, my Niye,” he said almost affectionately, “why were you at his place at such odd hour of night?” “My uncle chased me out of the house,” Niye answered. “Why did he do that?” “Because I was pregnant.” “So why of all people did you decide to go to Eriso?” “He got me pregnant.” “I see…Can you prove that?” “My friends know about it.” “Oh, you mean they saw you and Jonathan in the act.” Niye frowned. She was angry at this man’s sarcasm. The Police was supposed to be her friend. That was the inscription on all the walls in the station. Why then was he being sarcastic? “They know Jonathan raped me,” she said. “And he’s the only one I’ve been with.” “Oh that’s why you decided to kill him, is it?” Niye frowned again. “I get it now,” the detective continued. “He raped you and you went to his place to kill him.” “I went there because I had nowhere else to go,” Niye willed herself to say. The detective leaned forward. “So tell me, truthfully, what happened at his place?” This was the crux of the matter. This would test the strength of Niye’s virtue. Should she tell a lie or“The truth,” The Squeezer warned. Niye finally looked up at the tall officer.

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“When I got there,” she began, “it was raining, and I was glad he was home…” “Please continue.” “He let me in, and began to apologise for all the wrongs he had done me. Then he…Suddenly he approached me and began to kiss me. Then he started…he wanted to have sex with me and I told him ‘No’. But he was forcing himself on me, so I…” Detective Udoh was on the edge of his seat in anticipation of the remainder of the sentence, and The Squeezer was now standing right beside Niye. “You what?” he ordered. Niye suddenly found reasons to cry. “Speak on please,” Detective Udoh urged. “I found a knife nearby and stabbed him with it,” Niye said. The two men looked to each other, the same expression of shock and pleasant surprise on their faces. Surely they had not anticipated a confession so soon. They had not even been sure this young lady was guilty. This was a miracle. “I didn’t mean to do it,” Niye continued. “It was an accident.” The detectives were totally unconcerned to the fact that it was an accident. The good news was that Niye had admitted to killing Eriso, and that was all that mattered. The shorter detective produced a tape recorder and handed it to the taller one. “We would like to record your confession,” Detective Udoh said. “Could you repeat it, and this time in more detail, please?” Niye wiped the tears off her face, and narrated to the detectives all that had happened the previous night, as they had happened; at least, as much as she could remember.

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“So what about the rope?” Detective Udoh continued the interrogation when Niye had finished her confession. “What rope?” Niye asked, confused. “Come on, you’ve done so well by telling us the truth so far; don’t lie now,” the detective advised her. Niye shook her head slowly. “I know nothing about any rope.” “You strangled him,” Detective Udoh reminded her. Niye tried to remember if any such thing happened. “I didn’t strangle him,” Niye said. “I swear.” “Speak the truth,” Detective James ordered calmly. It sounded like a threat. “I didn’t strangle him with a rope.” “No problems,” Detective Udoh said. “At least you killed him with a knife. The rope is history.” “Was there a rope?” Niye inquired. “Never mind,” both detectives said simultaneously. Then Detective Udoh smiled. “Thank you for your cooperation,” he said. “Can I go home now?” Niye asked. “I’m afraid not,” he answered. “Not even on bail.” “Why?” “That’s a very long question.” He rose to his feet. “You’ll go to court soon anyway.” “I don’t have a lawyer,” Niye told him. “Oh, you’ll find one,” he told her. “Get up: let’s take you to your new home.”

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SIXTEEN

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t was about five o’clock when Omo reached the station. He was tired and disappointed, for his search for Niye’s uncle had been in vain. He had looked

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everywhere he could but had not found the man, not even in the mortuary. But he knew Niye would be hungry, so on his way, he had stopped by a restaurant and gotten her something to eat. “Good evening, officers,” he greeted the two men at the counter. “Yes…” one said, peering at him intently with his bulging eyes on his tiny face. “I want to see Niye.” The other policeman who had been busy writing something down instantly lifted his face to him. “Who are you?” he asked. “I’m a friend of hers,” Omo replied. “I see…So you’re the friend of that killer.” “I want to see her,” he said calmly. The tiny-faced man hissed, and shook his head slowly as if in sympathy for Omo. “She’s no longer here,” he said. “She’s been taken to the Oko Prison.” “Why?” Omo asked, alarmed. “She’s a prisoner,” the officer told him. Omo opened his mouth to speak, but on second thought, he shut it back. But he was angry. He decided to nod curtly, and then he left their presence. He went straight to the Oko Prison. There he was told that visiting time was over, but that he could still see Niye if he offered “something”. He knew what that meant and he was forced to comply. Then he was shown to the visitation room. Omo began to wonder why the policemen thought he wanted to see Niye. He didn’t want to suffocate her, if that was what was on their mind. Or was this really the visitation room? He made his way to one of the tables, and sat. Then he waited, until he saw Niye being led in by an officer. Tears filled his eyes as he saw the look in Niye’s

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face: a look of resignation, of suffering, of pain, of death. He shifted his gaze to the floor. The more he looked at her, the more he felt like her. He shouldn’t look. Niye reached the table and sat opposite him, the officer standing by the door. She could have reached out and hugged him, but these cuffs won’t let her. So she was content at sitting opposite him and staring at him. Slowly he lifted his face to meet her gaze. “How’re you?” he asked. “I’m fine,” Niye whispered. Omo shut his eyes and looked to the ground, so Niye wouldn’t see the tears that had formed in his eyes. But she had already sensed it. “Omo please,” she said. “Don’t cry.” But Omo did not listen to her. Her pleas only made him cry all the more. Niye was hurt. “I’ll cry if you don’t stop,” she warned. Still Omo did not stop, and she began crying. Now her tears hurt Omo so that he was ready to do whatever it takes to make her stop crying. “Niye, no,” he said, “don’t cry.” “But you’re crying,” Niye pointed out. “Don’t you know it hurts to see you cry?” Truly, only tears can quench tears. Slowly, Omo wiped the tears off his face, and lifted his gaze to her eyes. “Stop crying,” he said. “I’m no longer crying.” As Niye couldn’t wipe the tears off her face because she was bound, Omo reached out and brushed his soothing palms across her face. “It’s okay,” he said. “Don’t cry.” Then he smiled, and Niye felt that really, it was okay. So she stopped crying and began to stare at the table. It took a while before she decided it was her turn to speak.

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“How is Osato?” she asked. “She’s fine.” “What about Epa?” “I-I didn’t find him.” “Where could he be?” Niye mused. “I can’t say. I searched everywhere.” “Did you…check the mortuary?” “He wasn’t there.” Niye suddenly felt afraid. Hope nothing had happened to him. If anything had, she would be responsible, just as she was responsible for her mother’s death and for Jonathan’s. “He’ll be fine,” Omo said, seeing right through her. Niye shook her head slowly, and then there was silence again. Omo wanted to know if it was indeed Niye that had killed Jonathan, but he didn’t know how to present the question so that it offered no offence. “Eriso Onaghinor is not your mother,” he said finally. Niye shook her head. “Eriso is Jonathan.” Omo leaned forward. “Niye, please tell me the truth,” he began. “What happened yesterday at Jonathan’s place?” Niye did not hesitate to tell Omo all that had happened the previous night: how she had arrived, how Jonathan had apologised to her and hastened her to leave, how he had approached her and held her and kissed her, how he had flung her on the bed and started making love to her, and how finally she had picked up the knife and thrust it in his back. “I didn’t mean to do it,” she said, beginning to cry. “Believe me, Omo, I didn’t mean to kill him.”

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Omo felt sorry for Niye, and disappointed and hurt for himself. He had hoped that Niye wasn’t the one who had ended Jonathan’s life. He had hoped she was innocent. But lo and behold, she was guilty. He didn’t want to think of the future: if he would ever see her out of prison again, if he would ever hold her again, if he would ever have her for the rest of this his short life. No he didn’t want to think of that. “It’s alright,” he said. “Stop crying. It’s not the end of the world.” But he himself doubted that very statement. At least it was close to the end of the world. Niye obeyed; not because she wasn’t willing to cry anymore, but because she had cried so much that the tears would not form much. “I was interrogated in the morning,” she informed him next. “What did you tell them?” Omo inquired. “Everything,” Niye answered. “They had it taped. And they said I’ll be charged to court soon.” “Why, Niye?” Omo asked, as if puzzled. “You shouldn’t have let them. You should have requested a lawyer.” Niye shook her head. “It’s no point, Omo,” she said. “My end has come.” Omo rested his head on the table, and tapped at it slowly. He was not happy. “I’m sorry,” Niye said. “Please forget about me and move on with your life.” “How can I forget about you, Niye?” Omo asked in a feverish tone. “Tell me, how?” Niye didn’t know how; so she didn’t answer. She knew deep down that she needed Omo, and she needed him very much. She wouldn’t want him to forget about her. It would simply be death before death. She wanted him to remember her, to stay with her. Why then was she lying that she wanted him to leave? Why was she killing the truth? The yearning of her heart? Was there any point in that? “I need you, Omo,” she whispered. “Please don’t leave me alone.”

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Slowly, Omo lifted his head from the table, to stare in her eyes. Was it a relief or a thing of joy that Niye didn’t want him to go? He couldn’t immediately decide. But he could see faith, and trust, and hope in her eyes. She believed in him, although she was yet to realise it. She knew that somehow he could bring her out of this predicament. And she hoped for the day when she would cling to him forever. Omo saw it in her eyes, but she was yet to admit it. He smiled, forcing a little animation to appear on her face. “I won’t leave you,” he said. “Trust me.” Niye smiled. “I should get you a lawyer,” Omo told her. “Omo, you don’t have the money to hire one,” Niye reminded him. “Just trust me,” he replied. “I’ll get you a sound one.” Niye didn’t say anything. She had trusted him even before he told her to. He deserved it. Omo leaned forward, and held her face still so he could peer into it. There was not supposed to be any form of contact between inmates and visitors. But as Omo had offered the officers “something”, this one standing at the door did not bother to say or do anything. He wasn’t even looking in their direction. “You won’t die, Niye,” Omo said. “I know somehow, you’ll come out of this.” Niye looked away from his compelling eyes. She wished Omo would come to face the reality of the situation. There was no hope for her. Couldn’t he see that? It was the end of the road, the end of her world. But for some reason, she heard herself say, “I believe, Omo. I believe.”

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SEVENTEEN

I

t was the dead of night now and Niye was sitting at one corner of the cell watching her cell mates crowded on the floor, asleep. All of them were asleep,

their loud snoring complementing one another. They seemed so different from her. At least, all of them were older than her and were masculine. Niye wondered if some of them were not really men. The cell was small, smaller than her uncle’s sitting room. Originally, it should have been designed for five people at the most. But Niye could count seventeen people crowded on the floor. They should have been more than that, but she had heard from a very reliable source that some had passed away a few days ago. She wondered how she was going to sleep in a place like this. Everywhere she looked, she could see roaches and mosquitoes creeping and hovering about. Worse still, their lavatory was a small bucket, the stench from which could actually force a statue to relocate. All their wastes for the day would be deposited there, only to be emptied the following morning. Again, there was no window; the air was hot and stale.

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Niye had thought her uncle’s apartment was the worst place anyone could ever live in, but at the time, she had not known here. As to the food they would eat; there was almost none. One had to rely on their family members and friends to bring them food or else they’d starve to death. And this place was made like this because it was reserved for the worst criminals. Niye was one of them. On a good day, she would not have been placed in such a cell, but, as she suspected, the chief wanted it so. He wanted her to suffer like she had made his son suffer. He wanted her to die because she had killed his son. And he would be grateful if she died in the cell, even before she was tried. It wouldn’t be that hard, Niye thought to herself. She knew she would die in cell. What normal human being would survive such torture? She would die soon; she was sure of that. But she wouldn’t die of hunger. She was sure Omo would provide for her stomach needs. How she wished he could do more. How she wished he could somehow pull her out of this predicament. How she wished he could give her life: the one she had dreamed of having. He can’t, she reminded herself ruefully. He can’t. Hadn’t he done enough? Who in the world would have thought that Omo would be the one standing by her now? Omo; the one she had so ignored and looked down upon like he was no good. Look at Rachael, the one she loved so dearly, her best friend. Rachael had abandoned her when she needed her the most. And Jonathan, the one she had trusted and respected. He had raped her when he had the slightest opportunity and denied her when it was time to face responsibility. But Omo, so suddenly, and when she had least expected. He had plunged himself into her life, like he had anything to gain out of that. He had accepted her when she was nothing, had received her when she was rejected by those that mattered. He had searched her out in the storm, putting his own life at risk, all because he wanted her alive and well, because he cared for her. He had carried her

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when she was weak, fed her when she was hungry. He had washed her clean when she was dirty, ignoring all the things other men would see as significant. He could have taken advantage of her, he could have raped her that night and she wouldn’t have known. But he had not. He did not. He had been with her till morning, ready to leave only when she was back on her feet. And even when she had been arrested, he had not abandoned her to her fate, but still had shown up with food to feed her, because he cared about her. And even when she told him she had killed Jonathan, he still stayed with her just like she knew her father would do, without despising or hating her, but giving her hope that she would someday see the light of tomorrow. Omo was an angel, Niye concluded. He was no longer a clown. He must have been sent from up above. It was a miracle if there was any human like him anywhere in the world. It had to be a miracle. He was supernatural… She could spend the rest of her miserable life thinking about Omo, but for stomach’s sake, Niye temporarily gave up the thoughts. She had deliberately reserved the food Omo had given her earlier in the day for the moment of most hunger, which was now. She could have eaten it then, and would still be hungry now. So she had decided to eat it now, sleep full, and be hungry in the morning. She didn’t know if it was better or worse. As she was about to begin eating, she heard someone speak from beside her. “Is that food?” the person asked. Niye turned in the direction of the voice. The girl’s eyes were wide open and glittering. Obviously she had not been sleeping as well. “Yes,” Niye replied. Slowly, the girl rose from the floor to a sitting position. Niye could observe her well now, illumination being provided by a fluorescent bulb in the centre of the cell. The girl had a fair skin, almost blonde. She had cat-like eyes that shone in the

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darkness, almost frightening. And her face was the shape of a banana, only wider. Her lips were small, just like her nose was. But she was lean, and her skin was rough and spotted. Niye sighed inwardly. She knew this girl must have been a very beautiful damsel before she was thrown in here. Her eyes displayed such childish innocence that Niye could only wonder what she was doing in the midst of the hardest criminals possible. The girl corked her head to one side like she was leaning on someone else’s shoulder. “Please, I’m hungry,” she said. “Can I…join you?” Niye immediately handed the girl all of her food. This she did, not because she was no longer hungry, but because this girl in front of her would die the next moment if she did not have anything to eat. Niye felt for her, pity. The girl seemed surprised that Niye was handing her all her food, and she was hesitant to receive it. “What about you?” she asked. “Aren’t you hungry?” “I…Just go ahead,” Niye urged. “Take it.” The girl was staring at Niye, wondering why a human being would be so generous. Or was the food poisoned? “Take it please,” Niye begged. “You need it more than me.” The girl searched Niye’s eyes for an ulterior motive. Finding none, she nodded thankfully and took the food. Then she began to eat. Niye wondered when last the girl ate or if she had ever eaten in her life: the way she was devouring every piece of the meal like a lion would a carcass. Niye shook her head slowly. She didn’t know she could be better than anyone in this world. But this was how she was going to be soon, was it? She didn’t want to think about it. “Thank you,” the girl said when she had finished eating.

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The way she looked at the empty plate, Niye knew that she wished she had more. “Don’t worry, there’ll be more tomorrow,” Niye assured her. The girl smiled. “I had not eaten for three days,” she said. “Thank you for this.” “It’s okay,” Niye replied. But Niye was curious about this girl. She wanted to know more about her. She wanted to like her, to be her friend. “So, what’s your name?” Niye asked. “Beauty,” the girl replied. “I’m Niye.” The girl smiled. “Nice to meet you.” “You too…So how long have you been here?” “Two years.” “Two years!” The girl immediately cupped Niye’s lips before it was too late. “Please don’t scream,” she whispered. “You’ll wake up the Amazon and that would not be good for us.” She released Niye’s lips. “You haven’t been tried yet?” Niye questioned. “No.” “Why?” “I don’t know. Most of us here are like that. Some have been here for over six years.” Niye made to exclaim again, but she remembered Beauty’s warnings and shut herself up in time. “But why?” she asked. “I would go to court very soon.” “How did you do it?”

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“I didn’t do anything,” Niye said. “I was accused of killing one Eriso Onaghinor, and-” “Chief Onaghinor’s son?” Beauty interrupted. “Yes.” “How come? What did you have with his son?” Niye inhaled deeply, and exhaled slowly. Then she went on to tell the girl her story. Surprisingly she didn’t feel bad about it now. It just seemed part of a normal conversation. The girl shook her head when Niye had finished. “Too bad,” she said pathetically. “But he deserved it.” Niye didn’t know what to say to that. Really, should people always get what they deserved? She didn’t know. But if they should, why then was she in this predicament? She did not deserve it. “As for me,” the girl interrupted her line of thought, “I was accused of stealing another woman’s baby.” “Why would you want to do that?” Niye asked, intrigued. “I didn’t do it,” the girl responded. “I found an abandoned baby and took him home. The next morning, some woman showed up at my door with the police and got me arrested for stealing her baby.” “Why?” “I don’t know.” Niye was sad for Beauty. If anyone didn’t deserve to be here, it was her. And talk about being here for two years. “For two years now, I’ve been here,” Beauty continued. “It’s like they’ve simply forgotten about me.” “I’m sorry,” Niye said. “Oh please,” the other girl replied. “I’ve gotten over it. This is going to be my home till I die.”

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“God forbid!” Niye was forced to exclaim. “How can you say a thing like that?” The girl looked to the ground and shook her head. “It might not be long anymore,” she told Niye. Niye didn’t know what to say. She had been in the cell for less than twentyfour hours and she had already come to the conclusion that she would not survive the next twenty-four. Didn’t someone who had been there for over two years have the right to say so too? “So what about your family?” Niye chose to ask. “I have none,” Beauty replied. “I was raised in an orphanage, and decided to run away when I was fifteen.” “So you’ve been living alone since you were fifteen?” “Yes,” the girl replied. Her face became really sad. “What is it?” Niye asked. “You seem to be thinking about something.” The girl shook her head, and then she looked up at Niye. “I was a prostitute,” Beauty said. “It was the only way to survive.” Niye was touched. She had cried all her life when she lost her virginity to Jonathan, yet look at someone who had lost it to hundreds of different people. Truly, she was touched, especially when she noticed tears in the other girl’s eyes. “Please don’t cry,” Niye urged. “It’s no point crying over what is past.” The girl shook her head in agreement. Obviously she had always told herself that whenever she cried. “I wish I could have a life though,” she said. “I mean, I’m barely nineteen. I could still start my life all over again.” Niye felt it was time she became an optimist, if only for Beauty’s sake. “Look at me,” Niye ordered. And the girl obeyed.

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“No matter how old you are or what circumstances you find yourself, always remember that it is never too late to start all over again. You always have a choice.” Beauty nodded her head slowly. Obviously she believed. Niye smiled. “You think I’ll come out of this place someday?” she asked. “I know you will,” Niye replied. The girl smiled. What a beautiful smile. The kind that was charming, enchanting, and hopeful. Niye had no choice whatsoever but to smile back. Smile matching smile, the bond of friendship was formed.

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EIGHTEEN

T

he IPO had barely entered his office this morning when there was a knock at the door. He grimaced. “Come in.” He was relieved instantly as Detective Udoh entered and saluted. “Take your seat, Detective,” he said. The detective sat opposite him. “So how did it go?” he then asked. “She confessed to killing him,” Detective Udoh blurted out. The IPO remained motionless, as if it was all a huge joke. “What do you mean ‘she confessed to killing him?’” he asked. The detective smirked. “We have it on tape,” he said. “You can listen if you want to.” The detective was nodding his head slowly, and the IPO was convinced he

meant what he said. But wasn’t it a miracle that she confessed? So he would wrap up this case soon, and maybe get a medal and a promotion, and fame and respect. And he would be free from the fiery troubles of Chief Onaghinor and the Commissioner of Police. He started clapping his hands slowly. “Bravo, Detective,” the IPO said. “You’ve done terrific.”

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The detective smiled lightly, proudly. “Thank you, sir.” Then he seemed to remember something of great concern. “But, sir…” “Yes?” “The girl didn’t admit to using a rope.” “So she didn’t kill him?” “She admitted to stabbing him with a knife, but not strangling him afterwards.” The IPO seemed confused. “Which means that what?” “Someone else must have used the rope.” The IPO seemed amused. This must be the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard all his life. “But she admitted to killing him, didn’t she?” he pointed out, chuckling. “How then could someone kill him again after she had already killed him?” “Maybe he didn’t die when she killed him,” the detective suggested. “And whoever it was entered and finished him up.” The IPO eased himself in his chair. “And maybe she just does not want to admit using the rope,” the IPO suggested. The detective shook his head in disagreement. “She’ll have no reason to do that,” he said. “Besides, her fingerprints were found on the knife, but there were no prints on the rope.” The IPO was confused again. “What does that imply?” The detective inhaled deeply. Did this man have any brains at all? He doubted it. Maybe the IPO was one of those people that reacted with only their spinal cords. “She would have no reason to handle the knife barehanded and then handle the rope with gloves,” Detective Udoh said. “So someone else must have handled the rope.”

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The IPO was silent. He searched his mind for any other question with which to challenge the fact that someone else must have entered the room after Niye had left. He found none. It meant that this Niye girl did not kill that Eriso. That was what the detective was trying to tell him. What then would happen to his swiftness in wrapping up the case, his medal, his promotion, his fame and respect? What would happen to them? Nothing would happen to them. Since the girl had confessed to killing the boy, the rope didn’t matter. It was no point bringing it in. They would survive with the confession and her prints on the knife. That would be enough reason to convict her. They would make sure no one knew about the rope, not even the prosecution. It was the knife-only the knife. The IPO leaned forward. “Detective,” he began. “It’s too late to begin investigations all over again, especially when there are no prints on the rope. We would have to rely on the knife and her confession. That would be enough to convict her.” “Might be,” the detective agreed. “But it also means that whoever used the rope would go unpunished.” The IPO grimaced. What was this detective trying to be-a saint? “Don’t try to be over holy,” he said. “It’s no point.” The detective shook his head. “I’m just trying to be fair,” he corrected, “to do my duty. I am a detective, and my job is to investigate and come up with the truth, so that justice would be equitably distributed. I would-” “Spare me, Detective,” the IPO said, irritated. “You really don’t get the gravity of the situation, do you?” “No,” the detective answered plainly. “Now this is Chief Onaghinor’s son we’re talking about,” the IPO reminded him. “The chief is on my neck. He wants justice, and he wants it fast. The

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Commissioner of Police will have my head on a tray if I don’t deliver. Let alone the IG and the SSS…So do you grab it now?” The detective was silent. “Besides,” the IPO continued. “Imagine the honour we’ll receive should we solve this case fast…and the money. The chief is rich, so you can just imagine.” The detective was still silent. “It’s Thursday,” the IPO still went on. “We should get across to the DPR immediately.”

NIYE WAS sweating in the rays of the morning sun. It had been at about six o’clock when the warder had appeared and told them it was time for a little exercise. Niye had been excited, happy that at least she would be given the chance to stretch her weary legs and escape the noxious scent of the cell. But here she was at the back of the prison yard cutting grasses and weed low; she and Beauty. But was this normal, that is legal, for an un-sentenced criminal to be engaged in hard labour? Niye did not know. All she knew now was that she was sweating and working, and she was hungry. Beauty stopped working and threw her machete to the ground. “Finished!” she announced in glee. “I told you I’ll finish before you.” Niye stopped cutting to look at the portion of bush that had been given to Beauty to cut low. Her jaws dropped in amazement. There was almost not a single strand of grass left. “How did you do it?” she asked. Beauty smirked. “Magic.” Niye shook her head, still amazed. So there was someone in this world more hard working than her. She never knew. “Let me help you with the rest of your portion,” Beauty offered, coming over to Niye.

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“Are you sure you want to do that?” Niye asked. “Sure,” the other girl replied. “Give me your machete.” Without hesitation, Niye handed her the machete, and sat on a dead log of wood nearby, watching the bush as it gradually disappeared. “I wonder what the others would be doing now,” she said. “Working,” Beauty replied. “They should be through by now if they’re as fast as you.” “Believe me, this is the easiest thing you can ever find to do here, apart from emptying the toilet.” Niye could not believe that. There must be other simpler things to do. Reducing a bush to nothing was in no way simple to her. “What about washing your clothes?” she suggested. “Would have been simple,” Beauty said. “But…” “What?” Beauty stood upright. “There are many things involved, Niye,” she said. Then she bent low and resumed cutting. There was something about her voice that frightened Niye. What were these many things involved? Niye was determined to know, and as Beauty finished clearing her portion and came to sit by her, Niye decided to ask. “What are these many things?” Beauty turned away from her and looked up at the bright sky. “Many, many things,” she said. The conversation stalled. “Like what and what?” Niye urged her. Her head descended from the sky, and she turned to face Niye. “Have you noticed that no one has approached you since you came here, but me?” “Yes…why?”

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“And did you notice I had to talk to you only when it was night and they were all asleep?” “Yes…why?” “Because you’re not yet initiated.” “What do you mean?” “Yesterday was your day of grace,” Beauty explained. “And tonight, you will be initiated.” But Niye still did not understand. “Initiated into what?” “The Dungeon of Bones,” Beauty replied. “That’s what our cell is called.” “Is it a kind of cult?” “You could call it that…but I’ll simply call it a place where the strongest survive.” Niye swallowed hard. “What is this cult all about?” she asked Beauty. “Survival,” Beauty said plainly. “There are those who are strong and those who are weak. And the weak must serve the strong. Obviously the strong are the hardened criminals. You only need to look at them, and you’ll know they are guilty of whatever crime they were accused of committing, and perhaps even more heinous crimes. Most of them have committed crimes ranging from armed robbery to cold-blooded murder.” “Are they all women?” Niye was forced to ask. Beauty shrugged. “They should be.” “So those are the strong?” “Yes, and us, just us, are the weak.” She shifted her gaze to Niye’s eyes. “We must serve them,” she said. “We have no choice.” Niye swallowed hard again. “You must do anything they ask you to,” Beauty continued, “anything at all.”

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“What if I don’t?” Niye dared to ask. “Please do,” Beauty advised. “You don’t want to be marked for destruction, do you?” Niye shook her head impulsively. No one wants to be marked for destruction. “So what and what would they want me to do?” “Anything,” Beauty replied, “ranging from doing their laundry to…” “To what?” “You’re beautiful, Niye,” Beauty told her. “Most of them have agreed to make do with what they have.” Niye got the message. She sharpened her gaze at Beauty. “Did they do that to you?” “Many times,” the other girl replied. Niye’s mouth fell open to its widest. “Why did you let them?” “I had no choice,” Beauty replied. “They forced me.” The way Jonathan forced me, Niye thought. Or probably worse. “Look,” Beauty continued. “You just have to be strong, okay? It takes great strength even to survive the initiation.” Niye swallowed hard the third time. “What happens at the initiation?” “You’ll have to drink urine from the toilet,” Beauty informed her. “And you’ll be stripped naked and-” “And the officers would let that happen?” The other girl shrugged and looked away from Niye. “Just be ready,” she said. “Be ready

NINETEEN

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O

mo was on the move. The previous day, he had assured Niye he would get her a very sound lawyer, not knowing where or how he was going to fulfil

that promise. And at night, he had been forced to speak with Rachael who had suggested he contacted one Barrister Maria ‘Tas. The woman was a human right activist, she had explained, so it was unlikely she would be overly interested in money once she heard Niye’s story. Omo had had no choice but to agree with Rachael, and now he was on his way to the barrister’s chamber. But before he left home, he had instructed Rachael to go to the station to see how Niye was doing. He hoped Niye would accept Rachael and that they would be close pals once more. Omo reached the building with the address Rachael had given him, then he stopped the cab and got off. It was a three-storeyed office building, so he had to spend some time scanning the various offices till he found the one he was searching for. Maria ‘Tas. Legal practitioner. He nodded his head and entered the premises. Then he climbed up the stairs to the third floor where the barrister’s chamber was located. He walked on down the corridor until he reached her chamber, and then he knocked on the door. “Come in,” a sweet voice told him. He mumbled something and looked up, then he entered. The first thing that caught his eye was a smallish girl working zealously on a computer. She wore her hair in bunches and her eyes in glasses. Must be the secretary, Omo thought. “Excuse me,” Omo said, and she looked up at him. “I want to see Barrister ‘Tas.” The girl began smiling like a machine. “Appointment?” “No, not really.” “Name, please?”

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Omo told her his name. She spoke into the phone for a while. Then she continued smiling. “Go in,” she said. Once inside, Omo stood by the door. He should have continued to move, till he reached the barrister’s table, or he should have greeted her; but he stood still and said nothing. He was dumb and paralysed because of the awe that had struck him as he entered this place. The office was enchanting, first class. The floor was completely rugged white, so were the walls painted white. Even the desk at which the barrister sat was white, and the book shelves were white. The computer in front of the barrister was white too, so was the air conditioners affixed to the wall. The office was simple, but it was enchanting, first class. Omo was beginning to consider turning back and disappearing the way he had come in as this place was obviously meant for those above his age and class. The barrister looked up. He stiffened and swallowed hard, like a little boy about to be punished by the headmaster for a wrong done. The barrister was staring at him with inquiring eyes. And even her eyes were sparkling white. She was a fair lady with a matured and intelligent look. She was beautiful, Omo admitted, and should be about thirty-five. “Yes?” the barrister said. “Good morning,” Omo greeted. “Morning,” she replied. But Omo was still standing by the door. “Please,” she said, directing him with her hand to the chair opposite her. Omo suddenly seemed to realise himself, and moved to the chair opposite the barrister, and sat. “I am Barrister Maria ‘Tas,” the barrister introduced. “How may I help you?”

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Omo cleared his throat and leaned forward like someone important who had something important to say. “I have a friend who will be charged to court soon,” he began. “And I’ll like you to be her lawyer.” The barrister seemed amused. “Your friend,” she said, and Omo nodded. “So tell me, what about your friend’s parents?” Omo shook his head ruefully. “She has none.” That suddenly seemed to catch the barrister’s attention. “She has no parents?” “No.” “So what crime is she accused of committing?” “Murder,” Omo said simply. The lawyer flinched lightly in her seat. Then slowly, she corked her head to one side. “Are you here to waste my time?” she asked. “I’m serious,” Omo said. “I mean it. Please help us.” The lawyer was still not convinced. “How old is she?” she asked. “A little younger than me.” Then she shook her head in disbelief. “How come she’s being charged with murder?” It was now Omo’s turn to shake his head. “You would not understand,” he said. “It’s complicated.” “So make me,” the lawyer told him. Obviously she was running out of patience. He shook his head some more before he went on to tell the lawyer all the matters that have arisen in Niye’s life-all the ones he knew, and how he knew them.

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And when it came to matters on ground, he made sure he emphasised all the events where Niye’s rights had been infringed upon. When he finished, he looked up at the barrister’s face. Omo could not discern this expression in her eyes: whether she was willing to help or not. “Will you help us?” he asked. The barrister looked away from him. Then slowly again, she turned to face him. There were tears in her eyes, and Omo was shocked, or was he surprised. Perhaps confused. “She’s at the Oko Prison, you said?” Barrister ‘Tas asked. Omo nodded. “When is she going to be charged to court?” “I don’t know.” The lawyer picked up a briefcase, and a bunch of keys. “I should go there now.” “You will help us?” Omo asked. “Of course,” she replied. “These law enforcement agents need someone to stand up to them. Can you imagine how much abuse the girl is going through? She even has no place in the Oko Prison in the first place.” Omo could not imagine, so he could only shrug his shoulders. But he wanted to tell her that it was Chief Onaghinor who was involved here. He wanted to remind the barrister that sometimes things worked differently when it came to the big names. He even wanted her to know that Niye had already made a confession. But before he could open his mouth to speak, the lawyer was already on her feet and marching towards the door like soldiers on a parade ground. He had no choice but to get up and march along with her.

AND HE waited outside the Oko Prison. He waited for hours before the barrister came out again. The expression on her face instantly told him that all was not well.

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In fact it seemed nothing was well. The barrister was muttering something as she approached. Obviously she was angry with someone or something. She flung her briefcase carelessly to the back seat of the BMW-5 series that was her car, then she entered and started the ignition. Omo did not need anyone to tell him it was time to go. He wouldn’t see Niye today as he had hoped. Too bad. He opened the door and entered the passenger’s seat. Then the barrister zoomed off. Till they reached her chamber again, she did not utter as much as one word. Omo began to wonder what she had found out or who she was angry with. Hope it was not him. And hope Niye was okay. Once at the office premises, Barrister Maria opened the car door and stepped out. Then she took her briefcase and started marching towards her chamber. Omo followed like a zombie. Actually that was what he was at the moment. She breezed past the secretary, opened the door of her office and entered. She left it open so that Omo who was still far behind could enter when he arrived. And when he did, he first of all heaved a sigh of relief. At least she knew he still existed. Why then had she ignored him all the way from the Prison house? Obviously, he thought, there was bad news coming. He entered, shut the door, and moved to sit opposite her like he had done earlier in the day. But she was not looking at him. She was staring at the computer screen. Omo wondered if she had forgotten again that he existed. “Excuse me, Ma,” he said. “What…” The barrister turned her gaze from the screen to his face. It was then she exploded. “Can you imagine how our justice system is being run?” the barrister fumed. “So because a girl is accused of killing Chief Onaghinor’s son, she has to die even before she is taken to court?”

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Omo didn’t really know whether that question was actually being directed at him, so he said nothing. “Imagine how many people are in that cell,” the barrister continued, “and living under poor hygienic conditions. Some of them have been there for years without trial. What kind of a thing is this?” Omo decided to answer this one. “It’s a bad thing,” he said. “Someone has to do something about it.” “I most definitely will!” the barrister said firmly. “I will stop all this trash. I don’t care how long it takes or what it costs me.” “But-” “And when I protested her being kept there, they were not ashamed to tell me that Chief Onaghinor wanted it so, so I couldn’t do anything about it. Can you imagine!” Omo never imagined a barrister as this could run so high on temper. Wouldn’t this one slap a judge in court? He knew it was time to calm her down before it was too late. “Please calm down,” he said. “No, just take a look at what they’re doing,” she protested. “I know they’re wrong,” Omo said. “But please, let’s take things one after the other.” The lawyer opened her mouth to speak but it was like she had run out of words, so she shut it back. Then she looked away. She was staring at the shelf to her side. When she was tired, she turned to face Omo. Then she exhaled all her anger through her nostrils, and it was time to brief Omo on the details of her encounter with Niye. “It’s really bad,” she began. “Worse than I thought.” Omo became afraid. Was there no hope? Was that was she was saying? Please, it better not be.

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“She has already given them a confession,” the lawyer continued. “And she admitted to killing the lad.” “Yes. She told me,” Omo said. “And there is evidence that she did. Her prints are on the knife. So…” “What can be done now?” Omo asked in a shaky voice. “It’s a gruesome crime,” the lawyer continued. “There’s no way she’ll be tried as a juvenile…And the prosecution would not go into any form of bargain.” “Why?” “Chief Onaghinor,” the barrister answered. “He wants her sentenced to death, and nothing else. So they’re charging her for murder.” Barrister ‘Tas was silent, pensive. Omo wondered what she was thinking. Slowly she looked up at the ceiling. “I have this feeling in me,” she informed Omo, “that she was not responsible for the lad’s death.” Was that supposed to be good news? Omo did not know. “Why?” Omo asked. Barrister ‘Tas was quiet again. Then slowly her face descended to Omo’s face. “If at all he died from the stabs of the knife, then the major cause of death would be a haemorrhage,” she reasoned. “And since he was stabbed between ten and eleven, he could not have died within the same period of time if the true cause of death was loss of blood. Besides, my client told me he was still alive when she left the room.” Omo reasoned what she was telling him, and found himself agreeing with her. What else could he do? “In fact,” he added. “He should have been mobile to an extent. He should have been able to get help.”

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“You’re right,” the lawyer agreed. “I think we’ll have to work along that line and make it firm.” Omo seemed undecided. “Or do we let her plead ‘manslaughter?’” she asked. “No,” Omo said instantly. “Alright then, we’ll have an independent medical examiner carry out a postmortem, and tell us the actual cause of death. We’ll also have to find a way to nullify her earlier confession with the fact that the lad didn’t die before her very eyes. She only assumed he would die, and that was why she confessed to killing him…And what else?” Omo was staring blankly at her. “Come on, think,” she said. “We haven’t got time.” Omo hit the sides of his head to make it work more efficiently, and then he came up with something. “And the medical examiner would have to inform the court that it is impossible for a man to die from excessive bleeding in less than an hour.” “It is possible to die from loss of blood in less than an hour depending on the nature of wound and some heriditory disorders,” the lawyer said blandly. “But in the lad’s case, it is not very possible, I think.” Omo nodded and looked at the lawyer. “So that’s it,” he said. “That should hopefully be enough.” Then Omo began to scratch at his head. Just a look around him reminded him that this place was one for the upper class. Hope he was going to be able to afford her services. Had he even any money anywhere in the world? “Em…barrister,” he said. “Yes?” “I was wondering…How much will your services cost?”

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The barrister broke down in a smile, the way one would smile when they looked in the eyes of a baby. “I won’t charge you,” she said. “I’m sure you can’t pay.” Omo was forced to admit with a nod of the head, and his face turned to the ground in embarrassment. Or had he suddenly become shy. “I just want to help,” she continued. “I feel sympathy for your friend, and am proud of the fact that you were bold enough to come to me.” Omo waited to hear more, but as she said nothing else, he knew she was done. He lifted up his face and smiled, the way a naïve girl would smile if she were offered a ride by the cutest guy in the hood. “Thank you,” he said. “I appreciate.” “You’re welcome…And what’s your name, again?” “Omorodion. But they call me Omo.” Then he rose to his feet. “I should go home now,” he announced. “Alright, keep in touch.” “I will.” Omo turned and strolled towards the exit. It was only when he reached the door that a matter of great importance and concern arose in his mind-something he really wanted to know. He turned again to face her. “Will Niye live again?” he asked. The lawyer broke down in a smile again, the same way she had smiled when he had asked her how much her services would cost. “I will do my best,” she told him. “Trust me.”

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TWENTY

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t was night now, and the cell was illuminated by the dim light provided by the web-covered light bulb. Niye was seated at one corner watching in disgust at her

cellmates as they busied themselves with gambling, drinking, and smoking. From all indication, they looked content, or even happy, with their present situation. Niye could only wonder why. And she wished Beauty was there by her side. She wished she could talk to someone; she was lonely. But she couldn’t, because Beauty was somewhere at the other end of the cell, playing the humble servant. Niye sighed as she realised that soon, indeed tonight, she would be initiated. And as she was weak, she would join Beauty in serving the strong. It didn’t matter to her that soon she would be a slave. It should have, but it didn’t. Why would it? Her life was going to be over soon, and it would not do her much harm to spend the rest of it in glorious service to humanity. Niye was even

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willing to learn the secret of happiness in a place like this, and be happy with her fellow cellmates until the end came. But she was happy now-a little happy-for seeing Osato again and reconciling with Rachael. She would have been much happier if she had seen Omo as well. But for some reason, he had not shown up, and it pained her. And talking about Rachael; it was unimaginable how she had cried and begged for Niye’s forgiveness. Niye could even sense that she felt some sort of gratitude to her for ending Jonathan’s life. She shook her head slowly. How cruel. Then suddenly she noticed that0 her cellmates had been assembled together and discussing in low tones. She turned her gaze to Beauty who had a look in her eyes that Niye could interpret without much effort. It was time for the initiation. Slowly, Niye rose to her feet as the cell approached her. They were twenty in number, ferocious and murderous-looking creatures. They were like nothing she had ever seen in her life, especially the one in front. It took a while before Niye could actually decide whether she was a ‘she’ or a ‘he’ or an ‘it’. The only reason she could be called a female were the two pointed objects on her chest. Otherwise, she passed completely for something else. Niye swallowed hard as they reached where she was and stopped. There was utter silence before the cellmate in front smiled. Niye wondered if the smile was supposed to ease her fears. If anything, it was bringing her tears. Then the cellmate’s face turned to stone. It was almost the shape of a crescent moon. Her eyes were round like those of a pig, and her nose was like that of a baboon. She was such a frightening sight to behold. “Hope you enjoyed your day of grace,” she croaked. Niye did not say anything. “Your name,” she said again.

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“Niye,” Niye told her. She tasted the name in her ears. It didn’t seem pleasant enough; she frowned. “We’ll call you Baraga,” she said, and looked to the others who nodded enthusiastically in approval. Niye looked to Beauty who could only shrug. “This is the Dungeon of The Bones,” the crescent moon continued. “And I am the Amazon.” She beamed smiles of pride. “Now, I would give other members of this most noble organization a chance to introduce themselves.” She stepped aside to let the introductions begin. Niye had thought that the introduction process would simply be that of exchanging names, smiles and handshakes. But she was terribly wrong. There was the exchange of names quite alright, but not of smiles or handshakes. In place of those were slaps across the face-the way the people of Kuvukiland in that South African movie, Mr. Bones, greeted. Even Beauty could not help but do the same. Niye thought Beauty’s slap was more lethal than all the others put together. Anyway it didn’t matter. She was doing what she had to. When they were done, it was time for the Amazon to speak again. “You’re weak,” she informed Niye. “I can see it in your eyes.” Niye nodded. She didn’t know whether it was in agreement or not. But she just nodded. “But you wouldn’t be a slave,” the Amazon continued. “You’re too pretty to be a slave.” Niye immediately looked up at her. “I want you to be my mistress.”

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Niye didn’t remember whether she had anticipated this last statement or not. But right now, her mind was blank. She looked to Beauty whose eyes were blank. Then she turned away to stare at the wall to her side. “You would be my mistress,” the Amazon continued, “and be saved of all stress.” Then she looked to Beauty. “Get the sweet juice.” Beauty nodded and proceeded to bring the bucket of waste and urine. Then she handed it to the Amazon. “You would drink from this,” the Amazon said to Niye. “Three sips and you would become one of us till the day you die.” She was stretching the bucket at Niye, but Niye was still looking away, hesitant to take it. Her mind was still blank. “Take it,” the Amazon urged. But Niye would not; the Amazon became infuriated. There was absolute silence. “Take it now!” she ordered. Then Niye turned to look at the one who had spoken, her mind abruptly coming back to life. It was abusive for her to be subjected to such barbaric treatments, and she concluded firmly that she would not stand for it. She just concluded firmly, suddenly, just like that. “I will not be your mistress,” Niye said definitely, “neither would I drink of that concoction.” The Dungeon roared in disbelief, and each member looked to the other with their eyes bulging out of their sockets. What was this weakling thinking? They wondered. Didn’t she know that the last person who disrespected the Amazon had her life terminated? Hope Niye was normal. And Beauty; she couldn’t help but shake her head in disapproval. She admired Niye’s courage, but she knew it would bring her nothing but damage.

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But the Amazon didn’t flinch. Her face remained the stone that it had been. “Silence!” she ordered, and the cell automatically became quiet. Her eyes narrowed as she observed Niye from eyes to toes and back to eyes again. Then she smiled. Niye could only wonder why. “Do you know what you’re doing?” she asked calmly. “Yes,” Niye replied promptly. The Amazon continued to smile. For minutes she smiled, and then her smile vanished abruptly. She began taking off her clothes. Niye was confused now, as the Amazon was done with her clothes and was approaching her. What did she want to do? Niye looked to the other cellmates. Their faces were expressionless. She looked to Beauty who only shook her head. Niye wondered what Beauty was trying to tell her. When the Amazon was close to Niye, she pulled Niye to herself, the way Jonathan had done the night she had killed him. Niye’s heart began to knock wildly even as everyone else was quiet. She was sure they could hear her heart beat. In one sudden movement, the Amazon tore apart Niye’s prison wear which was a cotton pinafore and clasped Niye closely, so that their bodies were literally pressing against each other. Then she pushed her, so that Niye fell to the ground, the Amazon on top of her. The madness began. The Amazon’s hands were all over Niye’s breasts. The message was clear, and it was time to act. As the thoughts of Jonathan on top of her filled her mind, Niye began to hit impulsively, violently. She didn’t mind who she was hitting or where she was hitting. She just hit, and continued to hit, as long as her hands were free.The Amazon retaliated with several slaps and blows across her face. And soon, a fight broke out between them. Niye was hitting and slapping with all the power and might she had and the Amazon was retaliating and the Dungeon was watching. They rolled over each other from one end of the cell to another.

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“Stupid imbecile,” the Amazon yelled at one point. “I’ll end your life.” And she meant it. Instantly her palms were compressing the walls of Niye’s neck together, making it difficult for the girl to breathe. Niye wriggled and struggled to be free from this lethal grip, but it was pointless as the grip was purely professional. She was coughing soon, and her attempts at freedom became weaker and weaker and weaker. Finally Niye surrendered to the superior power of the Amazon, ready for the end. She could see the end. Niye could see herself in a race, approaching the finish line. She was tired as she ran, and she could have collapsed; but she did not. Her father, and mother, and Jonathan were beyond the line, urging her to continue, to finish this race: this race of life-this race to death. Beauty was watching, feeling an urge to move forward and save the one who had saved her only the night before. She managed to restrain herself, just barely. But when she saw Niye’s iris disappear from the screen of her eyes, and her teeth begin to chatter, and her wriggling coming to a halt; it was then she decided it was time to act. Without thinking any further, Beauty flung herself at the one who was the head of the Dungeon, her arm wrapped tightly around the Amazon’s neck. The Amazon let go of Niye’s neck, and slowly rose to her feet, staggering in every direction, determined to free herself from Beauty’s grip. The Dungeon continued to watch as Beauty continued to strangle the Amazon. But when the Amazon fell to her knees, the Dungeon decided that matters were getting out of hand. They attacked Beauty, beating and clubbing her until she finally let go. And even at that, they didn’t stop beating her. Suddenly they seemed to notice Niye who had rolled to one side of the cell, and decided she needed some beating too. They rushed to where Niye was, and began to beat her mercilessly with everything they could find. But Niye couldn’t fight back. There was no point in that. She simply lay lifeless on the ground and let

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them beat her, till she was bleeding from her mouth, and her nostrils; and her arms and legs were grazed and her face was swolen. It hurt, so she began to cry. It didn’t matter to them whether it hurt or whether she was crying. All they wanted to do was teach her a lesson she would not live to learn from. And they would have succeeded but for the timely intervention of the warders who had appeared in front of the cell. “What is going on here?” one of them asked, as another fumbled with the lock. The Dungeon didn’t stop to answer the question. They didn’t even hear it. Their minds now were wild, like those of some primeval beast, having just one instinct: to kill. So they continued to pound on the body that was on the ground. It was only when the warders had entered the cell and had brandished their weapons and clubs that the Dungeon knew it was time to retreat. Niye just lay on the floor, bleeding and crying…in silence. “What’s happening here?” one of the warders still bothered to ask. The Dungeon simply stared at him. Then he looked down at Niye. “That serves you right,” he told her. “You should not have killed the Chief’s son.” Another shook her roughly. He seemed disappointed when he noticed that she still had life in her because she could still move. “We should take her to another cell,” one suggested. “The hospital first,” another said. “Which hospital?” the first questioned. “Let her be alone in one of those old cells. The doctor will see her there. She would recover.” They all nodded in agreement, and one hauled Niye over his shoulders. Niye managed to raise her face to look at Beauty who was lying at the far end of the cell, and wave to her, her goodbyes, wondering if she would ever see her again.

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But she knew she wouldn’t. Niye had made up her mind that she wouldn’t live to see Beauty again. Just take a look at Niye, her suffering and pains. Did she deserve them? Did she deserve to be in this situation? Wouldn’t it be better if she were dead? Of course it would. Niye could have taken her life, but that would be suicide. So she would wait until she was taken to court and there she would begin the process to end her life. She didn’t care what Barrister ‘Tas had, and would tell her to say or do. She would say and do what she wanted. At least sometimes, one had to admit that it was over, that there was no more hope. And for her, the time was now. But in the moment, she continued to stare at Beauty with tears in her eyes, hoping that the other girl would someday be free from this bondage, to live her life the way she wanted, the way that was right. That is, if she was not squashed by the Dungeon before the very next day.

TWENTY-ONE 159

A

nd when it was Monday, when Niye was arraigned in court, she declared that she was guilty of the cold-blooded murder of Eriso Onaghinor. It had been at about ten o’clock that Monday morning when the judge had

arrived, and the hearing had begun. Before then, the court room had been filled to the brim with people from all works of life. The curious masses were there, so were the “fans” of Chief Onaghinor. Even the Commisioner of Police was there and so were Chief Onaghinor and wife. The media also was well represented. In fact, they almost outnumbered all the other people gathered there. Omo was there too, and Rachael. It was only Osato and Niye’s uncle that were absent. The prosecution had been ready. They had all it took to seal the case, and they were confident. The confession and the prints on the knife would be all it took to seal the case. They had even planned on putting forward the notion that Niye possibly killed another female. She might very well be a serial killer, who knows. But the defence was ready as well. At least, so they thought. All through the weekend Barrister Maria ‘Tas and Omo had been busy putting their facts together. They had consulted with a medical practitioner who had told them that it was impossible for the lad to die from haemorrhage in less than ninety minutes, given the nature of wound. A post-mortem confirmed injuries and fractures around his neck. Possibly, he could have been strangled; and of course Niye knew nothing about that. So Niye was not guilty, and that was what Barrister ‘Tas had told her to plead. But to the surprise of the entire court, when Niye was asked to plead “guilty” or “not guilty” to the two-count murder charge heaped on her, she lifted up her face, looked round the court, and then at the prosecution counsel, Barrister ‘Tas, at Omo, before she finally said, “Guilty.” The court had roared in disbelief or in confusion or both. Some were shaking their heads, and others were muttering to one another, all forgetting that it was

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illegal to speak in court. They could all be charged with contempt if they were not careful. But they didn’t care. Why should they, when the judge himself was in the same state of confusion as they? The judge had even had to have the charges read again, and this time, Niye hesitated a little longer. Her face was to the ground. Then slowly she lifted it up and turned again to Omo with tears in her eyes. Then she said again that she was guilty. At that point, Barrister ‘Tas had shot up from her seat. Perhaps her client did not understand the charges levelled against her, she had explained. Her client probably was not all together mentally fit. How could she be fit when she was thrown in the same cell as those that were condemned for life? She must have gone through some form of physical and mental torture and abuse that in the moment she was in a daze. The defence concluded by asking for a recess with her client. And immediately, the prosecution sprang to his feet; but before he could nullify what the defence had said, Niye spoke. “I’m not in a daze,” she said. “I’m alright.” The prosecution smiled and began his nullification starting from Niye’s last statement. The lady was normal, he had begun. Wasn’t it clear enough? What she was, was a criminal tired of crime. She had killed two innocent citizens of the country, and obviously she thought it was time she became extinict before she killed another. It seemed to be, however, that the defence was trying to force her to do what she did not want to, and she was simply standing up to her rights. Barrister Maria was sealed to her seat. She could only wonder what was wrong with her client. In their last encounter the previous day, she had told Niye what and what to say, assuring her that she was not responsible for the lad’s death. And Niye had seemed to believe her. What then had so suddenly come over her that morning, the barrister could not fathom. The judge ordered that she be kept in custody. The case was then adjourned to the next Monday when the verdict would be passed. The case was over;

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everyone knew the case was over, even Barrister ‘Tas. There was nothing that could be done now. Niye would simply have to die. The media immediately flocked around every notable person in sight. Chief Onaghinor was thankful that the case was sealed fast, and reminded the media that he once told them that whoever it was that had killed his son would have to face the full wrath of the law. And he advised all Nigerians not to take the law into their hands in any given situation, but to take all matters of distress to the court of law like he had done. The Police Commissioner reiterated his commitment to fighting crime at all levels and bringing offenders to book. He praised his “boys” for their alacrity in making sure that the offender in this case was rounded up quickly before she had any time elude them. Barrister ‘Tas had simply stomped out of the court room with the media all over her as she got into her car and zoomed off. How could she speak after what her client had done to her? It was an embarrassment beyond measure, such that she had never received in her entire life time. It was a shame and a disgrace. To put it simply, Niye had made her look purposeless. And that made her angry and bitter. Niye had stayed where she was and continued to stare at Omo, tears rolling down her face. He had stared back at her, his face blank and expressionless like he was unconcerned as to what was happening. But he was confused. God, he was bewildered. He was wondering what had come over Niye, what had made her decide it was all over even before the trial had begun. Why had she so suddenly chosen to give up? Why had she conceded? Why was she so heartless, so ungrateful? He had gone to Barrister ‘Tas because of her. He had spent the whole weekend with the barrister, all for her sake. He had not gone to school today because of her, even though he knew that his exams were fast approaching. And then after all the sacrifice, all the labour, she had opened her mouth and declared

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that she was guilty. But why hadn’t she said so all this time? Why had she made him suffer for no reason? Why? Omo shut his eyes and looked away from her. And when he reopened them, the court room was empty. He was alone. How long he had shut his eyes, he did not know. And even now that he realised he was alone, he made no attempt to leave. Where was he going to go to? Where? He could not go to Barrister Maria. It was no point. And he could not go home now. There was still no point. As much as he hated it, there was only one place he thought could go, only one place he needed to go. And that was the Oko Prison. He didn’t want to go, but at the same time he wanted to go. He wanted to know what had come over, and into Niye. He wanted to know if she was alright. He wanted to know if she cared the slightest bit about him: his feelings, his sufferings, all for her sake. But really, he wanted to see her face again. The next Monday the verdict would be passed on her, and everyone knew what that would be. Niye would simply be sentenced to death. She could have passed for life imprisonment, but not with Chief Onaghinor in the background. She would have to die, and that genuinely pained Omo, as much as he hated it. He didn’t want to think about the past, about the laughter, and about the tears. Neither did he want to think of the future. Was there even a future now? He did not know. He wanted to die now because Niye was going to die and she had made him suffer for no reason. And for the first time in a long time, he agreed to accept the fact that it was okay to die. He was HIV positive, wasn’t he? What then was the virus waiting for before it manifested itself? It should do so right now. He didn’t care. With much effort after an hour or so, Omo rose to his feet and plodded his way to the Oko Prison. He should have taken a cab, but he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to be quick. He wanted to be slow so he could have enough time to think of all

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the bad things that had happened to him in his life. He was the worst human on earth now, and no one could challenge that. So now he was sitting at a table in the visitation room, Niye opposite him. No one else was there. He was looking at her, but she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at the table aimlessly, pointlessly. And just looking at her, Omo became suddenly overwhelmed with compassion…and anger. Look at Niye, his Niye; he almost could not recognize her anymore. Her neck was thin now like that of an ostrich. The skeletal outline of her face could also be traced without much effort. She had suddenly developed high cheek bones. And her skin was darker, and rumpled. But he was still angry that she had agreed not to try, at least try, to make herself whole again. She had agreed to drown in the sufferings in which she had been immersed. She had agreed to give up. And the fact that she was inconsiderate about him pained him the most, made matters worse. After a while, Omo cleared his throat and decided to break the wall of silence that stood between them. He would go straight to the point. “Why did you do it, Niye?” he asked. Niye’s hand moved to her forehead. She remained speecheless in her seat. “I’m asking you a question,” Omo informed her. “You didn’t kill him. The post-mortem confirmed that there were injuries to his neck region indicating that he must have been strangled. Why did you say you killed him?” Slowly Niye looked up at him, and then she looked down again. His face was frightening to behold, showing both sadness and anger in a way that she had never seen it do before. And she was responsible. She was afraid. “I said why did you do it?” Omo’s voice had shot up suddenly, forcing Niye to look up at him impulsively, to shudder like one suffering from a severe cold, and to speak. “I-I didn’t…mean to hurt you,” she stammered.

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“Do you know anything about a rope or string around his neck?” Niye grimaced, but she did not speak. “Do you?” Omo asked again. “Y-Yes,” she whispered. “The police mentioned that he was strangled with a rope during the interrogation. Barrister ‘Tas said so too.” “And you still decided you killed him?” Niye suddenly found reasons to cry. “Omo, I had no choice,” she said. “It’s better to die than to go on living like this. You should have seen what they put me through. I can’t go on.” “A wise person once told me that whether we live or die, are happy or sad, rich or poor; it’s a choice we have to make. How about that, Niye? What happened to that?” Niye looked away from him and bit at her lower lip. He didn’t understand, did he? He didn’t know what she had been through, what she felt. He didn’t know what it was like to have no choice. And just seeing him and looking in his eyes made Niye cry all the more. She was wasting his time, she was ruining his life. And who knows, maybe he was already tired of her. Otherwise why didn’t he show up throughout the weekend? Couldn’t he even just come to face the truth? It was over with her. He should leave her to her fate, and go on to live his life to the full. Slowly she turned to face him again. “Leave, Omo,” she said. “Please leave.” Omo shut his eyes again as the words rang in his brain. The pain and anger that stung at his heart now was better imagined than felt. So Niye really did not care about him. She did not appreciate all the things he had done for her. She did not even appreciate him being there for her now, and trying to make sure she was alright. She didn’t even want to see him. She wanted him to go away. Just like that. “I should leave,” he muttered. “Isn’t it?” Then he reopened his eyes and found her staring in his face.

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“Just leave me alone, Omo,” she said. “Go on with your life.” Omo’s eyes narrowed and his lips became pouted. “So this is how you are,” he said. “You don’t appreciate all I’ve done for you, the sacrifices I’ve made for you. You don’t appreciate them.” Niye was silent. She didn’t know what to say. Omo was misunderstanding her, and of course it didn’t feel good. All she really wanted was the best for him. “So you don’t want to see me again.” Omo’s voice was gradually ascending. “Niye, answer me!” Niye was still quiet, somewhat shivering. “After all I’ve done for you,” Omo continued in bitter rage. “After the sacrifices I’ve made, after putting my life at risk for your sake, you still have the guts to tell me to leave? Have I been wasting my time with you? What have you done in return? Nothing. Even gratitude you can’t show. What manner of person are you?” Niye suddenly found her temper shooting up. What did Omo expect her to do for him? What did he want from her? He should not have helped her at all if he wanted anything in return because clearly, she could give him nothing. Or did she even beg him to go through so much sacrifice for her sake in the first place? “Don’t yell at me, Omo,” she said sternly. “Don’t…I mean, what do you really want from me? I didn’t ask you for your help or compassion and you can take it back if you’re tired. Right now, I don’t need it.” Omo was startled at her, and his anger rose beyond measure. He could have hit her if she was someone else; but as she was still Niye, he could not bring himself to do it. He could only continue to yell. “I will yell,” he said. “You are so ungrateful…I cared about you, I did-” “You cared about me,” Niye retaliated, “and you didn’t show up throughout the weekend even to see how I was doing. Do you know what I’ve been through? Do you?”

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“I don’t want to know,” Omo told her. “Do you know what I’ve been through myself…all for your sake? I’ve been running around town looking for help, meeting with doctors…just to make sure you come out alive. And even today, I didn’t go to school…all because of you. Niye, why? Why are you treating me this way?” “Leave me alone, Omo,” Niye said harshly. “Go away. Go and face your life.” Omo became silent. He did not know what else to say, so he just stared at Niye. Niye stared back at him, and it was clear from the look on their faces that they were both trying to keep their temper in check. The officer at the door was whistling to himself unconcerned of the confrontation that was going on. Slowly Omo rose to his feet, maintaining his eye contact with her. He had made up his mind now because he realised she was right. It was pointless helping her, having compassion for her. He would put her behind him and move on with his life, live his life anyhow he could. “Goodbye,” he said strongly, “and good luck.” With that, he stomped out of the room.

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TWENTY-TWO

N

iye sat still after Omo left. Everything had happened so fast, that suddenly her mind was blank. It was only when the officer at the door came to usher

her back to her cell that her mind came back to life. Humbly, she followed him like a lamb being led to the slaughter, to the lonely place that was her home, even till the day she would die. She entered, and the officer locked the barred gate. It was an empty, small, narrow cell, more like a corridor. But it was her cell, and she preferred it to the bigger dungeon. At least here, no one would come and ask her to be their mistress neither would she be bullied or beaten. But here also, she was alone. No Beauty, no nobody. She was just alone. Niye moved to the end of the cell and sat on the bare floor. She looked around, as if looking for someone or something. And finding none, she began to cry. It was all she could do now-cry, for her life was miserably hopeless. She was the worst human on earth, and no one could challenge that. She was exhausted, because she had not eaten all through the day. Besides, the effects of the beating she had received the previous week were still heavily fresh. Her body ached as she sat there against the wall, so she lay down, and shut her eyes, and found herself praying for sleep-or death-to overtake her. Slowly, Niye’s mind drifted to the life she once had, when her father was alive. It was happy and blissful, and then suddenly when he was gone, it was gone. Everything had turned for the worse. Things would have remained at worse, but they began their quick journey to worst, the very day Jonathan had forced her the

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first time. And he did because her uncle had failed to give her the money to register for the S.S.C.E. And then she had lost her mother too, and her uncle, and everyone that meant anything to her. But worse of all, she had lost her life. All her dreams, her hopes, her ambitions, her desires: all of them were gone, just like a passing day. But most painful was the fact that she had lost Omo. There would be no more miracles for her now; no more miracles. Her life was as good as doom. She thought about her father and his dreams for her. He had always wanted the best for her. He had always dreamed of the day when she would stand shoulder to shoulder with the worlds greatest. He had always believed she could, and she too had always believed. She was good at writing, and she hoped to be a successful writer someday. But now, she would not be. Not anymore. Now she had let her father down, and she was sure that wherever he was, he would not be proud of her. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” she said. “I had no choice.” But she did have a choice, didn’t she? Wasn’t Omo right that she had a choice? She could have pleaded “Not guilty”. She had wanted to, but she felt it was useless, pointless. She was going to die, and she needed not to be fought for. She needed nothing to delay the whole process. She was already ready to die. Even if she had said she was innocent, and somehow the Barrister was able to pull something off, what life still had she? She would still have nothing and her future would still have been bleak. She would still have continued suffering and eventually she would have had to give up. So it was better she did what she did. It was better she gave up now. But now, she had lost Omo. She had lost him completely. It was not her fault, she told herself. He was insensitive to her. He claimed he cared for her and yet he didn’t show up throughout the weekend, even to ask how she was doing. What sort of caring was that? And then when she told him, he began to yell at her like her uncle always used to do. Besides, why did he have to

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emphasize that he had done so much for her and she had done nothing in return? For God’s sakes, what did he want from her? What did he expect her to do for him? So all this while, while he helped her, he had an ulterior motive. He was expecting something from her. That was bad because she had absolutely nothing to offer. But once upon a time, when she was at the brink of collapse, Omo had appeared from nowhere like an angel, and had helped her stay on her feet, kept her strong. He had risked his life for her; yea, he had sacrificed himself for her. He had gone beyond the realms of friendship to a realm Niye could not readily define, and had saved her, been there for her. And in the bad times, especially the bad times, he had always been there. Niye remembered the day they became friends: when he had approached her and expressed his feelings for her. He was such a naïve little boy then, and she had given him little or no regards. But they had grown together, and had been laugh partners for a very long time until the day she was raped, and all of a sudden he was there to comfort her. He had simply changed from being a clown, and the serious part of him had taken over. When her uncle threw her out of his house, and she had nowhere else to go, Omo had shown up somehow in the storm where she was ready to die, and had kept her alive. “It’s me,” he had said. “It’s Omo.” Niye remembered the smile of relief that had spread across her face when he said those words. She had simply relaxed and trusted him to take her to a place that was out of the storm, a place that was safe. And he had carried her across his shoulder and had taken her home…And even now when she was destined to die, when she had let him down by the words she had said in court, he still cared for her enough to come to see her again. But now, what had she done? Tell me, what had she done? She had been insensitive to his feelings, and had been utterly nonchalant the way she had spoken to him. And she had driven him out of her life. She imagined what he would be

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going through now that all his efforts to make sure she lived again had turned up in shambles. She had acted to him like she didn’t care anything about him, like he was pointless to her existence when in fact she would have been dead without him. Niye shut her eyes as the truth in her heart began to beat. The desire flowed in her veins. And now she realised that she needed Omo. There was no denying the fact. Even if she were going to die the next day, she still needed him. She wanted to see his face, hear his voice, feel his touch. Really, she wanted to tell him how sorry she was for acting the way she did. She wanted him to know how much she appreciated all he had done for her. She wanted him to know that his place had been secured in her heart, since the very day he rescued her from the storm. But she couldn’t see him because he was gone forever. All she could do was continue to weep. Bitterly she wept. She rolled on the floor from one end of the cell to the other and wriggled as she did, for the pain and longing she felt was way beyond measure. Finally, she clutched her arms around her breasts and became still. But yet she cried, for the one she loved. “I need you, Omo,” she muttered. “Please come back.” So please Omo, come back to her.

OMO COULDN’T sleep that night. He had made up his mind never to as much as think of Niye again, and he had succeeded through the rest of the day. But now when it was night, he found his thoughts straying in Niye’s direction. He could only wonder why. He rolled out of bed and turned on the lights so he could see his thoughts more clearly. Then he returned to the bed and lay down again. He shut his eyes tightly; not because he wanted to sleep, but because he was thinking of Niye and it brought him so much pain to know that all his efforts at bringing her back to life had culminated in nothingness. Niye was going to die, and there was nothing he could do about it.

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Slowly, he opened his eyes as he thought about two years ago when he had asked her to be his wife. He began to wonder whether he really meant it then, or what was it that had made him say it? It was a feeling; he knew that; but what feeling? It was the same feeling that had made him vow to be responsible for her, determined to save her. And even as he lay there on his bed, unable to sleep, he still felt the feeling. He was hesitant to define it. But just take a look at what Niye had put him through that day. So, upon all he had done for her, he still meant nothing to her. She had simply told him to get out of her life, and stay out. After slaving all weekend to make sure that he at least had enough material to propose her survival, she stood in court and agreed to die. It didn’t make any sense. It didn’t make him angry anymore. It just pained him. But maybe she was right. Maybe he was really insensitive. Maybe he should have squeezed out time to be there for her at least once over the weekend. Who knows what she must have been going through? Maybe if he were in her shoes, he would have reacted the same way she had to him. Maybe this; maybe that…It was all probability. But Omo was sorry. He wished he could go to Niye and tell her how sorry he was. But it was no point. He wanted to forget about her and move on with his life as she had told him to do. He wanted to be happy, even if he knew his life was short. But was there happiness without Niye? Could Omo be happy without her? How? He had everything he could possibly have, but still he had nothing if he didn’t have Niye. And it pained him that soon she was going to die. He should die too. There was no point living. Please Dear Virus, come and take his soul away. Tears filled his eyes as he remembered the sight of the Niye he had seen that day: bony, hungry, pale, weak, almost dead-if not already dead. He thought of her in those days when they were clowns, when a lunatic of great calibre had stopped by to invite them to his birthday party. Niye had screamed and cleaved to him for safety that day, fearing that the insane being would hurt her. And he had

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been proud to hold her, to protect her. His blood had run hot and cold at the same time. And he had smiled, and had felt on top of the world, because he wanted her to be his wife. And then they had grown together to be fond of each other untill the time she was raped, and they became real friends-they became serious. They became mature. He had vowed to be there for her, wherever he was, to be a father to her. Now see; just look how it was all going to end. She was going to die, and he was going to forget about her and move on with his life. But Omo didn’t want to. Tears began to run down his cheeks because he didn’t want to forget about Niye, not in a million years. He didn’t want to move on without her. Truly, he didn’t want to live without her. He wanted her by his side in this journey through life. He wanted to see her dreams become reality and his dreams too. But he could not. Not anymore. He had been insensitive to her, and she had told him to leave. And worse still she was going to die. He didn’t want her to die. He couldn’t let her die. If she died, what then would become of him? Their dreams? If she died, it meant living the rest of his life in darkness, never hoping for the dawn of a new day. But wait! Was it really altogether hopeless? Was there nothing that could be done? Couldn’t Omo save Niye like he had vowed to do? Indeed there was hope. Omo was going to rescue Niye. She shouldn’t die, because she didn’t kill Jonathan. Someone else did with a rope, and all he had to do was find the person, whoever it was. It was not going to be easy, but he was willing to try. So that even if she died in the end, he would be rest assured that he did his best to keep his promise, to keep her alive. Her case was not altogether hopeless. There was something that could be done.

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He smiled as he remembered the familiar words of his teacher when he was in kindergarten. “Always do your best, and whatever the outcome, it would be for the best.” So he was going to do his best, so that Niye would live again. And she needed him now, more than ever. Or at least he needed her. He would go and see her again, and tell her how sorry he was for being insensitive. Then he would reassure her that she would live again because she can if only she makes the choice. “I’m coming, Niye,” Omo said. “Just hang in there.” So, dear Niye, your darling is coming back to you.

TWENTY-THREE

B

arrister Maria ‘Tas had been in a terrible feat of rage since the previous day when her client had simply made a fool of her in the court of law. Her client

had succeeded beyond any previously conceivable measure to wipe out any sort of respect the barrister once had, and totally bruise her ego to death. Barrister ‘Tas had reasons to have been angry. Even as she sat there at her desk in her chamber, looking at the headlines of the dailies, her anger was constantly thoroughly refreshed. She had spent years in the U.K studying law, only to come back home and be humiliated, simply because she was trying to speak for those who had no voice.

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But that Niye of a girl: what had suddenly come over her the previous day? The barrister could not figure it out, and did not mind. What pained her was the fact that Niye had made her waste her precious, invaluable time, for nothing. Just why didn’t Niye tell her from the start that she was ready to plead guilty? It would have saved her all the stress of the previous weekend. She had been ready to defend Niye in all ways that she could because the girl’s story touched her, and also in sympathy for her friend. And then in court, Niye had betrayed them both. All their hard work and time, wasted. The barrister truly couldn’t be angrier. A gentle knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. Barrister Tas’ wondered who it was. She even wondered why she was there in her office that morning. She didn’t want to see anyone, and that was why she had told her secretary to cancel all her appointments for that day and not to bother coming to the chamber at all. She wasn’t in the mood to see anyone. Who knows, it might even be one of those press people that her trailed her to her office. But she said, “Come in.” The door opened and it was Omo that entered. Again he found himself unable to approach, as the barrister fixed him with an indefinable stare. He didn’t know what to make of it, but from all indication, he felt it was unsafe to move too close too soon. So he stood at the door until the Barrister spoke. “Come forward, and sit,” she said gently. He searched hard for the slightest traces of anger in her voice. And finding none, he nodded and moved forward to sit opposite her. But she was still staring at him, and it made him uncomfortable. He was suddenly shy and embarrassed like a little child. Just looking at him staring innocently at the desk, the barrister’s anger was gradually transformed into sympathy. She felt sorry for Omo. She knew what he had

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gone through for his friend’s sake and Niye had let him down. So the barrister was sorry for him. “I-I’m sorry about yesterday,” Omo said apologetically. The barrister smiled at him-that same smile meant for a child. “Don’t be,” she said. “It wasn’t your fault.” He nodded and looked up at her, and smiled. “Thank you,” he told her. “I thought you would be angry with me.” “I have no reason to be angry with you. It was just…” “Just what?” Omo urged her. The barrister heaved, and said nothing. But Omo knew what she was about to say. “I know how you feel,” he said. “She let us both down.” “Yes,” Barrister ‘Tas agreed. “And she succeeded in making me look like a fool.” Omo could sense danger in her voice and the earlier he abated it, the better. “It was really…I think she was just over stressed,” he said for Niye. “Is that so?” “No, I don’t mean it like she had any good reason to do what she did,” Omo corrected before it was too late. “It’s just that she was really under a lot of pressure that she felt what she did was for the best.” “And just how do you know that?” “I was with her yesterday and she told me.” The barrister had no choice now but to marvel at Omo. Even after what Niye had done, he still was able to go to see her? “You went to see her again?” she asked, surprised. Omo shrugged. “I thought I’d have to…you know…” The barrister shook her head in admiration. Surely this young man; he was something other than human. And to think that Niye was just his friend was even

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more amazing. This was how things were supposed to be: where people would be willing to take up the most difficult challenges and do the most impossible things, just for the ones they loved. She knew somehow, that Omo was in love with Niye-or at least he should be-only he had not realised it yet. “Who is she really to you?” Barrister ‘Tas asked. Omo didn’t expect the question, but he didn’t hesitate to answer. “She’s my friend,” he said. “Just that?” “Well…I see her as a sister, and…I just want her to be okay.” The barrister shook her head slowly, as if in pity. Or was it sympathy. It was hard to tell the difference in such situations. “Just what do you want from her?” Omo frowned at the question. Niye had asked the same question the previous day and he had not bothered to think about it. Was it really that importantwhat he wanted from her? Must he want something from her? Did he want anything from her? Omo did not know. The barrister noticed the confusion in his eyes. “What I mean is, what do you intend to gain at the end of all this?” Omo shrugged again. “Honestly Barrister, I don’t know,” he said with a sense of panic. The barrister shook her head again, this time more slowly. What a pathetic lad this was. She was going to inform him of what she felt he should know, but on second thought she decided not to. It would be a lot better if he found out on his own. “You’ll find out soon,” she said. “I hope you will.” But Omo sighed. “She’s going to die sooner,” he reminded her. “And…”

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Tears began to sprout in his eyes. The barrister’s heart was broken in pieces. She wished she could do something about Niye’s situation. But she couldn’t. The case was as good as over. She reached out and wiped the tears off Omo’s face. “Please don’t cry,” she comforted him. “Please.” Omo took in six sudden sharp breaths that all seemed to happen at the same time, before he spoke. “I wouldn’t let her die anyway,” he said with great determination. “Not when I’m still alive.” Barrister Maria withdrew her hand from his face and repositioned herself in her seat so she could take a better look at him. She could have laughed at what he had just said, but the look in his eyes, and the level of seriousness with which he had spoken made her restrain herself. She could only imagine what he was planning to do. “What do you intend to do?” she asked him, and leaned forward to listen. Somehow she just trusted that whatever it was he was going to say would be a plan worth implementing. “She didn’t kill Jonathan,” Omo said, “and I’m going to prove that.” “How?” “The rope,” he told her. “I’m going to find out who strangled him with a rope.” “How?” That was the crux of the matter. And unfortunately, Omo had no ready answer to the question now asked him. “I don’t know,” he said. “I have no idea.” He was looking in the barrister’s eyes now, and she could see he needed her help. But what could she offer him? It was too late to go back to court and begin to try to prove that Niye had not killed the lad even when she had emphatically

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pleaded guilty, and her prints were on the knife. No one knew about the rope. So there was little or nothing she could do, in as much as she wanted to help. “We can’t go back to court,” she informed him. “It’s too late.” “What can be done?” he asked, with a look of desperation in his face. “The only reason we can go back to court would be if we found the real killer, and are able to prove beyond every reasonable doubt that that person actually killed the lad…And that must be before on Monday.” Omo shut his eyes tightly. The task ahead was enormous-catch a killer in five days without any clues. It was impossible. But he could still hear that voice in his head say: “always do your best, and whatever the outcome, it would be for the best.” “I will do my best,” he told her. “I’ll give my all…I should leave now.” He rose quickly and turned to leave, and the barrister rose with him, and held his hand. So he turned to face her, and she looked into his eyes and said, “You’re not alone in this. I am with you.” Was that good news? Omo did not know.

OMO LEFT Barrister ‘Tas’ chamber feeling completely reassured that he, that is they, would be able to find Jonathan’s killer in the next five days, and save Niye from untimely death. He had to be a detective now (that was what the barrister had told him) and he had to be alert and act with exceeding alacrity. She had given him a starting point, and he was going to begin his new life as a detective. But now, he was headed for the Oko Prison to see Niye and make amends… if possible. And as he went, he made up his mind that whether or not she forgave him and accepted him back, he was still going to do his best for her. Soon he was in the visitation room in the prison and was waiting for her to appear. He looked around and observed that there was no one else here to see someone else. He wondered why this was so. Everytime he had come to see Niye, it

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had always been the two of them alone. Why? Maybe it was because these people were already condemned-no one cared about them. He sighed. His body shook with nervousness and his heart pounded with fear of uncertainty. First, hope Niye was still alive. Second, hope she was still mobile. Third, hope she would be willing to see him. And finally, would she agree to forgive him? Impulsively Omo rose up from the desk as the door opened and Niye was being led in. The door closed and the officer was gone. This time he simply left them alone. It was Omo and Niye alone in the room, and they were motionless, staring at each other. Memories flooded their brains, desires possessed them. Then suddenly as tears filled her eyes, Niye could hold herself no longer and ran towards him, into his arms that were stretched out to receive her. He clasped her to him, and tears filled his eyes as she wept profusely on his chest. And soon too, he began to weep, even like a child. And they wept and held on to each other, neither willing to let go, like survivors in an earthquake. Surely they were not hoping to see each other again. So they just held on to each other and cried like babies. “I’m sorry,” Omo said. “I was insensitive.” Niye forced herself to withdraw from his grip, and began to shake her head violently. “No, Omo,” she protested. “I’m sorry. I was really ungrateful. I didn’t-” “It’s okay,” Omo halted her. “It’s in the past…Wipe your tears, my dear.” He reached out and wiped the tears off her face. But she was not done with crying yet, not until she was done with her apology. “Omo, please forgive me,” Niye continued. “I was really wrong. Please find a place in your heart and forgive me.” “It’s okay,” Omo reiterated. But she wasn’t done yet, so she knelt down, and continued to beg him. “I don’t know how to make up for it,” she told him. “I’m really sorry.”

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Her weeping now became profuse again as she buried her head between his thighs. Omo was hurt, seeing her hurt; so he too began to cry…all over again. “Please, Niye stop,” he ordered. “I said I’ve forgiven you.” Niye looked up at him and searched his eyes if truly she was already forgiven. It seemed so. He rested his palms on the edges of her shoulders and lifted her to her feet. Then he hugged her, and once again, they were locked. Niye wasn’t crying anymore. Her eyes were shut as her head rested on his chest. She felt at peace as he held her and comforted her. She felt alive. She wished he could hold her this way forever. She didn’t want more. “I missed you,” she whispered. “I need you. Please don’t leave me.” Omo was silent for a while before he spoke. “I’ll get you out of this, Niye,” he said. “You won’t die.” Niye’s eyes slowly reopened. “Omo please,” she said. “You’ve done enough for me. I don’t want to put you through anymore troubles.” “It’s my choice. Not yours.” Niye silently began to cry again. It pained her for Omo: the sufferings and the sacrifices all for her sake. And it pained her more because there was nothing she had done to deserve so much of his attention, neither was there anything she could do to repay him. At least none would be adequate. She cried for him. Finally he let go, and again wiped the tears off her face again. Then she looked into his eyes, and said to him, “I love you, Omo.” Omo felt his blood congeal. He had least expected her to say what it was that she had just said. And he didn’t know how to react. It struck him like a strange illness. “Did you hear me? I said I love you,” Niye emphasized, her eyes searching all over his face, eager to hear his response; her heart one step away from panic. Would he love her back?

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Omo looked to the ground, and then he looked up, and then he looked to her face. “Let’s just get you out of here first,” he said. “Then we’ll sort out our feelings.” Niye frowned lightly and bit at her lower lip; and after a while she nodded. Then she moved to embrace him again. It had become her latest talent now-to hug him-because it was all she wanted-his arms around her, pressing her close to him. “You’ll come out, Niye,” he told her. “Do you believe?” Niye was hesitant to answer. At the moment she didn’t know what she believed and what she did not. “Tell me you want to live,” Omo urged her. “Just make the decision.” Niye hesitated again before she finally made the decision, made her choice. It was the deepest yearning of her heart now, and earnestly she wished it could come true. “I want to grow old with you,” she whispered. “I want to live.” Omo closed his eyes as he still held her close. She was forced to believe him, to trust him without question. But as they stood there, locked in that passionate embrace, Omo continued to wonder if truly he would deliver on his promise…and more importantly, when.

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TWENTY-FOUR

T

hat night, after Osato and the other children had gone to bed, Omo decided to talk with Rachael about his plans on finding Jonathan’s killer as he had none

yet. Who knows, Rachael might have a suggestion to give him. She better did, otherwise he was almost lost. He moved over to the sitting room where she was watching television, and sat by her. She almost did not notice his presence as she was deeply engrossed in the comedy show she was watching. Then she cast him a sideways glance and was worried by what she saw. She shook her head and turned down the volume of the TV. Then she turned to face him. “What is it?” she asked. “Are you still worried about Niye?” “Yes,” Omo replied, “and I was wondering how you managed to be so happy when your dearest friend is dying.” “Don’t be silly, Omo,” Rachael scolded. “How can you say I’m happy?” Omo shrugged. “You look happy.” Rachael sighed. “Omo please don’t make me feel bad this night,” she pleaded. “I’m trying to get over the whole tragedy.” Omo was silent and looking at her. Was it already a tragedy? Was it hopeless? “You cannot go on brooding over what you cannot change,” Rachael advised him. “You should try and get over it too.” “I don’t want to,” he informed her. Then he sat upright. “Do you know something?” he asked. “Niye didn’t kill Jonathan.”

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Rachael was puzzled. After all Niye had already testified to killing Jonathan in court. What then was Omo saying? “What do you mean?” “She stabbed him quite alright,” Omo clarified, “but someone else strangled him with some form of cable afterwards.” Her eyebrows rose. “Really?” “The police mentioned it during their interrogations and the post-mortem confirmed it.” Rachael was still confused. “But she admitted to killing him.” “I know, I know,” Omo said impatiently, “but she didn’t…and I’m going to prove it.” Rachael shifted her head slightly backward to have a better look at who was talking. “How?” she asked him. He exhaled slowly before he answered, “I don’t know.” Then she shrugged, almost amused. “Then what are you going to do?” He reached out and took her hand. “Rachael, please stop acting like Niye means nothing to you,” he said. “Why don’t we work together and find Jonathan’s killer.” Rachael swallowed hard. “What do you want me to do?” she asked in a trembling voice. “To tell me what to do,” he replied simply. He was looking at her expectantly, but honestly, she too was at a loss. What could be done in such a hopeless situation? “Do you have any clues?” she managed to ask him. “No,” he answered. “Well, find clues.”

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Omo let go of her hand. That was what Barrister ‘Tas had told him too. It was the right thing to do, but he didn’t know how. And Rachael knew it. “Maybe you should do some interview or something,” she suggested. “Talk to his friends, those in his hostel; someone might have heard a sound or something…just talk to them and see.” Omo shut his eyes. What Rachael had said was also what the barrister had told him. It was the right thing to do, but in five days, it seemed a hopeless and lame idea. He had actually hoped Rachael would come up with some kind of shortcut. But as it appears, he’d have to go the long way, even if he had a short time. He opened his eyes and shrugged. It was all about doing his best, wasn’t it? “Alright,” he muttered in resignation. “I’ll do my best…Tomorrow, as early as possible, you should take some food to Niye. That would be after taking Osato to school.” He rose to his feet. “What about you?” Rachael asked. “Are you not going to school?” Omo stood where he was and turned. “No.” “Omo, I don’t like the way you are going about this whole thing,” Rachael told him sternly. “That you have to fight for Niye doesn’t mean you’ll have to abandon your studies.” Omo knew she was right. Perhaps he was really taking things too far. Besides, his promotion exams were coming up shortly. He had to begin to study. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll go to school tomorrow. That means I won’t be able to see Niye. Please help me tell her I’m sorry.” Rachael rolled her eyes. “Alright.” He turned again, and began to make for his room when Rachael said, “Mummy and Daddy are coming home tomorrow or next.” He re-turned to face her. “So?”

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“What do you mean, ‘so?’” she queried. “What are you going to do about Osato?” “What is there to be done?” “I don’t know.” So he shrugged his shoulders and walked out of her sight.

THE NEXT day, after school hours, Omo began his quest for Jonathan’s killer. It had taken him a while to actually decide on what to do in the first place, and whom and whom to talk to. Finally he had decided he was going to go to Zenith Hostel and talk to any residents he came across. So now, he was on his way there. He had a small tape recorder in his pocket and a pen and jotter as well. He tried as much as possible to keep his mind blank. He didn’t want to think about failure, not even about success. He just wanted to do his best, only his best. So he reached the hostel and knocked on the door of the first room. There was no response the first time, and even the second. But he could hear some sort of muffled sound in the room and he knew there were people in there. So he knocked the third time. “Who?” a panting, impatient, gruff voice asked; a loud moan accompanying the question. Omo was absolutely speechless, not knowing who to say he was. Was he Niye’s friend, or Omo, or a private investigator? Or a detective? When the voice asked the question the second time, he decided he was Omo and said so. “Go to hell!” the voice ordered harshly, and Omo wondered why whoever it was that had spoken was in such a bad mood. Anyhow, there were more people in the hostel and he was sure they would be willing to listen to him for Niye’s sake. So to hell with that brute, whoever he thought he was. Omo went to the next door and knocked; there was no reply, even after he had knocked four times. He knocked on the one after that, and the one

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after the one after that, and it was either there was no response whatsoever or the response was completely out of point. Omo began to panic as he reached the last room-room ten. It would be a disaster if he could gather no information from Zenith Hostel. He had hoped that he could work on any information gathered here, and now it seemed nothing was forth coming. Room ten was the last room and his only hope. Please whoever it was that was resident here, you’ll have to give him something to work on. Gingerly, he knocked on the door. There was no response the first time, but when he knocked again, some sweet voice asked him to come in without even asking who he was. And that was unusual from his point of view. He looked up and muttered something, and then he opened the door and entered. It was a nice room, this place, and a nice, sad face he saw. The girl sat up slowly on her bed as she tinted her eyes to look at Omo carefully, perhaps trying to ascertain if she knew him or not, and where. Omo stood at the door and deliberately avoided looking at her. He found himself a little embarrassed the way this pretty damsel was staring at him with eyes so remote. Satisfied that the person in front of her was an alien and had no business there, the girl spoke. “Can I help you?” Omo turned to face her as it was time he spoke. She was a fair damsel with angel-like looks. Her hair was brown and long, and the parts of her leg which Omo saw was inviting. It looked edible. She looked a teenager. “I’m sure you can,” Omo answered nervously, belatedly. “My name is Omorodion Omigie, and I am…a private investigator, I should say.” He chuckled, and adjusted the tie on his neck that had suddenly begun to strangle him. He could imagine how it had been for Jonathan: the rope around his neck. Then he produced a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his forehead.

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The young girl was watching him, wondering if he was for real. Or was he even normal in the first place? “Investigator,” she said slowly, her eyes harassing his entire being, and he began to fidget. “Not an investigator really,” he began his clarification. “It’s just…I mean, I’m a student, but, you know…I have a friend and…well, you know…” The girl didn’t know anything, so she was just staring at him. Omo knew he had made no point; he decided to start all over again. He exhaled slowly and began. “I’m…that is, my friend; she was charged for murder and I know she didn’t do it, so I’m trying to find who actually did it.” He was finished and was looking at the girl, hoping he’d made more sense this time. But it didn’t seem so, from the look on the girl’s face. “Thoughtful of you,” she said dryly. “So you’ve still not answered my question: how can I help you? If you don’t have anything to say, please leave. I have no more time to spend talking to you.” “Oh yes,” Omo said hastily. “The young man, by name Eriso Onaghinor, was murdered in this hostel last week, and I was hoping-” “Leave now,” the girl said, interrupting him. Omo was startled by her reaction. If anything, he was willing to stay now to know why she had reacted the way she had. Suddenly, tears were forming in her eyes, and Omo had a feeling he had struck gold. He had come to the right place. “Have I hurt you in any way?” he asked gently, almost affectionately. “Leave,” the girl said again. “And don’t come around here anymore.” “But why?” Omo persisted. “Why don’t you want to talk to me?” The girl rose to her feet. She obviously had had it. Her face was radiating genuine anger, and in her eyes Omo saw bitterness and pain. He wondered why. “I’ll call the police if you don’t leave,” she threatened. “So get out!”

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Omo stood where he was, as if planted to the ground. The girl was surprised. She seemed to realise it was no point threatening, so she decided to plead. “Please leave,” she begged, “Please.” Omo stood there some more, looking at her, before he decided he should go. But first, he wanted to know why the girl had started crying as soon as he had mentioned the murder of Jonathan. “Do you have some sort of personal connection with the deceased?” he asked. The girl shook her head, and expressed to him without mincing words how happy she would be to see him leave. In fact she had already opened the door, waiting for him to walk out through it. “Alright, I’ll leave,” Omo assured her, “but I’d like to know your name.” “Nonso,” she said as if on impulse. “Alright, you can call me Omo.” “Nice to meet you,” she said matter-of-factly. Omo dipped his hand in his pocket and produced his pen and jotter. Then he scribbled something down, tore a page out of the jotter, and handed it to the girl. “That’s my address,” he said. “If you feel like-” “Yes, I know,” the girl said taking the piece of paper. “I’ll keep in touch.” There was not much to do or say any more, so Omo nodded curtly and went out of room ten. Once outside Zenith Hostel, he felt lost. Time wasted, nothing gathered. He could not stop himself from thinking of failure now, as it seemed imminent. And as he thought about it, and about losing Niye, he began to cry. Like a child he cried, convulsing and shuddering, until the cloud gradually drew dark and he knew it was time he left. The rain would soon begin to fall. He better left now. Then an idea struck him. Those detectives that had arrested and interrogated Niye; shouldn’t he talk to them too? They knew about the cable-they certainly did. So he would talk to them. But the only problem then was: will they be

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willing to help Niye? Will they admit that there was a cable involved, and that the wounds Jonathan had received were not the major cause of his death? Will they? It didn’t seem likely, so Omo sighed dejectedly. All the same, he was going to try. It was all about his best. Hurriedly he stepped out of the hostel premises and hailed a taxi, headed for Police Headquarters.

TWENTY-FIVE

O

mo didn’t know what to do when he reached the headquarters. Should he go in straight and ask after the detectives, or what? He couldn’t even

remember their names, so how was he going to ask after them? He shook his head. He pitied himself, and at the same time he was disappointed, frustrated, and

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somewhat angry. He was confused too and slightly puzzled. He was a little dazed as well. He was one step away from being deranged. He decided to wait outside the premises, although it was threatening to rain, until the detectives came out or went in. It was a silly thing to do, but to him, he had no choice. Surely he would recognise the detectives if he saw them, so it was not such a bad idea to wait outside the premises for them. But what if the detectives weren’t on duty today? With a wave of the hand, Omo dismissed the ill thought from his mind. And he continued to wait. Seconds passed, and then minutes, but he continued to wait. The clouds grew darker and darker, and when the rain began to drizzle, he struck gold. The tall detective drove out of the premises. Impulsively Omo began to scream and shout, and signal and wave; all to get the detective’s attention. He succeeded; for slowly, the detective pulled over to the side of the road. He wasn’t eager to speak with Omo, but was simply curious. When someone was yelling and waving at you, instinctively you would not ignore them. You would want to know who they were or why they were so eager for you to notice them. Omo ran to meet up with him. The side glasses of his car were wound up; Omo rapped gently at the one on the passenger’s side. The detective rolled it down, and looked at Omo carefully. There was something familiar about the face, so he did not hesitate to open the door and let Omo in. Omo seemed ecstatic. “Good day, sir,” he greeted. “How are you?” “I’m fine, thank you,” he replied. The detective nodded and waited for him to continue, as, although the face was familiar, his mind was yet to picture where he had met Omo, and how. Omo’s excited nature gradually faded away as he realised the detective actually knew him not. “You don’t remember me, sir,” he said.

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“No,” the detective replied. “I am the friend of the girl who was arrested for the murder of Chief Onaghinor’s son.” At that point Detective Udoh remembered who Omo was and became stiff. He felt some hard object forcing its way down his throat. “You were the one with her the day she was arrested,” he said. Omo nodded in confirmation, and that sent chills up the detective’s spine. He swallowed hard again and looked at his rear-view mirror at the surroundings where his car was parked. He noticed a car was now parked right behind him, and the driver was out. He looked in front of him and noticed the steepness of the edge of the road. He realised that there was no way for a quick escape should circumstances demand such. He began to sweat lightly. “What do you want?” Detective Udoh asked Omo in a voice that was firm and shaky at the same time. Omo had noticed the whole tension that had mounted in the detective’s being. It seemed to be that the detective was afraid of him. It seemed to be that he thought that Omo was in his car for some sort of retaliation, to harm him. Quickly, Omo decided to play hard, and fast. His brain was working at ultra high frequency, sorting out what and what to ask, and in which and which order to ask them. He tightened his face, plastered a matter-of-factly expression on it, and turned to face the detective. Then he smiled darkly, and was pleased at the effect that had on the man at the driver’s seat. “You could live or die right now, Detective,” he told him dryly. “It all depends on you.” The detective flinched. “What do you want from me?” Omo dipped his hand in his pocket and brought out the tape recorder. He inserted a tape and realised with a sense of shock that the batteries that were supposed to make the tape work had somehow disappeared. Or hadn’t he put some

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batteries in it? He couldn’t remember. He cursed himself aloud, and then he brought out his pen and jotter as it was obvious the tape was useless now. Then he turned again to the detective. “Alright Detective, let me show you how to do your job,” he said with a smile. “Now I’m going to ask you some questions and the answers you give me will determine your future…or if you’ll have one at all.” The detective swallowed hard again. It had simply become a habit for him these days. “First question: who killed Eriso Onaghinor?” There was silence. Omo was watching the detective’s face for every nuance of expression. Finally the detective turned to look him in the face and said, “I don’t know.” He didn’t know? Who produced the knife and hid the rope? Who started the conclusion that Niye was guilty? Who…? He didn’t know? Omo regarded the detective with a simle in his eyes, but was unwilling to push him further on the question. It was a pointless question. “Next question: do you know that Niye did not kill Jonathan?” “Who’s Jonathan?” the detective feigned ignorance. To this, Omo patiently smiled. “Eriso Onaghinor,” he replied. The detective shook his head. “Well from her own testimony,” he began, “it is clear-” “I don’t need her own testimony,” Omo said sternly, as if about to lose his temper. But he was calm on the interior. He had noticed long ago that Detective Udoh was afraid of him. And he was playing on that weakness, and doing so very well. “I want your testimony.” The detective frowned but didn’t say anything. “An answer, Detective,” Omo reminded him.

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But still the detective did not answer. Omo himself knew it was irrelevant whether or not the detective agreed that Niye was irresponsible for the death of Jonathan, so he did not bother to push for an answer any further. Instead what he would do was to instil more fear in the detective as he went into the things that matter. “You’re getting on my nerves, Detective,” he said strongly. “I might soon be tempted.” And again, Detective Udoh found himself swallowing hard. “Now I’ll ask you another question,” Omo told him, “and if you lie to me or don’t answer me, well…your guess is as good as mine.” By now, it had started to rain and the detective knew that he was trapped in his car with Omo. He thought about just opening the door beside him and running into Police Headquarters, but to his utter surprise, he heard Omo say, “Please fasten your seat belt.” Without a word, the detective did as Omo had said. This whole experience was now a sort of a fun thing for Omo, and he temporarily forgot why he was in the car with the detective in the first place. “The question,” the detective reminded him anxiously. He nodded, and then went on to ask his first real question. “Jonathan was killed at night and Niye was arrested in the morning.” He paused, and when the detective nodded slightly in agreement, he continued. “How was that possible?” Detective Udoh seemed confused, and Omo went on to clarify him. “Now,” he began, “let’s assume you arrived at the scene of the incident that night, and as you claim, you found Niye’s prints on the knife. The way things work in this country, it is supposed to take a couple of days for finger print evaluation, or do we even do finger print evaluation at all-I can’t remember…But in Niye’s case, it took less than ten hours. How was that possible?”

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The detective shifted in his seat. He knew there was no point lying. Actually he felt a sort of respect and liking for Omo. Here was a young man, much younger than him, doing what he had refused to do. Well, not that he had refused to do it, but when he had proposed to finding Eriso Onaghinor’s real killer, the IPO had been against the idea claiming that there was no time to spare. And now this young man was willing to do it in his stead; shouldn’t he be of help any way he could? Slowly he turned to face Omo. “Look, I really admire your courage,” he began, “and I want to help. So why don’t we keep this threat of death somewhere else, and be partners?” Threat of death? Did Omo threaten to kill him? Omo lifted his eyebrows in suspicion and surprise. He couldn’t figure out why the man who had conspired to put Niye to death would now be so willing to help to bring her back to life. “You can trust me now,” the detective said, somewhat pleadingly. “Let’s work together.” He stretched forth his shaky hand, and Omo hesitated before he shook it. But he had no time to waste. “The question,” he resumed. “How come Niye’s case was so fast?” The detective was more relaxed when he answered. “There was a tip-off,” he said. “Some girl in the hostel claimed she saw your Niye come out of Eriso’s room. So it was faster going through the finger prints database once we knew who we were looking for, and whose son was murdered.” Omo believed him, so he went straight to the next question. “This girl: who was she?” “I can’t remember her name,” the detective said, “but she was fair, and really beautiful.” “Nonso?” Omo asked, and the detective nodded profusely. “That’s it,” he confirmed. “Nonso Okoli.”

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“What else did she say, Detective?” Omo asked. “She said she felt that with the way your Niye rushed out of the room, something was wrong.” Omo waited to hear more, but there was nothing forth coming. “Was that all,” he asked. “Didn’t she go in to check what had happened?” “We didn’t bother to ask,” the detective said. “I mean, it was not her business, right?” “So you assumed.” The detective frowned, slightly embarrassed. “Yes.” Omo nodded and took his time to think of any other questions he would like to ask. He found none readily, so he decided it was time he left. “Thank you, Detective,” he said with a warm smile. The detective shook his head in protest. “I don’t fit,” he said plainly. “With what you’ve put me through, I think I should retire and become a farmer. You should take my stead.” Omo laughed. “Thank you all the same.” They shook hands and Omo stepped out of the detective’s car after the detective had given him his own home address and urged him to come over if he had any more questions, or for any reason at all. Then the detective drove away. The rain was still pouring, so Omo stepped into a nearby shed that was already crowded with people. In no time he found himself being transported to the realm of thought. He was completely oblivious to everything that was happening around him. His mind was planted at the scene of Jonathan’s death. And he was trying to figure out the place of that girl, Nonso, in the set. Her reaction when he had been to Zenith Hostel plus the things the detective had told him showed that she had a role to play in this movie that was making in his mind. She was an essential part of this whole puzzle

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and it seemed to him that in fact, she held the key to the door that would lead to life for Niye. He was going to see her again and cajole her into talking if he had to. He would get from her, everything she knew, and hopefully, that would be enough to work on to find Niye’s killer. So he let his mind drift from Thoughtland to the place where he was at present, the place where the rain was falling. He was going back to Zenith Hostel now, for the second encounter with the damsel. He knew he had no time.

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TWENTY-SIX

I

n the next thirty minutes, and that was at about six o’clock, Omo was back at Zenith Hostel. He made his way straight to room ten and knocked. There was no

response. He was a little wet, but he was neither cold nor shivering. He was excited and hopeful, because there was hope…just a little. But there was hope. He knocked again, but he noticed that he could not even hear the sound of the knock, for the sound of rain pellets drumming at the roof of the hostel had swallowed the smaller sound of his knock, had swallowed the sound of everything. He knocked harder, and harder, till he was banging at the door. And yet there was no response. No one was in. He was disappointed and felt like crying, but for goodness’ sakes, he held back his tears. There was still tomorrow, he could always come back tomorrow. He dipped his hand in his pockets, hung his head downward, and made his way out of Zenith Hostel. But the rain now had developed into something else. As he stepped into it, the pellets hit him with so much force that it hurt, like golf ball hurled at one at close range. He stepped back out of it. But he couldn’t stay there

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forever, so after some time, when it was almost seven, he entered the rain and ran all the way home. He saw his father’s Peugeot 504 car parked at the car shed as he entered the premises, and his heart flew into his head. Goodness, his parents were back. They had been up north to attend the funeral ceremony of a loved one, and now they were back. There was trouble coming. He had ignored the question Rachael had raised about Osato the previous night, but tonight he was going to answer it. Lightning flashed, thunder rumbled. He knocked on the door, wet and cold, and Rachael answered it. The look on her face told him that she had had her own share of troubles, and his would be larger. And she told him so. “It’s been hell since they came home,” she whispered. “I told them everything…and here, take.” She was handing him a diary, but he was puzzled as to why. “What is that?” he asked. “A diary,” she replied. “Some fair girl brought it and said I must give it to you as soon as you get back.” Omo frowned, and was still hesitant to take it. “What girl?” “She said her name was Nonso.” At that moment, Omo’s eyes opened wide, and he snatched the diary out of Rachael’s hand, like she had been keeping it away from him. “What else did she say?” he asked instantly. “That it was all she could do,” Rachael replied, obviously trying to fathom why her brother had reacted the way he had. Omo nodded and walked past her. His mother was seated on a sofa in the sitting room when he entered, her arms folded across her breasts, and her mood pensive. She regarded him with

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panicked eyes. Then she rose quickly to touch him all over, turn him around, and feel him; pleased and anxious at the same time. He was embarrassed the way his mother was all over him. Perhaps he felt he was too old for such nonsense. But if you had a son that had suddenly gone crazy over a girl and was willing to risk even his life for her, especially when he was not altogether healthy, you would act the same way as Omo’s mother. “Mummy, I’m fine,” Omo said. Mummy released him and looked him over with one eye being affectionate, and the other suspicious. “What has come over you?” she asked. “Rachael told me how crazy you-” “Is that Omo?” It was his father’s deep baritone voice Omo had heard, and he knew he was in deep trouble. His father emerged from behind the curtains into the sitting room. He was hesitant to approach his son, to check on him like his wife had done. His son had been acting strange, and he wanted to know one thing. “Daddy…” Omo’s throat suddenly became dry. “I want to know one thing,” his father told him as his hands folded across his breasts. “Has the virus spread to your brain?” Omo was stung by his father’s question. But truly, the ageing man needed to know. “What do you mean by that, Daddy?” he asked. “Oh, I simply want to know if you’re still normal,” his father said. “I am normal,” Omo responded. “Very normal.” “So what has come over you, that all your life now has been centred on some girl?” The tone in which his father spoke suggested that he was angry, but still managing to control it; perhaps hoping that Omo had a reasonable explanation to give for his unreasonable actions.

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“Daddy, I’m just concerned about a friend’s welfare, that’s all,” Omo answered. “Isn’t it the same Niye that used to come here?” his father asked, seeming puzzled. “I thought she was Rachael’s friend. But look at Rachael; why isn’t she behaving like the mad person you have suddenly become?” Omo shrugged. “I don’t know.” “And because of this friend, you have literally abandoned your studies.” “I will catch up, Daddy,” he told his father. With every reply Omo made, the anger mounting in his father grew larger by ten. “So I pay your fees, and you don’t go to school, telling me you’ll catch up?” the man asked, his voice shooting up. Omo swallowed hard. This was hard. “Go out and take a look around,” his father continued. “Many children would do anything to get the opportunity you have, and now you’re wasting it. Or is it because you would soon die?” That one hit the whole family. It seemed to hit Omo’s mother the most because she spoke up. “My son will not die,” the woman said. Omo’s father ignored her. “Look at you,” the man still spoke. “Eighteen years old, chasing after a girl. Oh, or you want to spread your virus round before you die.” Omo shut his eyes now, and tears formed beneath the lid. His anger was mounting now, grain by grain. Slowly, slowly. Then he opened his eyes again, still willing to make his father understand why he was doing what he was doing, the way he felt for Niye. “She means a lot to me,” he explained. “I don’t want her to die. I want to-”

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“You’re such a fool,” his father cut him short with so much disgust and irritation in his voice. “And you had the guts to bring her younger sister to my house!” His mother now feared to say anything or do anything. She knew her husband. He was like Rachael. Once their temper rose, it took only a miracle to sit it down. Omo suddenly seemed to realise something and he looked around. Then he turned to Rachael and asked, “Where is Osato?” Rachael shrugged. The look in her eyes wasn’t in any way pleasant. Omo began to panic, wondering what it was that his parents had done to the little girl. Hope they had not eaten her. “Where is she?” he asked, looking to his mother. But there came no reply. Then he looked to his father and asked the same question. “She’s where she should be,” the ageing man said nonchalantly. “She’s there in the orphanage.” Omo’s anger reached for the skies. His blood ran hot, and his face became tense. His eyes bulged out and his shoulders were squared. Even his fists were clenched, and from his brain there flowed a certain form of electricity to his shoulders, his hands, and even to the nails on his toes. His whole body began to itch. Right now, some devilish form of rage had encircled him, and his mother saw it. Her jaws dropped as she looked at him, assured that truly, this thing was not her son. For never in the eighteen years she had known him, had she seen him this way. “I hate you, Daddy,” he said. And now his father began to wonder if this was Omo, or had Omo had a twin his father didn’t know about? How could his own son hate him? “May thunder fire your mouth,” the ageing man said, his own body vibrating in anger.

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“I hate you,” Omo said again, “all of you.” This time, his father walked up to him in quick strides, and slapped him across the face. It was a hard slap, the hardest that Omo had ever received in his entire life, a slap that sent his face bent sideways. Then there was silence. Everyone was watching Omo, expecting a reaction and wondering what that reaction would be. Even his younger siblings had drifted slowly from their bedroom to the sitting room to behold this classic confrontation between their father and their elder brother. Omo kept them in suspense for a long time, and in the end, he did not react. He simply held his face and stared at his father. “I am still your father,” his father informed him. He stared some more at his father, and tears formed in his eyes before he spoke. “Not anymore,” he said. “Not anymore.” His mother was confused or heartbroken, so she fell to the floor and began to cry. The younger children began to cry too; not because they were hurt or anything, but simply as a form of solidarity and loyalty to their mother. In fact soon they began to wail, some of them sounding like lost wolves trying to find their packs. Rachael busied herself with consoling them, but Omo and his father still stood squarely, facing each other. “You think you can survive on your own, Son?” his father asked, some sense of regret in his voice. “I am willing to try.” “Good luck, then.” Omo turned sharply and walked out through the door, into the rain, to nowhere in particular. His siblings called after him, his mother pursued him, but he was not willing to come back. His father didn’t want him anymore. And worse still

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his father didn’t want Osato or Niye. So he had to leave their lives for them and begin to lead his own, no matter how short it may be. It was his life. He ran in the rain, so his mother wouldn’t catch up with him. Easily he outran her. Then after a while, he rested himself in a shed he found, as the rain continued to pour. There was only one place he could go now, and that was Niye’s uncle’s apartment. He looked himself over. He was already wet, and cold, and shivering. It was no point staying in the shed, so he managed through the rain until he reached the place. No one saw him, as the rain had driven everyone indoors, and he liked that. He reached the front door, and turned the handle. It was unlocked as he had expected, so he went it. But it still surprised him that up till the very moment, Niye’s uncle was nowhere to be found. Hope he hadn’t died somehow. Omo entered the apartment, and bolted the door from the inside. The place was dark, so he groped along the wall for the light switch and found it, and switched on the light. Much better. He freed himself from his wet and sticky clothes and spread them on the floor, directly under the fan. He knew nothing had changed in this place since the last time he was here, so he moved to Niye’s bedroom. He had been there before, a long time ago, and now, it seemed worse than the last time. He felt a desire to cry as he observed the room. He could feel what it was like when Niye had been there. He could visualise her walking around, sitting, sleeping, reading, and he could imagine her happy, laughing, she and Rachael gossiping. But now she was in one remote cell, all alone, and most probably crying. His heart ached for his dear friend. But he was tired now, and hungry. He was cold too and shivering, and naked. His vision became blurred and his legs were shaky. Slowly his eyes shut and reopened, shut and reopened, and finally shut. Then he fell down to the bed and became still. It would be hard to tell if it was sleep or death or unconsciousness that had possessed his soul.

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TWENTY-SEVEN

I

t was about two hours later when Omo woke up. He made to rise but realised he had become lazy. His bones were weak and his head seemed twice its size. It

was simply overweight. Besides, a terrible headache had developed in it, a silent wild throbbing, and Omo now was in pains. He wished he could go back to sleep but he couldn’t because he was already awake. Then he suddenly felt a sharp pang in his stomach that reminded him he was hungry and exhausted. And he felt that his temperature had shot up in his sleep. He had fallen ill. He shut his eyes, and even so, tears forced their way out. He was going through much pain, more than he had ever gone through in all his life, all for Niye’s sake. And no one was willing to understand him, to know that he did this because her place was already secured in his heart, since the very day he had asked her to be his wife. He swallowed hard, wondering if that dreaded day had finally arrivedthe day he would begin his slow journey to the place where the dead lay. Then he remembered the diary, and his eyes flew open impulsively. Wearily he sat up and looked around the room, but the diary was not there. He rose to his feet, and searched the room, but still he did not find the diary. He began to panic. He hoped he hadn’t accidentally dropped it in the rain on his way here. Quickly, he moved into the sitting room, to where his clothes were, and he found the diary there, somewhere among them. He looked up and mumbled something, and then he heaved and picked up the diary. Sitting on the sofa, he opened the book, and peered into it. On the first

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page was Jonathan’s name, which meant that the diary belonged to Jonathan. He closed it, breathed in deeply; then he opened it again, and turned to the next page. As he turned from page to page, he realised that it was a record of Jonathan’s thoughts for everyday since half a year ago. He noticed as he read that there was hardly a day when Jonathan did not think of Niye. Sometimes, he thought about Niye the whole day; and he always thought about her in the same way-he always fantasised about her. That’s why he forced her, Omo thought and shook his head. Then he reached the page that started recording events from three months ago, when Jonathan had raped Niye. He read Jonathan’s thoughts aloud as he couldn’t help it. “Today, I and Niye slept together. Okay, well…we did not quite sleep together. I forced her. But I swear I didn’t mean to. I just saw her and…I just felt that feeling I always feel for her, and we were alone. I just couldn’t help myself. I hope she’ll forgive me, I swear it would never happen again. I didn’t mean to. God, please understand.” And he had forced her again. Omo sighed. Jonathan had lusted after Niye so much that he failed to keep his promise. But why? He closed the diary again and began to try to answer the question he had asked. Honestly, he couldn’t figure out why one would lust so much after someone else that it totally blurred their sense of reason. Admitted, he too felt some sort of lust for Niye when they were together and sometimes apart, but that would never make him rape her. He couldn’t bring himself to rape someone in his life. What then had been wrong with Jonathan? Had he been possessed by some sex spirit or what? Shrugging, he opened the diary again and continued from where he had stopped. It now seemed more like a fun book than the evidence it was supposed to be. In fact, Omo forgot totally that it was supposed to be some sort of clue. But it

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was nice to be going through someone’s life in their absence, reading their thoughts, knowing them; wasn’t it? So he let himself enjoy the book. And he continued reading, seeing more of Jonathan’s thoughts towards Niye, and the second time he forced her, and some minor fears of some certain people with strange and sometimes funny names. It was when he reached about the middle of the diary, and read what was written on that page, that the book simply was transformed from a fun book to a puzzler. It was all about fears. Omo had read about some of Jonathan’s fears in previous pages of the diary, but this one was more than all the others. It was major. It was a threat to life. He closed it, and began to reason what he had read. It was unclear to him, so he read it again. And the line which seemed to be most intriguing was: They are after me. They are after me. And they have sent my dearest friend after me. Tonight, he’ll be here; tonight, I shall die. Goodbye. Omo turned to the next page but it was blank. And so were the ones after that. Then he began to reason. He wished Rachael was here, he wished someone could help him figure out this whole puzzle. He sighed and shook his head. There was no one. But come to think of it, did he really need anyone to help him think? Had anyone been there when he confronted the detective earlier in the day, when he made the detective shiver and lose balance? He had been prompted to use all the resources he had upstairs to figure out what and what questions to ask the detective and how and how to ask them. And in the end, the detective had praised him, saying that he was better than the detective. So why did he need someone now? Why couldn’t he figure this out himself? As he couldn’t find an answer to the question, he began to think again. The more he thought, the more his head ached. But he wasn’t going to stop thinking as this was a clue. He knew now it was some sort of clue, but just how does it help was what beat him.

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Then suddenly an idea struck him, and it made him shiver lightly. He reached for the diary and opened it again, to the last page on which there was writing; the day Jonathan had said he would die. He checked the date written at the top of the page. His mouth fell open, for it was the same day that he had rescued Niye from the rain-that same night. And suddenly, everything became clear. Crystal clear. Jonathan was supposed to be killed by a friend that night, and yes, he was killed by that friend after Niye had left. No wonder he had denied Niye before her uncle; because he knew there was no point agreeing to marry Niye when soon he would die. No wonder he had said that his life was complicated and that he didn’t want her to be entangled in it. No wonder he had been so reluctant to open the door for her that night, because he feared the end had come. No wonder… Everything simply began to fall into place. But this wasn’t enough to save Niye. It wasn’t. Omo needed to know who that dearest friend was, and then possibly get a confession. In fact, he had to get a confession. It was his only chance at saving her life. And there was only one person who was going to help him, and that was the girl, Nonso. He got up and strolled to the window and noticed that the rain was now coming down in showers. He should go and see Nonso then. There was no point waiting for the next day as that might be too late. Every second counts. Forgetting that he was hungry and exhausted and ill, Omo quickly put on his clothes which were now almost dry, and went out of the apartment, headed for Zenith Hostel. He was walking at first, but soon he found himself running. Curiosity and anxiety had added fuel to his legs. So he ran, without stopping, until he reached Zenith Hostel. He strolled down the corridor, reached room ten, and knocked. Of course the first time, there was no response. He had anticipated it so he knocked again, and again; and then there was a response.

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“Who is it?” a familiar voice asked, almost in whispers. “Omo,” he replied simply. Omo wondered if he should have mentioned his name. Now she might not let him in because earlier in the day she had ordered him to leave and warned him never to come back. But again, she had brought that diary to him even when he never knew such existed, and it showed that she was willing to help. After awhile’s hesitation, Omo heard the bolts on the door being released and the key turn in its hole. Then slowly the door opened. Nonso immediately stuck her head out and surveyed the entire corridor. There was no one else. Then she focused her attention on Omo with an angry-happy look. “What are you doing here?” she asked him tersely. “May I come in?” Omo answered. She hesitated awhile, as if trying to decide whether to slam the door in his face or to let him in. Finally she decided the latter was a more preferable option, so she shifted out of the way and he entered. Nonso locked the door securely, turned on the lights and then she went to her bed and sat. Omo found a little sofa nearby and sat, facing her. “I told you not to come,” she said immediately, sternly. Omo cleared his throat, and knew he had to be bold and mature with her this time. At least if he was going to ensure she helped, then he was first going to ensure that he was capable of making her help. “I know,” he replied simply, and then there was silence. The fair girl was looking to the ground like one who was shy or embarrassed by his presence. Omo knew she was not. He was looking at her, studying her. After some time, she slowly looked to him. “What do you want now?” she asked. “Mr. Detective, what do you want?” Omo noticed some sort of anger in her voice. But he was sure he knew what to do about it.

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“I’m not a detective,” he corrected. “I’m just a friend trying to help a friend.” “So what do you want?” Omo began to wonder if actually it wasn’t this Nonso that had given Rachael the diary. If it was, then why was she being so caustic? He thought about all the female friends he had. None went by the name, Nonso, and none was as fair as she was. And besides, none knew about Jonathan. So it had to be her. But she was acting in a strange way, and Omo wanted to know why. “Why are you acting like you don’t want me here?” he asked almost angrily. “Why are you acting like I-I’m some kind of…ex-boyfriend or something? You are not even-” “Enough,” she halted him before it was too late. “Enough, okay? Don’t scream at me.” “I wasn’t screaming,” Omo said. “I was just not happy the way you’re acting.” She nodded. “Alright, I’m sorry.” Then there was silence. Omo was baffled at the strange kind of rapport between them. It was like they had known each other for a long time. But he liked it. He knew it was going to help him. “Thank you for the diary,” he said after a while. She was looking at the ground again. “No problem. It’s the least I could do.” “What do you mean?” Omo asked immediately. She lifted up her face, and there was a worried frown on it. “You shouldn’t have come,” she told him. “It’s not safe.” Omo swallowed hard at the statement. He became afraid. “What do you mean?” he asked trying to keep his voice on a plain level. “You just have to go,” she said, and she seemed firm. But Omo was much firmer when he said, “You don’t want me to go.”

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She looked up to him, and he looked straight in her eyes, her soul. “You wanted me to come. That’s why you sent the diary.” “That’s not true,” she protested weakly. She might as well have been agreeing. “I sent the diary for Jonathan’s sake.” “How?” She looked to the ground again, and refused to answer. Then on the ground, Omo observed a little pool of water forming, a pool of water from Nonso’s eyes. She was crying. He rose and walked to the bed, and sat by her. And when he took her in his arms, she didn’t resist. She just cried. As she did, Omo was reminded of Niye, so that he became hurt. “It’s alright,” Omo said. “Don’t cry.” But she didn’t stop. She only wept the more. Omo became exasperated but he didn’t show it. He couldn’t because he needed her to help him. So he kept on trying to comfort her. “He killed Jonathan,” she said suddenly. “He killed my boyfriend.” Omo was tempted to follow up. “Who?” he asked with much interest. But she didn’t answer. She only continued to tell him “he” killed her boyfriend. Jonathan was suddenly filled with a sense of excitement. He knew for some reason that Nonso knew who it was that had killed Jonathan, and he was willing to wait for her to cry her eyes dry, and then talk to him. So he waited until she was done with crying, and took herself out of his arms. “It’s past now,” he told her gently. “Jonathan is dead and no amount of tears will bring him back.” “I know,” Nonso said grimly. “It’s just that I love him so much.” Omo shut his eyes as she said those words. He thought of how much Niye meant to him and wondered how he was going to survive if he lost her. “That girl is innocent,” Nonso said. “She didn’t kill him.”

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Omo’s eyes flew wide open. “So who did?” Nonso opened her mouth as if to tell him, then she shut it back. She could not. For some reason, she could not. But Omo had already known that she knew, and was willing to go slowly. So he took her hand and began to caress it. “Jonathan was your boyfriend,” he said, and she nodded. “And you know Niye is innocent of his death.” She nodded again. “Tell me, why did you send me the diary?” “Because of Jonathan,” she answered. “I know he was not killed by the girl. He was killed by his own friend, but no one knew that except me, and now I decided to let you know so that the real murderer should die, and not your friend.” “Why didn’t you tell the police when they interrogated you?” She grimaced, and shook her head. “You would not understand.” “I want to,” he said eagerly. “Make me.” She turned sideways and looked deep into his eyes. Then she turned away again. “Tell me everything you know,” Omo urged. “Everything.” She was silent, trying to make up her mind if this man was worthy to be trusted. Finally she decided he was. Then she breathed in deeply and proceeded to tell him everything she knew. “Jonathan and I have come a long way,” she began. “I had always been his friend before was began dating-his real friend. Then when I got into the university, we started dating. I loved him since then, and I knew he loved me too, at least at the beginning.” She turned to look at Omo, and observed the expression on his face, and then she continued. “After a while anyway, I noticed he had started cheating on me. He didn’t deny it. He simply told me to find some other guy if I wasn’t okay with his lifestyle. I should have left him, but I didn’t because I loved him so much and it was he who had taken away my virginity. “Then on that night…” she paused.

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“What happened on that night?” Omo urged her on. “I had gone to classes to read,” she continued, “and when I came back, as I was about to open my door, I saw your friend run out of Jonathan’s room. The way she did suggested to me that something was wrong. Naturally, I wanted to find out. So I went down the corridor to his room door and knocked. I could hear him groaning like he was in pains, so I opened the door and entered.” Tears had begun to form in her eyes and for a moment Omo feared she could not continue. But she did. “I was shocked when I saw him in the pool of his own blood and I screamed and-” “And no one came?” She shook her head sadly. “No one came.” “Please continue.” “I ran to him, and the first thing he told me was that they were after him. He told me to look in a drawer he pointed at and bring him his revolver. I was shocked Jonathan possessed a gun, but I had no time to confront him on it. I just obeyed and went to the drawer. There was a gun in it and also the diary. I brought out the gun and gave it to him. Then I asked him what he needed it for and he-” “All this while, you didn’t call for help?” “I should have,” she said, “but I was confused, I didn’t know what to do.” Tears were now beginning to slowly roll down her cheeks, but she was still willing to tell the story to the end. “I asked him what he needed a gun for and he told me they were after him. I asked him who, and he referred me to the diary as it was becoming difficult to speak. It seemed he was soon going to faint. It was then as he struggled to keep his eyes open, that it dawned on me that I should get help. As I turned to leave, the door opened, and a man in a black mask entered. I wanted to scream but he

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quickly reached where I was and covered my mouth. Jonathan lifted his revolver and shot at him, but the stupid gun was empty. “I still struggled to get free. He hit me on the head over and over again until I fell to the ground and could not move. Then he moved to where Jonathan was, released his gun from its holster and was about to shoot, when he suddenly changed his mind and lowered the gun. He looked to his side and saw some cables around the TV, and that was what he…I just couldn’t stand it, so I passed out.” She had finished, and by now, she was crying profusely. Omo knew what he had to do now. He shifted closer and took her in his arms again. He didn’t say anything now; not now. “I called the police sometime later,” she said. “I should have told them everything I know, but I saw a note beside me that told me I was being watched.” “That was why you didn’t tell them?” “Yes,” she said. “So why did you tell me now?” “I don’t know,” she replied. “Maybe I can’t just keep it to myself anymore. The truth has to be known…You want to know what I think?” “Sure.” “Jonathan was a cultist.” Omo’s eyes opened wide. That was an expensive thing to say and he wondered why she felt so bold to say it. “Why do you think so?” he asked with scepticism. She hesitated before she said, “I just feel it, I just know.” “But why would Jonathan want to join a cult?” he asked. “He had all he wanted.” She shrugged and said exasperatedly, “I don’t know, I don’t know.” “So who was this guy that killed him? Did you know him?” She took herself away from him, and shook her head.

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“No, I don’t,” she said. “I don’t…and I’m scared.” “You’re safe with me,” Omo assured her. “Trust me.” She swivelled her face in his direction, as if she had heard some strange thing. But as he looked at him, she realised he was serious, very serious. “Can I really trust you?” she asked. Omo smiled. “I’ll keep you safe,” he said. “Just trust me.” She smiled too and nodded. And then she said, “I really don’t know.” “You do,” Omo said, “I know you do.” “I don’t,” she said again. “Please tell me,” Omo urged. “I don’t know!” This time she almost screamed. And Omo decided not to push further. He remembered he still had Rachael. If this Nonso girl refused to tell him who Jonathan’s best friend was, then he was going to go to Rachael. Rachael would know. She should know. So he rose to his feet. “Thanks so much for your time,” he said. “I must leave now.” “Where are you going?” she asked in panic. “Are you leaving me?” “Well I have to go.” “I’ll come with you,” she said with an imploring look in her eyes. “I’m scared.” Omo seemed to understand. “It’s okay,” he said and smiled. “You’ll come with me.” So he took her with him that night to Niye’s uncle’s apartment. The next morning, he would go to Rachael and find out who Jonathan’s best friend was, and then soon he would bring Niye back to life.

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And as they strolled together in the deserted streets of Ekosodin, the pains and hunger he had felt earlier in the day, and the illness and weakness, resurrected from wherever they had been buried, and plagued him. Terribly, they plagued him. So that he wondered if his own end was near.

TWENTY-EIGHT

I

t was Thursday the next day, and on Monday the next week, the judge would read his verdict. Everyone knew, of course, that Niye would be sentenced to

death. Omo had four days to pull something off. He had four days to find Jonathan’s killer with enough proof to show that whoever it was, was guilty beyond every shadow of doubt. As he lay on the couch in the sitting room, staring up at the ceiling, Omo knew he needed a miracle. But he also knew that these days, they were hard to come by. “God,” he whispered. “Make it happen. You know I can’t live without her. You know that, don’t you?” But there was no one to answer the question, and there was no point lying on the couch waiting for an answer, so he rose to his feet and went over to Niye’s room to check on Nonso. To his surprise, she wasn’t there. He was about to begin to panic when he saw a note on the bed. He went forward and picked it up, and peered at it. “Will be back soon,” the note simply said.

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There was no functioning clock or watch in the apartment so Omo was at a loss as to what time it was now. The day had started fully; he knew that, because the sun was shining brightly. It was a beautiful day, he admitted cheerlessly to himself. He had one priority today and that was to know who Jonathan’s killer was. He would go to his ex-father’s house, talk with Rachael, and work on whatever lead she gave him. That was what he was going to do today. And his ex-father? The ageing man wouldn’t be an obstacle. He should be at the office doing bank work. Even his mother wouldn’t be home at this time, so he had better gone now. But first, he had to eat. He needed a full stomach for today’s crucial exercise. So he went into the kitchen and helped himself with whatever he saw there. Then he stepped out of the house and headed for his ex-father’s house. At Edo Street, he excused a young lady and asked her what time of day it was. She told him it was nine forty-five, and he quickened his steps. Every second counts. Few minutes later, he was at his former home. He knocked gently on the door of his ex-father’s apartment, and shortly it was opened for him. Rachael threw her arms around him instinctively, and breathed deeply. It wasn’t something she did often, and Omo was somewhat surprised that she did it today. He knew she loved him and he loved her because they were brother and sister, but the thing was that they rarely showed it. But now she was showing it, and he was happy she was. “Where have you been?” she asked, breaking the hug. “We have been worried about you.” He smiled and entered the house. “Where have you been?” she asked again, following him. “I was at Niye’s place,” he answered. “What about her uncle?” “I found no one there.” Omo sunk into a sofa, and Rachael observed him. “You look tired or something,” she said.

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“I’m not well.” She moved over to him, and sat by him, and felt him. “God, you’re hot!” she exclaimed. “What happened?” “What happened?” he asked back. “Your father threw me out of the house, that’s what happened. I was soaked in the rain, no food…it was hell last night.” She shook her head ruefully. “I’m sorry.” He chuckled. “Sorry? It was what you all wanted, wasn’t it?” “How can you say such a thing?” “Well, you started it all by telling them everything.” “I had to.” “Oh, yes.” He nodded as if he was truly seeing reason with what she was saying. “Anyway, that’s past now. I’m here for a reason.” “I thought you have come back home to stay,” Rachael said puzzled. “Why would I want to do that?” he asked, equally puzzled. “Because this is your home.” “Was,” he corrected, and waited for her to protest. She would have protested, but she didn’t. The boy wasn’t strong, so she shouldn’t make him waste the rest of his strength on words. And since she didn’t protest, Omo continued, to tell her the reason why he was there. “I want to know something from you,” he said. She pouted her lips and asked, “What?” “Who was Jonathan’s best friend?” She broke down in a sigh of hopelessness. “So this is about Niye,” Rachael said. “Even after all you’ve been through, you still don’t want to give up this crazy fight?” “Was that why you told them everything?” he returned the question; “so that I can give up on her?”

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Rachael turned her gaze upwards and shook her head. Then her eyes returned to his face. “I know how you feel,” she said. “But sometimes, we…you just…” She didn’t know how to frame the contents of her mind for her dear brother to understand. “Oh, you mean sometimes we should accept that it’s over,” he helped her. She agreed with him, but well, that was not exactly what she meant or how she would have put it. So she didn’t nod or say or do anything to show that she agreed with him. “I care about you,” she said in a deeply affectionate voice that seemed to startle Omo. “I don’t want to lose you-we don’t want to lose you. Please Omo, move on with your life.” Omo understood what Rachael was trying to say. He had little time to live and he needed to live it to the fullest, and not waste it on some girl who was already condemned to death. And now that he was homeless because of that girl, his sister was afraid for him, especially when he had fallen ill. He saw reason with her, but still he wanted to do what he had to do for Niye. He took her hand in his, and said, “I understand. But trust me, I’ll be fine.” There wasn’t much to trust in what he had said, but Rachael knew she had no choice. She had to trust him. “It’s okay, if you say so,” she said. Then she squeezed his hand tightly, and let go. “So help me,” he reminded her. “Who was Jonathan’s best friend?” Rachael breathed in deeply and looked upwards to begin to think, to try to remember. It hadn’t been too long since she had broken up with Jonathan but she had tried in the past months to forget everything about him. And now, Omo was making her try to remember the past, her pains. But she should, she would; for his sake and her dear friend’s. “I think I got it,” she said.

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“Who?” Omo asked curiously. “There was this guy…” She was nodding slowly as it kept on coming to her. “His name is Tamuno.” “Are you sure?” Omo asked. Rachael nodded as the download was complete. “Yes,” she said. “He was Jonathan’s best friend.” Omo reached for his pocket to take out his jotter. The name could slide out of his brain as he was hearing it for the first time, so he should put it down. But he discovered his pocket was empty-no jotter, no tape recorder, no nothing. He grunted. “Could you help me with a jotter?” he requested. “And your tape recorder.” On a good day, Rachael would never give Omo something as valuable as her tape recorder. But today, she simply found herself nodding, rising to her feet, and proceeding to her room to get for him the things he wanted. She came back soon, and handed them to him. “Thank you,” he said, and she nodded. Then he wrote down the name. “So, you…I mean, from the evidence I have, this was Jonathan’s real killer. You think he could…?” Omo didn’t need to finish the question, for Rachael was already shaking her head vehemently in disapproval. “You can’t be serious,” Rachael said. “I mean, they were so close…Why would Tamuno want to kill Jona?” Omo shrugged. “I don’t know. But he killed him.” Rachael chuckled in amusement. “Maybe you should do more investigation,” she advised. “I have no more time,” Omo told her. “The evidence pointed to his close friend…except Tamuno wasn’t the closest?”

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Rachael tried to think again. But her thoughts ended abruptly. Tamuno was the closest, she knew that. And she also knew that it would be insane for him to kill Jona. “He was the closest,” Rachael said. “Sure?” “Positive.” Omo stared at her awhile, then he nodded. He would have to trust her sense of reasoning. “Know where he lives?” he asked. “Biafra Hostel,” she said. “That’s on Newton Street.” “I know where it is.” Omo wrote it down as well. Then he lifted his face and looked towards her. “Thank you for your cooperation,” he said. “I should leave now.” Rachael opened her mouth and wanted to tell him to stay, but she knew it was needless. He wasn’t going to stay. But she remembered something at once, and she thought Omo needed to know about it. Afterall, he had completely taken the place of Niye’s uncle. “Osato,” she said, as he rose to his feet; “she’s at the Catholic Orphanage.” “You would have to help me,” Omo said to Rachael. She swallowed. “Please keep checking on her and Niye whenever you can, okay?” Rachael nodded involuntarily. “I’ll try.” He smiled at her, and as she rose to her feet, he hugged her. Maybe it was the first time he had hugged her in his life; he didn’t know. Then he glanced at the wall clock and knew it was time he left. He broke the hug, and turned and left. He was headed for Biafra Hostel to confront the man, Tamuno.

HE WAS there at the three-storeyed building that was Biafra Hostel on Newton Street. He realised he had forgotten to ask Rachael the room number of Tamuno’s

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room. He couldn’t go back to his father’s house and he couldn’t begin to knock from door to door; so he just stood outside, staring blankly at the building in front of him. Five minutes later, a young man stepped out of the hostel’s main entrance. He was obviously a book worm student. One could tell by his very appearance: the mighty glasses, the hair, the big bag like one of those mountain climbers. Omo shook his head and approached the lad. “Excuse me,” he called, hurrying in his strides. The lad hurried too, gazing at the watch strapped around his wrist. “Excuse me,” Omo called again, and this time the young man turned, his face twisted in a frown. “Yes, can I help you?” Omo didn’t speak until he caught up with him, and this seemed not to go down well with the lad. “Sorry to disturb you,” Omo began. “I was wondering if you lived in that hostel.” Omo was pointing at Biafra. The frown deepened. “Yes, I do. Anything?” “Oh yes,” Omo confirmed. “Do you know one Tamuno?” The lad nodded, and waited for Omo to continue. “I wanted to know his room number.” “Twenty-two.” With that the lad turned, and the next second, he was miles away. Omo shook his head at the pathetic being, and then he turned to return to Biafra. He went in through the main entrance, climbed up the stairs at the end of the down corridor, and found himself on the second floor. He walked down that corridor, observing all the room numbers written at the top of the doors, till he got to room twenty-two. He looked up, mumbled something, set the tape recorder on record, and knocked.

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“Enter,” a coarse voice said, without even asking him who he was. Omo turned the handle gently and entered. There was nobody anywhere in sight and he wondered who it was that had answered. Then suddenly, a being appeared from behind the curtain that led to the bathroom. Omo swallowed hard at the sight of this creature, and then he began to nod impulsively. He simply made up his mind that truly this was the man that had murdered Chief Onaghinor’s son. He looked it. “Can I help you, my young man?” the being asked Omo. “Are you Tamuno?” Omo asked in a somewhat shaky voice. The being’s eyes narrowed. “Yes?” “Oh, I am Omorodion Omigie,” he said. “A private investigator.” The being looked carefully with some sort of amusement at the thing that called itself a private investigator. “Investigator?” he queried. He re-looked at Omo, but Omo was not embarrassed. That time was past. “I understand you’re the closest person to one Eriso Onaghinor who was murdered?” Tamuno’s face immediately tightened, all amusement gone. “Yes,” he said. “Well I’m afraid your late friend’s killer is still at large,” Omo continued, “and I’ll need your help to find him.” Tamuno shook his head, intrigued. “Please sit down,” he said. Omo nodded and sat. Then Tamuno sat opposite him and spoke immediately, as Omo’s presence and the reason he was there puzzled him. “I thought that some young lady had confessed to killing him,” Tamuno said. “Yes,” Omo agreed. “But she didn’t.” Tamuno now was obviously confused, and Omo thought to explain further. “First, I would like you to know that that lady is

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my friend, and I know that she did not kill him. It’s complicated really, but the fact is that Jonathan’s killer is at large, and we’ll need to find him.” Tamuno nodded, and then observed Omo cautiously. “So in what way may I be of help to you, my young man?” “Well,” Omo began, “We have evidence that Eriso was killed by someone very close to him.” He stopped there and observed Tamuno’s reaction. There was none. Tamuno simply said, “Really.” And Omo replied, “Yes.” Then Tamuno gazed at him strongly, and Omo almost felt as if to look away. But he didn’t. He gazed back. “I was his closest friend,” Tamuno said. “But I of course did not kill Eriso. Why would I be inclined to commit such a wicked and callous sin?” Omo did not answer, so Tamuno continued. “My friend,” He addressed Omo brotherly. “You have come to the wrong place.” Omo began to sweat. Things were now looking grim. He realised that there was no way around this one. There was no way Tamuno was going to confess to killing Jonathan just like that even if truly he had been responsible. And he, Omo, almost wanted to start crying. But he held himself together and said, “Perhaps you were not the closest then?” Tamuno shook his head. “I was,” he said, “as far as males were concerned.” “You know about the females?” “Of course,” Tamuno answered. “Jonathan had a lot of female friends.” “You know who the closest was?” Tamuno was amused, and this time he did not hide it. He laughed.

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“You don’t honestly think he was killed by a female, do you?” “The girl in prison now for his death is female,” Omo reminded him. “And because she’s female, you think she’s innocent,” Tamuno countered. “I think she’s innocent because she is in fact innocent,” Omo said calmly, and smiled. Tamuno smiled too, and shook his head slowly. It was almost a pitiful smile. “Do you know something?” he said. “The judge presiding over that case is my father, and I’ll be honest with you. Your good friend is as good as gone. She is condemned, so if I were you, I would move on with my life instead of trying to dig up lost evidence.” Omo swallowed hard. “Buried evidence,” he corrected, “not lost.” “You have a very short time, my friend.” “I am willing to try…Please help me.” Tamuno didn’t know exactly how he was going to be of help, but the look in Omo’s face was pathetic and desperate and he understood what the young man was going through. He decided to help, anyway he could. “Alright,” he said in resignation, “what do you want me to do?” Omo sighed, relieved. “Tell me about his female friends. Who was closest?” “There was this girl,” Tamuno began. “They were dating for a while, and then the relationship didn’t quite work. But they were always still close, I knew that.” “The girl?” “Her name was Nonso. She lived there at Zenith, room ten.” Omo was disappointed at what he heard, and thought it was time he left. But an inner thing made him sit back there and decide to hear more. “There was also one he was dating at one time,” Tamuno continued. “Her name was Rachael.”

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“Tell me about this girl, Nonso,” Omo said. “You think she killed him?” “That would be absolutely insane,” Tamuno said. “She was madly in love with him.” Then there was a change of expression on his face. He seemed to have realised something. “It could be possible,” he said thoughtfully. “She could have.” “How?” “Well, she loved him and he continued treating her bad, going after other girls. Maybe she just concluded she had had it, and decided to end his life.” Omo reasoned what Tamuno was saying. “Was Jonathan a cultist?” he asked abruptly. “Did he belong to any confra?” Tamuno turned his gaze to the ceiling. Then he refocused on Omo’s face. “You want to know the truth?” he asked. “Only the truth,” Omo replied. “Yes he was, and she was as well.” “Who?” “The girl of course, Nonso.” “How do you know?” “He told me.” “Are you a cultist too?” “Excuse me?” “Sorry. Wrong question.” “No problem.” Omo wrote some points down, and then he asked finally, “You think Nonso killed him?” “Honestly?” Omo nodded. “No. I don’t think so.” Omo thanked him and left. As he walked on, headed for Niye’s uncle’s apartment, Omo turned the conversation he had had with Tamuno over in his mind. Jonathan was a cultist, and Nonso was a cultist too. It seemed hiliarious and he laughed despite himself.

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But he knew something now. He knew that Nonso knew a lot. He knew that she knew much more than she had told him. Otherwise, why had she been so afraid to talk in the first place? He knew that she was somewhat connected with Jonathan’s death, even if she was not practically involved. Or was she? Omo pondered on Tamuno’s logic as to why Nonso would want to kill Jonathan. He knew it was extreme for a girl to kill a man because he jilted her, but he also knew it had happened before. And in Nonso’s case, she was jilted over and over again. Maybe it really got to a point where she felt she could take it no more and decided to end his life. Maybe she had gone to check on Jonathan when she had seen Niye run out of his room that night as she had said, and seeing him helpless, had decided to finish him up. Maybe it was really her who had killed him. Omo was going to find out, maybe soon…if he was lucky.

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TWENTY-NINE

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ut he was not lucky because it was not soon. In fact, the more Omo waited for Nonso to return, the more he wondered if she really was going to return.

He fell asleep, and woke up, and fell asleep, and woke up; and yet, she didn’t return. When it was eight o’clock, Omo became angry with her and with himself. He should have gone to school; he should have gone to the orphanage; he should have gone to the prison. Instead he had stayed home and waited for someone who was never going to show up. Then there was a knock at the door. Omo made to rise, and realised that he was weak again, and his head ached. So he added one note to his anger that he should have gone to the hospital for check-up. He was hungry too. He should have gone to Rachael for food. But now it was too late to do anything, except open the door. There was another knock, and Omo heard Nonso call his name. “I’m coming,” he grunted, and realised he could barely hear himself. The rain must have started pouring down again, without mercy. Wearily he rose to his feet and moved to the door. Then he unbolted it, and the door flew open. Nonso rushed in like someone being chased by a ghost or something. Omo hurriedly locked the door. “What’s the matter?” he asked. “Is someone after you?”

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“I was just scared,” she replied, and he shook his head, obviously relieved. “I wonder why you should be,” he said. Then he moved to the sofa and lay on it. Nonso was soaked. Whatever she lay on or sat on would become wet, and also she could not take off her clothes because she had none else to wear. So she just stood there looking around as if admiring the house. Omo turned and saw her. He understood instantly. “You should change,” he said. “I think there are some clothes in there that would fit you.” Nonso nodded thankfully and shivered away. Omo sat up and waited for her to reappear, which she finally did. She stood awkwardly, looking at him. But he knew she wanted to sit, so he shifted and she sat by him. Without warning, she shifted closer and cuddled into him. Hesitantly, he put an arm around her. He pitied her because he could relate with what she was going through. She seemed so afraid, so vulnerable, so insecure, so innocent. And as Omo observed her shivering in his arms, he struggled not to conclude she was innocent. He knew somehow that she was not. “Why are you so afraid?” he whispered. “Why do you feel vulnerable?” She took her time to answer. “They would come after me,” she whispered back. “I’m scared.” “Who would come after you?” Omo asked softly. She didn’t reply instantly. Omo wished he could see her face as he spoke to her, so he could observe her reactions. “Why are you asking me this again?” There was some sort of sudden firmness to Nonso’s voice that told Omo what he was asking was hurting and she wanted him to stop. But he wasn’t going to; not until she told him the truth. “Who are you?” he asked her.

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She shifted slightly, gently in his arms, and Omo was sure he was getting there. But she didn’t answer the question. Instead, she asked him her own question. “Who do you think I am?” “I think you’re a cultist,” Omo replied plainly, without as much as a thought. Almost in reflex, Nonso flew out of his arms and sat bolt upright and stared at him, an expression of horror plastered to her face. He stared back blankly as if he was at a loss as to why she reacted the way she did. For a moment she just stared at him, trying to make up her mind on what exactly to say. Omo waited. “I’m not a cultist,” she said finally, angrily. “Then what are you?” Omo asked simply, calmly. Tears formed in her eyes. Omo looked away. “You now suspect me, do you?” Omo was touched. He didn’t mean it that way. He only wanted the truth. But before he could explain, she stood up and marched out of the sitting room through the curtain. A moment later, Omo heard a door slam shut. He arose and made for Niye’s room. He opened the door slowly and found Nonso lying on the bed, a pillow over her head. Omo knew she was sobbing. He moved to the bed and sat on it and laid a hand gently on her back. “I’m sorry,” he apologised. “I didn’t mean it that way.” “Go away,” she yelled. “Just leave me alone.” “I said I’m sorry,” he emphasised. “Don’t worry,” she told him. “When the rain stops falling, I’ll be out of here. I don’t need you.” “Nonso!” Omo yelled, and for some reason her sobbing automatically came to a halt like it was being played on a tape and there was a sudden power outage. “I need you!”

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There was silence before she turned gradually, so that her stomach was facing the ceiling. “I trusted you and told you all I know,” she said quietly. “Why do you suspect me?” Omo was tempted to produce the tape recorder and replay the conversation he had had with Tamuno earlier in the day, but he resisted the temptation. “I do not suspect you,” Omo clarified. “I just want to know the truth.” “What truth?” she asked. “The truth about Jonathan’s death,” he answered. “Who killed Jonathan?” “I told you I don’t know,” she said. “Are you a cultist?” he asked straight. Nonso shifted as if to leave, then she stayed still again. Obviously she was having it tough and Omo knew she would have been out of the apartment had the rain not been falling. But thanks to the rain, she could go nowhere. Do you trust me?” she asked steadily. “I would if you told me the truth,” Omo replied with equal steadiness. “It’s a shame to lie to someone, do you know that?” “Yes. So you should tell me the truth.” Omo waited for her to speak but she didn’t. Instead she was staring at the ceiling. He decided to speak again. “You are a cultist,” he said. It seemed to get to her, and she sat up with great agility, much like a mummy coming back to life. “I am not!” she responded, her lips set in anger. “How then did you know Jonathan was a cultist?” “I told you I just knew!” “Who killed Jonathan?” “I don’t know!”

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“Who are you afraid of?” “I don’t know!” “Nonso, who killed Jonathan?” That was all the damsel could take, and no more. If Omo wasn’t ready to believe her, then there was no guarantee he would be willing to protect her from the powers that be. There was no point staying here any longer watching herself being tormented by this insensitive, ungrateful person. She should go to her home, to her fate, even in the rain. Instantly, Nonso rose to her feet. “I have had it with you,” she said. “Good bye!” But she should have known that Omo was not going to let her leave. As she turned, he rose quickly and grabbed her back down to the bed. She struggled, moaning and protesting. His grip remained hard around her. But she struggled and struggled until she could struggle no more and became breathless. Then she began to sob and Omo loosened his hold. He was catching his breath too, and his brain seemed to be beating like his heart, thumping against his skull. Then he said again, “Tell me the truth.” Nonso continued to sob weakly; then she whispered something which Omo did not seem to hear very well. He asked her to speak up. “I lied yesterday,” she said. “The whole story was lies.” Omo clenched his teeth, and witnessed his palms gradually become round. No one would be able to put in words the nature and magnitude of his anger towards her, except the one up above. He would have struck her now but she was the weaker vessel and he needed to hear more. He managed to suppress his anger. “You lied to me,” he said. “Why?” “I…I just…Omo, I’m scared.” There was real panic and genuine fear in her voice and Omo knew what he had to do although he was terribly angry. Reluctantly he pulled her up to a sitting

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position, and let her head rest on his shoulder. That seemed to give her some more reasons to cry. “I told you to trust me,” he reminded her. “I wasn’t joking when I said it. I’ll keep you safe.” “You can’t,” she said. “If they come after us, we can’t fight them.” Omo wanted to ask her again who “they” was, but he quickly decided against it. “They can’t be that powerful,” he said. “Can they?” “You have no idea.” “Then we would do our best to fight them together,” he said. “I won’t leave you to them, I promise.” Nonso sniffed, then looked up at him. “Are you sure?” “Trust me.” It was in his eyes this time and she saw it much more clearly than the previous day. Not anger, but responsibility, only responsibility. In her heart of hearts, she wished Jonathan had been like him. She had loved Jonathan with all her heart, but he had always treated her without regard, without respect. She had always meant little to him. But then she had continued to love him. And to prove that she really did love him, she had had to… Nonso didn’t want to think about it; about those things Jonathan had made her do-things she would regret until the day she died. She rested again on Omo’s shoulder and continued to sob. He let her because he knew what she was going through. He let her cry. “I lied to you,” she said amidst tears. “I’m sorry.” He lifted up her face and wiped the tears off them. “I understand,” he said. “I really do.” And then he smiled at her. In the midst of her own inner turmoil, she could not help but smile back, just like she was happy. But she wasn’t.

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“You want to know the truth?” she asked. “Yes,” Omo said, “everything.” Nonso nodded slowly and swallowed spittle that turned to lump in her throat. Then she looked away from him and began her story again. “I loved Jonathan,” she said, “even before we started dating. When he started cheating on me and gave me the option of leaving him, I still loved him, and was willing to do anything to prove it, to please him.” Omo had heard all that before; she had told him that last night. What he wanted to hear now was the truth-the things she had not told him. But she didn’t seem willing to talk anymore. He could see she was battling with the words to say. So he prompted her. “Continue,” he urged, “please continue.” Nonso nodded and said, “Yes, you were right. I am a cultist.” Omo thought his heart had stopped beating when she said those words. He felt like fleeing. “I didn’t want to belong with them, of course you know why.” She looked to Omo and he nodded. Then she looked away and continued. “But I joined the confra because of Jonathan. I joined the Outlaws Confra.” She looked to him again, and he swallowed. He wasn’t afraid of her but the confra she had mentioned. Everyone, as far as the University of Benin and environs were concerned, were afraid, that is terrified, of the Outlaws Confraternity. They were callous and evil like other secret cults on campus but they were worse than all others put together. To put it simply, confraternities in Nigerian universities are like mafia organisations: highly organised, deadly criminal. Intelligent people; secret and lethal.

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Nonso looked away again and continued. “It was horrible, even the initiation, and I wanted to leave. But once in you cannot get out. That’s the law, so I had to stay.” “Why didn’t you just leave the university and go somewhere else to study?” She shook her head. “They would find me,” she said. “They always would. They’re everywhere.” Omo nodded sadly, and then she continued. “Then the time came for elections into selected offices as the tenures of those in such positions came to an end. Somehow-I still think it was a plot-Jonathan was elected to be the chief hit man. Previously he was a first-class messenger, and then suddenly he was elected to be the chief hit man, second in command. Wasn’t that a plot?” Nonso turned to Omo and waited for an answer to the question. Omo didn’t know whether to agree or disagree with her. He simply nodded on neutral grounds. Nonso saw it as a form of agreement, so she turned away again to stare in front of her, and continued. “Jonathan refused the position,” she said. “He just could not kill. I mean, how could he, when he had never handled a gun before?” She shook her head ruefully. “But they wouldn’t listen. It was unheard of in the Outlaws. Once you’re elected, you have no choice but to accept the responsibility placed on your shoulders. But Jonathan was still bent on not being a killer even after he was told that the penalty for his rebellion is death. “So he was given a month to make up his mind after which, if he still refused the position, he was going to be killed by the acting chief hit man who incidentally was his best friend. And it was he who had enticed Jonathan to join the confra in the first place. Jonathan still stubbornly refused. I advised him to tell his parents about it, and maybe get out of the country, but he was too afraid of what his parents

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would say or do. They might even collapse when he told them; he said he wasn’t going to. “And then that night your friend was there was the very night the period of grace given him expired. It was the night he was to be killed. I wasn’t there at all, I wasn’t there when it happened, but at about eleven there was a knock on my door. As the password was recited, I knew it was a member of the confra who had knocked, I knew it was his best friend; and I let him in. He told me what he had done, and also told me about your friend, and what I should say to the police to ensure that the investigations went the wrong way from the start, so that there would be no link whatsoever with the confra….And that was what I did.” She breathed in deeply and Omo knew she was done. Strangely, she had remained calm; not a single struggle with emotions and tears. But Omo knew it was the truth, he just knew. “Do you believe me?” she asked, still staring ahead of her. “Yes,” Omo said but it only came out in a whisper. He cleared his throat and said again, “I do believe you. Completely.” She knew he did, she just knew. But Omo still wanted to know who that best friend was, so he asked, “Who was this best friend?” Nonso turned now to look him in the face. “Promise me you won’t do anything,” she said. “Promise me you won’t confront him.” Omo frowned. “What else am I supposed to do?” Nonso gasped in disbelief. It was like Omo was yet to comprehend the power of the Outlaws. “There would be no way out,” she told him. “Even now we’re unsafe, let alone when you present yourself to them.” “So what should I do?” “Inform the police and let them-”

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“No. I won’t do that,” Omo interrupted her. “The police will not respond. And even if they did, they would be so slow. I have till Monday to come up with something.” “You’ll have to promise me or I won’t tell you anything,” she told him firmly. “Can’t you see?” he begged. “I’ll have to do this myself if I’m going to save my friend.” “I won’t tell you unless you promise me you won’t confront them yourself,” Nonso said. Omo sighed in resignation. It was a fact; he saw it in her eyes and heard it in her voice. She was not going to tell him unless he promised. “Alright, “he said. “I promise.” Even at that, Nonso still found it difficult to tell him. “I promise,” he said again. “Believe me.” And she did because this time she saw that look of truth and responsibility in his eyes, and she knew he would keep his promise. “I believe you,” she told him. “So tell me.” She looked away from him, then she said, “He was a guy named Tamuno.” Omo began to choke as the name she had mentioned registered in his brain. He held his throat and coughed. She quickly put her arms around him. “Are you okay?” she asked concernedly. “I…I am,” he answered, still holding his throat. Then he looked up at her. It was a pathetic, sort of apologetic and helpless look. She became afraid. “What is it?” Nonso asked. “Tell me, what is it?” “I was…” He paused. “Look, don’t be afraid, okay? Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

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“Tell me what it is,” she demanded. “Why do you have that look in your face?” Omo let go of his neck. “I was…I was at Tamuno’s place earlier today,” he said. Nonso’s mouth fell apart. “We are doomed,” was all she could whisper. “We are doomed.” Then suddenly gunfire roared above the rain, and window panes began smashing to the ground. “They are here,” Nonso muttered, her voice trembling. “They have come.” Omo swallowed as bangs ravaged the front door. Then gunshots followed. He was more afraid than he had been all his life, but he must survive this night. They must survive. “What should we do?” he asked Nonso in panic. “Escape,” she replied instantly. Then suddenly the action shifted from the front to the other side of the house and bullets penetrated the walls and window, into the room. Omo dived at Nonso to shield her from the pellets that were flying in all directions. They rolled over, down to the floor. Omo’s heart was beating wildly, and wondering just how many “they” were. Slowly he rose to a crouching position, and began to crawl out of the room. Nonso knew she had to follow his lead. But it was not safe in the sitting room as well. Bullets were flying, and suddenly the door crashed open. A masked man, dressed in all black and carrying a gun, entered in full rush. Instinctively, Omo lunged at him, snarling as he did. One hand reached for the man’s throat, and the other for the gun. The force of impact made the man stagger backward, and Omo pressed him to the wall. Nonso could do nothing but scream as she watched them struggle. “Run!” Omo yelled to her. “Run!”

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Her screaming and the rain did not allow her hear him. But bullets were still pouring in from the other side of the house, into Niye’s room. Omo knew he had little time to dispose off this one man before the others returned. So he fought with all the strength he didn’t have, making sure that his grip was firm on the other man’s throat. Nonso continued to watch as the masked man seemed to be gradually fading away. He released the gun and began to try with both hands to loosen Omo’s grip. Omo let go of the gun as well and reinforced his hold with his other hand. Omo was strangling the man like someone possessed. At the moment, it didn’t dawn on him what he was doing. It didn’t dawn on him that he was on the verge of taking another man’s life. What he knew was that he was trying to survive, to protect Nonso, and to save Niye. His grip remained firm. Nonso stopped screaming as she realised the roar of gunfire had ceased. It could mean only one thing: the others were coming back to the main entrance. “They are coming,” she told Omo. “They are coming.” Omo heard her and immediately released his grip on the other man’s neck. The man slid like a snake to the floor, held his neck, and began to cough. Omo turned, and to his surprise, Nonso was still standing there, staring foolishly at him. Hadn’t he told her to run? He couldn’t remember. “Come on, let’s go,” he said. But she was still there, trembling and sobbing on her fragile legs. He reached for her, gripped her firmly, and dragged her along with him through the place in which the front door formerly stood, into the rain. At that moment the other masked men, two of them, appeared from the corner of the house. Instantly they opened fire. Omo kept his grip firm around Nonso’s wrist and made her run with him. The bullets chased after them, but there was no stopping; not in a race of life and death.

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The more the bullets flew past them, the more Omo didn’t know whether he was alive or dead. All he knew was that he was running with Nonso, running for his life. And for Niye’s. So he continued to run, without stopping, until all he could hear and feel was the rain that was falling. He would still have continued to run, but the lady by his side was exhausted. She slumped to the ground and lay motionless, breathless. Omo too slumped beside her. They were out in the rain but they didn’t mind. They didn’t have the time to mind. “They will still come,” Nonso said, panting. “No matter where we go.” Omo suddenly realised the pounding in his head, and in his heart. He felt as if the end was near. He felt to shut his eyes, but he knew that if he did, they might never reopen again. And he couldn’t move. His legs were dead. “Nonso,” he whispered. “I can’t move.” But she didn’t hear him, because of the rain. Or she couldn’t move too? Omo wished he could give up this fight for Niye. He wished it would all end. But he knew he couldn’t, it wouldn’t. And he knew that no matter how many bullets, no matter how many sicknesses, no matter how many masked men, he was going to push on for Niye’s sake. “Niye,” he whispered. “I’ll get you out, no matter what they do.” So he managed to resist the temptation to shut his eyes, and then he rose to his feet. He pulled Nonso up as well, but she slumped back down like a worm as soon as she reached her peak. All he could do now was pray that she was not dead. He lifted her and hauled her over his shoulder. He should run, to anywhere possible, hoping to live to see the next day and to see Niye healthy and happy someday. And so he ran, to anywhere possible, in any direction his legs would lead him. Gunfire began to roar again…somewhere in the distance.

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THIRTY Niye saw a roach creep by and thought it looked exactly like her mother. “Iye,” she called as the roach sped past her. “Stop, please. Why are you running away from me?” The roach did not stop. Perhaps it did not even hear her. After a while, Niye replayed the picture of the roach she had seen, over and over again in her mind’s camera, and finally decided it was not her mother. But it looked just like her mother, she could swear it did. Niye shook her head sadly as the pangs of loneliness stung her deep in the bones. Just at the moment when she thought someone had finally come to be with her, to make her less lonely, it had turned out that that person was a look-alike, and not her mother. How sad.

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But her mother was not really who Niye wanted right now; no, not at all. Her mother was one wicked, insensitive, uncaring, and unconcerned woman. That was why she was able to abandon her only daughter with her brother and that was why Niye had killed her. Niye did not feel any remorse for killing her mother now. In fact she laughed at the thought. “Foolish woman!” she yelled. “You got what you deserved.” And that other one, Jonathan. He wanted free sex, didn’t he? He wanted to just sleep with a girl and not be ready to bear the consequences. He wanted to sleep with a girl, even when she clearly didn’t want him to. And because of that, he had raped Niye and Niye in turn had killed him. Niye nodded her head proudly. “No one messes around with me,” she said darkly, wickedly. “I am The Iron Lady.” Then there was her uncle. So uncaring and unconcerned, just like her mother. But the only difference was that Niye lived with him and so expected more of his attention than she did her mother. But he had given her little or no attention, little or no love, little or no regard, little or no money. He had always been angry with her, releasing all his frustration on her whenever he had the slightest opportunity. Then suddenly, he had decided to end her life, just for no reason. Can you believe that? Niye gasped in shock as she realised, maybe for the first time, how deranged her uncle must have been that night he had chased her with a machete. He was definitely crazy. But she too was not a fool. She had tricked him and had made him chase her in the rain because she knew he was not strong and soon would give up. And he did. And even now, no one knew his whereabouts. “Please God, let him be dead,” Niye begged earnestly. “He has to be dead.”

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Niye looked around her tiny cell where she was alone, and saw the faces of Jonathan and her mother and her uncle emerging from the walls and begging her to bring them back to life. Suddenly she exploded in laughter-loud and hysterical laughter. Why wouldn’t she laugh? Tell me, why? All those foolish people who had tried to make her life miserable, she had ended theirs instead. Wasn’t that enough reason to laugh? Wasn’t it something to be proud of? Of course it was, and so Niye could only keep on laughing. Then again she heard a voice, a small shrill voice like someone crying. The voice was calling her, needing her, wanting her, praying for her. Reflexively Niye rose to a sitting position and began to look all around her, searching for the source of the voice, like someone searching for a ghost. But there was no source; the voice was everywhere. “Osato,” she called desperately, “where are you?” Niye continued to hear the voice, but still she could not see the face of the person that was calling her, needing her. “Osato,” she called again. “I can hear your voice, where are you?” Another voice floated into her ears. This one made her scream. This was the one she wanted to hear, needed to hear, loved to hear. This was the voice of the one she loved, wanted, needed, desired. This was the voice of an angel, the only angel she knew. “Omo,” she cried. “Oh Omo, where are you?” But the face did not appear; the voice persisted, becoming louder and louder. The voice was telling her not to give up, that soon it will be over, that soon it will be dawn. The voice was telling her that he loved her. And the voice remained loud and firm, and strong and determined. “I love you too,” Niye proclaimed, “but where are you? Omo please show me your face.”

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Another voice spoke. This one was the voice of a girl, the voice of the one who once meant the world to her. It was telling Omo and Osato to shut up, that the fate of Niye was sealed and that they should move on with their lives. But the other sweeter voices kept on speaking, undaunted by the third unpleasant voice. Niye still wanted to see them, to hold them, to know that they were there for her, with her, forever. But they only kept on speaking, their faces not appearing. And then gradually, gradually, the voices faded away, and there was silence. Niye shut her eyes, pulled at her hair, and began to cry. “Why?” she lamented. “Omo, why?” When her eyes finally opened again, there were still tears. She laid still for a while and let the tears fall. It didn’t take her long to figure out that she had been dreaming. “Why?” Niye lamented again. “Omo, why?” Wearily she rose to her feet and brushed the tears off her face, and then she moved to the barred gate and peered out at the passage. It was empty, completely empty. No Omo, no Osato, no nothing. Niye shook her head and returned to the end of her narrow cell and slumped to the ground. And then she started to cry for real. It had been terrible for her in this lonely cell all these days, very horrible-the things she had been made to do. She was constantly hungry and angry, and bitter and crying. She had a little more flesh than a skeleton now; just a little more. Her eyes had deepened, almost completely sucked into her head. Her hair was brown and dirty and unkempt. Her lips were dry and peeling off, and in deed only her breasts were still almost as they had been a long time ago. Niye shook her head and cried the more as she assessed herself again. Her life was miserable, she knew that. But the question now was: for how much longer?

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THIRTY-ONE “Omo, wake up,” Nonso was saying softly, as she tapped at Omo gently. She had woken up a few minutes ago to find herself in a small poultry feed store with Omo. How they had gotten there, she could not recall. But she knew they had to get out fast before the owner of the place arrived, and as Omo was still asleep, she had immediately begun to wake him up. But he had not stirred. Then Nonso observed the body on the floor at which she was staring, and stiffened. Omo was pale and white and his eyes were shut tight. Was he breathing? Was he dead? Nonso began to shake. Nervously she bent lower and pressed her ear against his chest. Could she hear anything? Was his heart beating? She swallowed hard, and placed her fingers against the side of his neck. Then she withdrew sharply. Chills crept up her spine as the reality of Omo’s situation hit her. He was alive quite alright, but he was in a terrible state. He was unconscious and his temperature was high enough to bake cakes. And his eyes were shut. She needed to do something, she knew that; but what? Nonso remained on her knees for a while and thought of nothing but death and the Outlaws chasing after her and bullets shattering her to pieces. Her eyes

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snapped shut as if to literally keep the gruesome thoughts of death at bay, and her mind drifted way back to the day she was initiated into the Outlaws. “Betrayal of the Brotherhood is death,” she could remember the Capon saying that day. And now she had betrayed the Brotherhood, she knew her fate was sealed. She knew she was going to die. It was no point running. They would always find her. She opened her eyes and stared at the remains of Omo on the floor. Can this lifeless body really protect her like it had promised? Can he? She didn’t know. But she was grateful to Omo because he had kept his promise, at least for once. He had protected and defended her the previous night. And now he was unconscious. For how long then can she depend on him? For how long will she live? Again Nonso didn’t know, but it suddenly dawned on her what Omo needed from her at the moment. He needed to be taken to a hospital lest he would die. She tried to pull him up but discovered that she couldn’t, simply because she was exhausted. He was weightless, she knew that. But she was exhausted. So she rose to her feet and hurried out of the store. In no time she halted a taxi, to take Omo to the General Hospital. It was threatening to rain.

IT WAS about seven o’clock when Nonso reached Omo’s father’s apartment. The sun was up now and the dark clouds that had been threatening to form earlier in the day had now been relocated to the background. Nonso knocked on the door, but there was no response. She knocked again, and when she knocked the third time, the door opened, Rachael standing in the entrance. “You remember me?” Nonso asked. “Yes,” Rachael replied, a puzzled expression on her face. “The one who brought the diary.” “Right.”

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Rachael was expecting Nonso to say more, but the fair girl was unwilling to speak further. Instead, she clasped her hands together, disengaged them, and put them by her side. Then she lifted them in the air, and put them behind her. She looked to her side. “Omo is not home,” Rachael informed her. “I know,” she said. “That’s why I’m here.” “What?” “Look, a lot has happened which I cannot explain right now,” Nonso began. “Are your parents in?” “Yes.” “May I see them?” “Why are you here?” “It’s important I see your parents.” “What for?” Nonso sighed and exhaled briefly. It was clear there was no getting past Rachael. “Okay, alright,” she said. “Omo is right now at the General Hospital.” “What?”

“SEE WHAT you’ve done?” Omo’s mother was accusing her husband as he paced anxiously in the main passage of the hospital. She was sobbing as she spoke to him. She had been sobbing since they arrived about thirty minutes ago. Her eldest daughter was consoling her and at the same time crying with her. Nonso was standing, her back resting on the wall and she was not crying. But she was thinking. Omo’s father did not answer the question. He seemed lost in thought as he continued to walk up and down the passage, waiting for the doctor to emerge from the emergency ward and tell them the position of things-matters arising.

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“He would not be here now if you had not sent him out of the house,” Rachael’s mother continued. “I did not send him out of the house,” Omo’s father said calmly. “He decided to leave.” “Oh, is that so,” his wife exclaimed. “He just decided to leave? Without reason?” “Look Elizabeth, let’s not get into this,” Rachael’s father said somewhat apologetically. “We need to focus on the future and not the past.” “No, we would get into this,” Elizabeth protested fiercely, her voice instantly shooting up. “Just because my son is HIV positive doesn’t mean I don’t love him anymore. I still love him, I still need him.” “I love him too,” her husband was forced to say. He couldn’t remember when last he told anybody he loved them. “What?” Elizabeth screamed in alarm. “How can you prove you love him? Tell me, Donatus, how can you prove that you love him? By being sarcastic and sending him away from me?” “You and I know he needed-” “He needed some scolding, fine! What he didn’t need is a father insensitive to his feelings.” “I am not-” “Do you know what you’ve done to him? He’s lying there in a coma!” Donatus decided not to speak anymore. He had realised by now that the more he spoke, the more reasons he gave his wife to speak. He should shut up awhile. Soon, she would run out of saliva. “You sent him away,” Elizabeth started all over again, “because you hated him, because he was positive. How could you hate your own son?” Her voice was raised of course, and her husband was still pacing aimlessly, not listening to her. People passing by would wonder who really this woman was

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talking to. Herself? That would be absurd. But Omo’s mother didn’t mind. When it was clear no answer was forth coming, she kept on talking. “Now look,” she continued. “He’s in a coma! He’s half dead.” Her crying increased in frequency, pitch and intensity. “Mummy, please,” Rachael consoled. “It’s okay.” “You’re not even concerned,” Elizabeth continued her assault on Donatus. “You’re pacing around as if you’re happy. My God, you’re not even crying! You don’t even feel it!” “Madam, it’s enough,” Nonso was forced to come in now. “You’re in a hospital. You could deal with your differences when you get home.” But Omo’s mother did not listen. “Who knows if he’ll live,” she kept on talking. “I pray he does. But if he doesn’t, Donatus, I’ll hold you responsible. If he dies, it is you who killed him.” Donatus couldn’t think of his son dead. “Shut up!” he roared, and there was automated silence. Now people were gathering in bits, wondering what matters were arising. Even patients in the wards nearby had been forced to climb out of beds to witness first hand the drama that was unfolding in the passage. Donatus had reached the peak of his anger now, and his eyes had suddenly turned red-all red. His lips were quivering and his body was trembling. He didn’t trust himself to say anything or do anything, so he just held himself in one spot, his rage rotating about him. But whether he would say or do anything would depend on what his wife would have to say. And she knew that. “All I’m trying to tell you,” she began solemnly, “is that what you did was wrong and you should at least own up to that fact and apologize. And you should show some level of concern.” “Why am I here if I’m not concerned?” Donatus asked his wife. But before she had time to reply, Nonso spoke.

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“Please it’s okay now,” she said. “Let’s just-” “And you,” Donatus interrupted her, as though he just saw her for the first time. “He’s in a coma now because you were…” He broke off as he noticed the doctor, a middle aged, athletic-looking man, come out from the ward in which Omo was placed. Immediately, he turned and began to stride toward the doctor even as the doctor was coming to him. The three women with him rose to their feet. They were standing before, but now they stood more firmly. “Doctor, how is he?” The doctor ignored the question and smiled. Then he stretched forth his hand for a handshake. Eagerly, Donatus shook it and asked again how his son was doing. “I am doctor Sola Ola,” the doctor introduced. “And you are the father of-” “Yes, that’s me,” Donatus replied enthusiastically. The doctor nodded, and the smile vanished from his lips and indeed his entire face. He now looked exactly like bad news. “You’ll have to come with me to my office,” Doctor Sola informed Omo’s father. “It’s okay here,” Donatus said. “This is my family.” The doctor nodded again as he scanned the people Donatus had called his family. “Doctor, is he alive?” Elizabeth asked impatiently, in panic. The doctor shook his head sadly and his face now looked exactly like tears. Slowly, carefully, he removed the round spectacles that was over his eyes, cleaned them with a white handkerchief, then put them back. “Doctor, please talk to us,” Donatus urged. Nonso seemed to have sensed something that was taking the others too long to notice. And so she suddenly found reasons to cry. She began to cry.

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Somehow her tears spread to Rachael’s eyes. Rachael’s mother didn’t need it. She had more that enough in her eyes to spare over and over again. “The young lady here,” the doctor began, referring to Nonso, “told me all that happened.” “Yes?” “And, well, we did all we could to save your son’s life.”

THIRTY-TWO

O

mo did not die. He had been in that state of coma since the night he had protected Nonso from “they”, and even this Sunday morning, he was still

there. His mother was at his bedside in the ward and she was sobbing. Would her son ever recover? She couldn’t answer. No one could.

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The doctor had went on the other day to inform them clearly of matters on ground, and the future indeed seemed dim for Omo, her dearest child. Exhaustion plus hunger plus stress plus low level of immunity; did her son have any hope? She hoped so. At least the doctor had given them the assurance that he would not remain in coma forever. That was enough reason to hope. But whether he would ever be the same again, the doctor could not candidly say. Still there was hope. And even when there was hope, there were tears. Elizabeth was still crying because she had to cry. She was afraid of the very next minute, not knowing what it would bring forth. It pained her that her son had been dealt with so cruelly by fate, and she felt sorry any time she looked at him helpless on the bed by her side, his body thin and pale. His life, fragile. She kept on crying, hanging her face downward. She kept on crying. She felt a hand rest gently on her shoulder. She lifted up her face to behold Nonso by her side, distressed. Then she looked back down and continued sobbing. Till that very moment, Elizabeth still was unable to make up her mind as to what to feel towards Nonso: love or hate? It was because of Nonso that Omo had had to go through so much stress that eventually led to his breakdown and it was also Nonso who had saved his life by taking him to the hospital and informing them. What then should be felt towards her? Elizabeth could not immediately decide, so she remained on neutral grounds. “Ma, you’ve been here since yesterday,” Nonso said. “You should go home.” Omo’s mother lifted up her face and sniffed in her sorrows and pains. Then she wiped the tears off her cheeks. “What am I going home to do?” she asked Nonso. “You have a family,” Nonso reminded her. “They need you too.” “He needs me most,” she countered. “The others can take care of themselves.”

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Nonso did not know what else to say, so she fell silent. But she was concerned for Omo’s mother. The woman was simply taking this thing entirely wrongly such that if care was not taken in time, she might come down with something terrible. Nonso feared for her. “Ma, you need some rest,” she finally found her tongue. “Don’t worry; I’ll stay here with Omo.” Omo’s mother said nothing. She was still staring to the floor. “The doctor wouldn’t be here in an hour or two,” Nonso continued, “and Omo has the slightest chance of coming out of coma before then. So what’s the point staying here and watching him sleeping?” There was no point. But the problem was Elizabeth getting to her feet and getting out. That was what was difficult. And she liked the awareness that Nonso had brought her-that Omo was asleep. Simple. He was going to wake up. What really, then, was the point watching him sleep? “I think you’re right,” Omo’s mother said. “I should go home.” “You deserve some rest,” Nonso said. The older woman nodded and rose slowly, wearily, from her seat and gestured to Nonso to occupy the vacant position. Nonso smiled thankfully and sat on the plastic armchair. Elizabeth stood there staring down at her once agile, now fragile son. Tears filled her eyes. “He’ll be fine,” Nonso told her with a sweet voice of assurance. “I believe.” “I’m sure he will,” Elizabeth said somewhat mournfully. Then slowly she turned and walked out the door. She looked like someone who had lost her life in a disaster. Or she was in a coma like Omo, but in her case, her eyes managed to remain open. Nonso watched her leave, and then it was her turn to stare at Omo. Tears filled her eyes, but she was quick to brush them aside. This, she knew, was not the time for tears.

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It was time for thinking, always thinking. About death, about life, about survival. Nonso had continued to live in fear since the night when the Outlaws had come after her and Omo. They had managed to survive that night, and the ones following, but Nonso knew they wouldn’t survive for long. The Outlaws would be assembled later tonight, and then the whole haunting experience would begin again. She knew it because it had always been so. Nothing was done until instructions came from above. And tonight, the hit men who had attempted killing them would give their reports at the assembly and then orders would be given them to continue the hunt, and then surely, Nonso and Omo would die. Nonso didn’t think she really bothered that she was going to die. It was Omo that she was concerned about, because he didn’t deserve to die. He was too good to die. She didn’t want him to die. But she still knew that even if Omo were to survive the bullets of the Outlaws, he might as well die sooner in this condition that he was. But he didn’t deserve to die. As she stared down at him, Nonso realised how helpless Omo was with his eyes shut and his body tucked under the sheets. She began to cry. She was about to hurriedly wipe her tears away but on second thought, she let them flow. The only man she had cried for, really cried for, was Jonathan, and that one did not deserve her tears. But look at Omo, the one who had risked his own life to save her. Surely he deserved her tears. Why, then, shouldn’t she cry for him? She cried for him. “Niye.” Nonso thought she heard something. She momentarily stopped crying to listen. Nothing. She resumed crying. “Niye,” she heard again.

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This time she instantly turned to Omo who was turning and groaning, as if in pain. Nonso almost could not believe what she was seeing, but as he kept on turning and twisting, it became clear to her what she must do. “Nurse!” Nonso screamed. “He’s awake!” She shot up to her feet and sped out the door.

IT WAS sometime around noon when Omo and Nonso were alone again. Omo’s mother would have been there but she had had to go home to prepare Omo’s favourite dish. The hospital staff had told her not to worry, that they were responsible for their patients’ welfare and wellbeing. Of course she had not listened to them. Rachael should also have been there, but she had had to leave for school. A friend had informed her that the S.S.C.E results had been released. Eagerly, she had set out to check on her result. So Omo was left in the hands of Nonso who had nowhere to go. She should have gone for lectures, but she was too afraid to go anywhere. This was the safest place to be. There was silence between them, like they were two strangers thrown together. But their hands were locked in each other’s, squeezing each other’s, holding on to each other. They knew they shared the same fate, and each somehow believed that their lives and living, and survival, depended on the other. At the edge of the bed where she was sitting, Nonso turned her head slowly to look at Omo again, observing him. His head was turned sideways, facing the wall; and from her point of view, Nonso could not tell whether his eyes were shut or not. He was much less paler now as his skin colour was gradually returning to normal. But he was lean. He was so lean Nonso thought beyond his ribs, she could also trace the outline of his lungs and kidneys. Nonso’s eyes slid down his chest to his stomach. It was rising and falling in rhythm. He was alive. “Omo,” Nonso called softly. He turned his head slowly in her direction. “Yes?”

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“I thought you were asleep.” He shook his head which meant he was not asleep. Then he turned again to face the wall, his hand still locked in hers. Nonso cleared her throat. “I want to thank you again for saving my life last night,” she said. “I am really grateful.” He turned again to face her, this time a weak smile on his lips. “I was only keeping my promise,” he said simply. Nonso folded her lips inwards and nodded her head. Then she spoke again. “I’m sorry about your…” she broke off, but Omo knew what she was about to say. “Everyone’s got their own problems,” Omo told her. “This is mine.” He was right, Nonso thought. Everyone did have their own problems. And for her, it was survival. Soon the Outlaws would be after her, and her future would be threatened. But it pained her more that they would be after Omo as well, so that his problems were doubled. Earlier in the day, Omo’s father had gone to report the incident of the previous night to the police. But Nonso knew, sadly enough, that that would do little or no good at all. If anyone was going to lead the police to the Outlaws, it was her, and that was why the Outlaws were after her. But she didn’t tell Omo’s father she was an Outlaw. She just couldn’t. In the whole world, apart from those in the brotherhood, only Omo knew she belonged to a cult. “What’s the matter?” Omo asked, sensing some distress on her face. She put on a sad smile. “Nothing.” “You’re wondering how we’ll survive, right?” There was no way Nonso could deny. Omo was looking into her eyes and his eyes had already found the truth. She nodded her agreement slowly. “Don’t you think we should get the police involved now?” she asked warily. Omo turned his gaze to the ceiling and began chewing at his lower lip.

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“Today is Sunday,” Omo told himself. Then after awhile: “Tomorrow is Monday.” Nonso was studying him, wondering what he was thinking. “Monday, ten in the morning, Niye would appear in court,” Omo continued drowsily. “Sunday…Monday.” Nonso was forced to speak at this point. “What are you thinking?” Omo stared some more at the ceiling before he answered her…with a question. “Why are we not dead yet?” “Excuse me?” “They are not after us now, are they?” Nonso shook her head. “No, but they will be soon,” she answered. “I think we better get the police.” “Soon. How soon?” “Well, as soon as…” Nonso left it that way. “As soon as what?” Her mind began to see Omo’s mind and although it was blurred what her mind saw, there was something that made her uncomfortable. “You know those hit men that attempted to kill us,” she said slowly, “they would have to report to the Capon and be given the complete go ahead to hunt us down.” “So until then, we’re safe.” Nonso exhaled. “Yes, and that’s why we should get help fast.” Omo didn’t speak immediately. He took his time studying the pattern of the ceiling boards, and humming a song as he did so. Nonso was impatient; somewhat irritated the way he kept her waiting for him to say something. She spoke instead.

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“The Outlaws would be assembled tonight,” she informed him. “What we need to do now is get the police informed and lead them to the Sacred Ground. That way, we’ll get them all arrested.” Omo was still staring at the celing, still humming. Abruptly his humming stopped and his face became tense. Then he turned slowly in Nonso’s direction. There was a confusing smile all over his face, and goose pimples rose like little mountains on his skin. Nonso was completely bewildered. Or afraid. “That’s it!” Omo announced in a whisper. “That’s all we need!” “I don’t understand,” Nonso said. “Are you okay?” Suddenly Omo sat up, like a dead man coming back to life in one of those ghost stories. “We can still save Niye,” he told her. “We can!” “How?” “If the Outlaws will be assembled tonight at the Holy Ground-” “Sacred Ground.” “Then all we need to do is get there and have the confession we need.” “What?” “Of course they’re going to talk about Niye when they talk about their failed attempts on our lives, and all we’ll have to do is record tonight’s proceedings. That’ll do it!” Omo became visibly excited. He began dancing on the bed. Other patients in the ward turned towards the dancing skeleton. Some gasped in horror, afraid that he might break. Some were smiling, others laughing. But Nonso wasn’t finding it funny at all. “We can’t do that,” she told him as a matter of fact. “That’ll be like leaping from the frying pan into the fire.” “We can,” Omo responded simply, happily. “No, we can’t!” Her voice was stubborn and fierce.

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Omo stopped dancing and turned to look at her. The gasping mouths slowly became shut as they heaved in absolute relief. “Look,” Omo began slowly, “it’s our only chance. We’ve got to save Niye.” “Then we should inform the police,” Nonso said with equal slowness. “They’ll follow us. Besides, you’re not strong. You need to rest.” “You’ll be arrested should the police know you’re a cultist,” Omo pointed out. “You are an Outlaw. You could spend the rest of your life in jail. And don’t worry about me. For Niye’s sake, I’ll be strong.” Nonso realised bitterly that Omo was right; she did not respond in the instant. She did not want to spend the rest of her life in jail; neither did she want to die. Omo was right. They would have to do it all alone. From the expression in her face, Omo knew he had won. But he thought of anyone who could help him, aside the police. Detective Udoh shot across his mind’s eye. No, that one was part of the police. He could not be completely trusted. Then there was Barrister Maria ‘Tas. “You’re not alone,” she had said. She might have been right then, but now, she was wrong. There was no way she could help him, nothing she could do. He was alone…to save Niye alone. The only one who could help him was the fair Outlaw at the edge of his bed. And both of them were alone. “There is no other way,” Omo whispered. “We’ll have to do this alone.” He took her hand and squeezed it, and continued to squeeze it and refused to free it. “I guess you’re right,” Nonso said. “The assembly would be at midnight.” Then tears filled her eyes. “I hope you’ll make it.” “We will,” Omo said soothingly. “Believe me, we will. All we’ll have to do is to be there earlier than them, stay out of sight and record the proceedings. Then tomorrow in court, we’ll present our findings. We’ll make it. ”

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But will they? Will they enter the den of death and come out alive, whole? Will they escape the fiery wiles of the Outlaws? Will they in deed save Niye? Will they see tomorrow? Daring not to confront the evil questions, they were willing to try: to put their lives on the line for what was right. They were willing to save Niye, to give her a second chance at life. And whether they lived or died tonight would be inconsequential. What would matter most is that they did their best. The best was all that mattered. So later Nonso would have to go into town and rent a video camera. Then at night, Omo would have to escape from the security of the hospital, to the uncertainty of the wild. And together, they would face the unknown.

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THIRTY-THREE

I

t was 10:00pm and Omo’s mother was at his bedside as usual. She had been there a little after one o’clock and had refused to leave ever since. Rachael also

had stopped by at about three, elated and ecstatic about her results. Omo was quick to ask after Niye’s results and it didn’t surprise him to know that she came out the second best in the school. “She should have been the best,” he had said grimly. “There must have been a mistake somewhere.” “Is that the next cause you’re going to fight?” his mother had asked jokingly, and he had laughed. Then at about five o’clock Nonso left. Six, Rachael disappeared. She had to prepare the evening meal. Seven o’clock saw his father stroll in. He briefed them on all the doctor had told him and how he had reported the incident of the previous night and what the police were doing about it. From all indication, Omo would be fit to go home soon. All he’ll have to do after that was to consume a lot of fruit and medication, and he’ll be fine…hopefully. Omo’s father also rendered his own form of apology to his son for his attitude towards him. “Anger really makes people do some things they don’t want to,” was all he had said. And Omo knew it was safe to go back home. Towards eight o’clock, Donatus took his leave. And since then, till now, Omo had been with his mother. But soon, he would leave her here all alone, and head for

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the Holy Ground, which was somewhere in the University Of Benin campus. Nonso had given him a description and he hoped to find the place easily. He would meet her there, and they would wait till midnight when the Outlaws would assemble. Then they would film the assembly and leave in peace, in one piece. Omo turned slowly to his mother who was dozing in the chair at his side. “Mummy,” he called. Her eyes instantly flew open at the sound of his voice and headed straight for him. Seeing there was no cause for alarm, she asked, “What is it?” “What time is it now?” She looked at her son cautiously. “What’s with you and time?” she asked. “You’ve asked me this question over a dozen times.” “Mummy, please what time is it?” Elizabeth shook her head. “Ten thirty.” Omo swallowed. It was time to move. But he hesitated awhile, and as much as he did not want to, he thought about the future, the consequences of failure and of success. If he failed, Niye would die and he would be desolate. If he succeeded, then Niye would live and he would be happy and fulfiled. Even if his life was going to be short, he would like to spend it with Niye. He liked to think of them together, of them happy. He wanted nothing more. And this night was going to decide whether indeed there was a future for them together, or separately. Or no future at all. It was time he moved. “Mummy,” he called again, turning slowly in her direction. This time her eyes creaked open, as her ears tasted his voice for any sign of distress. There was none. “I have to go to the bathroom,” he said, and slid off the bed.

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It was the first time Omo was standing on his feet in two days, and he suddenly realised that he was still weak. As his feet touched the ground, his head ached lightly, warning him that he was not yet altogether fit. He ignored the signs. Gingerly, slowly, he approached the door, his mother’s eyes trailing his steps. “Are you sure you can-” “Mummy, I’m fine,” he interrupted her. “Let me assist you.” She was already on her feet. “I said I’m fine,” Omo stressed. Reluctantly, the woman returned to her seat and watched him leave.

THE PLACE they called the Sacred Ground. It was simply an uncompleted building in the middle of nowhere, in the heart of an intense forest. Had it been completed, the building would have been a bungalow with four bedrooms, one kitchen, one bathroom, and one living room. And even now, there were walls that partitioned the house, separating it into its various componenets. The siting room now served as the Cabinet Assembly Ground for the Outlaws, and the bedrooms were used as storage. The kitchen and bathroom were almost useless except for private discussions. The ground was bare but there was a roof above the house. The rectangular spaces for windows were everywhere, but not a single window had been fixed. Nonso was in the darkness of one of the rooms, anxious and pacing. The video camera she had rented was on the ground beside her and so was a torch. She was worried because it was past eleven o’clock. “Omo, please come,” she begged in a panicked voice. “You said you’ll be here by eleven.” For some reason or the other, tears were now in Nonso’s eyes, but she wondered why she was crying. Was it because she feared something terrible must have happened to Omo or perhaps he had found no way to escape the hospital?

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Was it because she feared that the whole operation would fail? Was it because she was nervous and anxious? Was it because she was alone in the dark in this wild forest in the middle of nowhere? Was it because…? Just why was she crying? Finally, Nonso concluded that crying was the only reasonable thing to do. So she kept on crying. Suddenly she thought she heard footsteps. She stopped crying and listened intently. Yes, she heard footsteps again, this time more clearly than the first. They were getting clearer and clearer. The person was approaching. Instinctively Nonso crouched and continued to listen. The sound got clearer and clearer and closer and closer, and then suddenly disappeared. She waited but heard no more. Slowly she crawled to where her torch lay and picked it up. She opened her mouth to speak, to ask if it was Omo, or she just wanted to scream. But she realised her throat was dry and no sound issued forth. Then she became afraid. Her body began to tremble as she rose to her feet, and she felt her brain evaporate. But she had to be brave, she told herself. She knew she had to be brave. She maintained her balance and began to move warily, stealthily, into the Cabinet Assembly Ground, torch in hand. The instant she stepped through the doorway into the assembly ground, an arm grabbed her roughly around the waist and another tightened around her neck. Nonso began to choke and her trembling became all the more severe. She made to scream but all she produced was a series of dry, wicked cough. The grip around her neck tightened and with as much energy as she could muster in the moment, she threw her elbow backward. It caught the intruder on the side of his abdomen. The intruder still maintained his grip, but when she did it over and over again, the intruder was forced to let go. Then she spun around and smashed the torch across the dark space in front of her. It connected with the intruder’s temple and she could sense that the person was now on the ground. She must flee, her instincts told her. Now.

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Nervously she lit the torch so she could find her way out, but as she was about to turn, she noticed that the person on the ground was her very own partner, the one who had saved her life. Nonso gasped in horror as he rolled on the ground, moaning. Hope she had not killed him. She rushed to his side and knelt beside him. “Omo,” she called, “are you alright?” Omo heard the voice and instantly stopped moaning. He turned and realised it was Nonso who was beside him, only Nonso. God, how close he had been to eliminating her, and she him. How close they had been to destroying each other. So it wasn’t the Outlaws that were going to kill them after all. It was they themselves. The Outlaws would have simply come in and found their enemies on the ground, in their holy place, dead. It seemed amusing; Omo began to laugh. Nonso saw the irony as well and she joined in the laughter. “You scared me to hell,” she told him, still laughing. “I never knew you went to a karate school,” he responded. “I am an Outlaw,” she reminded him. “Was,” he corrected. Nonso rose first and helped him to his feet. Omo took the torch from her hand and pointed it in every direction. He shook his head wryly. “Is this the Holy Ground?” he asked sarcastically. “Sacred Ground, yes.” “What’s sacred about this place?” He was looking all over. “It’s sacred,” Nonso snapped. “It’s small,” Omo continued. “How many members-” “Many,” Nonso answered to save time. “How do all of them-” “General assembly is held outside. The meeting of the cabinet is what’s held here.”

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“So today…” “The cabinet will meet first, and then general assembly would commence later. That’s how it always is.” Omo surveyed the place some more and shook his head in disapproval. Then finally he said, “Where do you think we should stay?” “We’re going to stay?” Nonso asked, baffled. “Of course,” Omo replied, equally baffled. “Why don’t we just position the camera on some good spot and leave? Later we’ll come back and pick it up.” Omo was exasperated. How could she say such? How could they position the camera and leave? What if somehow the Outlaws discovered it and smashed it to pieces? What, then, would they do? What was Nonso saying? “Look, if you don’t want to stay, you can just leave,” he told her harshly. Nonso’s mouth fell open, and then shut and finally open and shut again. Then she began to sob. Omo was beginning to treat her like Jonathan, and it hurt her that everyone should reject her. Hurriedly, Omo moved over to her and lifted up her face roughly. “This is no time for this,” he said forcefully. “They would soon be here. We’ve got to get ready.” Nonso knew all that, but what she really wanted was for him to put his arms around her and comfort her and tell her she was not rejected, like Jonathan had always failed to do. And he did just that. “I’m scared,” she said. “I’ll protect you,” He told her. “Trust me.” He let go and wiped the tears off her face. And it was she who first smiled. Her smile was innocent and captivating, and suddenly Omo felt she didn’t need to be there. Niye was his friend, not hers. Nonso had done her bit, she had provided

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him with all information he needed, and she had led him here. The rest was supposed to be up to him. There was no point risking this innocent lady’s life. “Look, I really think you should go,” Omo said gently. “I’ll do the recording myself.” Nonso considered his words. She really didn’t want to be there. She could have done anything not to be there, anything to escape her fears, her past. She really wanted to leave. But again, it was she who had started it all. Niye was arrested because of her tip-off, her lies. And Omo had saved her life. Should she leave him now? All alone to his fate? Could she? “I can’t leave you now,” she told him. “Not now.” Omo nodded. “Get the camera.”

THE SCARED fire had been lit in the centre of the Sacred Grounds. The Capon was seated on his sacred seat. The chief hit man was seated to his left and the chief stalker to his right. Lined parallel in front of them, in two rows and facing each other, were the other members of the cabinet. There were eleven of them, all dressed in black, all ferocious-looking. Omo and Nonso were up on the roof. It was Nonso who had discovered a hole just large enough for the camera to fit in, on the roof. But when Omo had suggested they go up to the roof, she had been the first to protest. There was no point arguing so Omo had set about searching for other better angles and view spots. And as they heard footsteps and voices approaching rapidly, it was Nonso who had been first on the roof. Omo had had no choice but to pick up the camera and join her. It had been easy getting up there because of the spaces for windows that existed on the walls. And once up, Omo had rolled his way to their chosen spot. Nonso had immediately grabbed the camera, and positioned it to start filming.

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Right now, the Sacred Anthem was being sung. And as Nonso and Omo lay on their stomachs, the edges of their bodies touching against each other, Nonso doing the filming, Omo found himself increasingly uncomfortable. “Have you handled cameras before?” he whispered to her. She answered him not. “Why…uh, don’t you let me…” “I can handle it,” she told him succinctly. “Trust me.” He nodded. The anthem was long and boring, especially with the croaky voices that were doing the singing. Soon Omo’s irritation was nearing its peak. “Do they always have to sing this…thing?” “It’s an anthem,” Nonso informed him. “It doesn’t look like one.” “Excuse me?” Omo could sense her voice had gradually begun to rise, and for security reasons, he decided to say nothing concerning the thing they called an anthem. Nonso was defensive of the Outlaws and he wondered why. Maybe it’s just… instincts, he told himself. Awhile later, the anthem was finished and the night’s business commenced in earnest. Omo could hear what they were saying below but none of it concerned him at the moment. The wait continued until Omo became worried. They had just one cassette capable of recording ninety minutes, and thirty minutes were gone. “Are you sure they’re going to…” “They will,” Nonso whispered back. “Just relax; the chief stalker is giving his report. After him comes the chief hit man.” In the next fifteen minutes, the chief hit man was summoned to give his report for the week. Omo’s alertness shot up to the extreme, so did his anxiety. He swallowed hard. He had just discovered that he was afraid, but he didn’t know why.

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He found himself holding on to Nonso lest he slide down and ruin everything. But Nonso was unbelievably calm. In the Sacred Ground, Tamuno, the acting chief hit man, rose to his feet. He cleared his throat and began to speak. “I hail thee, my master,” he began, bowing slightly to the Capon. “The last week has been full of activity. As ordered by the master himself, the Elite Brothers have been silenced. There is absolutely no shred of evidence…” Omo was already impatient. Elite Brothers: what did that have to do with Niye? “Is he ever going to get to the point?” he asked Nonso. “Sure,” she replied coolly. And he did. Somewhere around ten minutes later, Omo heard him mention “Niye.” “The girl of course is in jail and is due to be sentenced tomorrow,” Tamuno was saying. “But the problem is that there are some people willing to do anything to prove that this girl is innocent. On Thursday, a young man who claimed to be a private investigator and her personal friend came over to my residence, and asked certain disturbing questions.With the powers invested on me, I had to have him stalked and tracked down, and at night the same day, I had my men have him killed.” The Capon nodded in satisfaction. “So he is dead now.” Tamuno scratched at his forehead before he answered. “Not really, my master,” he said. “We-we…missed him.” “You missed him?” the Capon growled. “You missed him.” “Actually I was not personally involved in the operation,” Tamuno clarified in nervousness and fear. “It was-” “I don’t care who was involved and who was not!” The Capon’s anger had risen all the more.

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Tamuno knew what he had to do before it became too late. “My apologies, my master,” he said quickly. The Capon was breathing fast, almost panting. Tamuno’s face was to the ground as he waited for the Capon to speak. The other eleven were still, staring in front of them, their expressions blank. But beneath the cloak of unconcernedness, there was tension welling up in their beings. Slowly, the Capon’s breathing returned to normal. “How did our defences become so porous?” the Capon asked Tamuno. “How could one young brat have found us?” Tamuno swallowed as sweat emerged on his forehead. “My master, he was being assisted by an Outlaw, Melisa.” “I know no one as Melisa,” Omo muttered above. Nonso just looked at him as though he were retarded. “She obviously must have told him everything that happened on that night,” Tamuno continued. “She must have told him that that girl in jail is really innocent and it was I who killed Eriso: Trojan horse.” Omo almost leapt with excitement as Tamuno made the statement he had been longing to hear. It was over; their job was done. “Let’s go,” he managed to whisper to Nonso. “Quiet!” Nonso ordered. And that was final. In the Sacred Ground, Tamuno continued. “We’ll have to stop them,” Tamuno was saying. “They have to be silenced.” “We might not need to,” the Capon said thoughtfully. “My master?” “The girl will be sentenced tomorrow,” the Capon continued. “It is too late already for them to do anything.” “But they might still be bent on incriminating us,” Tamuno pointed out, “even after the girl dies.”

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“Very well,” the Capon said instantly. “Hunt them down. You have my blessing.” Tamuno bowed slightly. “It’s time we left,” Omo said to Nonso again in a hushed tone. She turned to him, a thoughtful expression on her face. “This was a bad spot,” she informed him. Omo was confused at what she was saying and why she was saying what she was saying. “We don’t have their faces,” she said, “only their voices.” Omo’s mouth fell agape as he realised she was right. All they had was voices and that was not enough. They had to have faces as well as voices. He ran his hand through his bushy hair in frustration and confusion. What now could they do? Omo turned to Nonso, searching for answers. Her face was expressionless. Then slowly she repositioned the camera, and as she opened her mouth, Omo suddenly realised what she was about to do. “No,” he said, voice a little raised. But it was too late. His protest was drowned in her screaming. Below, all eyes turned upward. Nonso held the camera in place and captured their faces. “That’s it,” she said. “Let’s go.” Feets were scrambling below and Omo had no idea what was happening. But he knew what was soon going to happen. Hurriedly he snatched the camera from Nonso and took out the cassette. He flung the camera carelessly away. “We’ll have to-” Gunfire! Feets climbing up the wall! There was no time for explanations. No time for statements. No time for words. Little time for action. Omo slid the cassette into his pocket and gripped Nonso by the wrist. Without warning, he pulled her along with him with such force that her arm almost took leave of the rest of her body. They rolled down the sloping roof, tiny holes

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opening in front of and behind them. By the time they fell off the edge to the surrounding bush, Omo knew he was dead. It was only when he realised Nonso was trying to pull him up that he discovered he was still alive. He rose to his feet and they began running, fourteen ferocious beastsOutlaws-chasing after them. The bullets were missing their targets by inches and Omo felt certain that sooner or later, they would hit the mark. But it was night and it was dark, and everything was supposed to be invisible. How then were the bullets following them everywhere they went? It was Nonso, Omo realised. The lady had fair skin that glowed in the darkness. As she sped past him, he grabbed her and pulled her to the ground. “What are you doing?” she protested in a high-pitched weeping voice. He didn’t answer. There was no time for words, no need for them. Only action. He was crawling eastward, and Nonso had no choice but to follow him, the shrubs and undergrowth providing sufficient cover for them, so that now they could not be seen. Bullets were still flying, the roar of gunfire deafening. But not in their direction anymore. Not yet. Omo wondered why it was not raining this night. It should rain. Please it should rain. They kept on crawling; and then suddenly, Omo began to feel his head swell, and his body numb. His vision was getting blurrer and blurrer, and his motion slower and slower. Tears filled his eyes, and the future became blurred. Not again, he thought. Not now. This illness could wait a little longer. He could not afford to fail. No, he mustn’t give up. He continued to push himself forward, and forward, and forward, until he reached his limits and slumped face down, motionless. “Nonso,” he whispered. “I can’t move.” He could hear her wail lightly as she stopped in her tracks. In the darkness she felt the ground until her arm rested on him. Then she turned him over.

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“What’s wrong?” she asked in a voice laden with despair. “Omo, talk to me.” “I feel so…” He left the statement at that because he could not describe how he was feeling, leaving nothing but more fear and despair in Nonso’s being. She thought he was dead. Slowly the moon emerged from behind the dark clouds and shone on them. Nonso realised that his eyes were open and he was smiling. God, why was he smiling? But was he alive? “Omo,” she called again. “Talk. Say something.” “I’m with you,” he whispered. “I’m here.” Nonso knew she was losing him, and she would be lost without him. She didn’t want to lose him, didn’t want him to let go, didn’t want to let him go. “Listen,” she said, willing her voice to be stable. “You’ve got to be strong. You’ve got to make it. I can’t go on without you…Do you hear me?” Omo tried, he tried to hear her, but he didn’t, he couldn’t. He had suddenly gone deaf. His eyes were shutting and opening, shutting and opening…He struggled to keep them open. He knew it was over if he let them shut, he knew he was gone if he let them shut. He battled to leave them open, at least a little longer. “The cassette,” he whispered. “Take it and run.” Nonso knew the symbolism of the statement. She knew that Omo was preparing to die. But she did not want him to die. She shook her head in passionate disapproval. “Omo, please,” she begged. “You can’t go.” But it was pointless. He had no choice. Slowly his eyes shut…and remained shut. He was gone. Nonso knew Omo had left her. She knew it was over-there was nothing she could do to bring him back. She swallowed hard and reached for his pocket and took out the cassette. She wanted to rise but she could not. No matter how hard she tried, she could not leave. She fell on his chest, and began to cry.

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She remembered the first time she had seen him, she remembered when he had held her close and comforted her, she remembered how he had saved her life; and she wept the more. She would miss him all her life…if she still had one. The roars of gunfire had ceased by now and Nonso knew that the Outlaws had begun looking for them. And she knew that she had to be strong. She must rise up to the challenge, to make sure that Omo died not in vain. She must run to the end, and make sure that Niye lived. She must get on her feet and get out the jungle. She musn’t die. She must live, she must survive. With great effort, Nonso wiped the tears off her face, and sat up. She stared ahead of her and all she could see was green darkness. She knew she was lost. She got to her feet and continued staring ahead of her. But she knew she had to go. “I’ve got to go, Omo,” she said. But she could not bare to spare him another look. “I’ll be back for you. Promise.” She started to leave. “You want to leave me here, do you?” Nonso looked down at the lifeless body of Omo and realised he had sat up. Her mouth fell open, and her eyes popped out of their sockets. Was he still dead or was he alive now? It didn’t matter. Impulsively, she threw herself at him and he caught her and held her lest she knock him to the ground. “You’re alive!” she exclaimed. “I thought you were…gone.” Omo broke the hug. “I wouldn’t die yet,” he told her, a gentle smile on his lips. “I promised to protect you, remember? And to save Niye.” Overwhelmed by emotions, Nonso hugged him again. Human sounds were getting closer. “We’re lost,” Nonso whispered helplessly. “There’s no way out of here.” “There’s a way,” Omo assured her, like he had been here before. “There’s always a way out.”

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She didn’t know if there was a way out or not, but because Omo said there was, she found herself nodding in intense agreement. They disengaged and Omo took hold of her hand. “Let’s go,” he said. And as the Outlaws continued to trail them, Omo and Nonso began running again; to nowhere in particular, anywhere their legs led them. Whether they were running from the Outlaws or to the Outlaws, they didn’t know. But what they knew was that they were running to survive, running for the morrow.

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THIRYTY-FOUR

“D

addy, please don’t go.” The little girl was crying as the man lying on the bed shut his eyes. “Daddy,” she called, reaching for his hand and taking

it in hers, “can you hear me?” “Get me a pen and paper,” the man said in a silent voice. “Quick.” “Please don’t go,” the girl said as she rose to her feet and flew out the door. In less than a second, she returned with the objects the man had instructed her to bring. But his eyes were still shut and she feared he was gone. “Daddy.” She shook him gently. He opened his eyes and took the pen and paper. Then he began writing something down. Occasionally he would pause, force some air into his lungs, and continue. Obviously he was having trouble breathing and he heaved a huge sigh of relief and sadness when he finished and handed the paper to the little girl. She took it and glanced through. It was a poem-it was something like a poem.

Since the beginning of time, the poem began, There have been seasons, And days and nights. There has been the sun to provide light in the day And the stars to shine at night,

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And once it was dark, there has always been the moon to usher us to sleep. And we always slept, awaking only when we heard the cock crow And announce to us that a new day has come. But that was a long time ago…

In this day we live in, things work in a different way. The seasons have ceased to follow their assigned order And the night seems to be longer, far longer, than the day. The sun is dim, And the stars fail to shine: Tthe world is now upside down…

We must still live in this upside down world. We must still survive. Even if we find ourselves all alone in the midst of the plenty that surround us, We must still survive. We will fall, but will rise again. We will stumble, but will regain balance again…

Even after all our labours and pains, and sorrows and tears. Even after all our suffering and groaning, and wishing and hoping, When the sun shines in the sky, all that surround us in darkness. So we wait for the dawning of a new day, a day that seems so far away.

We must continue to live in this upside down place; And survive in the crazy haze that has become our world. And when the moon finally rears its hoary head in the sky,

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And sends us to sleep, All we can do is wonder if tomorrow will ever come…

It will come, this new dawn, it will come. The night may be long, but it will come. The storm will be fiery, but still it will come. Just someday, it will come...

Not all will awake to the sweet crow of the cock that has long been sought. Not all will live to see that new day. And those who survive today survive because they believe. Those who survive, survive because of faith…

So no matter what happens today, No matter how many storms form, Or how many rains fall, Or how many mountains spring forth, Or how many volcanoes erupt,

Never let go of that grip…

Hold on to life, Hold on to hope, Hold on to your dreams. And hold on to tomorrow…your tomorrow. It will be a better day.

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The little girl finished reading the poem and looked again at the man she had called her father. But this time, his eyes were shut. She knew he was gone. She held him and shook him, trying to bring him back to life, but it was fruitless because he was gone…gone forever.

Niye awoke slowly, with tears in her eyes. Her father was gone…gone forever. For seven years, he had been gone, but now it seemed just like moments ago. She bit on her lower lip as she thought about days long gone, days never to be forgotten. The days when she had dreams and hopes, the days when she had life, the days when her father was alive. The days she wanted back but could not have. But she could…if she survived today. She shook her head sadly, as she thought of the miserableness of her present life. And for the first time in a long time, Niye remembered there was someone up there watching, ready to listen, willing to help, determined to save. Someone she had trusted, loved, and feared all her life. Someone unlike anyone. Slowly she went on her knees and looked up to the heavens-to the ceiling. “God,” she called, and the tears began to fall. “I trust in you God,” she told him. “I believe you can save me. I do not blame you for all the things I’ve been through, I do not accuse you for my predicament. But I want to live again; I want to live for you. Give me the life that I know you have in abundance. Give me a second chance, God, just one more chance…” She allowed herself to fall to the ground and started crying aloud. She wailed. There was less than a day to find out if she would live again. This night would be the longest in her entire life. But she cried. Throughout the night, she cried, for the life she once had and the one she wished to have. It was a day away, just a day away.

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THIRTY-FIVE

T

he courtroom was full to overflowing. It was not yet nine o’clock but the place was already jam-packed. The podium was empty and so was the witness

stand, but it seemed like the day’s proceedings had already begun in earnest. Chief Onaghinor was there, seated in the front row, his face like stone. But his pot belly was full of activity as it shot forward and backward, the movement synchronized with each inhalation and exhalation. His wife was on his left-hand side and Tamuno was on the right. Tamuno’s face was sober and serene. He had lost his dearest friend to a cold-blooded murderer and nothing would please him more than to see the killer being sentenced to death. The police commissioner was seated on the second row of seats, just behind Chief Onaghinor, and his face was blank and expressionless. The prosecution lawyers, their desk just in front of Chief Onaghinor, were in a state of extreme joy. Seeing them, one would think they were all celebrating their birthdays on the same day: the way their mouths opened wide in cackles and their hands reached out and shook each other’s vigorously. Their feets were stamping on the floor as if in protest to something and their heads were nodding like a lizard’s. Maybe it’s more than their birthdays; it’s their wedding anniversaries. To their left about two metres away Barrister Maria ‘Tas sat alone at the desk meant for the defence. She was swallowing over and over again, and with shaky hands, she reached inside her handbag and produced a handkerchief with which she mopped up tiny beads of perspiration that had formed on her forehead. She was afraid, and nervous and anxious. She had the right to be, as Omo was nowhere to be found. The courtroom of course was filled with people from all works of life and in any social class possible. The media was hovering about the interior and exterior of

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the courtroom and indeed the entire premises, ready to pounce on anyone that meant anything to them and the society at large. Suddenly a Black Maria swerved into the premises, and the media attacked at once like a troop in a battlefield. The criminals had arrived. When it was exactly nine o’clock, there was a loud bang on the door, and the court arose. All hail the judge! The judge, a stocky bearded fellow who should be approaching seventy, emerged from an inner room and moved into the podium. He gathered his red robe together, and sat on his seat. The court was utterly silent as the judge surveyed the congregation with his piercing eyes glittering behind his huge spectacles. Then the court clerk took over. “Case number 1456, the State virsus…” Barrister ‘Tas had already drifted far away. She knew it was over because the judge was wearing a red robe, and that judges did only when a death penalty was going to be delivered. She felt a certain sense of failure and impotence. She felt sympathy and pity, and she felt miserable. She thought of her career, if it would exist anymore and she thought about… Tears began to form in her eyes as Niye was led in through an upstage left door. Look at the damsel, horrible and haggard like a mentally deranged person allowed to roam the streets. Look at the damsel, lean and bony like one of those refugees in a third world country. Look at the damsel, sick and weak like one of those AIDS patients destined to die the next day. Barrister Maria shook her head and began to cry silently. Niye, her wrists and ankles bound, stepped into the dock and peered around anxiously but she didn’t find her darling. She smiled ruefully and hung her head downwards. She knew her fate now, especially with the robe of the judge, and she had to accept it. It had been a long journey so far, and it was sad that she had

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come to the end of the road. She was going to die and there was nothing Omo could do about it. He had tried though-she knew he had tried-but still he could not save her. It was over. “…a two count charge of murder in which the witness openly pleaded guilty…” the judge was saying. But Niye was not listening. She was thinking about Omo, his life without her. She hoped he was still alive. She prayed he should be happy. She wished he would live long. And she thought of Osato as well, her little princess. The young girl was now somewhere in an orphanage, or was it a zoo. There were many things to wish for Osato, but above all, Niye prayed that her little cousin did not go through the same experiences as she. She prayed Osato’s life was blissful and straightforward. “In the given circumstances and with the substantial evidence provided,” the judge now said. Dreams, believe, hope. No need for those anymore. It was over. It was time to rest forever. “I hereby declare the accused…” The judge paused and surveyed the congregation again. Some were shaking their heads, others were already crying and yet others just stood there, their arms across their breasts, their faces saying nothing. Tamuno was smiling, more of smirking, and the prosecution were nodding their heads. They were enjoying the show. Chief Onaghinor’s belly was all that showed he was alive. Otherwise he was dead. Barrister Maria ‘Tas was weeping silently. She looked all around again, her eyes scanning every face. Omo was still absent. The judge held his spectacles in place and turned his face downward to pronounce the ultimate sentence. Niye glanced around once more. Her darling was nowhere to be found. Faith, strength, choice. No need for those anymore. It was over. It was time to rest forever.

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“I hereby declare the accused guil-” “Wait!” The judge instantly looked up as the multitude turned to the main entrance of the court, the same expressions of surprise and confusion mixed with amusement on their faces. Two teenagers looking like soldiers who had barely made it from the battleground alone, were staggering down the aisle, the male leaning on the female for support lest he stumble to rise no more. Niye turned in the direction of the aisle and immediately became stiff. It was Omo, she realised. Omo had made it. Look at him so haggard and old. He was almost half dead. It was Omo. God! It was Omo…Her mind suddenly went blank. No, it disappeared completely from her head and her heart deflated as her body vibrated. All that was on Barrister ‘Tas’ face now was the same confusion and surprise on the faces of the multitude, but in her case, it was blended with acute horror. She had anticipated Omo’s arrival but now when he had arrived, and with the way he looked, she wondered where ever he was coming from and what ever he could do to turn the tides in Niye’s favour. Tamuno’s face radiated despair and shock and disbelief. His jaw was sagging now and his eyes were squinted. Omo and Nonso staggered their way to the front of the court and stood between the prosecution and the defence, like they were trying to be on neutral ground. Law enforcement officers were already ready to whisk them away but as Omo lifted up his face and looked up the judge, the man in huge spectacles gestured the zealous officers to wait. And the judge waited for Omo to speak. “She…” Omo trailed off and coughed. The lady by his side seemed helpless. She just watched him till he was done. “She’s…not guilty,” he said finally. The judge reclined in his chair, as huge murmurs began to spin from the mouths of the congregation. Some were gesturing at their heads as they

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murmured, concluding that that alien in human clothing in front of the courtroom was running mental. The judge ordered for silence, and then he lifted his pen to the side of his mouth and observed the young man in front of him. “She’s not guilty,” he muttered as if in thought. “I have proof,” Omo said instantly, hastily. One of the prosecution lawyers was shooting to his feet when the judge gestured on him to sit back down. Reluctantly he obeyed. “Here it is,” Omo continued, producing the cassette from the deep hole in his trousers. Nonso then turned in Chief Onaghinor’s direction and pointed at Tamuno. “He killed Jonathan,” she declared in a shrill prophetic voice. Murmurs again, loud enough to pull down the house. Tamuno jumped to his feet as if the chair had suddenly become too hot to sit on. “Liar!” he screamed. “Oh, liar!” “It’s in here,” Omo said, waving the cassette for everyone to see. “He is a cultist…” More murmurs. “He is a member of the Outlaws.” Even more murmurs. “They held their meeting last night and discussed the killing of Eriso Onaghinor.” Shouting. “He is their chief assassin, and he killed Jonathan.” Wailing. All eyes turned to the judge, and he stared back, a lost look in his eyes. He could not as yet understand or believe the revelation he was hearing. His own son a

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cultist? A murderer? Someone had to say something. The judge’s eyes turned quickly in Tamuno’s direction and the multitude followed. Tamuno seemed to lose balance the moment his father’s eyes rested on him. He could hardly think. But he had to say something for himself. He had to prove himself innocent, that Omo and Nonso were lying. But since his mind was now blurred, the thoughts that flew across it were as well blurred. He didn’t mind. He had to speak up, and so he said those ill thoughts on impulse. “It was you who was up there filming us,” he said in a shaky, nervous voice. “But we searched the forest for you, we looked everywhere. You were lost. How did you get here?!” His body was trembling in fear and he looked like someone ready to faint. But the eyes remained on him. Was he babbling or what? The congregation wanted to know. His father needed to know. The media was anxious to hear. But he said nothing more. Nothing more. “Tamuno, did you…?” It was his father asking. Tamuno knew it was over. He could not deny. The cassette was evidence, everything was there. It was the end. “I was ordered,” he weeped. “The Capon ordered that he be killed…He was my best friend. I would never have taken his life on my own. And if I refused to kill him, I would have been killed.” No murmurs. Just silence, deafening silence. Anxious silence. The multitude turned again to the judge and waited for him to speak. The judge looked around and around and around, and up and down and sideways, and opened his mouth to speak. Suddenly his body froze like one caught in the middle of a hiccup, and then he fell out of his seat, backward, to the floor behind him. Wails! Murmurs! Shouting! No silence! No silence at all!

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The press lunged forward, the multitude scattered in confusion. Tamuno was about to scatter with them but he was quickly apprehended and cuffed. Barrister ‘Tas was on her feet, motionless, fresh tears running down her face. These were the tears of joy. Nonso held Omo up as he turned to the witness stand and gazed at the eyes of the one that loved them. Niye smiled weakly. Chief Onaghinor sat motionless in his seat. He was staring in front of him, calm on the exterior but inside he was in turmoil. He could not comprehend all that had happened in such a short time. But he felt sympathetic towards Niye as he looked at her. She had suffered so much just because he had wanted her to, because he had thought she had killed his son. But as it is now, she was innocent. He knew the least he could do was to make sure that he made up for his ignorant wickedness toward the innocent teenager in any way he could. He would be a father to her if she would let him, if she would forgive him. Omo staggered and pushed through the throng, leaving Nonso behind to stare. He pushed until he reached the witness stand, facing Niye, the one he loved. Niye was still smiling at him, and crying. Her mind would go blank again any moment, she knew that, but she was willing to force it to retain data for as long as she could stand. These were the time for tears. Only for tears.

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THE END

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iye was lying at the end of her cell as it dawned on her that it was dawn. Lazily she rose to her feet and moved to the gate to peer out at the corridor.

It was silent, no soul on it. Expressionless, she returned to the end of the cell and slumped to the ground. Her mind was quick to drift away to all that had happened in her life-the mistakes, the blessings, the difficulties, the possiblilities. It was one hell of a life for a teenager, she concluded. One hell of a life. But she was happy it had been like that, this her life. She was happy she had had to suffer all the pain and all the troubles when she was a teenager. At least now she knew what it meant to believe, to dream, to hope. She knew what it meant to

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trust, to sacrifice…to love. Now she knew what it meant to live. She had made her mistakes, she had cried many tears, had suffered much torture. But still she was happy because now she was fulfilled. In the midst of it all, she had stood her ground and had refused to give up even when it seemed there was nothing better to do. “It’s the victory,” Niye muttered. “The overcoming.” That was the fulfilment. To her now, the beauty of life lied not in riches nor in possessions, but in the joys of victory. The overcoming of temptation. The binding of love. Those were the things that counted most in life. And Niye was glad she saw them before it was too late. She was glad she saw them now when she was a teenager. And she was glad that there were days ahead to learn from her mistakes and experiences. Days to start all over again, to live her life the way she wanted, to fulfil her dreams, to make everything alright. Niye was forced out of Thoughtland by the sound of footsteps in the corridor. She didn’t get to her feet to peer out. There was no need for that. She simply smiled, all to herself. The person kept on walking down the corridor till he reached Niye’s cell. Then he stopped and smiled as he peered at the inmate inside. “Time to go,” the warder said. “No place like home.” Slowly, as if reluctantly, Niye picked herself up from the floor, and started to walk towards the exit. Her eyes were swollen like she had just been roused from sleep. The officer opened the gate and Niye stepped out. Then he locked it again. Niye stood on the corridor and stared into her cell. She saw the roaches dancing about, and the ants faithfully trailing each other on one straight line that led out of the cell, and the rats eagerly searching for anything edible. This was the place that had been her home, this small cell. For one reason or the other, she began to cry. “Home is always better,” the warder said as he started to comfort Niye.

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But Niye didn’t cry for long. She gently shoved his hand aside and said, “Please take me to cell nineteen.” The man nodded and led the way. Niye followed behind him. She reached cell number nineteen and peered inside. This was the place that had once been her cell. This was the Dungeon of the Bones. She scanned the ferocious faces. They were all looking different than the last time she had seen them. They were all different people. Hope Beauty was still here. Beauty was at one corner of the cell reading a book. The rest of the cell was all noise and gambles. “Beauty,” Niye called in an ecstatic voice. The cell automatically became quiet. Beauty looked up. Instantly, a bright smile spread across her face. She rose to her feet and rushed to the barred gate and held on to Niye’s hands that were stretched into the cell. “I’m free!” Niye said. “I’m going home!” Tears formed in the other girl’s eyes. “I’m so happy for you,” she said. “You really don’t belong here.” “Neither do you,” Niye informed her. She lifted her hand and touched Beauty on the cheek. “I’ll get you out of here,” she said. “I promise.” Beauty smiled sadly as tears ran down her cheeks. “Take care of yourself. I’ll be holding on.” “Thanks for saving my life,” Niye said finally. Beauty only nodded and continued to smile. What else could she do? Tell me, what else? Niye let go. Then she turned and followed the officer out of sight. The Dungeon resumed in noise. Protocols were observed and them finally before she stepped out of the prison, her cuffs were loosened. She was free. Niye was free. At the moment there was only one question that popped into her head.

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“Where is Omo?” “He’s outside,” the officer told her. She nodded and began walking towards the main entrance of the prison. She quickened her steps as the excitement and anxiety and eagerness grew in her. He waved at her once she was outside, but he was not alone. Chief Onaghinor was there too, and so were Rachael and his parents, and Nonso. Barrister ‘Tas was also there. But it was only him Niye saw, only him she wanted to see. She was walking at first, and she wanted to remain walking. But there were changes rapidly taking place inside her. There was an urging, a feeling, a longing, a desire to reach out and hold and cherish forever. She wanted no more. Niye found herself running now, running at full speed, running to Omo. He waited, his arms spread out, his lips quivering, his tears forming; in anticipation of the one that loved him. She ran straight into him. She should have toppled him over with the force of impact, but he stood his ground and wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her into him. She was crying now, profusely; the tears just kept rolling down his face. “It’s over now,” he was telling her as his arms ran the length of her back, to her hair and back to her back. “It’s all over.” “Thank you, Omo,” Niye quivered. “Thank’s for everything.” “It is here,” Omo replied. “Our tomorrow has come.” “I love you, Omo,” she said without hesitation. “I love you with my life, with everything in me.” Omo could not find his voice. All he could do was continue to cry. All his sufferings, all his pains, all his sorrows; they had finally paid off. She was free at last, vindicated by faith. But now when she was in his arms, Omo wondered if he could ever have lived without her, if his life would have been better if he hadn’t suffered for her. It was a bitter experience, but he knew he was happy he had done

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it. He was happy he had her. So he just held her close, and they both continued to cry. Everyone stood still, even the sun and the celestial bodies, even the world; they all stood still and watched. No one would interrupt this moment, no one at all. Barrister ‘Tas was crying now as well, Rachael was crying, Nonso was crying… everyone was in tears. No one could resist, no one could hold back. They all cried. But this moment had to end. Sadly enough, it had to end. They had to leave. But Niye still wanted to hold him, to feel his touch, his love. She wanted to be with him, forever. He was HIV positive, she knew that; but hey, what’s the big deal? It didn’t bother her whether he was positive or negative or multiplication or division, because she knew he would survive, that they would grow old together. She knew it would be so because she wanted it to be so. It was her choice and there was nothing anyone could do about it. “I love you,” Omo said faintly. “I want you to be…my wife.” “Carry me, Omo,” Niye replied with a smile. “Please, carry me.” Her toes were almost already off the ground in anticipation. With a little more effort, she would begin to fly. But without hesitation, Omo swept her off her feet, into him arms. She was horizontal across his chest, one of his hands at the back of her neck and the other behind her knees. To hold her this way, to feel her this way, to see her this way, was all he wanted and…nothing more. As he began to walk away, all the others knew it was time to leave and lambishly, they followed him. Niye shut her eyes and savoured the contact between them. There would still be so many things to say, so many things to do, so many more tears to cry, so many more stories to tell, so many more people to find. But right now, Niye slid her arms around Omo’s neck and gripped him tightly. She knew that she was holding on to life, holding on to hope, holding on to tomorrow…her tomorrow.

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