Lightseekers Page 6

  ‘And there weren’t other students around to disprove this Godwin’s accusation?’

  ‘You think the Godwin boy may have lied, sir?’

  ‘We’ll know soon enough,’ I answer, recalling my interviewee list where Godwin is at the top.

  I look back at the compound, standing forlorn and empty in such a big yard. Goats and chickens walk around, stopping to peck food off the unpaved ground. There are several other buildings of similar size down the road that leads to the market and the bus stop.

  ‘If a lot of the houses are built to accommodate students, where are they all?’ I wonder aloud.

  ‘After the killing of the boys, most of them ran back to campus. The university warned them there’d be no protection for any student who lived off campus, especially during the early days afterwards. Most of them never came back.’

  ‘The school created accommodation for them?’

  Chika snorts. ‘If there was, the students would not be living off campus in the first place. No, most of the students stayed with friends and sympathetic classmates. The squatter population swelled in most of the residential halls. Some students even dropped out of school because of the living conditions.’

  I can imagine the scenario Chika describes. A tragedy like what happened to the Okriki Three would have induced mass hysteria amongst the student population, placing immense pressures on the university’s resources. The outcome for the town can be likened to the aftermath of a natural disaster, and having volunteered in various shelters after terrible fires in California, I can understand why this part of Okriki looks so empty.

  I want to say the town deserved whatever repercussions came from its tragic vigilante justice, but the silence around me strikes a sad note. I am about to say this when a young girl, no more than twelve, emerges from behind the house. Chika looks at me, seeking my permission. I nod and Chika calls out.

  The girl stops but does not come to us, so we hurry away from the car.

  ‘You wan rent?’ the girl asks when we get to her.

  ‘Yes,’ Chika answers smoothly.

  Darn, Chika is quick. I see the girl visibly relax and point back at the house. ‘Madam Landlady dey for backyard.’

  ‘You fit take us go meet am?’

  The girl nods, and as I look around,we follow her into the compound. Definitely newly renovated, but as I peek into some of the rooms through the windows, almost entirely empty. I count five big windows on the side we walk on, noting that the sixth window is for a communal kitchen of sorts, so definitely ten rooms on the first floor and eight on top to accommodate the balcony.

  At the back of the house, a massive woman with broad shoulders is bent over a spread of drying cassava. By the time we reach her, she has risen to an impressive height and crossed her arms over her ample bosom, much like a bodyguard at the doorway of a nightclub.

  ‘Mama Landlady, dem wan rent house.’ The girl points at us excitedly.

  ‘You be agent? Go where I send you now or na your head I go rent out!’

  The girl scampers away and the landlady turns to us. Her suspicious stance doesn’t change even when she switches to proper English. ‘Who’s renting?’

  Chika smiles charmingly and answers, ‘My friend here. Are you the landlady?’

  ‘It is my property.’

  I try to be as charming as Chika and proffer my hand. She eyes it as one would a buzzing mosquito courting swift death. I let my hand drop but keep the smile. ‘Dr Taiwo. Philip Taiwo.’

  ‘Doctor? And you want to rent here?’

  Chika takes a deferential step forward while I move back. I’m not sure I can successfully pretend that I want to live under this woman’s roof.

  ‘Yes,’ Chika again answers smoothly. ‘The Doctor just got an appointment at the university, but they’ve not sorted out his staff quarters. We hear you just renovated and I must say, you’ve done a really nice job.’

  The woman smiles and reveals a gap tooth. The ogre is gone, replaced by quite a personable human.

  ‘The deposit is six months in advance.’

  I don’t bat an eyelid. Landlords being paid months, and even years in advance is common practice.

  ‘It’s not a problem, madam,’ I say. ‘Can you show me around?’

  Madam Landlady immediately herds us into the house, briefly disappears to get a large bunch of keys and starts leading us from one room to another.

  ‘I used to stay not too far from here and rented this place out,’ she says as she opens a room and parlour with an en-suite bathroom and a not-too-shabby kitchen. ‘This is one of my big ones. I stay in a similar one upstairs. You have a family?’

  ‘Err, yes. My sabbatical is just for a year so they may come for a visit, but they won’t be joining me.’ I’m impressed by how easily the lie rolls off my tongue.

  ‘Then this is a good place for you,’ the landlady declares like I have little choice in the matter. ‘There’s a two-bedroom at the back too, but usually, the students prefer that one because they can share.’

  ‘Are there many students renting?’

  ‘Not like before. Now I have mostly temporary university staff like yourself.’

  People without prior knowledge of the infamous compound’s history, I bet.

  ‘I like it,’ I nod approvingly, and the landlady beams. ‘May I ask where all the tenants are?’

  ‘Why?’ the landlady snaps. Attack and defence in one question, her smile gone.

  ‘I just want to know how noisy it gets during the weekend when other tenants are home.’

  ‘There’re no tenants right now.’

  ‘They left because of the renovations?’ Chika asks.

  ‘Yes!’ She smiles with relief at Chika. I can imagine she’s now found a new narrative for other prospective tenants. ‘But many of them are coming back. I have an agent marketing the property at the university.’

  I frown as if thinking hard about something, walk towards the window and look out into the compound yard. ‘Isn’t this the house …? The one those boys tried to rob and the people came to his rescue?’

  Madam Landlady’s smile disappears again, but there’s no hostility when she answers guardedly, ‘That was a long time ago.’

  ‘Yes, but this is the house?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Great!’ I exclaim enthusiastically. ‘I love a neighbourhood that looks out for each other.’

  ‘Wonderful.’ Madam Landlady claps with glee and relief. ‘It’s so nice to finally have reasonable people around. People have been so nasty to us.’

  ‘It must have been hard for the whole town,’ Chika proffers sympathetically.

  ‘You can’t imagine. I used to be a teacher in the primary school. My husband, God give him eternal rest, was the headmaster. We used all our savings to build this house so we could provide accommodation for those children at the university. We treated them like our own. Then, when everything happened, everyone started telling stories, saying how wicked we were! Some even said we used the boys for juju!’

  ‘How silly,’ I scoff. ‘A whole town ganged up on young boys to use them for juju?’

  ‘Search me, my brother,’ Madam Landlady says.

  ‘Were you here?’ Chika asks, with just the right amount of curiosity.

  ‘I wasn’t. I told you I used to live on the other side of town. But when all the tenants moved out, I couldn’t afford to keep two homes, so I moved back here.’

  ‘No one remembers the good deeds of people when something like that happens,’ Chika adds sympathetically.

  Madam Landlady laps up our understanding. ‘Common criminals, that’s what those boys were!’

  I look around like I can already see myself living here. ‘Where was the boy staying?’

  ‘Which boy?’

  ‘The one they tried to rob.’ I turn to the landlady. ‘Was it this apartment?’

  ‘You mean Godwin! His was down the corridor. Poor boy. I don’t know what I would have done if someone came to my house
with a gun. Come, let me show you.’

  We follow the landlady, who I am confident could disarm anyone trying to rob her with or without a gun. She points down the corridor, towards the front entrance of the building.

  ‘Over there, see?’ she says. ‘That one facing the road.’

  ‘So, that’s why it was so easy for people to hear when he cried for help,’ Chika says, as if he now understands a significant part of a mystery that keeps him awake at night.

  ‘And the other students?’ I frown, measuring the proximity of Godwin’s former room to the road. ‘Why didn’t they come out to help?’

  ‘Many of them were in school and the other people staying here were at work. The ones at home said when they heard the gunshots, they were too scared to come out and only did when the crowd came.’

  ‘So, this Godwin was practically alone when the robbers pounced.’ Chika has raised his voice in anger on behalf of the victim.

  ‘Imagine! And everyone is calling our people wicked. How is it wicked to run to the aid of another human being?’

  ‘And from what I read, they were quick,’ I say.

  ‘It was the gunshots that got everyone’s attention,’ the landlady explains.

  ‘Gunshots? You mean it was more than one shot?’ Chika inches closer to Madam Landlady like her words could change the course of history.

  ‘Several! In fact, the whole town thought they were being attacked by an army!’ Given that all reports had agreed that three, at most, four gunshots were heard, I can now add exaggeration to the landlady’s skill set.

  ‘So, they came from the shops on the road?’ I ask.

  ‘From everywhere. Those students had been robbing the town blind in the past, and we couldn’t do anything because they’re the lifeblood of our businesses. But when guns became involved, people just got tired.’

  By now we are at the end of the corridor that leads outside. A gunshot from inside would be easily heard if the windows were open. I’ve seen enough.

  ‘Thank you, madam. I’ll definitely consider your lovely house.’ My conscience won’t allow me to commit beyond this. ‘Please let me have your phone number.’

  She calls out a series of numbers, which I save on my phone. Who knows when I might need to speak to her again, with or without a rental agreement in place.

  As we drive away, Madam Landlady waves cheerily, happy at the possibility that her house, with a fresh coat of paint, may finally overcome its tarnished reputation.

  Her joy makes me inordinately sad.

  SMALL TOWN, FAST NEWS

  Back in the Land Cruiser, I compliment Chika on his quick thinking and sense that he’s not as uncomfortable as he was earlier about his promotion to my unofficial assistant.

  Our self-congratulation regarding our acting skills dissipates when we notice the stares of some of the people passing by. It has a different quality from what I had earlier put down to small town curiosity.

  I picture the rookie at the police station making calls to his girlfriend, who then calls her best friend, who in turn calls her mother. I recall Salome’s ominous words.

  As soon as we get to Hotel Royale, a rotund and balding man hurriedly comes to meet us.

  ‘Hello, hello,’ the man says with a fake smile. ‘I was not here to welcome you last night. So sorry. I’m Oroma Atoka, the manager.’

  I stretch out my hand to shake his, but I see a slight hesitation. He looks around quickly. The coast seems clear, so he takes my hand.

  ‘Dr Taiwo?’

  ‘Yes. And this is Chika, my assistant.’

  Atoka nods towards Chika. ‘We met when he came to book the rooms. He paid for two weeks, but we have a problem.’

  ‘A problem?’ I ask with a studied polite concern.

  ‘Yes.’ The manager’s head bounces in pretend apology, then he turns to Chika. ‘You see when I spoke with you, Mr Chika, I didn’t know my girl in reception had already booked a party of people coming for a wedding. All the way from Lagos and even some from Abuja. The wedding is next week, and I’m afraid I’ll not be able to accommodate you longer than one week.’

  ‘But we paid in advance,’ Chika protests, annoyed.

  ‘I’ll return your money,’ the manager offers too quickly, ‘and even see whether you can get accommodation in another guest house. There are nicer ones in Aluu, and even in Obio Akpor. I assure you, our small town has little to offer compared to those two.’

  ‘You must be joking.’ Chika’s tone is derisive and irritated all at once. ‘When I came, I explained to you that we might even extend our stay, and you assured me you’d have rooms for us for as long as we’re here.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ I quickly intervene, sensing Chika is not beyond a fist fight at this point. ‘Look, Mr Atoka, let’s talk about it in a week when the wedding is closer. I’m sure we can arrange something before then.’

  The manager appears thrown by my compliance. He stutters a bit as he answers.

  ‘It may even be less than a week. We have to prepare the rooms for the guests –’

  ‘A week and we talk, okay?’ I say in a voice that indicates the matter is closed and walk past him. Chika follows.

  When we get to my room, Chika is a ball of rage.

  ‘Somebody got to him!’

  ‘We shouldn’t jump to conclusions.’

  ‘Sir, did you see the way people were looking at us when we were driving back?’

  I nod, reluctant to verbalise assumptions without more facts.

  ‘I’m telling you, sir, someone told him to get rid of us!’

  ‘And there’s nothing we can do about that,’ I say to stop him pacing around the room like a restless bull. ‘We can only plan around it. Are there any other guest houses or hotels around?’

  ‘There’s quite a number but none as nice as this one.’

  I look around at my room. As far as rooms go in a town like this, it’s okay. But I consider the ache in my shoulder blades from the lumpy mattress, the horrible breakfast, and shudder to think about the state of the other guest houses in town.

  ‘Besides,’ Chika continues, ‘if someone wants the manager to get rid of us, I’m sure the same instruction has been given to all the other hotels in town. If we leave here, sir, I’m very sure we won’t get accommodation anywhere else.’

  ‘We can move to another town,’ I suggest, although I would hate to lose out on the benefits of staying in Okriki itself.

  ‘Most are not so close. The ones closer to the university are just as bad and not worth their room rate.’ He shakes his head, and I get a glimpse of how stubborn he can be. ‘No. We must stay here.’

  I check my watch. Time is going. ‘We still have a week to sort it out. For now, come and help me with something.’

  I connect my phone to my laptop. ‘If you can compare the pictures we took this morning with the video footage of the lynching, I’d appreciate it. Make notes of anything that catches your attention. But concentrate on the scenery. Nothing else.’

  I am hoping doing this will keep Chika occupied while I figure out our next steps. If the file he prepared for me yesterday is anything to go by, I suspect Chika will deliver on the task.

  I open the video in another window, while the pictures download on to my hard drive. Chika sighs as soon as the infamous opening frames begin.

  ‘I know it’s not pleasant,’ I say apologetically, ‘but we need screenshots of the scenes that match the ones we drove by today.’

  The download done, I disconnect my phone from the MacBook as Chika sits at the desk and pulls the laptop closer to him.

  I then dial Abubakar Tukur’s number.

  A SON OF THE SOIL

  ‘Dr Taiwo!’ Inspector Omereji exclaims as soon as Chika and I enter his office. ‘We called PH, and as luck would have it, they happened to have made copies of the files we sent to the Prosecutor General’s office. As soon as they told me the copies were available, I immediately sent someone to get them.’

  He waves his hand
at the boxes on his desk like a magician revealing a previously chopped-up assistant now hale and hearty. Given the traffic I experienced from the airport yesterday, only a helicopter could have brought the files so quickly from Port Harcourt to the Okriki Police Station.

  ‘Will I be able to speak with the investigating officers?’ I make my tone hopeful and respectful.

  ‘That still needs to be arranged. The men are busy, Doctor.’

  ‘I can also speak with you,’ I venture to test the waters.

  ‘You don’t know?’ he asks, eyebrows arched. ‘I was posted back here about six months after the unfortunate event.’

  I take note of his deliberately proper pattern of speech. Like he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing. I sometimes forget Abubakar is more than just the Commandant of the Police College but also part of the Hausa oligarchy, with strong political connections. If Abubakar pulled all the strings I know him to be capable of, there’s no doubt the previously arrogant Inspector is in the hot seat. I wouldn’t be surprised if he is recording this conversation.

  ‘Where were you before, if you don’t mind my asking?’ My tone is as formal as his, infused with the mildest of curiosity.

  ‘Of course not. It’s public knowledge. I was posted from Kano.’

  ‘Coming back to Okriki must be a far cry from a big city like Kano,’ I say, trying to see behind his blank smile.

  ‘It’s home. I’m from here. I even went to TSU.’

  ‘I also went to TSU. What year?’ Chika asks.

  ‘I graduated in 2011.’ If there’s a softening of attitude towards Chika because they’re alumni of the same university, I can’t see it. ‘Sociology. You?’

  ‘Two thousand twelve,’ says Chika. ‘Computer science.’

  Omereji frowns at Chika but says nothing. There’s an awkward silence that begs to be broken.

  ‘So, you’re a son of the soil,’ I interject with contrived joviality.

  But Omereji doesn’t respond in kind. The blank smile comes back, but his gaze on Chika doesn’t waver. It’s Chika who breaks the tension by walking to Inspector Omereji’s desk and picking up two of the boxes.