Echoes of support had begun to reverberate through social media. Emeka’s colleagues and friends formed a ring around him, putting out messages attesting to the quality of his character. ‘One thing I know about Emeka is he is honest and straightforward, judicious and hardworking. He has no reason to lie about this; he’s a very solid guy. I stand with him and his fiancée. Due process must be followed and we will not allow any form of intimidation from the police or any other party,’ a popular venture capitalist posted on his Facebook account. But I thought Emeka deserved to be given the benefit of doubt even if he wasn’t a ‘solid guy’.
The police released a statement denying involvement in any form of intimidation tactics and the vans disappeared from around Emeka’s house; Edikan called to inform me that they’d left my house as well.
Tare put up a video on her Instagram page cursing the board of the actors’ guild. ‘Foolish old men, you should be ashamed of yourselves! Suspending an actress for standing with a victim of rape. How exactly has she shamed the profession? Who is Charles? Let him come and tell us exactly what Zina has done.’ Marve and Cassandra congregated in her comments cheering her on and issuing their own share of insults. The guild announced they were suspending the three of them for disreputable behaviour. It was then other actors and actresses poured out in protest.
‘We are with you, Zina. Don’t even worry about it,’ Tare messaged me to say. ‘I’m a South-South woman, they can never intimidate me. They should go and ask about my ancestors, they fought the British with their last blood, these people don’t know who they’re joking with.’
The guild issued a statement not long after rescinding all suspensions, including mine.
‘Good people will always rise when the time comes,’ Zino said. ‘This country has good people. Sometimes we forget that because we’re so overwhelmed by the bad.’
Zino brought on Dr Ojeme, SAN, OFR, a well-known, seasoned lawyer to take on the case. ‘A senior advocate of Nigeria? You want to finish all my money?’ I protested.
‘He offered to do it pro bono actually, and even if he didn’t, you think I would have allowed you to pay for that?’
Dr Ojeme wore his glasses on the bridge of his nose, bringing to mind a character from a comic skit that broadcasted on the government-owned television station in the late ’80s. ‘You all have to be prepared, mentally and emotionally. This is a process that will take time; our judicial system isn’t exactly the quickest,’ he said. We were gathered in his office to discuss the next steps. He stared pointedly at Ego; she would be the one to bear the brunt of it.
She was already under pressure at work. ‘They want me to retract the statement. They say that it’s placing an unnecessary spotlight on the company and their work. I’ve taken an indefinite leave of absence,’ she’d told me just days before.
Emeka placed a hand over hers as Ego nodded solemnly. ‘I understand.’
Dr Ojeme continued, ‘Unfortunately, at this moment, the statute of limitations for rape in Nigeria is only two months so we cannot file another criminal case against him. The perfect time would have been when it happened. I understand that the case was botched, but the fact that you filed back then provides a good basis for our case. There are no time limitations on a civil case and a police investigation. We also have a DNA sample. There aren’t many forensic labs in the country, so we would most likely have to cover the costs for that. I have to say, your mother was a very wise woman for taking you to a hospital first.’
Eriife’s caller ID took over my screen the morning we were to head to the police station. Zino was dressed in a suit despite my insistence against it. ‘You weren’t summoned, it’s just the three of us,’ I’d told him.
I considered not picking up; we had nothing to talk about, except she’d somehow found the time to read about the case in the midst of the frenzy of political gatherings and machinations.
Campaigns for national elections were already in overdrive even though they were several months away; I was still yet to wrap my head around the fact that almost four years had passed since the last election. Before the blow up with Dera at Zino’s place, Dapo had talked about the likely candidates to emerge from the major political parties and Simi had questioned the integrity of voting for only candidates from major political parties. ‘It’s the same in America, they only vote for the two parties and talk about how things are the same.’
‘It’s about practicality over morality,’ Dapo responded. ‘Which of these other guys can actually win without the backing of the grassroot infrastructure these major parties have built over the years? Does the average man in my village know any of these other guys? It’s about a choice between the lesser of two evils. I can’t be wasting my vote on someone that can’t win please.’
‘But everyone is saying this candidate is a thief,’ Simi said.
Dapo rolled his eyes. ‘Aren’t they all?’
I accepted Eriife’s call, and we went through the perfunctory greetings.
‘I’m calling to discuss this with you because I understand how sensitive this is, but you’ve always been very realistic,’ she said. ‘Nwakaego needs to be convinced to drop the case against this pastor. He possesses a significant level of influence amongst the young people in the country. With elections coming up, many campaigners have planned visits to his church and are dependent on his endorsement and support. This case is making things difficult for them, especially now that social media is divided over this issue.’
‘Is this really why you called me?’
‘Listen, I’m only doing this because I care deeply about the both of you. I do not want you to be casualties in this; they’re willing to go to any length to squash this.’
‘Ready?’ Zino asked me, peeping his head into the room.
I tucked my phone in my handbag without ending the call and left Eriife to speak to herself.
30
Outcomes
Churches and hospitals. Two sets of places I avoided for the unpleasant memories they managed to stir, memories I would rather forget. That Christmas, I drove down the main Lekki expressway until I sighted an illuminated metal cross on the arched rooftop of a cathedral, coloured stained-glass windows danced in the setting sun like rainbow rays. I pulled into the crowded car park and turned off the ignition. Men, women and children milled into the two-story edifice in time-honoured Christmas colours: red, green, blue, gold. I rubbed a sweaty palm across the ruffled skirt of my red dress and buckled my gold sandals; at least I’d gotten the dress code right.
‘We hold the best Christmas cantatas every year. Every top celebrity attends, even those that don’t go to church on a regular day,’ Tare had boasted. ‘You should come; you would enjoy it. You need your spirit uplifted after the year you’ve had.’
‘I don’t enjoy such things,’ I’d said. Yet here I was in a crowded car park, a brand-new Bible peeping out of my bag. I’d tried to get Zino to come as well.
‘What are you talking about? I’m at the airport.’ He was spending Christmas with his mother in Germany, their first holiday together in over two decades, brought about by the most unlikely circumstances.
The court ruling had come first, expedited by the intensity of public interest. ‘The Nigerian legal system isn’t built to protect victims of sexual violence, unfortunately,’ Dr Ojeme explained after a High Court in Abuja threw out Nwakaego’s case and ordered that she pay a significant sum for wasting the court’s time prior to completion of a police investigation.
The disparagers had returned to my comments to jubilate. God had done it. He’d disgraced the wicked and lying serpents that had tried to pull down a man of God. I’d stopped answering calls from unknown numbers at that point, bored of the constant threats and attempts at intimidation.
‘But there’s DNA evidence and precedence,’ Emeka protested, looking ready to drag the lawyer by his collar. Several other women had come forward to anonymously share their experiences at the hand of Pastor Kamsi. I tried not to be offended by their cowardice, to understand why they’d chosen to shield themselves from the venom of the religious public, but their chosen shield was my friend, and it was difficult not to bear a grudge.
‘There’s still hope,’ Dr Ojeme said, adjusting his glasses and ruffling through the papers on his desk. ‘The police are completing their investigation; afterwards, they will forward their findings to the Ministry of Justice for prosecution. We just have to be watchful and ensure that the powers that be don’t scupper the case.’
In front of Ego, I was confident and reassuring. ‘We will see this to the end. Kamsi will be held accountable. Dr Ojeme is very experienced, I’m sure of it,’ I said to her, gripping her hands tight and willing her to not lose hope.
‘We were always prepared for a long-haul battle,’ Ego replied with a peace that confounded, then she smiled. ‘I know you don’t believe me, Zina, but I’m very aware of the reality of this country. I’m tougher than you think.’
In the privacy of my home, I shattered glass, a single swipe of my hand sending the variegated bottles of perfumes and oils on my dresser flying to the floor, clogging the air with an asphyxiating blend of lavender, musk and spices.
I called Zino crying. In Sunday school, our teachers had taught a scripture: ‘Be sure of this: The wicked will not go unpunished.’ My mother had recited it often during her vigils, screaming the words as she prayed against her enemies. Then why did they seemingly prosper? Why were they venerated, even in death, enduring monuments erected in their honour?
That evening, Zino put out a statement via his social media accounts. He used them only for work; I’d doubted he even knew the passwords. In his statement, he denounced the efforts to scuttle the case, but that was not what caused conversation. It was the name he signed at the end, a name I’d never identified with him. A name with a powerful surname.
There was a Christmas play. A boy in a curly wig played Joseph, and I wondered from my seat in the back pew since when Joseph had had blond hair, or if it was the only wig the frazzled children’s church teacher that stood by the side of the stage coordinating their activities could find in the market. A fair-skinned girl with naturally loose curly hair that didn’t need a wig played Mary, and I thought she looked familiar from a distance. Cassandra ran forward then with a photographer and her phone to take pictures. The girl appeared embarrassed as she tried to focus on her role. She was to turn ten in a few months; I knew because Cassandra would not stop talking about the grand plans she had for the party. I did the maths in my head, trying to calculate how old the baby would have been. Would I have been a parent like Cassandra, ever present and over the top? Or more measured like Tare, who complained about attending children’s parties, ‘They’re always screaming!’
