‘Our problem as a country is that we engage in low quality theft,’ Yunusa said. ‘We have people who have only ever been in politics running important sectors. Even if we want to steal, we should at least not do so at our own detriment. Allow businesses to flourish and tax them to their teeth.’
Nzube looked down at his empty plate and raised a hand towards the direction of the dining area where I was pretending to be engrossed in coordinating the stewards in arranging food trays and setting the table for their lunch. ‘Madam, any more puff-puff?’ Nzube asked.
Yunusa tapped him lightly on the shoulder. ‘Nzube, is that how to speak to the madam of the house? You think you’re in a mamaput?’ Then to me he said, with an alluring smile, ‘Madam, please don’t mind Nzube, our friend is a village man.’
Soye held my gaze as if to say: I told you so.
We’d concluded our landscape assessment and set up temporary offices in selected states of the country to provide support.
‘Start small then expand into other areas and gain more partners. But I’ll advise you to limit your expectations,’ Mrs Aluko said.
I handed over management of the clinic to a medical director and poured my hours into coordination efforts. Then one day, a staff member from up north called. One of our officials had been picked up by the Hisbah police for running a kiosk selling alcohol from his home, and his sister for indecent dressing. Before this, we’d faced pushback from some of our political associates. ‘Madam it is against the will of God to regulate the number of children.’ An official in another state had blatantly informed us not to expect significant support from the governor as he was a ‘staunch Catholic’.
Mrs Aluko had laughed the next time we’d spoken. ‘They need the population numbers to rig the elections their way.’
In the middle belt, we were facing a different sort of crisis: insecurity. There had been several clashes between herdsmen and the local farmers who didn’t want their farms decimated by the herdsmen’s grazing animals. I thought of my grandfather and what he would say of the government once again ignoring the cries of the minority, of our people. His farmlands had been sold off not long after his death. But for years, I’d harboured thoughts about buying them back, of returning to the corrugated roofed room with the handcrafted hardback chair and reliving those moments with him. And now even that seemed impossible. ‘Nigeria giveth and Nigeria taketh away,’ he’d loved to say.
When Soye returned that evening, his kaftan wrinkled in several places by activity, his only interest was food. ‘I’ve been in meetings all day!’ he said as he wolfed down the meal prepared by Moses.
I pushed an empty glass tumbler in front of him and filled it with water, listening to him vent about the day he’d had. He eyed me with open suspicion. ‘Oya talk,’ he said.
‘I don’t understand,’ I replied, feigning innocence.
‘You’re watching me eat like you kept gold in my mouth. You want something. You think I don’t know you this woman?’
I chuckled and rolled my eyes. ‘Soye abeg.’
He held my hand and rubbed a thumb across my knuckles. ‘Iyawo mi. I’m happy you’re pursuing this project the way you are. Thank you for doing it for me, I know you didn’t want to give up the clinic,’ he said. Maybe that was the problem – I’d always been willing to do anything for him. At some point in our relationship, his wants had become mine, his ambitions my ambitions. We were bound by more than name – Love? Obsession? Time? – and sometimes I thought that if someone were to cut him, I would bleed instead.
‘One of our officers and his wife have been arrested,’ I said.
His brows creased with worry. ‘Why? What did they do?’
‘Alcohol and indecent dressing.’
He sighed. ‘I’ll try to make some calls.’
‘How is this allowed to happen?’ I fumed. ‘We can’t be living in the same country and existing under different laws? It’s ridiculous. Alcohol is illegal in certain parts but VAT from alcohol sales is collated and shared nationally. What even is indecent dressing in a secular democracy? Where is the bottom? You should bring it up on the floor of the assembly!’
Soye started. ‘Are you trying to destroy my career? I’ve already said I’ll make some calls so your people get released. What more do you want?’
‘And what about those that don’t have connections?’
‘See, I think you’re overestimating the level of influence I have. I’m just a state legislative member. Eri, I’ve had a long day, please I’m tired.’
I got up and left him at the table. In our room, I paced, agitated. I picked up my phone and thought of who to call to vent the emotions boiling within me, someone who would understand without taking Soye’s side or returning it back to him. And at that moment, I realised I had no friends. My life had become subsumed within his; his friends were my friends and my friends were wives of his friends. The only friends I had, I’d lost.
He massaged my shoulders later that night as I sat in front my dressing table, his fingers kneading their way in and out above my clavicle.
‘Soye, please leave me alone,’ I muttered, feeling small and feeble. I would give in, I knew. I always gave in.
‘Are you sure about him?’ Aunty Uju had asked with barely concealed concern on the morning of our wedding. And I thought then, as I did now that she must have seen something in him that I couldn’t. But it was too late to turn back – I had no one else.
Soye dropped a gold-backed scroll in front of me. ‘Look what was delivered to my office today,’ he said.
‘What’s this?’ I asked, as I unfurled the object.
‘Senator Balarabe’s son is getting married to an emir’s daughter and we’re invited.’
I read the golden words on the scroll and handed it back without a word.
‘Eri, why are you being like this? Do you realise how huge this is? Not everyone can get an invite like this. It means we’re making all the right moves. Even the president will be in attendance; we can make all the right connections.’
‘This is all you care about, so I’m happy for you,’ I said and turned around to look at him. ‘When did you become this person? I’m not expecting you to transform the system, I’m not even expecting you to be incorruptible. But do you even care about doing the bare minimum? You weren’t like this when we met.’
He frowned. ‘See, the issue is you’re too involved in this project. I expected you to do as much as you could and leave the rest in the hands of the experts. All this is unnecessary.’
Kano was coated in dust like a carapace. I itched to peel it back just to see what the city looked like underneath.
‘It’s the harmattan. You know it’s almost the year end,’ Soye explained, grinning out the cabin window like a child on a school trip as we landed at the airport. Private jets scattered like toy aircraft across the tarmac. Soye continued to chat animatedly. ‘I’ve counted more than forty jets, and there are still many more on the other end. Were there this many jets for the inauguration ceremony?’
‘Definitely more. Is a wedding more important than the swearing in of a sitting president?’ Nzube responded.
‘I hear all the five-star hotels in town are fully booked; we were lucky to get the rooms we did,’ Soye said.
A week of festivities had been ongoing before our arrival – glitzy polo matches, a bride-price-exchange ceremony, an ornamental-henna night, amongst others. Newspapers and blogs flooded with pictures of each festivity, underlined by dolorous complaints from residents and rogue imams about such an exuberant display of wealth in the midst of endemic poverty. Before the festivities, official pre-wedding photos of the couple had been released – a wide-nosed young man whose eyes held the cameras in a commanding glare and a wispy thin girl who looked to be about Adelola’s age; I found it strange that they did not smile at each other in any of the photos.
The wedding fatiha had been held early in the day at the palace mosque and a giant elaborate marquee had been erected within the palace walls to house the weekend festivities. Heavy security presence dotted the landscape: police, military and paramilitary officers in bulletproof vests, wielding automatic rifles. And I thought of the article lamenting the tremendous disparities. One woman had told the paper: ‘When our children are being killed, these security personnel are nowhere to be found but suddenly we’re seeing machine guns and weapons just because their children are getting married. God will punish them!’
