October 12, 2012
“Hurry up, Ngozi. Have you taken the key? We should go quickly so that we can return before mama comes back.”
“I have kept the key inside my pant but I need to finish my homework first.” Ngozi answered, squinting at her notebook. “Mama says if I want to become a doctor, I must always do my homework.”
Ifeoma hissed. “Oya bring your book let me help you.”
“What is two plus two?”
“Six.” Ifeoma replied quickly as Ngozi scribbled on her notebook.
“What is four plus six?”
“That is seven.”
“How do you pronounce c-a-t?”
“Ehn… that is GOAT.”
“How do you pronounce j-o-y?”
“J-o-y is CUP.”
Ten minutes later, eight-year old Ifeoma hurried down the street as six-year old Ngozi followed behind.
The crowd surged forward, propelled by the kind of hate that invades a person and leaves him wondering minutes later what came over him. The President had hardly finished his national broadcast when the streets began to come alive. Traders hurriedly closed up and schools called on parents to come for their wards.
The first lady of the country, Mrs. Olubunmi Coker had - according to the news from the President - just been pronounced dead at the Imo State University Teaching Hospital after eating food prepared in the popular eatery, Stomach Palava. According to the President, Stomach Palava had been paid by the First Lady’s hosts to prepare the food she would eat when she came to commission two blocks of classrooms in a primary school in the area.
She was halfway into the food when she started holding her stomach. She was rushed to the hospital, foaming from the mouth, and thirty minutes later, she was dead.
Enraged, the president had gone on air to announce the “assassination” of his wife by anti-democratic forces that could not reach him and had turned on his wife.
“I call on every peace-loving Nigerian who feels pained by this act to mourn with me and avenge my wife’s untimely demise. It’s me today. Who knows who it’ll be tomorrow?” He had concluded.
The crowd had gathered, building up slowly at first, and then gaining momentum as they marched towards the Stomach Palava located in the area. The workers there, on seeing the crowd approaching, had hurriedly thrown off their Stomach Palava wears, escaped through the back door and joined up with the crowd.
Stones and sticks were hurled at the eatery. It didn’t take long before someone produced a keg of petrol and tires. The police came just in time to stop them from burning the eatery; shooting teargas into the air to disperse the angry crowd.
October 13, 2012
“What do we know?” Agent Dauda asked the younger DSS agent sitting beside him in the white DSS truck.
“We know that the Odemudia family has reason to want Mrs, sorry, Late Mrs Coker dead. Last year, she forcefully acquired their land so that she could build supermarkets there. They had appealed and fought in court but had lost. That land has been in the family for fifty years now and she snatched it just like that.”
“But she paid them, right?”
“No, she did not. She claimed that because they fought her for the land, she would show them what it meant to have power.”
Agent Dauda sighed. “But how could they have had access to the Stomach Palava food and poisoned it? Call Dele and ask him to dig up everything he can find on the boss of the Stomach Palava around here. Tell him I need it as soon as possible.”
“Yes sir.”
Agent Dauda was in the front seat, his head thrown backwards and his semi-automatic gun lying on his laps. Beside him, his partner, Agent Chibuzor slept, his chest rising and falling while he snored quietly.
He looked outside the window of their white DSS truck to see more police trucks passing, sirens blaring loudly. He sighed and resumed humming to himself when the loud ring of his phone made him sit up and reach for his pocket.
“Yes?” He answered.
“Sir, you won’t believe this.” The voice on the phone announced.
“What is it?”
“The head of the Stomach Palava around this area is Mr. Charles Idafe.”
“Ok.” Agent Dauda answered cautiously. “Dele, am I supposed to know that name?”
“He’s cousin to the Odemudias.”
“What?!” He shook Chibuzor awake and asked him to start the vehicle. “Thanks for the info, Dele. I’ll be in touch.”
Five DSS trucks parked in front of the airport as the occupants got down and ran into the airport building. Those loitering around scattered in different directions as others hid behind their bags screaming “Jesus.”
Two of the DSS agents approached a man who was making efforts to cover his face and wrestled him to the ground, hitting him with the butt of their guns before pulling him up, placing his hands in handcuffs and covering his face with a sack.
“Look, I know the way this looks,” Mr Idafe spoke up as the sack was removed from his head. “But I can assure you that it’s not what you think.”
“Really?” An agent stood up and hit him with a baton. “What does it look like and what is it?”
“I did not poison her. I did not.”
“So why did you run?”
"I know the way this country works. I knew it was only a matter of time before you made the connection between me and the Odemudias and when you did, nothing else would matter and looking at where I am, I was right."
Another agent tried to hit him but Dauda raised his hand up to halt him. “So, how did the first lady die of food poisoning while eating food prepared from your eatery?”
“Sir, I… I… don’t know.”
“You are not ready to confess, bah? Don’t worry; continue protecting those who sent you. By the time we are through with you, you will wish you had talked.”
“Oga, abeg, don’t punish me for what I know nothing about.” Mr Idafe spoke up, his voice breaking and tears streaming down his eyes.
“So, who did it?”
“I don’t know. Our former chef died last week, I hired another one and she resumed two days ago. She…”
“Hold on, hold on. You hired a new chef and she resumed two days ago? And you didn’t tell us this because?”
“I didn’t think it was important, sir. Besides, she can never do something like that. She is an S.U and she attends The Lord’s Chosen church.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Chibuzor screamed at him. “My friend, give me her name and address.”
October 14, 2012
Blessed Assurance, Jesus is mine.
O! What a foretaste of glory divine…
As they parked the DSS trucks in front of The Lord’s Chosen church and Chibuzor heard the hymn, he remembered his church-going days; those days when all he ever thought of was church and all he ever wanted was to be a missionary to some strange land. Now, those thoughts and wishes have become so distant.
Four of them marched to the door of the church while the rest stayed behind. When the pastor saw them, he hurriedly came outside and asked why they were in his church.
“We need to see Glory Eze.” Agent Dauda answered.
“Oh! Why do you want to see her? She is leading the congregational hymn now.”
“We don’t care. Will you call her out or do we need to come inside and drag her out ourselves?”
The pastor bowed his head and went inside. Two minutes later, he reappeared with an angry-looking Glory Eze.
“What you want?” She asked angrily.
“We need to ask you some questions.”
“And you no fit wait till after church?” She asked, her voice rising. “You people no get respect for God?”
Chibuzor hissed. “It looks like you have forgotten what country you live in. You must have watched too many American movies to think you can address Nigerian security operatives the way you are doing.”
“Wetin you wan do me?” She answered defiantly.
One of the DSS agents cocked his gun and Glory kept quiet, taking two or three steps back.
“Now that we have your attention,” Agent Dauda started. “Have you heard that Mrs Coker, the first lady, is dead?”
“I hear, I hear.” She replied, clapping her hands.
"You see dis our God, na tangba o. Dat woman wey dey do like say she no go die. When she carry bulldozer come village and ask them to clear my palm oil trees, I beg her she no gree. I come pray to God say, this woman wey suffer me and my pikins o, God Jehovah, give am the kain punishment wey she deserve. When I hear say she don die, I just kneel down begin to thank Jehovah God."
“Do you know how she died?”
“I no wan know. God don do his own work; who I be to dey ask how im do am?”
“She died holding her stomach as she ate food from Stomach Palava, food that you prepared.”
Glory went quiet.
“My food?” Dauda nodded. “She eat my food and die?” Another nod. “No be me kill am o.” She blurted out.
“Who did?”
“I no know o.”
“Who else prepared the food with you?”
“Na only me dey prepare the rice. Since the time wey I don dey sell food for village, na only me dey cook my food.”
“So, why did the First Lady die after eating your food?”
Two days later, Glory was paraded in Abuja as the killer of the First Lady. Her motive was given as anger over the bulldozing of her palm oil trees in Umulula village by men following the first lady’s instructions.
“Did you bring the bottle with you?” Ifeoma asked her sister as they sat in a small room at the back of the now abandoned Stomach Palava eatery.
“Yes.” She brought out a big bottle with something whitish inside. “See.”
“That is good.” Ifeoma said as she collected the bottle.
“What is written on the bottle?” Ngozi asked as she struggled to read the words.
“I have told you that it is salt.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I am.” Ifeoma answered impatiently. “Oya, read out the alphabets.”
"R-a-t P-o-i-s-o-n."
"That is SWEET SALT. I already told you."
“Okay.” Ngozi answered. “It’s my turn today. When we came on Friday, we were able to add this SWEET SALT to just one cooler of food before we heard mama coming.”
“But all this food has spoiled.” Ifeoma said, pointing at the pile of smelly food in the cooler.
“It does not mean. You are teaching me how to cook; I don’t have to eat it. How many spoons of the SWEET SALT should I add to this plate?”
“One big spoon.” Ifeoma replied. “Just like the last time.”