Chapter 8: Pain and Survival

Inspector Garba and me shock.

For street, people dey whisper. Police dey look each other. The air cold like rainy season.

"Madam Hanatu, anything wey you talk now na serious. You dey admit say you kill Musa?"

Inspector Garba voice dey shake. He open small book, dey write.

"Yes, I admit. Na me kill am. Abeg, tell me—if I no fit kill who kill my pikin, wetin remain for me to live for?"

Her voice strong, but you fit hear pain for inside. Women dey cry, some men dey clap, others dey shout, "Na true! Na true!"

Aunty Hanatu begin cry. Inspector Garba confuse, call female police to console her.

One young officer hug her, say, "Mama, take heart. Nor talk again. Na pain dey worry you."

Even though I shock, I respect Aunty Hanatu sense. Her answer even better than wetin I plan.

She use confession take block further investigation. Police go confuse, think say na pain dey make her talk anyhow.

Police work na serious thing, dem sabi psychology, biology, all the tricks.

Dem fit use small lie catch person, but Aunty Hanatu flip the script. Na so street wisdom dey work.

To lie for police front hard, especially if na experienced officer—dem dey see lie sharp sharp.

Some officers dey look her, dey reason if she dey mad or if pain don wound her.

My plan before na make Aunty Hanatu talk small as possible.

But this confession scatter everything. Sometimes, na to use madness chase madness.

But Aunty Hanatu just turn the matter back to police: I talk true—believe me or not, na your wahala.

Everybody for shop dey quiet. Na so real wahala dey make street humble.

Inspector Garba no take her serious. E think say na just pain dey make her talk. So, dem leave her.

He eye soft, say, "Madam, abeg nor talk again. We understand. Pain dey wound you."

He bring notebook, begin ask Aunty Hanatu where she dey every hour, dey check her alibi.

He dey write time, date, everything. People dey peep, try hear her answer.

From CCTV, police sabi when Musa disappear, but e no help, because na me carry Musa, and Aunty Hanatu dey her shop, customers full ground.

Thank God say customer witness plenty. Even market women dey swear say Hanatu no waka go anywhere that day.

As long as police no suspect another person, Aunty Hanatu story strong.

Inspector Garba reason am, see say Aunty Hanatu no get chance to do the thing. He bring out gloves. "Madam Hanatu, abeg, make we check your shop small. We no go touch anything."

He try smile, but I know say na formality. Some neighbors follow, dey look as police dey search.

Police begin search everywhere. Dem pack rolling pin, bread knife, even butter knife—anything wey fit wound person, enter evidence bag.

I dey follow them, dey count the things. One old woman even dey joke, "Abeg, nor carry my rolling pin o!"

One police check warehouse, wardrobe, fridge. Another dey use tape pick hair and fingerprints for ground. Another dey knock wall, raise ceiling, check everywhere.

Inspector Garba himself dey sweat, but e no stop. Na real police work I dey see for the first time.

Inspector Garba focus on bakery oven. He say he from Kano, their family get similar oven for bread, but their own small.

"By the way, how high this oven fit reach for heat?"

He dey inspect all corner, like person wey dey look for lost goat.

"About five hundred degrees. I dey use three hundred."

She answer quick. Na so we practice am. If you talk too much, dem go catch you.

Inspector Garba nod. I know say e dey calculate whether oven fit burn body.

He look the fire mark for oven, knock the side. "You dey use wood or charcoal?" Hanatu answer, "Sometimes both, but na gas mostly."

To burn bone well, oven must hot pass normal bread heat—na real fire wey dey roast goat head.

But I don make tool wey make oven reach above eight hundred, so we fit destroy Musa remain.

I show Hanatu how to add extra firewood at night. The thing work like charm.

After search, police arrange everything back. Inspector Garba ask Aunty Hanatu, "Apart from here, you get any other shop, warehouse, or house?"

Aunty Hanatu shake head. "No, we dey live upstairs, because to make bread..."

She talk, voice steady. For her face, you fit see strength—real Naija woman, dey survive through tears and fire. But for this country, pain dey teach person new way to hide secret. And the street? E no dey forget.