Chapter 10: The Final Confession

That year, after we find the pictures, the thing wey surprise me be say Musa confess.

He talk the thing for station—mouth no shake. Eyes dey red, but e no cry. I dey watch him, dey wonder if na real confession or fear dey push am.

He talk say na him violate Ngozi that day, say na him snap all the pictures.

For our side, confession na king. Once person talk, the matter dey move fast. Nobody wan drag case for long.

That time, if suspect confess, nobody dey bother too much investigate again.

Our oga just nod, say, "Case closed." E mean less wahala for us.

But Musa na person wey I know, and na only him and him old mama dey. How him fit do that kind thing?

For my mind, I dey reason, "This Musa, e no dey even fit talk to woman for market—how e take reach here?"

I quick quick report give oga, gather my people for meeting, tell everybody make dem no talk about the pictures, beg task force make dem give us some days to check the case well.

I dey beg for small time, make we no rush innocent man. But the system no dey wait.

But na so the next day, the pictures leak everywhere.

Somebody no gree keep mouth. Na so market women dey shout, "See am! See the evil wey dey town!"

All over town, dem paste Musa dirty pictures, write for under:

Some even add their own—“God punish bad person,” “Judgement don land.”

"Corrupting young girls—God no go gree."

Every wall, every pole—Musa picture dey there. Him own shame full pass.

Na so Musa matter scatter for public.

Even friends begin avoid him family. Nobody wan chop curse.

With the way people see am as useless, everybody believe say na him do am.

No lawyer gree stand for Musa. Even imam for mosque keep quiet.

Nobody get mind defend Musa.

Even people wey dey owe am money, deny am. Na so world be.

Every morning, Mama Musa go cry reach police station, dey beg us make we help Musa.

She go carry old wrapper, tie am for chest, kneel for station gate, dey pray, dey beg. Sometimes, she go faint. My heart dey pain me, but hand no fit reach.

But nobody fit help her. For night, police go carry her go house.

Some police dey pity her, others dey laugh. I just dey look, dey think of my own mama.

For 1999 harmattan, dem approve Musa death sentence, kill am.

That morning cold—na so cold reach bone. Harmattan cold dey bite, sky dey grey, even birds quiet for tree. Musa no shout, no beg. He just look me, eyes empty. I never forget.

After that, I no see Mama Musa again.

Some people say she go join son for grave. Others say she waka leave town, no look back.

Everybody know na me carry Musa go station, so dem say na me help solve the case pass.

That one give me respect, but also burden. Some people still dey look me with fear till today.

Police use that one promote me go Makurdi.

But promotion no fit wash away old blood. My conscience still dey bite me sometimes.

Even then, I still dey tell my oga:

I talk am for inside bar one night, after work. “Oga, this Musa matter, e no clear. Make we check again.”

How Musa pictures take leak everywhere? E mean say na person from our station do am.

Person fit even be my friend. Till today, I dey wonder.

Another wahala still dey: Ngozi herself.

She waka come town like breeze, disappear like thunder. No papa, no mama come claim body.

Most of the acrobatic troupe people na waka-waka, no get record.

After show, some go Ghana, some dey run enter Niger. Nobody sabi their house.

Where Ngozi from? Who she be? We no know.

Her passport na fake. Even her accent, sometimes e change. She fit dey from anywhere.

The day dem kill Musa, I take excuse, go the place.

I stand for back, no talk to anybody. Rain dey threaten, sky dey dark. As gun sound, my heart nearly stop.

Na from that time I begin reason say maybe, Musa and Ngozi know each other before.

I begin suspect, maybe their wahala start before acrobatic troupe ever enter our town. Wetin bind two strangers so tight? My spirit no rest, even now. And as I dey write this, I dey hear small knock for my window. Maybe, this night, Ngozi go finally talk her own.