Chapter 3: The Night the Trees Whispered

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2

Long convoy dey speed for highway.

Every horn wey blow na like warning bell for my ear. Relatives dey squeeze inside keke, torchlight dey swing for bush, all of us dey hope say na just prank.

The wedding people change their work from picking bride to searching for missing person.

The musicians wey suppose dey play for wedding dey help shout her name, their drums silent for the first time since morning. My best man dey pray aloud, voice crack with fear.

My fiancée hometown dey outskirts of our local government area.

Dust dey rise as cars dey pass, small children dey run after convoy, curious eyes wide.

No proper light, everybody dey use phone torch, dey find for bush and hill. Crickets dey sing, and sometimes, you go hear owl cry—omen wey make even strong man heart cut.

Somebody carry lantern, but breeze blow am out. One old woman dey call her ancestors, muttering incantation, tossing kola nut on the ground.

“Halima!”

“Ha—li—ma!”

The shouts dey echo, up and down, my mind dey shake like sea for storm.

Even the trees dey answer back with dry whisper. Goat bleat somewhere for distance, like them sef dey search.

How person go just vanish like that?

Nobody fit explain am. Even the youngest child for compound dey keep quiet, fear written for their eyes.

November cold for Jos na real wahala—harmattan breeze dey bite.

My teeth dey knock, fingers numb. I rub my palms together, try remember last time I feel Halima hand warm inside mine.

I wear the suit wey my fiancée choose for me, dey dial her number non-stop.

My agbada stiff with starch, already dirty from bush. My hands dey shake as I press call after call, hope dey die small small.

But all I hear na:

“Sorry, the number you dialed is switched off…”

That voice for network dey repeat, heartless. It sound like final judgment, no mercy.

We date for four years inside university. I sabi her—she dey soft, always wan stay close to me.

Na girl wey dey hold hand for crowd, dey hide behind my back for danfo. For her to disappear like this, e no follow.

For school, if network bad for classroom, she go tell me before.

Her voice always dey my ear, “Musa, abeg, if you no hear me, just tap me.” I dey tap phone now, but e no answer me.

She no fit off her phone and disappear just like that.

Her own na to talk, not to run. Even when she vex, na sulk she dey sulk, she no fit keep secret from me.

Cold breeze blow, the cold enter my bone.

It dey reach that place wey only true love dey touch. I stamp my feet, try ignore the ache.

No matter how I try deny am, reason dey shout for my mind:

Something don happen to my fiancée. Maybe bad thing.

Fear and hope dey fight for my chest. I dey beg God make e be prank.

When day finally break, we don search anyhow for three hours.

Some people dey pray, others dey sleep for ground, waiting for miracle. Me, I just dey stand dey look sky, as if answer go fall from there.

Suddenly, noise burst for front—person collapse for ground.

My heart jump. Even before I see face, I sabi na bad news. People dey rush go front.

I look up. Na Halima papa, Mallam Garba.

The old man chest dey heave, wrapper scatter. Neighbours dey shout, try fan am with plastic plate.

The man just old instantly, back bend with sorrow.

In one night, the man age ten years. E kneel for sand, dust cover im wrapper, voice crack as im call Halima name three times, like prayer. His eyes dull, shoulders heavy like person wey carry village wahala.

I rush go help am up. The man dey shake, dey hold phone, eyes red with tears:

“For bush behind Ungwan Dogo, police find one woman body wey hang herself…”

As he talk am, his voice crack, tears flow like river Benue. People begin wail, some women fall down dey roll for sand. I just stand, cold, empty, only one thing for my mind: 'God, abeg, no let am be Halima.'