Chapter 4: Masquerade Shadows

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3

When we reach Ungwan Dogo—over ten kilometers away—na 6:35am.

Dew still dey ground, air thick with wet cold. The trek enter bush long, slippers dey snap, person dey curse under breath.

Sky never bright well, but I fit see the scene.

Police light dey flash blue and red, casting shadow wey resemble masquerade dance. One woman dey spray perfume, say make evil spirit no near the corpse. The bush quiet, too quiet, like all the animals fear join us.

Under one thick, low baobab tree, one burnt corpse dey hang.

The tree itself na old warrior, trunk thick, roots dey show for surface. Even birds no perching for am. The air bitter, smell of burnt flesh and smoke.

Inside police line, big stones, lighter, and empty bottles scatter everywhere.

One small purse, torn wrapper, and iron chain dey near tree—signs of struggle. The place get eerie silence.

One bearded police officer waka come, tell us to stand outside the line to check if na Halima die.

He look me hard, as if to warn me not to try anything. His Hausa accent thick, command sharp, eyes alert.

But distance far, and the body burn sotey nobody fit recognize am.

The corpse no get face again—just black and red skin, burnt cloth. Even gold earring wey dey shine before, now melt.

Inside the crowd, Halima papa see am, fear catch am, he faint immediately.

People rush with sachet water, some dey slap his face, others dey sprinkle Kunu for him mouth. He no move.

As people rush carry am go car, I use the chance slip enter the cordon, run straight to the corpse.

My heart dey hammer. The ground dey spin, but I no care. I gats see with my own eyes.

I no understand. I no wan believe.

How the woman wey I see yesterday go just turn dead body?

My head dey shake, my legs weak, tears dey threaten. For my mind, na only Halima voice dey echo.

No. E no fit be true.

I dey beg God, ancestors, anybody wey dey listen. 'Abeg, not my own.'

I must see with my eye.

She no fit be my fiancée.

As I kneel, I dey pray say I go see one sign say na stranger. My breath catch, I whisper, 'Ya Allah, ka rufa min asiri!'

“Hey! Wetin you dey do? Stop there!”

The bearded officer rush, hold me down for ground.

The sand cold, his grip strong. Other officers dey shout, their boots kick dust for my face.

Him eye red with vex as he press me:

“You know say na crime to scatter crime scene?”

His breath hot for my ear. People dey gather, some dey record with phone.

“Haha… hahahaha…”

My laugh shock am. He turn me, eye sharp with confusion:

“Wetin dey worry you?”

He look me like person wey don craze. But I just dey laugh, tears mix with dust. My spirit weak but relief dey inside me.

I no answer. I just lie there, dey smile like mumu as tears wash my face.

That kind pain and joy mix na only God fit explain. For that moment, na only gratitude dey my heart.

Yes, I see am.

Even though the leg burn well, for inside right ankle, small part still dey.

No butterfly tattoo.

No be Halima.

As I rise, my knees dey shake, but I dey thank God for small mercy. My fiancée still dey somewhere, alive—or so I believe. The weight for my chest reduce, but new worry enter: if no be her, then who?