Chapter 3: Power and Powerlessness

When my ex-wife dey go, she use cup break my head: “Go chop your blood money!”

The sound of the glass shattering sharp; the pain sharp too, but I no flinch. Blood drip down my temple, warm and sticky. Neighbours gather, some dey shout for peace, others just shake head. Na public disgrace, but I don pass shame now.

“You carry your daughter money, no ever dream say you go see her again for this life!”

I hold the money, hand dey shake, I just wan laugh: “She don go. All this one na empty. Whether we see her again or not, e get meaning?”

For interrogation room, two police dey watch me like hawk, dey listen to every word: “From beginning, you pretend say you collect the money to make Adekunle family relax?”

“Make dem believe say once you take money, you go forget the matter.”

I look past the table, eye the wall clock.

Time dey go, already 11:30. The small clock tick loud, each second remind me say life outside dey move while I remain stuck. I hear faint noise from station yard—shouts, radios, distant hum of traffic. E make me wan vanish. Inside my head, I beg God make this cup pass over me, but my mouth no fit move.

I ask, confused: “Today na June 7th, abi?”

Officer Sani knock table: “No dey play! Talk true, or forget about freedom!”

The older officer look the clock, then talk: “Yes, today na June 7th, first day for university entrance exam.”

He see as my face change, he continue: “Three years of sweat, everything depend on today.”

I see where he dey go, but I still follow play: “If Ngozi dey alive, she for write exam today.”

“But she no dey again.”

“So why those wey hurt am go write exam peacefully?”

I talk am soft, give them wetin dem wan hear.

Bang—the interrogation room door fly open.

Light enter, I blink, almost cry as e blind me.

Some women rush in, all of them dey vex. One look like Bisi Adekunle, just older, skin fresh. Her face resemble my ex-wife own that time.

Mother love na the same everywhere.

“You talk am! Na you kidnap my daughter!”

Officer Bello vein dey show for head, but he try control: “Madam Adekunle, we dey interrogate. No interrupt…”

“Interrogate wetin? Wetin remain to interrogate?”

She dey like lion, wan tear me. “Where you hide my daughter?”

But this time, na her people hold her back, dey beg her calm down.

I raise my hands, voice cool: “I dey for cell since. You people don search my house. No evidence, so make una free me, abi?”

My tone flat, my eyes for table, but inside, my spirit shake like agbalumo tree for harmattan wind. The room full of heat, tension thick as ogbono soup wey sleep overnight.