Chapter 7: The Party of the Powerful

Two weeks pass, Baba Sulaimon no show again.

After that day, nobody see am for court again. The news fade small, people move on. Na so Naija life be—pain go trend today, tomorrow another wahala go take over.

I think say matter don finish.

I begin rest small, tell myself say e don pass. But for my dream, Morenike face dey appear sometimes, eyes full of tears. My sleep no pure again.

My mentor come Jos by himself. He book private room for the biggest hotel, call some old school mates—all big men for law and government.

The man dey waka with authority. For Jos, big hotel dey carry respect. He call all him old school people—dem big, dem full stomach. For Naija, connection na everything. That night, dem book entire VIP section, food and wine flow like stream for village.

Waiters dey serve nkwobi and small chops, aircondition dey hum, but my mind dey far. My mentor pat me for shoulder, carry wine measure give me. “Na my best student be this. For my sake, if not for God, abeg?”

He smile, eye dey shine. He pat my back well, pour wine for small glass, give me. "You try well, my son. If no be for me, for God, for law, abeg?" All the oga people dey clap, dey hail me. The night sweet, but for my heart, na bitter leaf dey grow.

I dey happy, hold wine measure, drink am finish, my face red like monkey yansh.

Everybody dey laugh, dey hail. I raise my glass, try smile. Wine sweet but my mouth dey bitter. I dey fake happiness, dey cover pain. Sometimes for Naija, you go smile for face, but inside dey cry.

After drink, as usual, we play small cards. I go ATM next door, withdraw two hundred thousand naira cash.

The card dey sharp, dem dey play big money. After round, my pocket dey dry. I waka reach ATM, withdraw cash, sweat dey my back. For lawyer circle, you must flex money, else dem go use you play.

“You try well this time, Baba Sunday.”

My mentor hail me, call me "Baba Sunday"—inside joke from old time. I just nod, dey laugh small, dey wonder how money dey vanish for card table.

“Six hundred thousand, thanks mentor. The follow up nko?”

The big oga dey count money, smile wide. He ask, "How follow up go be?" Money dey fly for hand. For my mind, I dey calculate how I go survive till month end.

“Six hundred thousand for win, all the same suit. Hahaha, you go pay today.”

Everybody dey laugh. Na so card dey be—sometimes you dey lucky, sometimes luck go show you pepper. I just dey shake head, dey smile. Money na paper for this circle.

I bring out sixty thousand, give am. The two hundred thousand almost finish.

My hand dey shake as I count cash. I dey try form big boy, but my mind dey cry. For lawyer life, sometimes na only show face dey important. Dem no sabi say home dey wait for school fees.

“I don arrange am. Make the boy serve small time, teach am lesson. See as him disturb him papa and mama.”

The way my mentor talk, e be like say na stubborn pikin, no be murderer.

He dey sip wine, dey talk like say na small stubborn goat e dey talk about. "The boy go serve small time, e go learn lesson. After all, see as e disturb him parents." My mouth dey open, but word no fit come out.

But Morenike nko? Wetin she do wrong?

Na that question dey bite me. For Naija, pikin wey get connection fit escape anything. But the girl wey die nko? Her only offence na say she be fine girl, dey hustle for better future. My mind dey heavy.

That moment, I just lost. My mentor notice quick.

He dey watch my face, eye sharp. He sabi say my spirit no dey for the party. For this work, you no fit hide from elders. Na so dem dey test your loyalty.

“Your judgement clean. Death penalty na old school. Which year we dey, still dey do ‘life for life’? Which country still dey kill people?”

He dey talk with pride. "Your judgement pure. Death penalty na old school. No be only Naija dey change—see America, see Europe. Who dey kill people again for court?" The others nod, dey clap hand for table. Na only me dey stiff for chair.

“If you ask me, na the girl no get sense. Her hands don cuff, she still dey fight rape. She no know say na death she dey find? Chastity dey important like that?”

The talk land like slap. The men dey laugh. "If you ask me, na the girl no get sense. After handcuff, still dey struggle—no know say na death she dey find? Wetin be chastity self?" As I hear am, my blood dey hot. Na Naija we dey, but this one pass boundary. I bite tongue, dey swallow vex.

My mentor dey talk with energy, the two oga people dey laugh join am.

The whole table dey loud. All the big men dey agree, dey pour more wine. Na so e be for Naija—big men dey judge matter from comfort, poor man dey judge from pain. My hand dey tremble, but I dey force smile.

“No, you dey wrong.”

My voice low, but strong. I no fit hold am again. My spirit dey rise. For that moment, all the fake smile melt for my face. I stand up, eye red. The room quiet small. My mentor eye wide.

I no fit hold am again. I stand up. My mentor shock small.

I push chair back, stand like person wey dey face firing squad. My voice dey shake but my words clear. "No, sir, you dey wrong." Everybody stop laugh, dey look me.

“Morenike no fight you. The wounds for her wrists no be from fighting rape.”

I clear throat, dey look mentor for face. "Morenike no dey fight rape. The wounds for her hand na as she dey struggle for her life, dey beg for mercy, dey hold hope for small justice. No be pride, no be chastity—na survival." As I talk, I feel small peace for my chest, even though I know say this table go soon scatter. But for once, I talk truth for my own mouth. For Naija, sometimes na only voice you get for justice. Even if na only me dey talk, I go talk am—because silence na curse.