Being careful not to disturb Adanne, slumbering beside me, I crawled out of bed and slipped into a pair of shorts and my AIG-sponsored Manchester United jersey. We had just won the Champions League against our local rivals, Chelsea. The red on that jersey was fading to white, but I didn’t care — it had become my second skin.
With stale breath and hair as disheveled as a cheap barrister’s wig, I made my way to the kitchen. I was determined to make Adanne’s breakfast. Our kitchen doubled as the passage in and out of the house. The front door? Permanently locked, reserved for “special visitors.” In truth, it hadn’t been opened in three months. No “special” visitor had come calling.
My name is Chidiebere, and this story is about my sister, Adanne.
Adanne was the daughter every parent prayed for. She was radiant — “A gift from the gods,” Mama called her during every visit.
As the firstborn, she carried our family’s hopes and dreams with grace. Sometimes, I thought she was a macho man disguised in a Cinderella body — the strength she displayed was incredible.
Chisom, our so-called “baby of the house” at 15, and I respected her deeply. She studied Banking and Finance at Abia State University, Uturu, and completed her youth service in Akure, Ondo State.
I’ll spare you the details, but from her second year in school, not a penny was sent to her. She worked tirelessly, ensuring she didn’t burden our father so he could focus on Chisom and me.
Now, she works at an investment bank in Lagos. Again, the story of how that job came about is for another day.
She visited home between June 7th and 11th, 2008. I hadn’t seen her in 18 months.
‘I really can’t wait to see her’ Chisom said, her face brimming with excitement as we waited at the park where all arriving buses from Lagos stopped.
Silence was my answer, even though I was looking forward too.
‘I just hope she wouldn’t forget my Math set, the one she promised me.’ She kept uttering to my inattentive ears. ‘Bro. Chidi, do you think she could forget?’ She asked facing me as if expecting a reply.
‘Ask her when she comes abeg,’ I replied at last. She became calm.
The blue 18-passenger bus approached. It had a handwritten inscription on the top end of the frontal windshield — NO ONE LIKE GOD. The vehicle drew closer, and just beneath the colorful writing was the face of my sister looking really tired and exhausted. The dilapidated roads had told very heavily on her.
‘Chisom, umu nwanyi gi di here (Chisom, your sister is here)!’ I told her as she was too short to catch such an exalted view from the bus.
The bus was some 20 seconds out when I picked her face from just beside the driver. Chisom had started jumping since my announcement.
When she highlighted from the bus, she headed straight towards us, with one strap of her hand luggage already slipped off her shoulder — apparently, that was all the luggage she took with her on the journey from Lagos to Owerri; a typical masculine style, if you asked me.
She didn’t need to take three steps before Chisom collided with her with so much excitement. Of course, she lifted the 15-year-old baby of the house with ease. But it was only for some three seconds as against a minute or two that she used to sustain her weight before, I mean she was visibly tired.
We walked back home. I stayed on the left, while we put her in the middle.
‘Daddy and Mummy are at home waiting for you’ I said with her brown handbag hung around my left shoulder, while her right arm was around Chisom’s tiny neck.
‘Guess what?’ I stopped our movement to ask her.
‘There’s a surprise waiting for you at home.’
‘What is it, Chidi?’ She asked wearing her tiredness on her face like Mary Kay, while still forcing a smile.
‘Dad opened the front door for you before we came to welcome you. Though the keys were rusted, but he broke the lock for you.’ I unmasked the masquerade.
‘Are you serious? You don’t mean it! Daddy did what?’ Now the excitement on her face had mixed with curiosity, and it quickened our steps.
There’s no prize for guessing if Chisom had mentioned her special Math set by now.
We got home, Mummy was in the firewood kitchen behind the main building, and Daddy was standing at the entrance of the house. With the posture he took, you would be forgiven for thinking he was only keeping watch over his special main entrance and not standing by for the arrival of his pride, Adanne.
Permit me to skip the details for the rest of that day.
Between Saturday, seventh of June 2008 and Tuesday, tenth of June, Adanne was very busy. She was to leave on the Thursday of that week. She made a lot of visits, some of them bearing gifts. She dropped in on some of her friends who were still in the village. She stopped by at her former lesson teacher, who is now my Economics teacher at the community school I attended, same school was her alma-mater.
Skip! Skip! Skip!
Here I was on that Wednesday morning after sneaking out of bed, to not call Adanne’s attention, nor any other person’s for that matter. I made up my mind that I would make her breakfast, lunch, and dinner for that day.
I had already cut some unripe plantain the previous evening, I was going to make porridge with it for her breakfast. My savings for that week (she taught me the act of saving money by the way) had been swallowed up by the ingredients that were required for that day’s food project.
Lunch would be Indomie Noodles. I knew one wouldn’t be enough and two would be too much, so I factored Chisom in on that one, so I bought two sachets, and two eggs.
Dinner would be Akpu with white soup. To put in context, we had not had white soup since Adanne left eighteen months ago. It was expensive to make. Imagine for a second how much had been scraped off my savings for that day, and how much was left — well, nothing was remaining.
Better to not go into details, but in that house that day, I was the breadwinner. Everyone looked up to me for the countenance of their bellies. I wanted to do it for my sister, I ended up serving the clan. I was satisfied.
Mummy said a word of prayer at the end of every meal. She and Daddy ate twice — morning and evening, while I energetically wiped the pot for the burnt part of the noodles I made in the afternoon. Do Noodles burn? It does on rare occasions, but on that day, I had an agenda, so I let it burn a little.
At exactly 8:45pm, daddy and mummy had retired to bed. Chisom was already on the flight to The Philippine to visit Mara and Clara.
Adanne called me to the room.
‘Here,’ she said. ‘Take this and replace your spent savings.’
Some naira notes were scrunched up in her palm. I shook my head.
‘No, Ada, thank you. You should keep that for your transport fare tomorrow.’
‘Don’t worry about me. Take it.’
‘I wouldn’t want to be the reason you are scrambling for cash tomorrow, and besides, I’m not in a hurry to replace it.’
‘It doesn’t matter. Still take it.’
‘At least let me leave something for Chisom too.’
‘Ada, don’t worry. I can manage till I resume to that viewing centre where I work as a cash-collector every weekend.’
‘Chidi, look. I know it’s just for a brief period and that things will work out for you soon. Take the money.’
Disgraceful that a twenty-two-year-old was still looking to his sister for supply, but she smiled and looked tremendously pleased when I took the notes. Right there and then, I decided that the first thing I would do when I get a good paying job was to buy Adanne a brand new car.
It was Thursday. Adanne had woken up before everyone else, pacing the house, preparing for her departure. The local 6 o’clock news was on. Daddy had found a way to automate the radio turning on at the dot of six. Clearly, he was the only one who had any shred of interest in what was being discussed in those early hours news. It was usually a harmless serving of our state governor’s daily activities — where he had gone, what he was up to, and whatnots. Who cares?
‘Daddy, I’m set.’ She said to him while he was seated on the edge of his bed with his wife flatly laid beside her.
‘But why insist on going today?’ he questioned. ‘That’s the problem with staying in the city, you never have enough time for your family. I remember in 198…’
‘No, Daddy! Not now!’ Ada stopped him on his track of history recollection.
‘The bus comes around by 6:45, and you know it’s the only available one for today, being midweek,’ she tried to back up her action with that explanation.
I was already up from the bed and standing at the entrance of Mummy and Daddy’s room.
‘Ututu oma, Nna m’ I knew my father would start a lecture if I didn’t greet him in the most respectful way in our culture that I was aware of.
‘Thought you could have gotten up earlier to help your sister in preparing for her journey eh?’ he went straight to what he thought was more important between acknowledging my greeting and helping Adanne.
‘Ututu oma, Mama’ I turned to Mummy to greet her.
‘Good morning my boy, hope you slept well,’ she responded gently while trying to adjust herself to the same position as Daddy was.
‘I could hear your snores from here, you and Chisom — una dey try, you people were just disturbing your sister.’ She mentioned.
At that point, I couldn’t help but notice how the both of them were moving in favor of the daughter they were not going to be seeing in another one year or so. Nice play!
Daddy and Mummy prayed for her, and she was set to go.
Given that Chisom would require few more minutes of booting after waking up, and Adanne didn’t have that time, she went to plant a kiss on her forehead.
‘See you soon, my love.’ She whispered to her.
She also said some things that made her smile but I was not close enough to pick up what it was.
‘Bye bye everyone.’ she waved with her teary eyes.
The road to the park was largely populated by civil servants, farmers, and traders. The most ostentatious ride you would see on the road was a Mercedes-Benz, and it belonged to the Chief’s in-law from Anambra state. Till today, no one could ascertain what exactly he did for a living or how he was able to afford the pricey car. Word on the street then was that he was either a dealer in human body parts or a 419-er.
The street walls were covered with posters, some were obituaries announcing passages of people’s grandpas and grandmas, while some were posters advertising the political intentions of . . . almost everybody. Faces of candidates everywhere. Faces over the faces of other candidates. If there was any tiny space left, church program adverts owned it. Candidates had their deceitful, hopeful faces plastered on wheelbarrows. I doubted if the guys hired to do such unscrupulous jobs even passed through the four walls of a school at all.
Suddenly, a brown car zoomed past and nearly broomed us off the road.
‘Ewo!’ I shouted while struggling to maintain my balance and at the same time helping Adanne from tumbling into the gutter.
Guess who the driver was? Ignatius, the pompous, big-for-nothing, arrogant, overweening clown who had just found a way to put a ring on the Chief daughter’s finger.
You can tell he wasn’t my most favorite person. I disliked him with passion, even God was aware.
We readjusted ourselves and kept moving along, but he had parked his smelly Mercedes up ahead and wound down his glass, waiting for us to pass by.
‘Hello! Excuse me!’ he directed his flat nose at us, grinning like a clueless toddler.
‘Fine girl! Can I have a minute of your attention?’ he asked shamelessly.
I held Adanne by the hand and briskly pulled her away from the car, so she wouldn’t give him any time.
‘Don’t mind him abeg.’ I said as I bent down to help Ada with a thick mud splattered across the edge of her gown.
‘He just wants to slow us down. That’s how he runs after everything under a skirt in this community.’ I said.
You would have noticed my sister had not uttered a word since; that’s because she was not able to.
We had left him behind. At least two minutes’ walk away from the spot where Ignatius wanted to surrender himself as a weapon fashioned against us. The park was only a stone’s throw away from where we had gotten to when all of a sudden, his car surfaced behind us, this time with speed like a bullion van’s escort.
‘Look! He’s here again.’ Adanne shouted.
‘Which kind thing be this for crying out loud,’ I was beginning to express worry.
Before we could say the next word, he had arrived. Parked across us to block us off. Took the same posture as before but with a sterner look. The kind of look that would make you start believing the rumors about him — deadly look.
‘Did I call you before and you ignored me? Don’t worry, you will hear from me soon, Adanne.’
I’m not sure what was more shocking, the fact that his statement sounded like a threat or that he knew her name.
He dropped the bombshell and zoomed off, with the same Formula One style he approached us with.
‘This place has gotten scarier.’ I could sense the fear in Ada’s tone when she said those words.
‘This one is all talk and no show. It’s been said many times that he philanders about with very little success rate. That’s why he’s always pained anytime he gets a no-look treatment like this.’ I made a good attempt at easing the tension.
‘Oh, really? What exactly is his problem? I mean he has a wife already.’
We got to the park at exactly 6:43 AM. It had been a long, painful walk from the house to the park. One of the ONYINYECHUKWU buses was already on standby. The vehicle had originally been designed to carry the driver and one passenger in the front seat, but an ingenious rascal had come up with a more lucrative agenda. Now two people would be partnering the driver at the front.
We were the last passenger to arrive, no thanks to Ignatius’ show of shame. And being the last to show up, Adanne had to squeeze herself into the back middle seat, the tightest, most unbearable position in the entire vehicle.
On her left was a man whose nose mask almost covered up the entirety of his face, with a black sac perched on his lap. From the shagginess of the man’s clothes to his big eyeballs, I knew my sister was in for a long ride.
I stood by the rear window side, providing emotional support for the traumatic experience she was about have.
‘Bring your money!’ the driver hollered, stretching a cracked palm that had seen better days across my face and into the car.
Adanne brought out the money from her bag — #2,500. She gave him, and all the while the driver stood beside me, I was in a restless, discombobulated state. The stench from his body could beckon on the dead and restore it.
She gave me five hundred naira, and instructed that I shared it with Chisom.
‘Have a safe trip, Sister. Let us know when you get to Lagos.’ I said.
‘Ehrm, Chidi,’ She called out to me like she was about to say something she had just remembered.
‘Don’t mention any of what happened today to Daddy and Mummy, please. It will get them worried, and I don’t want that for them.’ She pleaded with me.
‘I understand. I’m not going to say anything to them.’
The engine started, and I had to step away from the vehicle. I waved at her, while I tried to locate the back pocket of my undersized trouser, so I could tuck the five hundred naira note she gave me in it.
Forty-five minutes into their journey, well into the outskirt of Imo state, something happened.
The bus rattled forward, navigating the unnecessary bumps and bad roads. There was a discomforting cacophony, masking the quiet tension creeping in the background. That area was usually isolated. Surrounded by deep forests. Passengers would normally hold their breaths and whisper prayers to their God(s).
Suddenly, it happened.
A deafening screech jolted the bus as it swerved into a side street — a route not meant for public transport. The passengers exchanged uneasy glances. Before anyone could speak, two men rose from the middle row, their faces obscured by masks.
Wait! Make that three, including the strange-looking man beside Adanne.
“Everybody, shut up! Don’t move!” one barked, brandishing a gun.
I will not be able to give you the details of what went down after, but Adanne and three others were dragged into the left side of the bush.
They were all ladies. Same age bracket. All said to have had recent encounters with Ignatius.
At this point, I will leave you to connect the dots and hence wish Adanne well.
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