Maybe if I had paid enough attention to courtroom shows, I would have been more familiar with the proceedings of the High Court. I was smack in the middle of it, but I could feel no emotion, neither could I hear what was being said; not that I was particularly paying any attention.
My hooded eyes trailed the spectators’ benches, and I could see a myriad of expressions on the people’s faces. A few had disgust, majority wore pity on their sleeves like an adornment, while a particular set of eyes poured out fresh tears like God’s love. It was my mother’s face.
That elicited an emotion from me; not sadness or regret, but a smile.
Her tears reminded me of the happier days. She knew how to shed a few tears just to get my father to do anything she wanted. He would always tell her that he knew they were fake tears, but he could not refuse her nonetheless. This time though, I knew those tears were genuine. I could see none of the mischief that would cloud her eyes, if she were faking it.
“Does the accused’s counsel have anything more to say?” The thick gravelly voice of the old judge dragged me out of my soliloquy.
With his horn-rimmed glasses perched atop the bridge of his wide nose, he looked stern and unforgiving. His lips thinned and twisted as if he had just tasted something sour and unpleasant. I was the unpleasant meal on his plate, and I could tell by the way his beady eyes roamed my body, and smiled when they landed on the handcuff around my wrists.
“No, my Lord.” Desmond, my sister’s husband cum our family lawyer responded, while mopping beads of sweat from his forehead.
There were no fans in the fully packed courtroom. In his black robe and silly wig, Desmond looked like a roasting Christmas present more than he looked like a defense counsel.
The Judge adjusted his glasses, and cleared his throat. “Any additional words, prosecutor?”
“None, my Lord.” The Prosecutor responded with a bow.
“Well, with the absence of any additional input, and reviewing the evidences placed in front of me, this court has found you, Miss. Amaka John-Glen, guilty of first degree murder on three counts.”
I could feel a shift in the air; a ripple effect, if I would say so. The anticipation and hope was so obvious, it was almost palpable. People hung to the edges of their seats, eager to hear the judgment pronounced. I could see hope in my mother’s eyes. Desmond had told her that the presiding judge rarely gave the death sentence. The worst he would do was sentence me to life in prison. With that, there would be hope.
“In accordance with the sacred laws and constitution of our land,” The judge continued. “This court hereby sentence you, Amaka John-Glen, to death by hanging, until the last breath leaves your body.”
The sharp and piercing singular wail that followed his words, almost prevented me from hearing his closing words.
“I rise.” He stood up, and fixed me with something akin to a smile of satisfaction. “Court!” The clerk announced.
Everyone stood up immediately, while the Judge exited the courtroom through his back door. I was numb, and I couldn’t react. I could feel eyes on me, as the clammy hands of the policemen tried to lead me out of the accused’s box. My mother’s wails were the only audible thing I could catch, and I desperately clung to that lone sound, as I was led out of the stuffy courtroom into the hotter atmosphere outside.
**
“Shebi na you get mouth pass, ehn?” His mouthy voice and rancid breath barked into my face.
I flinched and tried not to wipe off the strains of spittle that his words had deposited on my face.
“She no get mouth again?” His counterpart; the shorter one of the two asked.
I looked around the small enclosure, and tried to gauge my surrounding, but all I could detect was that I was still within the police station. I had been separated from my friends; Ijeoma and Dolapo, because I was the only one bold enough to ask for our freedom.
I wanted to know why they were detaining us, I asked them if walking at night was a crime. We had pictures with time stamps on our phone. Pictures that would show them that we were just returning from a birthday party when they picked us up. They wouldn’t check, neither would they believe us. They said we were prostitutes, and prostitution was still a crime in Nigeria.
Ijeoma and Dolapo were willing to grovel and pay for our release, but I refused to part with money for a crime I wasn’t guilty of. I wanted them to provide evidence that I was truly a prostitute. The noise came to its peak when they finally took our phones from us. I was about to dial Desmond’s number, but the taller officer, probably realizing my intent, took the phone from me. When mine was secured, his counterpart took my companions’ phones.
They would not let us call anyone, unless we paid them fifty thousand naira each. The idea itself was preposterous to me, and I started laughing. Sensing that I was the troublesome one, they dragged me away from the entrance office and deeper into the police station.
Bending to assess my expression, the taller one peered into my face. “And na fine girl oh.” His hand squeezed my left breast painfully, while the plunging neckline of my gown gave him easier access.
“Na true sha.” Short one concurred, while moving closer. “That fine mouth suppose get usefulness, abi wetin you think?”
Dread hit me with full force. I knew what they were implying, and I knew I would be powerless to stop them. It was going to be a fight of two against one.
Losing all my initial bravado, I went down on my knees and raised my hands in a gesture of supplication. “Please, sir. I don’t have 50k, but if you let me call my brother in law, the money will be made available to you.”
“You fit no pay money again sha oh.”
“Yes. Only you fit secure your release. You dey get me so?”
With tears clouding my eyes, I shook my head.
Yanking down the zipper of his trousers, the shorter one dangled his manhood in front of me, while I looked away in repulsion. “No dey act like say you no understand our yarn.”
“Shook am put for her mouth.”
“She fit bite me.”
His companion cocked his gun, and gave me a sadistic smile. “You go try am?”
I shook my head, still at a loss for words. Before I could try to formulate speech though, the soft flesh was shoved in my mouth, hitting the back of my throat, and coaxing my gag reflex. Tears stung my eyes, but I willed it not to fall. I was not going to show weakness in front of those beasts.
The rest of the acts passed by in a blur. It was like watching a movie from out of my body. My gown was raised, and I was placed on my back, right there on the grimy floors of the tiny office. While my mouth was occupied, and my throat bruised, another plunged into me from below, not caring that I was not the least bit lubricated for him.
As I waited for the whole scene to pass, all I could think about was the feel of the dirty floor on my skin, and their terrible breaths in the air.
***
Desmond released his sudden hold on my hand, when I yanked it out of his grasp. “Don’t touch me.” My voice came out in a whisper.
He looked at me with sadness and helplessness written in huge letters across his face. “I’m sorry.” I did not respond. “Please, let us go inside.”
“And do what?” My hoarse voice sounded foreign to my own ears. “Ask them to arrest themselves? I don’t know why I even agreed to follow you here in the first place.” I turned around to leave but Desmond stopped me.
“They might be policemen Amaka, but they are not above the law.”
“We don’t have any proof against them. Any average lawyer can get my case thrown out in court because it is my word against theirs.” My voice was starting to break, and tears were pooling in my eyes.
“Oh Amaka.” Desmond sighed wearily. “Look, they don’t know we don’t have proof.
Let’s just go in there and call their bluff.”
I shook my head, while mentally counting the parked cars in the full parking lot around us. “I should have been smarter.”
“Come on Amaka. We have been through this already. You are not to blame. You were in shock.”
I looked at Desmond with self-loathing, while secretly wishing he could absolve me of all the blames I carried on my shoulders. “You don’t get it Desmond. I work for an NGO. I knew I should have gone to the hospital within 72 hours of the incident.” The tears I was holding back finally fell, and I did nothing to stop the onslaught. “But no one tells you how to feel when it happens to you. I didn’t know I would freeze and feel so ashamed of myself. All I wanted to do was wash away the grime and filth they left on my body.”
Desmond made to hug me, thought better of it, and dropped his arms. He looked conflicted, like he did not know how to act with me. “Please, let me help you the only way I know how.”
“No one can help me Desmond.” I sniffed the snot that was about to fall through a nostril. “Not this time.”
“Do you trust me?”
“What?”
“Do you trust me?”
“You know I do.”
“Then, let’s go in there, and let’s show them that they can’t hurt you and get away with it.” He stretched his hand towards me.
I looked at the offered palm with conflict, but decided to take it. It was Desmond. He wouldn’t hurt me. I placed my smaller palm in the cocoon of his, and he gave me a soft but firm squeeze before leading me into the lion’s den.
We barely spent up to ten minutes inside that hell-hole before I ran out and started heaving by the flag pole. I emptied all the contents of my stomach, and it was foul. I had barely eaten anything, and all I could vomit was the yellowish content that lined the stomach walls. I wiped my mouth with a handkerchief, and secretly wished I had a bottle of water to rinse the rancid taste away.
They laughed at me. The woman at the desk told me she was very sure I enjoyed it.
After all, Ighodalo, the taller man, had a very big manhood, and she was sure it pleased an olosho like me. Ighodalo wasn’t on duty that afternoon, but his short partner was there. He’d winked at me, while a salacious grin lined his smoke-black lips. Repulsion rang through me, and I fled the station, leaving Desmond in there to speak big English, or do whatever lawyers did best.
***
Wham! I sat upright when the hard book hit the empty spot beside the plate of food. I raised my head to stare into the worried eyes of my mother. She was smiling, but the mirth did not reach her beautiful eyes. I tried to return the smile, but it felt like a herculean task for me.
“You have not eaten.” She states the obvious, while her eyes bore holes into the covered but untouched plate of food.
I stood up, hands scratching my body non-stop, and heart palpitating strongly. “I have to go and shower.”
“But you just had one a few minutes ago.”
“Can’t you see I’m dirty? Can’t you see the grime on my skin? Can you not perceive the rancid breath in the air? I have to get rid of them.” I looked around the house frantically, searching for nothing in particular.
With tears in her eyes, mother occupied my now vacant seat. “Amaka, you are spotless, and there is no foul smell in the air. I have sprayed the air freshener again.”
I stopped my pacing. “Okay.” I looked at her meekly. “I want to go and sleep.” She nodded, unable to speak.
I wanted to say something more, but I didn’t know what to say. So, I turned around and marched off to my bedroom, to pretend to sleep. We both knew I was lying; I couldn’t sleep. The dreams and monsters in sleep wouldn’t let me.
Once I was alone in my room, I picked up my charging phone, and resumed my harmless browsing. Some would call it stalking, but I could care less. The more I discovered that they had happy families, the angrier I got. I stared at the smiling picture of the pudgy policewoman. She was standing beside an equally smiling graduating daughter.
Why should they get to be happy, when I wasn’t? They had to pay for making me like this, I thought to myself. I laughed out loud when I imagined myself making a meal of their roasted manhood. Maybe I would give her daughter to the two idiots, and see if she would ask the same questions.
Still giggling to myself, I stood up and continued scratching my body. The itch wouldn’t stop. Mother was wrong. I was dirty; filthy even. How was she not seeing it?
Shedding my clothes on the floor, I made my way to the bathroom, for the umpteenth time that day. I needed to be clean.
***
I was grateful for many things, and the ravaging pandemic was one of them. No one looked at me twice, given my unusual ensemble. I wore jeans and a big sweatshirt, used my nose-mask, sun-shades, and finished it with a face cap.
My arms ached from the weight of the heavy jug, but I knew it was a necessary sacrifice.
The gentle breeze and the shade of the cashew tree welcomed me, as I got to my latest employers.
“Put the palmwine there.” Ighodalo pointed at the tree-stump in front of them.
All trio were sitting beneath the cashew tree, behind the main station building. From a careful observation of their daily routine, I discovered their love for fresh palmwine whenever they had the money to spare. It didn’t take a genius to convince the seller that he wouldn’t need to deliver to the station as usual.
The policemen had sent me, I said to him.
I obliged their request, and subtly shifted to the side, while they attacked the jug like a bunch of warthogs. I pretended to be busy on my phone, while I waited patiently. I didn’t need to wait too long though; providence rewarded me.
As they laid groaning that afternoon, I walked towards them with a sweet smile. I had gotten rid of my disguise, because I wanted them to look into my eyes as they breathed their last. I didn’t hear suspenseful music, or the loud beat of an anticipating heart, like the moves showed.
There was nothing special, but the feeling of triumph, as I impaled my knife in them repeatedly. Warm blood sputtered and covered my face. It had a metallic taste on my lips, and I wanted more. I laughed as I realized I felt filthy again. Even their blood smelt rancid, and the mess filled the air.
I continued laughing, even as shouts and sounds of approaching footsteps filled the air. Hands clasped my arms and put me in their grip, so I wouldn’t escape, but I laughed because I was finally free.
***
I was told I had a visitor.
I sat in front of Desmond, while the rotting table separated us. I knew he was trying so hard not to stare, but his gaze kept falling on the chains cuffing my legs and wrists. I was a dangerous criminal, awaiting death row, and my bondage was extra tight.
“…we can get you out on the grounds of insanity. The doctors will prove it.” He was saying, but I wasn’t paying attention.
I didn’t want to be out. I didn’t even know what I wanted anymore. I only wanted to be free, but it was a façade. I still couldn’t sleep, and food tasted like ashes on my tongue. I was getting accustomed to the filth and horrid smell in the air. I was even starting to appreciate the death sentence.
It would mean the end of my miserable existence.
“Amaka, aren’t you happy to hear that?” Desmond asked, while searching for my eyes.
I wasn’t there though. I could only stare at the familiar eyes, staring at me from the safety of the dusty windows. My mother was there, looking at me, as I looked back at her. Desmond never said she came too, I thought.
As my chains clanged, I lifted one heavy arm, and waved at her silently. She continued staring, unmoving, almost as if she was a figment of my imagination. I was about to look away, when I saw it. She waved back at me.
One lonesome tear dropped from my cheek; the first in a long time. I was wrong, I wasn’t free.
