“Let’s go to my office so I can give you a proper update, Tide gestured, leading the way.
“I think you’ve told me all there is. “Please take me to Meena. I want to see her. Now that I had the blood transfusion out of the way. I wanted to catch a glimpse of Meena.”
“JK, let’s go to my office first. There is more I need to tell you before you see Meena.” A dread filled me; I could not form the words to the thought that flashed through my mind.
“She is alive, although in a critical condition. Tide reassured me. We were now in what I guessed was her office as she motioned to me to sit down.
“I did not tell you the whole truth. Meena was not rushed here from the office, and your number was in her file, indicating you should only be contacted if anything happened to her. She was involved in a head-on collision and was brought in here unconscious. We were luck y ot have her history as she’s been attending this hospital for her antenatal care, and the pregnancy was indeed a high-risk pregnancy. I was not the doctor seeing her for internal. Everything else mentioned earlier is true.
I took this all in. “How critical is her condition?”
“She is in a coma, and we had to take the baby out,” Tide answered, taking my hands across the table, trying to reassure me.
I felt a huge rock settle on my shoulders. “People from a coma wake up, right? “They do,” Tide responded gravely. She had a swelling around the brain area. We are watching it and monitoring her closely, but there is a danger that she may not regain her memory. Whether that would be in part or in full, we cannot say until she wakes up. The rock had left my shoulders and was now on my chest. I was having difficulty breathing. In a flash, my mind went down memory lane: the first time I met her at that party in a corner with a book in her hand; the day she agreed to date me; our honeymoon; when we had our first child; and the second. Her last trip to Paris. The shock and disappointment when she learnt of the supposed baby from my P.A. Our last memories together were not ones I was proud of or could erase. I did not realise I had been crying and felt the wetness on my face as I came back to consciousness of my surroundings. I was in Tide’s office, and although a few minutes had passed, it seemed like an eternity.
“Can I see her now?” The words tremble, my voice breaking beneath a flood of tangled emotions.
“Her face is swollen and all wrapped in a bandage. She has a broken rib and her arm. A few cuts around her body from the broken glass.” Tide continued. I tried to smile, but it must have shown only as a slight widening of my lips, prompted by the professionalism with which she spoke. It felt like a bad dream, and I wanted to wake up. I stood up, but I couldn’t feel my legs as I followed her. I felt my body moving on its own volition while I watched from the sidelines.
All the description Tide provided did not prepare me for what I saw. Meena was all wrapped up in bandages, almost everywhere and strapped to machines. I gasped and gagged as I felt like throwing up. I held on to the wall, trying to steady myself. I needed to be strong for Meena, the kids and myself. We would get through this as we have always done. A part of me said, while the other argued to let her go, what if she wakes up and is not who she was before the accident?
“How soon can she be moved?” I asked. “I want her in the best facility we can secure.” My voice was steady, final in the tone that leaves no room for discussion.
“Not now, but I have made arrangements for some relevant top professionals in their fields to fly down. The money you transferred has been helpful. Once she is out of the coma, provided that happens and after further observation. If you still want to move her. That can be arranged.
I should be happy that I had found Meena, but this wasn’t how the story was supposed to go.
I gazed at Meena’s picture, which was my screensaver. How does someone disappear from the surface of the earth, just like that, without any trace? I am still surprised I survived the last seven months, hanging by a thread and drawing strength from pouring my energy into my business. It showed: we expanded, hitting the trillion-dollar mark. I should have been thrilled and over the moon, but success had no meaning without Meena by my side. I kept going as it was the outlet that kept me sane. Every breakthrough, every contract won, every company acquired, and every million-goal achieved, till the trillion mark was reached as we had dreamt. Ironically, there was no Meena to celebrate with. The one person who had believed I would make it, even when I doubted myself, was not there. The milestone celebrated by the media and everyone around me meant nothing.
My face was splashed across all the magazines; I had turned down several interviews and still had a long list of interviews to attend. The random women coming at me was another battle, and fending them off was still another greater one. Taking Hauwa’u to the tech award six months ago was to keep the women away. Instead, the media went wild with stories. I still can’t wrap my head around how it came about. My mother was the one who called and asked if I had moved on so quickly from Meena, and why it had to be her friend, and how she did not trust Hauwa’u. The same woman who gave Meena hell is the one protecting her territory in her absence. The thought of Hauwa’u and me was the most ludicrous of the century. Still, having been framed by my receptionist, I was coming to terms with the fact that nothing could surprise me any longer.
My friends and associates were asking me what happened to my wife as a result of the news on social media. It was tiring trying to explain to people close to me who did not know that I, JK, had no idea where my wife and two daughters were, and Hauwa’u was just one of my wife’s closest friends.
The moment Hauwa’u’s husband showed up at my door, I knew without a doubt that inviting her to the tech awards had been a colossal mistake. I was taken aback when I was told Alhaji Sherrif was here to see me. After exchanging pleasantries with a man I had only encountered once or twice—despite the closeness of our wives—I was stunned when he claimed Hauwa’u had eyes on me. I was her closest friend’s husband, yet he said he was shocked to see our supposed relationship splashed across social media. I wondered if I was in some twilight zone.
“This is some sick joke, Sheriff, but even that is too far. If you have any issues, please discuss them with your wife. I cannot even fathom the need to refute such allegations. I have bigger problems to find my missing wife, and I am not looking to replace her, not now and not ever.”
“I thought to come over, I may not have a conventional marriage with Hauwa’u and may have afforded her some liberties not common to a northern woman, but I would not want to be taken for a fool for someone so close to me.”
He got to his feet and, on his way out, tossed one last accusation over his shoulder. “If you were truly serious about finding your wife, you’d be digging into her friends,” he said, and then he was gone.
I did not give much of what he said a second thought as he left my office. Whatever information Meena’s friends had, they had been good at keeping it close to their chests and guarding it with their whole lives to prevent it from even slipping out.
Not long after, a call came through from a strange number, and I almost didn’t pick up, but I did. “JK,” I recognised the voice immediately, “Tide, I asked in wonder. My cousin, whom I had not heard from for over a decade. “One and only coz”, she responded in her usual way. The days we ran Lagos together, flashing through my mind in a millisecond before she fell in love and married. “You, you walked away without a backward glance. You no try at all.“
“Ma binu, you know why I had to cut everyone off, including you or else my mum would have really pressured you. ‘O de ba aburo e soro‘. “
I smiled. Tide was spot on. Auntie Nike, her mom, to this day does not believe that I did not have her contact. After many months of asking me, she gave up, which was one of the reasons I could half-believe that Meena’s friends did not know where she was, even though it was hard to believe.
“So, after 10 years, you suddenly decided to call, ‘Kilode gan‘, if your mom did not accept the Igbo man you brought home and decided to marry. Cutting off your family was not the best, after all, against all odds; she agreed to the wedding”
“JK, let’s not go there. They made our lives a living hell at every family gathering and opportunity. The wedding was a disaster, just like a war zone. I could not bring up children in that toxicity between both families”
“So, you decided to just up and miss from the surface of the earth?” I expressed my displeasure.
“Well, that makes two of us,” she responded quietly, which I almost did not hear.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I read on the blogs that tech guru JK’s wife is missing”
I groaned. “Where are you, sef, that you are following Nigeria’s fake news?” I did not want to burden her with my drama.
“I am in the Gambia.”
Dr Tide Jideonwo, I thought you were in the US of A. We were! But we moved to Gambia just 6 months ago. It was the dumbest decision, and it didn’t make sense. Chidi was so sure we should move, and yes, we did. What we did not know was that we were sent ahead because of one coconut head cousin of mine.
“And that is definitely not me. Who is it?”
“You, of course. Coz, get the next available flight and head to Royal Cross Hospital in Banjul. I am so sorry; there is no better way to break this news to you. We are doing our best. With her voice going down a little octave lower, “your wife and baby are in my hospital, and your attention is needed urgently.”
“What are you talking about?” I heard her words, but they did not make sense. We were not expecting any baby when she disappeared on me. You must have the wrong person. I am sure that you have the wrong person.” I heard my voice, but it didn’t sound like me. My heart was racing so fast it frightened me.
“I do not know, but he has your rare blood group.” Whether he is your son or not, that can be checked later. Your wife and baby need you. How soon can you get here? We are seeking a blood donor because we do not have a match in our blood bank.
She was rushed from work and has been in and out of consciousness, but kept asking for JK. I did not know who she was at the time, but when she said JK, I wondered if you were the one. When she gave you her number, between in and out of consciousness, there was a desperate plea to reach you. I dialled the number, and it was yours! How crazy is that?
In one breath, I was relieved that Meena had been found and was reaching out to me, but in the next, apprehensive that Tide might not be telling me everything and that the situation was worse than she was making it out to be.
Without missing a beat, I told her I would be on the next flight to Gambia. I asked whether they needed anything and instructed that no expense be spared to provide them with the best possible care. I asked her to send the hospital’s bank details so I could arrange payment immediately. If they needed to be flown out of the country, I said to do whatever it took.
Meena must be fine. I’ve gone through hell without her. I do not think I will survive losing her. As soon as I dropped the phone, I contacted my PA to instruct the bank to transfer N50,000,000 to the Gambia Hospital, as Tide had sent the bank details via email. I called Alfred Tike, my oil mogul friend with a private jet. I have an emergency – I need an immediate flight to Gambia. Without question or losing a beat, he responded, “I will instruct the pilot to get ready. Just make your way to the tarmac. I will have the pilot call you. If I can be of further assistance, do not hesitate to contact me.
The next step was to call my driver while I picked up my passport from the safe in my office and the only change of clothes I had there. No bag packed, no calls to anyone, and I was out. I was tense but refused to entertain the possibility of losing Meena. Meena left seven months ago. She could not have known that she was pregnant. Gambia! I would never have thought. We had combed the US, the UK, Canada, Australia, and the nearby Accra.
I was on autopilot as I made my way to the airport to catch my flight. The six-hour flight to Gambia was the longest of my life. As soon as I landed, I called Tide. A car was already waiting to take me to the hospital. The car had barely come to a complete stop when I opened the car door and rushed into the reception. Tide was already there waiting for me. “How’s she?” The dread squeezed my heart as I waited for Tide’s response. She hugged me. She is still the same. I will have a nurse check your blood for compatibility and prepare you for the blood transfusion.
A nurse took me away, followed closely by Tide, who briefed me further. “From the notes, she’s begged to give her baby priority over her. It’s been a high-risk pregnancy, and we’ve waited till the best possible time to bring the baby out as healthy as he can be. She wanted the baby so severely that it was at risk to her life. I hung my head in guilt. If anything happened to Meena, the blame would be mine alone. I understood why the baby was her priority; after all, she had endured from my mother, the very reason she had left. While I had never put pressure on having more children, as we were happy with the two children we had, I could not understand why she would go through this alone without reaching out to me. The child was ours. She should never have gone through this alone. I was on a roller coaster of emotions. Sometimes I was angry at myself, then mad at Meena for not believing in me enough to stay. At the same time, another voice will ask whether I would have forgiven Meena if the tables were turned. I was balling my fist at just the thought and slumping in defeat simultaneously. You cannot ask someone what you cannot give in return when faced with the same situation.
“When can I see her and the baby?” Once we are done here, you can see her, but you will see the baby from the glass and later be prepped to go into the ICU.
I read the blogs and comments and laughed it off. Who will believe all the conspiracy theories? Just because JK won a tech award, all the lenses have been pointed at his life, his background, and his history. I saw a post by a random person saying I met JK at a party before going to the university. I did not recognise the name, but that person must have known me or someone who does. No one was there to agree or disagree with the comment.
When they were tired, they would move on to the next big scandal. In Nigeria, it was a scandal every other market day. At best, a story will be on for 2 or 3 weeks. Still, something else always came up, and trust Nigerians to take the matter into their own hands, discussing strangers’ personal issues with so much passion and conviction that one would think they had slept and woken up in the same room with the strangers. No action, no solution, heated arguments and unsolicited advice. It was the 21st-century equivalent of market-square gossip. If we diverted the same energy to solving our national issues, the nation wouldn’t be where it is.
I swiped away from social media to my email, bringing up Meena’s email. I held back responding to her. If I were to start divorce proceedings, JK would know we were in touch, and he would be pissed off that I withheld this information from him, which would damage the access I currently have to him. Moreover, JK would not agree to a divorce without putting up resistance.
Talk about the devil. JK’s call came through. Without any greeting, his voice blaring through my phone, “I would not be needing your Investigator.”
“Why?”I asked, a dread coming over me, another dent to my plans.
“I changed my mind.” His tone sounded final, the kind he must be using in his negotiations. I could not be intimidated by any tone; I have seen much worse in the courtroom or with some unruly clients who think money has made them gods and given them license to speak without being spoken back to.
“Are you not looking for your wife anymore?” I ventured to ask.
“I did not call to be interrogated by you. You seem to think that I do not know that Meena would have been in contact with you women. I have never believed it, and I still do not.”
And just like that, the call went dead. JK had ended the call. Does this guy have some sixth sense? My access to every piece of information from the Investigator would have been my cue to filter any information he received. My frustration was building up. Meena had been gone for more than three months now, and I was no closer to making him see me as the woman he needs. If I have been patient for 10 years and now suddenly fortune has smiled on me with Meena leaving, what is 12 months more of waiting? JK, you can run for all you want. I will get you this time. There is no comeback from Meena. She would never take you back. I sank into my chair, my gaze on the ceiling. I had an exit clause in my marriage to Sheriff. I would finally be with the one I have loved all these years.
I still hadn’t heard from Hauwa after one week, and I wondered whether she had missed my email or was simply overwhelmed with work. I did not want to call, as I was sure JK would leave no stone unturned in getting information out of them, knowing I would contact my closest girlfriends, and I did not want to put them in that position. Although I know my girlfriends would choose to protect me.
The tech awards were all over social media that weekend. From the moment I saw it, I went across all the social media to follow the event. Guess who was filled with so much pride when JK received his award that she momentarily forgot she had moved on? It was me!
I was confused when I saw Hauwa’u at the event, sitting with JK in one of the many videos I watched. The Tech industry was not her space, and even if my friend found herself at an event with JK, she would have made sure to sit many seats away from him. I still don’t understand why Hauwa acted that way, despite JK’s many attempts to be polite and respectful. They seemed to find a way to mutually exist because of me.
It looked weird the way Hauwa’u was gazing at JK like a lovesick teenager in the 10-second video clip. In that instance, I felt a little concerned for her; social media would likely blow it out of proportion, making it a Herculean task to explain to Alhaji, her husband. Worse, she was not even with her veil; her head was all exposed. Hauwa’u grew up in Lagos and did not cover her hair, but started doing so in public after she got married. Veils were left in the car on our nights out, but we weren’t expecting anyone to take pictures of us, and the venues of our nights out were our homes.
I reached for my phone to call Hawa’u, chuckling when I remembered yet again that it was not an option. The more I watched the clips, the more it meant something different. The last thought was preposterous. Hauwa’u and JK. The sun will cease to rise before that could happen. JK has a baby mama to wed, Hauwa’us unusual marriage arrangement and lifestyle, as well as animosity towards JK, would never allow it. I wondered if I had watched too many Nollywood movies recently for such plot twists to come easily to mind.
I logged out of the media space and clicked on the Economist magazine to read. I did not have the headspace to entertain such ridiculous thoughts. I made up my mind to stop checking online for JK and focus on myself and my girls.
I thought of calling my mom, but changed my mind. The last time I called, she begged me to contact JK, despite my instructions not to discuss JK at any time I called. She kept insisting that the girls need their father and would stubbornly not let me be, so I have given her a break equally. I still had not told my mother I was pregnant. I could almost predict my mom’s action. She would literally pass her phone to JK so that when my random call came through, he would answer it. Sometimes, I wonder who her child was, JK or me? She’s all about JK, this JK that, but can’t see what her precious JK had done to me, her own daughter. I love that woman to bits, but I swear, she is a sellout. Quite frankly, the connection between them sometimes makes me jealous. JK doesn’t play with my mom. He displays the same warmth and affection he has for his mom towards my mum. For that, he’s earned points with my family members. The way my mom sings his praises, he can do no wrong in her eyes. One day, my mum is on my side, and the next day she is on JK’s.
I waited for two hours and still did not hear from Hauwau. This was very unlike her. She would have fired me with emails threatening me to call her as soon as possible. The silence was louder than her many shrieks in person.
It is official. My friends hated me! I stayed away because I could not afford to take chances. JK will have his eyes on them, very sure they will have information about my location.
The girls and I had just come in. I picked them from school, which was a short five-minute walk from the house, on the days my schedule allowed it. On other days, the elderly housekeeper Madam Asanatou did. Banjul was a quieter and slower-paced town than Abuja. The population for the whole area was comparable to that of Asokoro or Jabi. The Gambians were friendly, and the girls and I settled in nicely.
I feel guilty about taking the girls from JK, but I couldn’t have left my precious babies alone, and I needed to take a walk. I could have been wrong, but I still think I could demonstrate resilience in any other situation, but not infidelity.
I sighed as I stepped into the cold air-conditioned house. The heat was something else. Abuja heat would have prepared us for Banjul. But no, the weather was something I could never get used to. I prefer the cold weather, but Anastasiya, a colleague who comes originally from Russia, warns me to be careful what I ask for.
It’s been three months since I left JK without a hint. I booked a flight to Lagos under a different name, and from there, we travelled to Accra by road and then took a flight to the Gambia.
I wasn’t stupid enough to leave any tracks. I did not want to be found. I needed to just disappear and build a life for myself and the girls.
I started work with the Gambian branch of my office in Nigeria. Still, two weeks after my resumption, there came another opportunity to work with UNESCO in the country. It was a perfect opening for me. I applied, and six weeks after a series of interviews, I got the role. I was extremely excited because the work time was flexible, allowing me to fit it around my kids. The girls attended the bilingual international school, paid for by the company. We were comfortable, and I could not complain.
I am already thinking of bringing my mum. She is still upset with me. And all my reasons why appear not to resonate with her.
I threatened not to call her again if she keeps moaning about JK. She should accept my decision and refrain from discussing him with me. I did not want to know what he did or anything about it. I was surprised he had not married the lady carrying his son. With the way his mother was excited about the birth of her grandson, one would think that they would have completed the marriage rites quickly and moved on with their lives. Maybe it was a quiet wedding. Whatever, it was not my business. I tried to convince myself I did not care. Still, I was the one poring over the Internet looking for updates on Jamal Kolawole Lawson or Lawson Technologies. JK had clinched that contract he was working on before I left. I knew, as it was all splashed over the news and one of the top technology blogs, I followed because of him. Luckily, his personal life had not been featured on those gossip blog sites.
I closed all my social media accounts and operated under a pseudonym. This was to keep in touch with friends, but it was more like ghosting, as I could never comment or give away my identity.
So, I stalked him through his pages, not that anything was going on there. He had not posted anything in the last four months. He had zero presence on social media.
Yes, I was that pathetic. I justified my actions. And I would not admit that I still love JK. I had a responsibility to know he was okay as the father of my girls.
In a moment of weakness, I dialed his number the moment I found out he won the contract, and I was expecting another child. JK picked the call and kept repeating “hello,” while I held on relishing the sound of his voice unable to utter a word. I broke down in silent tears when he asked, “Is that you, Meena?” Holding onto my mobile phone as if my life depended on it. I wanted to ask him how he was doing and congratulate him on his big win. I wanted to let him know we were expecting our third child. I just held on till he cut the call. If only I could forget why and how we got to this point.
I cradled my stomach, feeling life growing inside of me. Finding out that I am expecting our third child was a bittersweet feeling. Surprised because I had put measures in place not to have any more children, and shocked, as this was not the time in my life to carry a child and do so alone without JK. I wished I could turn the hands of the clock back again when all was good between us. I tortured myself with the thoughts of how excited JK would have been, even though we were not expecting it. It was still a blessing from God and worth celebrating. If it were a boy, it would have been his mother’s answered prayer. If it were a girl, we would have been ecstatic at the arrival of yet another version of me and the array of pink ribbons and dresses that forever adorned our home. They all came with their unique personality. You couldn’t help but fall in love with them and marvel at how these tiny, perfect beings came from two imperfect beings, and how quickly they kept growing, keeping you on your toes. The sassiness and know-it-all get to me on some days, the confidence and innocence bring out the fire to protect them as much as I can from the evil in the world. I remain their biggest cheerleader, letting them know they can be anything they choose to be, and nothing can stop them.
Tade was less than thrilled about the birthday dinner his mother had planned. Since when did she start organising dinners for his birthday, especially now that he was an adult? The only reason he’d shown up was because he had nothing better to do. Three days earlier, he’d tried booking a flight to the U.S., but their travel agent couldn’t seem to find one. She’d muttered something vague about unavailable flights, but it didn’t make sense to him.
This was the first birthday he and Tide would spend apart. Not even when she was heavily pregnant with the twins had they skipped celebrating together. Somehow, they always found a way to connect.
The venue was Roisaree, one of Ikoyi’s more upscale restaurants. While other restaurants were moving into Lekki and beyond. Roisaree had stationed itself in Ikoyi, near the affluent Banana Island neighbourhood. It was owned by a mixed-race Lebanese-Israeli woman from the famous Lawani family of Lagos Island, who married into the prominent Kusimo dynasty of Isale Eko. She had done well for herself, and the restaurant rivalled any other on the Island. After much pressure, she opened two additional branches, one in Ikeja on the Mainland and another in Asokoro, Abuja.
His mother was already seated when he arrived, dressed in a flowing white guinea bou-bou embroidered with teal thread. Her long, texturised hair was pulled back into a loose bun, and her caramel skin glowed, almost defiant in its radiance. It was hard to believe she was over fifty, let alone a grandmother.
Tade greeted her with a perfunctory kiss on the cheek and took his seat.
“Have you ordered anything?” he asked, pausing to take in the softly lit room. It wasn’t too crowded, which he appreciated.
“You didn’t book the whole place?” he teased. Molade was known not to do anything in half measures.
“Just half,” she replied without missing a beat.
He managed a small smile. “And here I was thinking you were softening. Losing your edge.”
“I’m so sorry to disappoint,” she said. Her voice carried a faint sadness, but her gaze remained steady and unyielding, the way he remembered.
Their relationship had never fully recovered after she disapproved of Solape. Even after Solape’s death and despite her repeated olive branches, things remained distant. Still, he knew she was there for him, and she adored his daughter, her only granddaughter, unconditionally.
“What?” Tade’s face lit up as he saw Tide approaching. Dressed in a fitted teal-blue knee-length gown that subtly echoed their mother’s teal embroidery, and white Michael Kors wedge sandals that gave her an extra four inches of height, she placed her teal clutch on the table. Hugging their mother first, before making her way to her twin.
“I should’ve known you had a hand in this dinner,” he said, teasing but visibly pleased.
“I could see your scowl from thirty yards out,” she quipped. “What’s got you all twisted up like you’re sitting on pins?”
“Please ask him,” their mother chimed in dryly.
He gave an exaggerated sigh. “Being kidnapped for dinner when I’d rather be at home eating fish pepper soup made by Chef Rita and a bottle of champagne, wishing myself a happy birthday while throwing a wish your way since you refused to pick up my call.”
“You know, try sha, why were you looking for tickets three days before and not earlier?”
“I was waiting for your plan, meet me in Seychelles, Maldives or Cape Verde or whatever weird place you intend to choose this year.”
For the last decade and more, they had hopped to very unpopular destinations, long before they became a Lagos outbound destination. Tide did all the groundwork and just announced, expecting him to drop everything he was doing and be there, which he always did. It was a mystery that Efosa allowed her to do her thing. It was an unwritten rule that their birthday was theirs alone. Solape, ingeniously, chose to celebrate his birthday a week earlier.
Tide placed her order, Linguine ai Frutti di Mare. Fresh linguine pasta delicately tossed with wild-caught tiger prawns, tender calamari, Scottish diver scallops, and Mediterranean mussels, all simmered in a white wine, cherry tomato, and garlic infused broth. The dish was finished with a touch of Calabrian chilli, a hint of lemon zest, and a drizzle of cold-pressed Sicilian olive oil. She thanked the waiter and joined the conversation.
They had a great time catching up. It was lovely to be all together in one place after a long time, but they did not fail to notice their mothers’ quietness as the evening went on.
“Mom, is the food not okay?” Tide asked, her tone laced with concern. She and Tade exchanged a glance. They’d both noticed their mother picking at her meal.
“I try new dishes… and struggle to enjoy them,” Molade said with a soft shrug.
“Want to order something else?” Tade offered, already motioning for the waiter.
“No, I’m fine,” she said, then paused. “But there’s something I need to share. And I am afraid it’ll shock you. I’ve had a few weeks to process it, but it’s still… big.”
“Are you sick?” Tade asked quickly, concern etching his features. It was the kind of expression Molade wished she could frame. It was a glimpse of the son who, somewhere deep down, still loved her as he had before Solape came into their lives.
For the next ten minutes, Tade and Tide listened in stunned silence as their mother recounted how she’d found Dr. Lanre Braitwaite listed as the doctor who took delivery of Dunni Adesida.
“Mom!” Tade objected, getting frustrated with his mother’s insistent need for background checks.
“You are still doing this, your FBI moves.” The girl does not want to have anything to do with me, so you can rest now. I hope you are happy.”
Tide gestured to him to calm down. “Let’s hear what mum has to say.”
Molade told them about her visit to his office and how, by sheer coincidence and shock, she had met him there.
“Mom, who is he?” Tide asked, her brow furrowed.
“He’s your father,” Molade said quietly, the words dropping like a bomb between them. “I didn’t know he was alive. It was not until I saw the birth certificate, dated well after his supposed death. I was told he’d died, but it turns out that wasn’t true.”
She took a shaky breath. “I went to see him, but… the meeting didn’t go well.”
“Why didn’t he ever contact us?” Tide asked, her voice a whisper.
“Because he never knew you existed,” Molade replied. “When he met Tade, he got curious about your name, which is his middle name, and the surname… it all clicked, especially when he found out I was your mother. He’s been out of the country most of the time, doing medical outreach programs, but he’s back now.”
Tade and Tide sat frozen. It was too much to absorb all at once. How were they supposed to process the fact that their father wasn’t dead—had never been dead—and they were only finding out in their thirties?
“When can we see him?” Tide finally asked.
“He’s here,” Molade said softly, gesturing toward a man seated at another table.
The man stood and walked over to their table at Molade’s gesture. Tears filled his eyes. He didn’t just have one child. He had two grown ones. And grandchildren.
“I’m so sorry,” he began, voice trembling. “If I’d looked for your mother… if I’d even tried… I would’ve found you. I can’t give you back the years we lost, but if you’ll let me, I’d like to be part of the years ahead.”
Tide was crying now. Tade, still stunned, only nodded. The realisation hit him slowly—the man he had randomly met weeks ago, who had reacted so strangely upon hearing Molade’s name, was his father. There were so many questions, so much to catch up on.
Anyone watching might have thought it was just an intimate family dinner. They would never have guessed it was a reunion of life after death, of a family finding its way back to itself.
02:25 – Leave with the rescued. The message blinked on Segal’s phone. It was from MI Bello—the team they had collaborated with.
“We have 55 minutes to get any rescues out of the area.”
Segal barked the update to his men as they made their way, dropping into the dark night from the helicopter crouching in the shadows, their forms melting into the dark night like leopards stalking prey. The air was thick with the smell of damp earth. The oppressive silence was only broken by the soft rustle of leaves and distant calls of nocturnal birds.
Sambisa was nothing like the media had described—a dense jungle, impenetrable and mysterious. In reality, it was a harsh, raw land littered with makeshift tents cobbled together from cut trees and dry leaves. The widely circulated tale of a mangrove forest, rivers winding like silver serpents, and wild animals prowling in the underbrush was a myth—this was no Colombian Amazon jungle. There were no meandering waters or echoing caves here—just hilly terrain and tall trees, spaced wide enough to reveal a dark, visible sky.
The first raindrops hitting their skin, soft as whispers. Then came the deluge—a torrential downpour that masked the distant thrum of the helicopter blades as it touched down ten miles from the settlement. Rain mixed with the earth, the night was deadly still, yet heavy with expectation and the rush of adrenalin in anticipation of the rescue mission.
The team would walk the rest of the way. The women were close. Thanks to two embedded informants inside Boko Haram, the rescuers had a flow of intel—risky, erratic, but crucial. The weather had made surveillance harder, but the women had arrived recently, and they couldn’t afford to wait.
Inside one of the ragged tents, the women huddled together, frightened and despondent, with hope ebbing away with each passing moment. The air was sour with sweat, fear, and unwashed bodies. Muddy rainwater crept in, soaking their already threadbare clothes. Some of the women looked barely alive—dehydrated lips cracked open, skin dull and stretched over bones, the light in their eyes long extinguished.
They had overheard enough to know there would be no negotiations. The government had taken a hardline stance, vowing to rescue them, but days had passed, and no one had come.
Dunni stared blankly ahead. Since they had left Lana’s body behind, she hadn’t spoken, eaten, or blinked. The others tried to coax her, their voices cracking with desperation. But she looked through them, eyes wide open, dry, and unblinking.
She was the first to sense the shift—a rustle, a shadow. Then the men emerged like ghosts, signalling silence. Dunni didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge them, as they rounded up the women, gently nudging those barely awake. Some eyes sparked with hope. Dunni’s remained lifeless.
The extraction took fifteen minutes. Then they vanished into the forest, boots silent on the soggy ground, as if the rescue had never happened.
For Moses, time froze. Rain pummeled him, cold and stinging, but all he saw was Dunni—a ghost of the woman he once knew. She was alive. That was enough for now. He would get her the best care: emotional, physical, and mental. Although he had no claim on her and months had passed with no contact, their friendship-or—or whatever it could have been—was buried beneath silence and time. But none of that mattered now. He was here to ensure she made it home safely.
What he hadn’t prepared for was the void in her eyes as she passed him without even a flicker of recognition.
The team hustled the women into the helicopter with an urgency that left Moses perplexed but made sense a few minutes after when a huge explosion ripped the ground below a few minutes into the sky rocking the helicopter. Moses looked below at the flames and smoke bellowing up.
“What was that?” he shouted at Segal.
“They bombed the place. That’s why we had 55 minutes.”
Moses shuddered. What if they hadn’t made it tonight? Would any of the women still be alive?
Inside the rented chopper, he wrapped Dunni in a blanket, holding her close. His tears mingled with the rain still clinging to his face. She didn’t look at him, but her body eased slightly, her eyes fluttering closed for the first time.
“She lost her friend,” said a woman beside them quietly. “Since then, she hasn’t spoken, eaten, or even slept. Your wife will need you now.”
Moses gave a bittersweet smile at the word wife. If only…
He wished he could rewind time to the beginning, when they first became friends. When he should’ve told her she was his future. The thought of what she had endured crushed his heart.
“How are you?” he asked gently.
“I’ll be fine,” she shrugged. “We saw hell. Minute to minute, we didn’t know if we’d live. I’m leaving this country. Going to my family abroad. I’m done.”
He didn’t blame her.
The government had refused to negotiate. Their “rescue mission” had barely begun many days after the kidnapping, and they hadn’t even located Sambisa.
Segal, ever professional, contacted MI Bello to have ambulances waiting.
As the chopper landed, medical teams from Tade’s hospital were already in position.
Tade was there. He ran to them, eyes locking on Dunni. Moses refused to let her go, her head tucked under his chin, still unresponsive.
“She’s been like this since we picked them up,” Moses said. “She’s in shock.”
Tade’s voice trembled, though he forced calm into it. “Let’s get her to the hospital.”
He stretched his hand toward her. Dunni flinched, retreating deeper into Moses’s arms.
That should’ve made Moses feel something like joy. But all he felt was grief.
She wasn’t here—not really.
“Will she be okay?” Moses asked with uncertainty.
Tade met his eyes, his own filling with sorrow.
“She’ll get help. Therapy, trauma care, and any care required. She’ll come back. She’s strong. Soon we’ll have the no-nonsense fireball back.”
He tried a smile. Moses managed a weak one in return.
He would give anything to see her whole again. To wipe away every memory of the horror she endured.
To bring Dunni—not this hollow shell—back from the dark.
The last light of the sun bled into the horizon, staining the sky in hues of orange and deep purple. The air was thick, carrying the dry scent of dust and sweat, mingling with the distant smoke that curled in ominous tendrils. Each breath Dunni took felt heavier than the last, her limbs screaming in protest. She had been the strong one, the one whispering words of courage to Lana, forcing a smile when despair threatened to choke her. But now, her strength was slipping away like sand through clenched fingers.
She turned to check on Lana, and the sight froze her blood.
“Lana,” she whispered, her voice barely above the whisper of the evening breeze. “Lana?” Her fingers trembled as she reached out, tapping her friend’s arm. No response.
A cold wave of dread swept through her, sinking deep into her bones. “Lana, wake up!” she pleaded, her voice rising with each desperate call. Her hands shook as she grasped Lana’s shoulders and shook her gently, then violently.
Two men rushed toward her, their faces shadowed in the dim light. One reached out to check for a pulse, the other bent to lift Lana’s body. But Dunni flung herself over her friend, clutching her with a strength she didn’t know she had.
“No! Get back!” she screamed, her voice raw with anguish.
More hands came, rough and unyielding, prying her away. She fought, kicked, thrashed, her cries splitting the silence of the night like a shattered mirror.
“She’s just sleeping,” she muttered, her breath hitching. “She’ll wake up soon. She just needs to wake up.”
She rocked herself, hugging her knees, her eyes wide and unfocused. Around her, the other women stood in silence, their faces carved with sorrow and fear. They had all learned to speak without words—through glances, through the weight of shared suffering. But Lana had been her anchor, the only voice that had kept her sane in this madness. Now, that voice was gone.
The men started rounding them up. A shadow loomed over her, his face set in hard lines.
“Tashi mu wuce.” His voice was like a hammer striking cold steel.
Dunni barely heard him. She was drowning in a haze, floating outside herself, her body refusing to move. The man barked again, his tone sharper. When she didn’t respond, a pair of hands seized her, yanking her up. She flailed, her screams cutting through the heavy night air.
Then she caught a whiff of the man holding her—an unbearable stench of unwashed flesh and dried blood. Her stomach turned, and a wave of nausea drained the fight from her. Her body slumped, her strength leaving her as quickly as Lana had. Satisfied, the man set her down roughly and walked away. She staggered forward, joining the line of women who marched onward, their feet dragging through the dust, their silence heavier than the darkness that surrounded them.
Three days had passed. Three days of hell.
Tade stood in his office, his phone pressed to his ear, his body thrumming with restless energy.
“What’s the update?” he demanded, his voice clipped. His chief security officer’s voice came through, laced with tension.
“It’s all over the news. The women were taken by Boko Haram. They’re being held in Sambisa Forest. The president has vowed action, but you know how these things go.”
Tade clenched his jaw, flipping through news channels. The flickering screen showed sensationalised reports, shaky footage, talking heads spewing government promises. It was all noise, all propaganda. None of it had hastened the rescue of Dunni and the rest of the high-profile women.
A different kind of war was raging beneath the surface.
Information was surfacing about lithium and gold buried beneath the Sambisa Forest. Molade Thomas, the richest woman in Africa, had already set her sights on the land. She had partnered with Senator Isiaku Balla, a man whose interests were as murky as the waters he waded in. To the world, they spoke of conservation, a grand plan to turn the forest into a game reserve. But Tade knew better.
Molade had an instinct for wealth, an almost supernatural ability to sniff out opportunities before anyone else. And if she was interested in Sambisa, it wasn’t for the wildlife.
She had been working her way into Borno for months, weaving a web of influence, waiting for the perfect moment. Now, with the hostage crisis unfolding, she had the perfect excuse to move in. Her trucks, loaded with aid for displaced civilians, were a front. She had already reached out to the army, the police, an independent security agency—offering ‘assistance’ in the rescue mission.
But Tade had heard whispers of another plan. One that would erase Sambisa Forest from existence.
Bello’s voice cut through his thoughts. “We move in tomorrow at midnight. If the hostages aren’t out by then, we bring them out ourselves.”
Tade exhaled slowly, his hands clenching into fists. “Twenty-four hours, MI Bello. Bring her back.”
Dunni and Lana have been holding their hands during the bus ride. They journeyed all day, stopping at intervals for the women to pee. Some were brave enough and escaped in the bushes, but one lady was not too successful, and for the second time in the same day, they encountered another lady shot in cold blood. “anyone who tries escape again will be killed,” he locked his gun, and they shuddered with fear. The bus came to a stop, and they were asleep to file out, being stripped of every form of jewellery they had on them and led into the bush. As they walked, most women had to take off their heeled shoes as it was almost impossible to walk in the forest with them. A cold chill washed over Dunni when the jewellery with the tracking device was taken off her. She hoped the guy taking the jewelries off them stayed with the group, they would be fine. Her hopes were dashed when he returned to the bus, and they watched the bus drive off, killing every hope of being found. “I need to take my diabetes shot,” she heard Lana talking to one of the guys who looked at her blankly. She pointed to her bag, removing the injection and gesturing to her upper left arm. Another guy was screaming to keep moving, but Lana stood her ground and repeated what she said earlier. He nodded. She rolled her sleeve upwards, hitting her arm and administered the dose. “When is the next one, Dunni asked worriedly. “Tomorrow, same time. How many do you have with you? 7 days’ worth. I always carry it in my bag. Dunni did know the obvious show of relief on her face. “We’ll be out before you know it.” She encouraged her friend as they resumed walking, rushed by the guy with them to join the others. Dunni was struggling to remain optimistic. Every iota of hope diminished by every step into the forest.
They had walked for the better part of the day, they were not allowed to rest, Dunni could see the exhaustion on the other womens face giving her a glimpse of what hers looked like. The perfectly made face of some of the women all disappeared beneath a cake of brown powder smeared with sweat, others had trickles of black kohl forming a path below their eyes, nose and disappearing to their chin. Just about that time, Dunni felt she could no longer go on. One of the guys leading them backed the order to stop. They were approaching a settlement, and another town dog hope was rising. This could be their deliverance of escape; instead, everyone did their duties as if they had not noticed the strange entourage arriving, and the women almost dropped due to exhaustion. He gestured with his guns that they should sit, looking around at the bare floor of red sand with no chairs. He backed, “ ku zauna” gesticulating with his gun. The women all sat down while a middle-aged woman from nowhere came up to them with a clay pot of water that she passed to the women, who took sips and passed it to the next, an untold understanding that the water was all they would have and the importance that everyone had some to get their strength back. Dunni looked into the woman’s eyes, wondering whether they could get any help from her. She skirted her eyes above them, looking everywhere but hers. While she was still trying to take in the environment, looking for landmarks to know where they were, another of the men was barking at others to stand up. Dunni wondered what was happening back at home, whether her mum or siblings had heard, she could not entertain the idea that she would not make it back home and choose to keep her hope alive that not matter what they would be found and rescued.
Dunni and Lana held hands tightly during the endless bus ride, their palms slick with sweat but refusing to let go. The bus was packed with fear and silence, interrupted only by the occasional sobs of women who couldn’t mask their despair. The journey stretched through the day, punctuated by hurried stops where the women were ushered out to relieve themselves. Some, driven by desperation and bravery, attempted to slip into the surrounding bushes, hoping for freedom. But freedom came at a cruel price.
The first attempt ended with a gunshot that echoed through the trees. Now, for the second time that day, Dunni saw another woman fall. Her lifeless body crumpled into the dirt as the rest of the women stood frozen in terror.
“Anyone who tries to escape again will be killed,” the man with the gun barked in surprisingly impeccable English, his voice devoid of emotion as he locked the weapon. The metallic click sent a shiver through the group. No one dared to look directly at him, but every head nodded in terrified compliance.
As the bus finally halted again, the women were rudely awakened and ordered to file out. Bleary-eyed and stumbling, they were stripped of their jewellery—rings, necklaces, bracelets—anything that glinted. Dunni felt a cold dread seep into her bones as her bracelet and necklace with the hidden tracking device were taken. Her heart clung to a desperate hope that the man collecting the items would stay with them. But her hope crumbled when he returned to the bus, taking their last tether to the outside world. The bus roared to life and drove off, leaving nothing but a cloud of dust and despair.
“I need to take my diabetes shot,” Lana’s voice was soft yet firm, addressing one of the armed men. He stared at her blankly, his dark eyes narrowing in confusion. She pointed to her bag and mimed injecting her upper arm. Another man yelled for them to move, but Lana stood her ground. Her unwavering defiance drew a nod of reluctant approval, and she quickly retrieved the syringe, rolling up her sleeve.
Dunni watched as Lana administered the dose, her movements steady despite the palpable tension. “When is the next one?” Dunni whispered, her voice trembling with worry.
“Same time tomorrow,” Lana replied, stuffing the syringe back into her bag. “I have seven days’ worth. I always carry it with me.”
Dunni exhaled, the relief on her face impossible to hide. She squeezed Lana’s hand. “We’ll be out of here before you know it,” she said, her tone resolute even though her heart wavered. Lana nodded, but neither woman fully believed it.
The group was hurried along again, their captors shouting and waving their guns. The forest swallowed them as they trudged forward. For hours, they marched through the unforgiving terrain. The ground was uneven, roots and branches snagging at their feet. Many women abandoned their heeled shoes, walking barefoot despite the sharp stones and thorny underbrush.
Dunni’s legs burned with every step. Exhaustion weighed on her like an anchor, but she forced herself to move. Around her, faces that had been carefully made up now bore streaks of sweat and grime. Tears carved paths through smudged eyeliner, and the forest air clung to them, heavy and oppressive.
Just when she thought she could go no further, a barked order from the front halted their progress. They stumbled to a stop, gasping for breath. Ahead, a small settlement came into view. Hope flickered faintly in Dunni’s chest. Perhaps this was a village where they could be helped or at least noticed.
But as they entered the settlement, her heart sank. The villagers moved about their tasks as though the group didn’t exist. Women hauling water pots and men tending to livestock avoided eye contact, their faces carefully blank.
“Ku zauna!” one of the armed men commanded, gesturing with his gun. The women obeyed, sinking onto the bare, sunbaked earth. The red sand clung to their damp skin.
A middle-aged woman emerged from one of the huts, carrying a clay pot of water. She moved silently, passing the pot from one woman to the next. Each woman took a small sip, the unspoken understanding of scarcity preventing anyone from taking more than their share. When the pot reached Dunni, she hesitated, meeting the woman’s eyes. There was something there—sympathy, perhaps—but the woman quickly looked away, her expression hardening.
Dunni’s mind raced as she scanned the settlement. Were there any landmarks or signs showing where they might be? Her thoughts drifted to home—her mother and her siblings. Had they noticed her absence? Had they sounded the alarm? She couldn’t let herself think otherwise.
“Stand up!” a voice barked, dragging her back to the present. The group rose shakily, their bodies protesting every movement. As they were herded further into the forest, Dunni clung to one thought: they would be found. They had to be.
Dunni grapples with Moses’ absence while distancing herself from Tade, who seeks reconciliation after his dishonesty. As they reconnect over shared experiences, Dunni contemplates moving forward while navigating her emotional turmoil and safety.
Days blurred into weeks. Then they turned into months. The absence of Moses lingered in Dunni’s life like the slow, painful removal of a bandage from a raw wound. Every word, every moment, was a reminder of him. Moses seemed to be everywhere—his name would pop up in casual updates from Ola. At first, Dunni had taken his calls, but soon she stopped, and Moses, catching on, gradually disappeared until there was nothing left of their connection.
She threw herself into work, continuing her volunteering with young artists, and added volunteering at a women’s shelter she had recently found. Anything to fill the void he had left behind. One would have expected her to make up with Tade, but still, she couldn’t bring herself to answer any of his calls or see him, no matter how many messages he left. Even when she saw Toni at the art club, Dunni ensured she was always occupied with another parent when he showed up. One would think Tade would get the message, but the more she avoided him, the more persistent he became, his calls multiplying as if he could wear her down by sheer insistence.
Dunni tried to rationalize his actions, to understand why he’d hidden his family’s wealth from her. But no explanation eased the sting of betrayal. She had always despised being blindsided, which had shaken her to the core this time. How could she trust Tade again after this?
She reluctantly agreed to dinner with a fellow volunteer from the women’s shelter tonight. She was exhausted, her mind clouded with too much to do, but she had run out of polite excuses to cancel. While waiting for Joy, she distracted herself by scrolling through her phone, aimlessly flipping through old pictures. Then she saw a photo of her, Moses, and Ola taken in their first year together. The three looked so young, confident, and certain they could conquer the world. Her heart clenched painfully at the sight of Moses’ face. What would her life have been like if things had been different?
She dropped her phone on the table, frustrated with herself. Why was she torturing herself like this? For every step she took to push Moses out of her mind, she seemed to take ten steps backwards, dragged back into the aching void he had left behind. She had lost her best friend.
Looking around the restaurant, she saw strangers laughing and smiling, their faces bright with joy. But how many of them, she wondered, were carrying their own silent burdens, masking their pain with laughter and busy schedules?
She sighed, lost in her thoughts, when she suddenly felt a presence beside her. She looked up, and Tade was standing in front of her.
“Can I sit?” he asked.
“I’m expecting someone,” Dunni replied, her tone clipped.
“No worries. I’ll leave as soon as she comes,” Tade said, ignoring the cold edge in her voice.
It was on her lips to ask how he knew her dinner companion was a woman, but she held back. The sooner he left, the better.
“Tade, I don’t want to do this here,” she said, her voice weary.
“I’ve tried so hard to see you, and you’ve made it impossible. I didn’t realize it could be harder to meet you than the governor of Lagos.” He chuckled at his own joke, but Dunni wasn’t amused.
“I can’t be bought,” she said, her tone flat.
“I know,” Tade replied, his voice soft, filled with remorse. “I’m so sorry. Tell me what I can do to make it right.”
“You can’t just walk back into my life, apologize, and expect everything to be fine,” she snapped. “It’s not fine. I almost lost myself in this relationship, only to find out you lied to me.”
“Tade, it’s over. I can’t go back to what I thought we had.”
Tade nodded, his expression one of deep regret. “I understand. I should have told you the moment you said yes. I wanted to, but things kept happening, and then time passed, and I was scared. I could tell you afterwards if we married quickly, but that was wrong. I should never have taken that choice from you—it was yours to make.”
He paused, looking at her with a vulnerability she hadn’t seen before. “All my life, I’ve been judged by my family’s wealth, and I wanted to be known for what I’ve achieved, not for what my mother’s money could buy. I loved that you wanted me for me, not for my status. When I realized you didn’t know who I was, I wanted it to stay that way. Every day, I fell deeper in love with you.”
His sincerity and the raw emotion in his eyes chipped away at the walls Dunni had built around her heart. But she wasn’t ready to let him in. Not yet.
“I don’t know if I can return to what we had,” she whispered.
“Please, just think about it,” Tade pleaded gently. “I’m willing to wait.”
Dunni glanced at her watch, wondering out loud what was keeping Joy.
Tade hesitated, then with a sheepish grin, he confessed, “About that… I kind of arm-twisted Joy into setting this up. She’s my cousin’s best friend.”
Dunni couldn’t help but laugh at his boyish grin. “So, if Mohammed won’t go to the mountain, the mountain comes to Mohammed?”
“Exactly,” Tade said, his grin widening. “So, can I join you for dinner?”
“Do you need to ask, considering you’ve already invited yourself?” Dunni teased, a small smile playing on her lips.
Dinner was surprisingly pleasant. Tade opened up about his family, his upbringing, and how he’d built his hospital after returning from the U.S. He shared stories about his first marriage, the grief of losing his wife, and how he had struggled with widowhood. Despite his wealth and the seemingly perfect life he portrayed, Dunni realized that Tade had faced his own challenges, and things weren’t as glamorous as they appeared from the outside.
They fell into a routine, meeting for dinner once a week and catching up on life. While Tade was still trying to win her back, Dunni had moved on emotionally. She wasn’t interested in rekindling their romance—friendship was all she had to offer now.
During one of their dinners, Dunni ran into Dr. Larry B., the doctor who had delivered her as a baby.
“Good evening, sir,” Dunni said, curtsying like any well-mannered Yoruba girl.
“Ah, Adedunni Adesida! How are you? And how’s your mother? And your siblings?” Dr. Larry B. asked warmly.
“They’re all fine, sir. I thought you were in America?”
“I am, but I’m here for my annual free medical service initiative. How nice to see you!”
Dunni realized she hadn’t introduced Tade as he was about to leave. “Oh, Dr. Larry, meet my friend, Tade Braithwaite.”
Dr. Larry’s interest was immediately piqued. “Braithwaite, from Lagos?”
“Yes,” Tade replied, sensing the curiosity in the doctor’s tone. “My late father was Olanrewaju Braithwaite, and my mother is Molade Thomas. Do you know them?”
Dr. Larry’s face paled as if he’d just seen a ghost.
“Are you alright, sir?” Dunni asked, concerned.
“I… I have to go,” Dr. Larry stammered, his voice shaking. “My guests are waiting.”
And with that, he hurried off, leaving them both in stunned silence.
“I thought that was weird,” Dunni commented, her brow furrowing. “Do you think he knows your parents?”
Tade shrugged, his eyes scanning the bustling restaurant around them. “A lot of people know my family. I hope he isn’t one of those with an axe to grind. The business world can be ruthless, not for the faint-hearted. I didn’t know much about my father, but my mother and grandfather. They were cut from the same cloth—strictly business, no room for sentiments.”
Dunni leaned back in her chair, the candlelight flickering between them. “I’m in the business world too, remember? And it’s not as bleak as you’re making it. Sure, it’s tough, but there is always a way.”
Tade raised an eyebrow. “It depends on what that way is. Try bidding for and executing government contracts. Now, that’s a whole different beast—lucrative, yes, but it’s not just about your expertise. It’s all about connections. Friends and family turn on each other all the time. Betrayal is a currency. Sometimes, people don’t just lose money—they lose their lives. The pressure breaks them, heart attacks, strokes. It’s not uncommon.”
“Our experience at Architex Designs seems to be different.”
“You architects must have it easy. From what you’ve told me, your contracts seem to come purely from recommendations. You don’t have to wade through the murky waters.”
Dunni smirked. “Moses got our first government contract through a recommendation, yes. From a job we did for a bank. Ola and Moses used to handle the contract chasing, but now it’s all on Ola. I keep offering to help, but he always refuses.”
Tade shook his head, his tone serious. “Let him handle that side of things. You might be shocked at what really goes on behind closed doors.”
“If that was supposed to scare me, it hasn’t,” Dunni said, eyes gleaming with challenge. “If anything, you’ve just lit a fire under me. I’m going to ask Ola again.”
Tade groaned, rubbing his temples. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I can see the wheels turning in your head already. I’ve just set you on your next contract mission, haven’t I?”
Dunni bit her lip to keep a straight face, but her mischievous grin broke through.
“I’m not buying that innocent look, Dunni. I know you too well now.”
She laughed, her shoulders shaking. “You’re catching on fast. But seriously, I’ll be in Abuja next week for a conference. Maybe I’ll try my hand at some lobbying while I’m there.”
Tade’s expression shifted, concern clouding his features. “Drop the details of your conference location for security reasons. When do you leave? I’ll get a bracelet sent over, nothing flashy, but something to track your location without drawing attention.”
Dunni tilted her head. “Tade, I’m going to Abuja, not a war zone. Yeah, there’ve been some bomb blasts, but the government has it under control.”
Tade’s eyes narrowed. “What news do you listen to, baby girl? If your government has it as ‘under control’ as you say, we must live in different countries. Wear the bracelet. It’ll help me sleep better at night, knowing I can track your coordinates if anything happens. Phones can be taken or smashed, but no one notices cheap jewellery.”
Her mind flashed back to a memory—Moses had once given her a necklace with a small heart pendant embedded with a chip for emergencies. He was always cautious, especially after the abduction of foreign workers from a construction site in Northern Cameroon a couple of years back. He’d insisted she wear it whenever she travelled, citing incidents of kidnappings by MEND militants in the southern part of the country.
“I actually have something similar,” Dunni said, tapping her chin. “Moses gave me a necklace with a tracker. He was paranoid back then, too, after that kidnapping of the oil workers. It hasn’t left my drawer in years, but I think I’ll take it on this trip.”
Tade nodded approvingly. “Good. Take the necklace, and I’ll send the bracelet as a backup. Wear both.”
Dunni chuckled and raised her hand in a mock salute. “Yes, sir. Anything else, Commander?”
Tade smiled, but his eyes held a seriousness that lingered as they finished their dinner.
21stcenturybelle 