CALL IT A TRUCE

He took a closer look at the still form inches from where he stood and a shudder ran through his spine. Goosebumps were crawling out of his skin like ants from their hiding place. Hot tears fell off his eyes, draining his knees of their strength. His wobbling legs gave way and he fell next to her—her remains rather. The sky seemed to spin around him as he felt his body attain higher degrees of temperature. The severest of migraines took over with a pounding that made him wish for death. His left hand rose⁠— of its own will— to touch her, but it kept shaking uncontrollably. His brain seemed to have lost coherence for he couldn't distinguish reality from his imagination at that moment. His tongue flicked over his dry, bloodless lips as though willing them to life. He could feel his world crumble under him. He kept cleaning off his tears crashing the light of the day to confirm his fears. It was her. His 16-year old daughter. She was lying lifeless on the pedestrian walkway of Third Mainland bridge, next to her best friend, Cynthia.

**         **       **       **    **  **        **         **

It was the beginning of a new week, you know how it is, the whole vibe of go-out-and-succeed. That was the spirit, the mood that he found himself in. As a police officer, he never believed that an innocent person could end up in trouble. To him, the world wasn't as terrible as people painted it. He could not be called naive for he wasn't. He could not be called heartless either, for he had his moments of kindness. There was this one time someone had molested his daughter's friend for being gay. His sixteen year old nubian queen, almost in the last year of her senior high, was in every way blessed. The five feet five inched girl, had arrived late from school on a particular thursday disheveled. He never forgot the drama that followed.

"Young lady, check your time. Can you tell me where you're coming from by this time of the day? And why do you look like you spent your day at a farm? What's with the long face?" He'd queried.

"Oh shit! He's home." She'd cursed under her breath. "He wasn't supposed to be home till 7."

"I... I... I was with a friend, she was molested at school by some group of boys", she'd replied wearily. 

"What was her offence?" 

"There's this other girl in my class who happened to be a sister to one of the boys, she was with us. I think it was because of it." She had averted his obvious gaze.

"You mean a group boys beat up your friend for being at the same place with a girl? How in Lucifer's name is that a bad thing or is there something else you are hiding from me?" His had tone risen.

Grudgingly, she went ahead to narrate the story of the boys' discovery of the girls' sexual orientation and her ordeals. As she narrated the story she had noticed the disgust on his face at the part where the boys beat up the girl. He had vehemently threatened to follow his daughter to school the next day and take care of the miscreants. His daughter's face had lit up in total admiration, love and respect for her father. She'd felt so proud of him that moment and had hugged him. That would have been the best moment of a terrible day, save that she had told him a spiced version.

" You mean you have a friend who's gay? How can she be gay in a country like this? Why should she be gay in the first place?" He had bombarded the teen with questions pitilessly.

She had only stared in utter confusion and disbelief. She knew her father had a way of making everything look less hectic, less of an issue, less problematic. She least expected this one. The visible disappointment on his daughter's face said it all. Stop.

"Look, you can't go about proclaiming yourself gay in a country like ours. And do not get me wrong, I do not have anything against gay people, but I don't see any reasons why I should go out there and arrest those boys. Tell your friend to be less gay. Teach her how to dress like a lady. Tell her to stay away from girls. If she abides by all these, no one would think her gay let alone molest her. Besides the boys only corrected her. Just tell your friend to behave herself, everyone will be fine. You all should just call it a truce. And please stay away from her, there are other girls you should choose as friends in your class." 

Dumbfounded, the girl known as Cisca could not bring herself to argue with her father. It was that imaginary line. African parents never let their children to cross it. She had made for her room in silence. Her father on other hand had wondered what her daughter had expected of him. He shrugged and agreed within himself that it was a lost course, for no one was ever innocent in crime cases. Arresting those boys posed another problem besides making him a gay advocate. He only wished the students could learn to handle issues their own way. She was safe for all he cared. That case ended there. 

He prepared for work by dawn. Few minutes later, Cisca came down the stairs, ready for school. She was about leaving after setting breakfast when it occurred to her that she was yet to see her father. She pulled back and made for her father's room. At the door, she tapped gently. 

"Come in sweetie." 

"Daddy, good morning." She stepped in.

"Morning. How was your night?" He was seated on his bed and was forcing his left foot into his shiny black shoe. 

"It was fine, Sir." 

"Already dressed I see. What's with the rush?"

"Cynthia and I have something to do before school begins for the day."

"Assignment related," she had quickly added. 

The man nodded before asking, "Have you eaten?" 

"I'm not hungry actually, but I packed some snacks. Your table is set by the way." 

"Alright, take care of yourself and have a nice day. Make sure you come back home straight when school dismisses. The town isn't friendly anymore."

"Alright, sir. Have a nice day, dad." And with that, she left, jamming the door behind her. A heavy harmattan breeze was quick to embrace her as she left the house. The weather condition demanded extra warmth—she was always prepared for such. It was this kind of weather that reminded her of the popular Nigeria adage which says that, "de difference between harmattan and winter nah visa." She chuckled at the thought. Tucking her hands into her side pocket to keep them warm, she couldn't ignore their busy street. Even with the weather condition, the hustling and bustling lifestyle of Lagos was not found wanting. From pupils to merchants, everyone was going about their normal activities. She stole a glance at her wrist watch and it was just 6:25 a.m. "Dad is right, Lagos never sleeps." She soliloquizes smiling as she crossed to the other side of the road to joined a crowd of people waiting at the bus stop. About three minutes after, luck came her way. She boarded a cyclist and headed to school.

At home, Henry, her father was ready for work. The breakfast layout in the dining room reminded him of his wife. She died of cancer years ago. His mind drifted to the daughter. "She's all grown up and looks a lot like you, Jenny." He said to himself as he positioned himself on his chair to eat. "She's such a good girl, I owe her a gift. She's 16 today. I don't really understand why she considers a birthday celebration a waste of time. I'll try and make this one different." He downed his glass of juice. He loved the freshness therein.

"There's always this dark look in her eyes that she never wants to talk about, just like you. Two years is a lot to hide something like cancer. I hope whatever it is, will be resolved before it becomes late. Like yours." He stopped talking, faced his breakfast and finished it. He had just stood up from his table when a colleague called. When the call ended, he grumbled about being called to report to work before 8a.m. He picked up his car keys and left the house. 

Cisca had barely entered her class, when someone screamed "Happy birthday!!!" She turned and shook her head in disappointment. 

"Why do you keep doing this every year?" Cisca queried. 

"Because you are my best friend. And because birthdays are worth celebrating. Oh I forgot to tell you, I brought a third party." Replied an exited Cynthia.  

Amanda, a classmate of theirs came out of her hiding. Cisca saw a gift in her hand, well wrapped, she rolled her eyes and sat down on her seat. Cynthia walked to her best friend, and began to talk to her, she signaled Amanda to join them. About five minutes later, Cisca smiled at Amanda who was standing few metres away from them. Now Amanda had a crush on Cisca, but did not know how to go about it. Cisca decided to make the move.

"I understand you have something to tell me, I'm all ears." Cisca voiced out. 

Amanda smiled nervously and threw the gift to Cisca, who silently caught it. Cisca opened the card and read the handwritten text contained in it. 

"It's kinda difficult to come to terms that my prince charming is a princess. I don't have any regrets in knowing that, thanks for being nice to me over the years. Please will you be my girl friend?" 

Cisca smiled, bit her lower lips and stared up into her eyes, before turning to the helm of her sweater for comfort. Meanwhile, Cynthia silently cross-checked her assignment. Amanda only stared nervously. Everyone was engrossed in what they were doing

"Please say something at least," Amanda finally found her voice. 

After some minutes, Cisca returned her gaze to Amanda. Standing, she approached her crush and was only inches away from her. From her eyes, Cisca could tell Amanda's heart skipped a beat. She didn't know the words to use in describing the look on her face. It was neither selfpity, nor uncertainty. It was something between the boundary of honesty and helplessness. Innocence. Cisca covered the space between them, took Amanda's hand into hers and cleared her throat. 

"What I'm about to tell you may break you, you might hate me after, but I have no choice. I am very queer, but actually not that queer. I'm asexual. It took me time to accept it, but it is what it is. I can't throw myself away. I don't want to break your heart, I am not good enough for you, so I'd advice that you find love else where." 

She broke their connection and was about to return to her seat when Amanda pulled her back. She looked her over and engulfed her in a 360-hug. When the hug ended, Amanda gave her a peck on the forehead and mouthed "happy birthday, crush." They both giggled. As students arrived school, Cisca put away the gifts into her bag, Amanda smiled at her and went to her desk. 

Henry at work, had finished seeing his commander when 211 call came. He ignored it and grumbled something about it being too early for any form of emergency. He stood up and finally took the call. After the call he sent someone out to handle the situation.  

At school Amanda's brother, Jake, had come to her class to ask her where she zoomed-off to in the morning. Her instinct told her to tell a lie and she went with it, but it did not occur to her that she had been followed from home; that someone had recorded every incident that took place. When he played the video to her, she was dumbfounded. 

"I'm going to teach them a life time lesson today." He blurted out and walked away.  

Amanda ran out to look for Cisca and Cynthia, but they were no where to be found. 

It was afternoon time, Henry had excused himself to get to the nearby supermarket. He was about to go inside when he noticed that three males there were involved in a word banter. He approached them and inquired what the matter was all about. He was able to gather that the older man who happened to be the manager at the supermarket was about to throw the 17 and 18 year old boys out of the space they had paid a thousand naira for due to the litering that the manager assumed was done by them. Having gathered that one of the boys, a shoe maker, Abdul, was from the North, and other, Efe, a sachet water vendor, was from the South, Henry concluded that they were guilty as charged. He never bothered asking the boys their side of the story. He went ahead to remind them that they were liable to have done it given to the fact that they were from terrorist known states. In his usual way, he told the manager to call it a truce and with that the case was closed.

School had dismissed and Amanda could not pin-point the whereabout of her friends. 

"Perhaps they went somewhere," she concluded, took her bag and headed home. 

Henry got back to his office and got an emergency call that some school boys and girls were fighting and that weapons were involved. He dropped the call and decided to delay before going to the crime scene. Few minutes again another call came in that the boys had shot one of the girls and that they had fled through the other the end of the Mainland Bridge. Henry on the other hand concluded that was high school cultism and nothing serious. 

Lagos state was referred to as no man's land, and so, if you happen to be passing where two persons are shouting at each other, you have no right to become the judge. Life in Lagos was a case of survival of the fittest. No one fights your fight. It's either you fight and win or die trying. 

It was around 4:30 p.m, Officer Henry was heading out on street patrol in the official van. He had decided to take the route leading to Third Mainland Bridge. Fortunate enough, there was no traffic jam of any sort. He even noticed that the pedestrian walkway was empty. He began to wonder what the problem was, but continued to drive till he caught a glimpse of what looked like two bodies lying on the pedestrian walk of the bridge. Henry got down from the police van ran to where two bodies lay lifelessly on the pedestrian side of the bridge. His heart stopped immediately he caught a glimpse of what looked like a hand-made-brown-purse lying carelessly some steps away from the bodies. 

"It could have been anyone's", he said aloud as he quickened his pace while his heart throbbed.

"Why in God's name are they clothless?" He asked, rhetorically.

By-standers began to disperse at the arrival of a police van. The ones standing few meters away from the crime scene were whispering something to each other. He took a closer look at the still form, inches from where he stood and a shudder ran through his spine. Goosebumps were crawling out of his skin like ants from their hiding place. Hot tears fell off his eyes, draining his knees of their strength. His wobbling legs gave way and he fell next to her—her remains rather. The sky seemed to spin around him as he felt his body attain higher degrees of temperature. The severest of migraines took over with a pounding that made him wish for death. His left hand rose⁠— of its own will— to touch her, but it kept shaking uncontrollably. His brain seemed to have lost coherence for he couldn't distinguish reality from his imagination at that moment. His tongue flicked over his dry, bloodless lips as though willing them to life. He could feel his world crumble under him. He kept cleaning off his tears crashing the light of the day to confirm his fears. It was her. His 16-year old daughter. She was lying lifeless on the pedestrian walkway of Third Mainland bridge, next to her best friend, Cynthia.