Hot Potato

“I like that boy very well. Despite all odds around him, he seems very hardworking and serious with his academics too. I won’t be surprised if he aces is GCE exam.” Anjorin often voiced her opinion of Quadri to Bukky whenever the two met.

Never a million times would Anjorin have dreamed that her passing comments would come to hunt her or find herself in a jittery position because of her association. Tensed, like a woman who made a pact with a sorcerer who traded a clay pot for an enchanted necklace. The dilemma was that neither the sorcerer nor the woman could return the thing borrowed. After all, returning the clay pot would result in cutting down the orange tree, while the necklace couldn’t be retracted from the neck of the sick because it was the child only source of life support.

It all began in June 2008 when Bukky first brought Anjorin, her sister, to visit Madam Rufiat's saloon. It wasn't long before Anjorin started mingling with the stylist's family.

Married but single; was the story of Madam Rufiat’s life; her husband, Mr. Sadiq, was a driver and lived in Abuja, while his wife and three children [Ayo, Quadri and Muiba] lived in Ibadan. Mr. Sadiq only visited home twice a year, during the Eid al-Fitr, and Christmas time. The couple was never a fanatic of either of the two religions, they lived a carefree life, perhaps too carefree for the children’s upbringing.

Anjorin, a graduate student at the University of Ibadan, frequented the saloon even more than her sister, who originally was the stylist's customer. Madam Rufiat’s saloon was a hangout for students of all ages in different educational institutions, whether the university, college, or polytechnic students. The stylist was jovial and always welcoming; the ambiance of her shop offered a relaxing vibe to young clients who sought fun outside the rigorous hours on campus; it was like a getaway haven for schoolgirls. Anjorin used to visit the place for two reasons; to style her hair and to enjoy Mama Danjuma’s fried groundnuts, a Tapa woman who owned a small booth near the saloon.

The taste of the fried groundnuts was like heaven, its aroma was like an enchantress luring customer to her side. Nearly all the students and people of all ages, were fans of the fried groundnuts, Anjorin was no exception. Due to the students’ patronage, the fried groundnuts became an essential commodity to buy; it only took a couple of hours to empty the women's trays. Anjorin then devised a means to indulge her craving; she liaised with the fourteen-year-old Quadri to help buy it down since his mother’s shop was close to the groundnut’s seller. It was this arrangement that brought the two closer.

Whenever Anjorin went by the shop to pick her groundnuts, she always advised the boy and encouraged him to study well to get admitted to the university or polytechnic. Quadri would listen patiently to the delight of the lady.

“I am glad that you are taking your schoolwork seriously. Don’t let the noise around hinder your progress in life. You are the author of your dream.” She always advised.

“Thank you, Auntie Anjorin. I will yield your advice. The exam is fast approaching, I may not be able to buy your groundnuts down, but I will work out something with Mama Danjuma’s son when the time comes.”

“Don’t worry yourself about this little matter. Just focus on your study. I have a gift for you if you do well in your exam.”

“Auntie Anjorin, I hope you are not pulling my leg.”

“I am not.”

“Then I will work harder.”

“Good. I will be waiting for a good report.”

 As time went by, Anjorin began to pride herself on becoming a mentor, a job she took seriously. It wasn’t long before Madam Rufiat, and Anjorin became closer than the typical stylist and client relationship; they sometimes shared personal secrets. Anjorin had helped deliver messages or picked things she wasn’t proud of on behalf of Madam Rufiat. During their interactions, Anjorin soon knew that the woman kept two lovers apart from the absentee husband. After all, she had helped deliver messages, on a few occasions, to either of these lovers. It was no secret to her three children, either, which baffled Anjorin greatly; she feared for the moral upbringing of the children brought up in that family arrangement.

Anjorin was at the Agbowo bus stop, about to go home after a day at school when she saw Quadri and his friend fighting head-on with another student. She chastised the boy and sent him home. A middle-aged woman beside her called attention to a folded letter lying on the floor and informed her that it belonged to the boy she sent home. Anjorin thanked the market woman and brought the letter home. When she unfolded the paper, she saw a polo design, and wondered what Quadri was up to, “Is this boy into graphic design now?” She mused over it, and the following week, she returned it to the rightful owner.

Two months later, she visited the shop on Friday afternoon and spent a couple of hours with the rest of the customers and Madam Rufiat. When she was about to leave, Madam Rufiat called her attention.

“Sister Anjorin, please, before you go, could you help me deliver these old newspapers to Mama Danjuma?"

“Are you sure the woman hasn't closed for today?"

"I saw her not quite long. She should still be around. Otherwise, I might just throw the papers away instead of letting them litter my shop."

"Well, I am the person delivering the papers now, not you. Don't you go there and use it to claim credit from Mama Danjuma." Anjorin jokingly replied before leaving the shop.

However, Mama Danjuma closed early that day, therefore, the girl was forced to bring the old newspaper home. When Anjorin reached home, she dropped her bag on her dressing table to make dinner, and completely forgot it there. Later, she attended to her school’s assignment due the following week.

On Monday morning, the girl returned to school without remembering Madam Rufiat’s unfinished business; she rushed down to campus with a different bag. In addition, she had no time to visit the stylist shop throughout the week because she was saddled with schoolwork. However, during the following week, she made attempts to visit the shop and met it under lock. She was stupefied and couldn't fathom what was going on. Anjorin who never liked gossip didn’t tarry there, instead went back to school. It wasn’t until Wednesday evening of the following week that Anjorin knew what happened. Bukky visited her sister’s place, and during their interaction, she broke the unsavory news while rummaging inside her sister’s bag.

“Hey, don’t you touch that bag!”

“Is there anything special you are keeping a secret from me?”

“There is nothing special inside. You know I just don’t like people touching my stuff.” Despite Anjorin’s protest, Bukky had brought out nearly half of the content inside the brown bag.

“Why can’t I touch your stuff then? I am not a stranger, but your sister. Are you keeping incriminating things inside?”

“What do you mean by that? Watch your tongue.”

“I thought there is something special inside. Why did you go ballistic over old newspapers? What exactly are you doing with it? Don’t tell me you’ve started collecting old stuff.”

“It isn’t mine. I was supposed to pass it on, but unfortunately, I couldn’t. By the way, I went by Madam Rufiat’s shop last week, same this Monday, it was under lock.?”

“So, you haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?”

“Well, don't go there until the storm is over. The police are interrogating everyone closer to the shop and the family. The issue is a bit complicated. Initially, I thought it was a rumor. Now I don’t know what to think again. I, for one, think behind any rumor, there is always an element of truth?”

“What exactly happens? And why are police bringing people for questioning?”

“I heard that Quadri was arrested,”

“Why would police arrest an underage child? What was his offense, or better still, what was the supposed offense?”

“I said more than you when I first heard about the incident. His mother was arrested alongside the children but released on bail. I heard she had traveled to Abuja to beg her husband for help because the man practically refused to budge when informed on the phone.”

“Bukky, you haven’t told me what happened?”

“According to the report I heard, Quadri and some members of his classmates were into occultist practice…”

“Bukky. What nonsense are you talking about? If someone were to say this thing before you, I would assume you wouldn't hesitate to disprove it. What does an underage child know about cultism? For God's sake, the child is fourteen. I will vouch for him.”

“I hope you will not go to the police station and implicate yourself there. Do you know your so-called innocent fourteen years old boy and his associates cut off a boy's male organ…”

“What! Could there be a mistake somewhere?”

“Mind you, up till now, Quadri still insisted that he knew nothing about the incident and that the rest of the members were lying. He insisted that it was a conspiracy to rope him in.”

“I believe him. Quadri can’t commit such a heinous crime. And what about you, do you not believe him? Or do you believe Quadri to be such a person who could commit such an offense?”

“I hardly know what I believe anymore. He was obedient, gentle, and kind, yes. Is it enough to exonerate him from the overwhelming evidence against him? I will say no.”

“What evidence?”

“The rest of the six group members provided a group photo where they wore a black tank top with a mark of crucifixion. They even said it was Quadri who designed the logo. He was among the group photo; he was the only person wearing a face cap. In between their tight, there is also a tattoo bearing this same mark. His mother insisted it was all lies cooked up to discredit her son. Anyway, no one is buying it. The police took the photo out for verification since Quadri claimed that the group might have resulted in photo-shopping to rope him. I mean the boy is eloquent for his age. He was like an actor rehearsing his role.”

Anjorin remained quiet, doubting what she heard, while juggling her memory.

Bukky went on to narrate her thoughts about the incident. “I am still curious about how he managed to destroy his copy of the photo because the group claimed that each had a copy. They all produced theirs; only Quadri’s copy was missing. The police had combed his mother’s shop and ransacked their apartment, to no avail. The police did a terrific job, I gave them credit for combing the Alagbafo Riverside where the boy’s male organ was buried. They retrieved it but couldn’t be fixed again, it was near decay.”

“I believe I have stumbled on that design before.” Anjorin began to recount her experience. “I was actually at the bus stop when I saw Quadri’s friend, Adekunle. The boy was about to cross the street when he spotted Quadri. I admitted I didn’t see Quadri, but Adekunle’s reaction led me to trace his movement to Quadri’s side. Quadri was quarrel ling with some of his schoolmates. I dashed there to stop them, and in the course of it, a folded sheet fell out of Quadri’s back pocket. I didn’t see it and even stepped on it while attempting to placate and separate them. I sternly warned Quadri and demanded he go home right before me. He assented and crossed the street in my presence. Afterwards, a woman selling garden eggs nearby drew my attention to the folded paper and told me that it fell out of Quadri's back pocket. So, I picked it up. It was a drawing of a polo shirt with a red sign, like a sign of crucifixion, embolden on it. I didn’t attach any meaning to it; in fact, I thought he was being creative. If you don’t mention seeing a photo of them in a tank top cloth with this same mark, I wouldn’t have remembered or connected the incident to the issue at stake. I even returned the draft to him when I visited the shop to pick up my snacks. It is one thing to be accused of cultism and another to commit a heinous offense against your fellow human beings. I don’t know what to think again.”

“So, you see. The boy isn’t innocent at all. I never knew that you were that close to the truth, and here you are still vouching for him. Anyway, his mother is out there running helter-skelter to get his bail.”

“How would I have known if you haven’t told me?”

The two sisters had dinner together before Bukky returned to campus. Anjorin was preoccupied with the revelation while sorting out the contents of the bag emptied on the bed. One of the old newspapers fell on the floor, and a small envelope like a postcard dropped off it. She picked it up, and inside was a small note written and addressed to Quadri.

[Quadri,

You have been absent for two consecutive meetings, please, make yourself available on Friday night as planned to complete the ritual. Sanjo and Andrew are handling the thing. As a custodian, I shouldn't remind you of your duty. Please, bring the knife. We meet near the Alagbafo River at 10 pm, don’t be late.]

If Bukky hadn’t come by to tell her about the incident, Anjorin might have not given the letter a second thought, or at most, warned the boy not to venture out at night. Not now when it was like a hot potato in her hand, she picked the letter to read again. She read and re-read it again, questioning why an underage boy would venture out at night, bearing a knife, and what exactly was the thing being handled by Sanjo and Andrew. She dreaded having stumbled on the most damaging evidence. Confused, unable to think, yes, she was indeed! She was in a dilemma about what to do with the letter. Should she turn in the letter to the police and condemn her mentee for life? If she held on to the note, what would be the fate of the boy whose male organ had been cut off? Was there any guarantee of a change in the boy who never felt remorseful of the offense? Instead, he had continuously sought means of exonerating himself of the guilt.

Where was the social justice should the body of evidence never be present? Anjorin was in dilemma, regretting ever collecting the newspapers from Madam Rafiat, without which she wouldn’t have stumbled upon the damaging and incriminating letter.