At the National Police Headquarters in Abuja, the Inspector General of Police had seen the day's edition of The Voice Newspaper. The story the President had drawn his attention to was prominently featured on the front page, immediately capturing his interest. The arrest of Doctor Jim. Jim's photograph was boldly printed beneath the headline.
"So, it was Jim! Why didn't he call me?" the Inspector General murmured to himself. As a member of their association, Jim should have known that mutual support was imperative.
Without hesitation, he picked up his cellphone and dialled Jim's number. A recorded voice informed him that the number was switched off. Therefore, he then searched his contacts for the Lagos Commissioner of Police's name. As soon as he found it, he dialled the number, and the phone began to ring.
"Hello, Badru," he said.
"Hello, Sir," the Commissioner of Police responded.
"I just read in the news that you arrested the doctor because of your wife's death," the IGP stated.
"He killed my wife and needs to learn a harsh lesson, Sir," the CP replied.
"Are you serious! What evidence do you have against him?" the IGP raised his voice at his junior officer.
"I don't have any concrete evidence yet, Sir, but I am still investigating. I suspect he was negligent and that led to my wife's death," the CP attempted to justify his actions.
"You suspect he killed your wife, but you have no proof to support your suspicion. Regardless, the President is aware of this unlawful arrest and personally called to express his strong disapproval. You are to release the innocent man immediately," the IGP ordered the CP.
"But Sir…" the CP began to protest but was cut off by his superior.
"Release the man and let him go. Any further harassment from you or your officers will result in severe disciplinary action," the IG affirmed his earlier order and ended the call.
"Okay, Sir," the CP said reluctantly.
…
IT WAS NOON. At this time of the year, as the month progressed, the sun's intensity increased, making air conditioning a necessity in most homes, or at least requiring windows to be left ajar to allow any semblance of a breeze to alleviate the stifling heat.
Bola and Teni were en-route back to the office from the National Conference venue, a government initiative designed to find lasting solutions to the various problems plaguing the country. With representatives from all sectors of society, diverse tribes, and every region of the nation present, the National Conference was widely regarded as the long-awaited forum necessary to address the country's persistent challenges. The conference was to last a week. But the first day was what Bola and Teni had to attend.
The car's windows were sealed against the midday heat, and the air conditioning blew at its coolest setting as they drove back from the conference venue. Both women felt a sense of accomplishment, having secured brief interviews with the President and the Vice President for their newspaper. Beyond these interviews, they had also received a promising invitation from the Secretary of State for a scheduled visit to the Presidential Villa.
Teni was particularly elated by her interaction with the President, whose demeanour proved far more approachable than she and Bola had anticipated. She had expressed her desire for a more in-depth interview in the near future, and he had graciously encouraged her to contact the State House whenever she was ready to arrange an appointment.
On their return journey to the office, as Bola carefully maneuverer the car to avoid a significant pothole, a motorcycle rider veered dangerously close to their bumper. While Bola reacted with an outburst, nearly resorting to curses, the young man offered a polite, apologetic wave. He clearly recognized his error, but his gesture did little to appease Bola's considerable irritation.
"What an idiot!" Bola exclaimed, her voice sharp with annoyance.
"You can't entirely blame him," Teni countered gently. She felt the rider's apology was sufficient and that the road's poor condition was not his fault.
"What do you mean?" Bola asked, giving Teni a brief, surprised look as she drove.
"I'm saying that he likely swerved to avoid that pothole," Teni explained, turning to gauge Bola's reaction, but her friend's frown indicated no agreement.
"Then whose fault is it?" Bola challenged, unable to understand Teni's sudden defence of a reckless road user.
"It's the government's responsibility, my dear. Let's be frank! They should repair the roads before we fault those who use them," Teni stated plainly, turning her gaze away.
"I see! So, the government is also responsible for teaching citizens how to exercise patience and common sense when navigating bad roads," Bola retorted sarcastically, casting another brief glance at Teni.
"Thank goodness you acknowledged the 'bad roads.' Why should the roads be in such a state?" Teni almost smiled at Bola's reluctant concession.
Bola remained unconvinced by her friend's argument. While she agreed that the government should fix the roads, she believed that, in the interim, people should exercise greater caution and responsibility while driving or riding on them.
"I still wonder why you chose journalism over law," Bola mused, her eyes fixed on the road. "Yesterday, you were even suggesting that the death of the Commissioner of Police's wife might have been due to your fiancé's negligence," she added, giving Teni another brief, stern look that prompted Teni to smile and look away.
"I maintain my position that the motorcycle rider was not truly at fault," Teni said, her smile unwavering.
"I understand. You'd have made a terrible lawyer if you had studied law," Bola hissed playfully, a hint of laughter in her voice.
"Well, I could have been a lawyer, and a good one at that, because I love the profession. I initially wanted to study law but later fell in love with journalism, probably because of my father. Mum said he was a journalist. He was in the United States on a short journalism course sponsored by the Nigerian government when they met at the restaurant where Mum worked as a waitress," Teni revealed.
"Oh! You've never told me this," Bola said, genuinely surprised.
However, she knew that any discussion about Teni's absent father invariably evoked strong emotions in her friend. Teni had never met him, yet she cherished his memory deeply. Bola reached over and placed her right hand on Teni's lap while keeping the other on the steering wheel, a gesture of comfort to ease the familiar pain of remembering her missing father.
"He must have been a compassionate person, like you. You likely inherited that from him. I believe he would be incredibly proud of your achievements as a journalist," Bola said, concentrating on driving as she spoke.
"Do you have any photograph of him? We could perhaps include it in one of our publications sometime," Bola suggested, accelerating to beat the traffic light that was about to turn red.
"No. Mum lost the only one she had," Teni replied soberly.
"What about the school where he took the six-month course? They might have his full name and passport photos," Bola suggested thoughtfully.
"Wow! We never considered that. I will definitely visit the journalism schools in New York when I go on holiday in the US," Teni said, recognizing the wisdom in Bola's suggestion and eager to pursue it.
"You mean you don't even know which school? Are you serious?" Bola asked, amazed.
"Yes, he took a six-month course in New York, and after completing it, he spent three weeks with his Uncle in Maryland before leaving. That's when he met Mum. She only knew him as Jamil Badmus," Teni explained.
"This is quite a situation!" Bola exclaimed, glancing briefly at Teni before returning her focus to the road. "Well, you absolutely must visit the journalism schools in New York. Who knows? You might get lucky," she added.
She recognized the complexity of Teni's search. Deciding to change the subject, and remembering her need for groceries, she suggested a stop. They were nearing the junction of the city's major grocery store, The Manillas. Bola turned to look at Teni, who was now engrossed in her phone.
"I need to pick up some groceries. Can we stop by The Manillas?" Bola asked, knowing Teni usually enjoyed shopping.
"It's okay," Teni replied absently, her eyes still fixed on her phone. She had typed her father's name, Jamil Badmus, into Facebook, resuming the same search that had yielded no results for years. She longed to locate him and experience that first embrace between a father and daughter.
Bola drove into the grocery store's parking lot and pulled up as directed by the security officer managing the orderly flow of vehicles. The Manillas was a popular establishment, its bustling parking lot a testament to its patronage. Stepping out of the vehicle, the two women approached the store's entrance.
Bola, in her striking red blouse over a short black skirt, complemented by a matching purple handbag, exuded corporate elegance. Her smooth, dark skin shimmered under the sunlight like polished ebony wood catching a spotlight. She moved gracefully on her high heels, resembling a model on a runway.
"You are welcome," the security guard at the entrance greeted them.
"Thank you," Teni replied, her response accompanied by a warm smile. She followed Bola into the store, who seemed preoccupied, checking for her MasterCard in her bag and appearing unaware of the greeting.
The security guard's head turned, his gaze following Teni with undisguised admiration. The dimples that appeared on her cheeks as she smiled in response to his greeting took his breath away. Struck by her natural beauty, a combination of well-defined curves and a flawless face, he felt a sudden, intense desire. What a beauty! his thoughts echoed.
He would have bet his life that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. And, like an eager gossip, he drew the attention of his colleague, who stood nearby, to the woman who had just passed him.
"Look at the half-caste," he whispered, gesturing subtly with his head and eyes towards Teni. "So beautiful!" he added with a wink, and his colleague acknowledged his accurate observation with a smile.
Teni was one of those women possessed of great beauty who seemed genuinely unaware of its impact. In Bola's opinion, it was her inherent simplicity that contributed to this unassuming quality. Bola had once joked that even a blind man could sense and appreciate Teni's beauty, as its radiance was bright enough to be felt. It was truly exceptional.
Could it be her mixed heritage—her mother being white and her father black—that accounted for this? Bola had often pondered the common notion that ninety percent of children from such unions were exceptionally attractive.
In Teni's view, her beauty was simply a consequence of having Rhoda as her mother. Any daughter fortunate enough to be born to her mother would inevitably be beautiful. Her mother possessed such striking beauty that every man in their town had desired her. Even as a young child, Teni had noticed the distinct look in men's eyes and their behaviour towards her mother on numerous occasions, though she hadn't understood its nature. In her childhood thoughts, she often wondered why her mother was so admired by men. But one night, when her grandmother sat her mother down in her room for a private conversation that Teni inadvertently overheard, she understood. It was lust.
Her grandmother and mother had assumed she was asleep. However, frightened by an owl perched outside her window, she had left her room in search of her mother. She was only seven years old. Near her mother's bedroom door, she overheard her grandmother speaking to her daughter. Her grandmother was inside her mother's room. Quietly, Teni stood by the partially open door, peeking and eavesdropping.
"Beauty intoxicates like wine. Those who possess it can be ruined by it unless they use it wisely," her grandmother had said. "You are a beautiful woman, and you should know that not every man's compliment is genuine. Don't make the mistake of having another child out of wedlock. Choose wisely," her grandmother's words resonated deeply within young Teni that night and had remained etched in her memory ever since.
They passed the security guards at the store's entrance, and proceeded directly to the shelves. On a whim, Teni decided to pick up a few items for herself as well, making her presence at the store worthwhile. Ready to shop, they each took a trolley and began their respective missions. The stop at the store was enjoyable, filled with jokes, playful teasing, laughter, and shared giggles as they moved from one aisle to another.
Within twenty minutes, Teni had gathered everything she needed. To her surprise, Bola seemed to have just begun, her trolley already overflowing. Without hesitation, Bola requested another trolley from one of the store attendants.
"Are you having a party?" Teni exclaimed quietly, observing Bola's request.
"I prefer to buy all my monthly groceries at once. Besides, my cousin Janet ate like a camel during the two weeks she stayed with us. Food that was supposed to last at least three weeks vanished in two," Bola said, making her characteristic funny face whenever she was about to launch into a humorous anecdote.
"You should be grateful to have someone like Janet. You know, I wish I had a large family like yours," Teni said, helping her friend push her full trolley while also pushing her own.
Regarding Bola's joke about her cousin, Teni felt Bola took her large family for granted and needed to realize that some people lacked such a privilege despite desiring it.
"Don't talk like that anymore. You have your family in the US. You sound like an orphan," Bola responded, continuing her shopping.
"Yes, I know, but wouldn't it be wonderful if I also knew my Nigerian family? I surely must have paternal cousins, aunts, and uncles here too. And I can't meet them until I locate my Dad. I long for that every day, and I would never take it for granted if I succeed in finding them," Teni said wistfully.
"I am absolutely certain that one day, and soon, you will find your Dad. And through him, you will connect with the rest of the family you so deeply desire to meet. That will be a grand celebration for all of us," Bola said, offering her friend encouragement.
"Amen!" Teni replied with a smile, giving Bola a gentle pat on the back. She valued Bola's companionship immensely, especially since their initial meeting at the company. Bola had consistently provided support and understanding, akin to a member of her own family.
"Is everything you've selected sufficient?" Bola inquired, slightly puzzled by the small number of items in Teni's trolley.
"Yes, I'm quite satisfied with my purchases. I enjoy visiting the store weekly; it offers a pleasant opportunity for browsing. I find shopping quite enjoyable. It's simply one of our individual preferences," Teni replied as they approached the cashier's station.
"Well, you seem to have a point," Bola conceded, pushing both trolleys towards the payment counter.
Another shopper was currently being attended to, making Bola next in line. With keen observation, Bola noticed a man looking in their direction. The tall, dark-complexioned man stood between the shelves at a distance. He held a pack of cookies and two cartons of milk. His intense gaze was fixed on Teni, a fact that was immediately apparent to Bola.
"That gentleman in the red shirt has his eyes glued on you, my dear princess," Bola quietly informed her friend before turning her attention back to the cashier, as it was now her turn to pay.
Intrigued by her friend's observation, Teni subtly glanced in the man's direction to confirm Bola's discovery. As their eyes met, the man quickly looked away, like someone caught in a forbidden act. His gaze now fixed on the shelf before him, he feigned interest in the items displayed.
Once Bola had completed her payment, it was Teni's turn. She stepped forward to the cashier and reached into her purse while Bola moved aside. Teni retrieved her Visa card and inserted it into the Point of Sale machine. As she did so, her thoughts drifted back to the man in red. What a handsome man! she mused. He possessed the kind of attractiveness she might have found appealing had she not been in a committed relationship. Curious to know if he was still watching, Teni looked in his direction again. And indeed, he was caught staring once more.
"Your pin, ma'am," the sales attendant's voice drew Teni's attention back to the P.O.S. machine, prompting her to enter her security code.
"Oh, sorry!" Teni apologized and inputted her PIN using the keypad. She was done and was about to retrieve her card when a sudden crash echoed nearby.
"Oops! Look what your beauty has caused. Oh my gosh!" Bola exclaimed quietly, a giggle escaping her lips.
"What was that?" Teni asked, raising her head to see what had happened.
"There was a fall and a spillage," Bola giggled again, amusement evident in her voice.
Almost everyone near the cashier's desk turned their heads towards the man in red. One of the milk cartons in his hands had slipped and fallen, its contents spreading across the floor, creating a mess at his feet. The man appeared embarrassed, but the store attendants quickly moved to address the situation.
"You must be joking if you think that was my doing," Teni replied to Bola's playful accusation with a smile.
"Of course, it was you. That's the effect of having a figure like Beyoncé's," Bola teased, making a funny face at Teni.
She pushed her trolleys towards the exit door, laughing, while Teni followed behind her.
Teni often wondered if Bola could go a single day without cracking jokes and teasing. It seemed as though her very existence was tied to these playful interactions. And of course, this made her a delightful companion on any occasion.
It was clear that pushing two fully loaded trolleys was cumbersome for Bola. Therefore, Teni, after placing her shopping bag into Bola's second trolley, helped her friend manoeuvre the extra cart to the car park.