Shay’nyam

Author: Kuni Tyessi
Book Title: If Only we Knew: A Collection of Short Stories
Publisher: Aboki Publishers Kaduna, 2022
ISBN: 978-978-8546-9
Word Count: 9,925

She had explained herself repeatedly to different police personnel, but the case seemed to have just started. She was escorted from office to office, continuously reiterating herself. It was exhaustive, but she had no choice. She was careful not to change or forget anything, as that would further implicate her in an issue that was already bad. 

The police personnel were interested in listening to the monotonous story only to make mere speculations and assumptions. It seemed as if they were unwilling to help her out of the quagmire that fate had thrusted upon her. But how could they come to her rescue if she was truly guilty? 

She had also written a statement and could hear from some ongoing conversation that her case would be transferred to the State Criminal and Investigation Department due to its gravity. While some of the personnel looked at her with pity, others viewed with suspicion. Thankfully, one of the policemen on duty, a constable, had asked her of her state of origin and local government. Her surname or tone of voice, each time she spoke, might have been the reason for his inquiry. He discovered they were both from the same ethnic group, but from different villages. 

Ah! You be my sister o,” he announced with a momentous excitement, happy that he had seen one of his own, but not pleased with the circumstances surrounding the chance encounter.

 She was engulfed by a sense of relief, and her hope of being adjudged inculpable heightened. Thenceforth, he spoke to her in their local language. This was the norm between suspects and members of the Nigeria police force. He sat down with her for a moment to reminisce about the political developments within their local government and how situations had turned from bad to worse. 
 
It seemed government agents in uniform often looked out for their own to protect from caprices of the law. This was influenced by religion, social class, or payment in whatever form that one could afford in exchange for better treatment or leniency. They helped in maneuvering cases and made grave offences look light.

“How did it happen?” he inquired. 

Laraba wasted no time in narrating her ordeal with the belief that succour had come. But he is a junior officer, she reminded herself. How can he possibly change the course of things in her favour? She kept musing.

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you,” he assured. 

Constant tears were Laraba's alibi and she refused to be consoled. There were times she wailed, and it seemed to have come unconsciously from deep retrospection. During such moments, she was ordered to keep quiet, as already the police officers on duty were tired of listening to, and solving bizarre cases of man's injustice to man. It was as though inhuman traits and sophisticated vices had been manufactured in some advanced human laboratories and, like goods, had been imported to every single corner of the globe. However, it seemed like a double portion of these dastardly vices were deposited in Nigeria. The daily narratives were simply disheartening. 

How could she be assuaged when Mama, an elderly woman of almost seventy years, had died in her new apartment where she came visiting? The purpose of the visit was to felicitate with her on the successful completion of her three-bedroom, comfy apartment and her elevation from tenant to the coveted status of landlady in the AMAC area council of the Federal Capital Territory (FCT). They were neighbours in a compound that served accommodation to three singles, two married couples, and Mama who lived in the sixth one-room, self-contained in Kuje, another area council in Abuja. 

Already, the atmosphere and the situation at the police station was sickening and lacked order. While Laraba sat down and waited for her turn to be interrogated, she observed some menacing looking policemen crisscrossing the length and breadth of the premises. 

She noticed vehicles that had been abandoned due to lack of maintenance, even though they were in good shape. They had endured dust for several years and had thick cobwebs in them. Some looked damaged, obviously from patrols and gunshot exchanges with men of the underworld. They had deflated tyres and broken windows. A close look showed that some had missing items, such as car stereos, brake pads, and other parts that could be easily sold in second-hand markets. 

She saw relatives who came to visit family members with edibles and how they were quizzed and mandated to eat out of them before delivery. This was primarily to forestall detainees from being poisoned. It was commonplace to have suspects die in detention and with no visible cause. 

The police had been making concerted efforts to rebrand the force and build trust and confidence in the minds of the populace, hence the slogan, “Police is your friend.” Like in most organisations, bad eggs and evil sometimes thrive at the expense of the good and well behaved. 

Some of the uniformed personnel were engaged in side talks about the fate of some suspects and what they hoped to benefit from some of the cases. They spoke in codes that were veiled to the understanding of outsiders. Then she saw four half-clad young men been brought into the station with varying degrees of wounds and lacerations. They were cuffed with chains on legs or hands that were linked from person to person. The sight and thought of what they might have done was depressing. They were shouted at and spoken to inhumanely. From the injuries they sustained, it was clear they had been at the mercy of their captors who celebrated their arrest like people who had won lottery visas. Laraba heard one of the personnel divulge that they were kidnappers. 

"Kidnapping seems to have taken a leap from armed robbery," she soliloquised, taking note of her environment.

 She remembered news reports she had read and video clips she watched on the internet about survivors of kidnap, the kidnappers themselves, and what they do and did to their victims. 

They looked hungry, dirty, fiendish and emaciated. She imagined what they did with the proceeds they accrued from the business, a sordid aspect of modern-day slavery. Then she recalled the news of a kidnapper who was paid the sum of two hundred thousand naira after ransom of twelve million naira was paid. He felt cheated, claiming that his recruiters breached the agreement they had. To take his pound of flesh, even though at his own risk, he reported the matter to the police who immediately swung into action. In monetary terms, his case was better compared to others who confessed to being given meagre rewards ranging from twenty to fifty thousand naira after the nefarious deeds. Then, where did the large sums of money go? 

Another kidnapper had confessed that they had bosses in high places, principalities and powers who had become sacred cows in a sovereign entity. These were people whose names could not be mentioned even though the government had threatened to publish their identities on countless occasions. This turned out to be mere lip service and the government's lack of political will to curb the menace. This has given the nation a bad name in the comity of nations. 

The audacity these sons of Mephistopheles had, to the extent of raping the women in their custody, wasn’t only alarming, but numbing. Those dirty uncircumcised and cursed penises went in and out of one sacred altar to another all in the name of short-term carnal gratification, and continued unabated for days, to weeks and even to months, until the puzzle of their settlement was solved. The kidnappers known to operate in groups and cartels often demanded for other items apart from huge sums of money. They always made demands and some of the items included condoms and tramadol in large quantities. They were afraid of contracting infections, or probably being reasonable to protect their victims from the malignant spirits their pelvises would evoke. Other things for which they demanded varied from alcohol, motorbikes, bicycles to other unimaginable things usually shocking to the ears. 

Ten minutes later, she heard the sound of a ramshackle pickup drive up right in front of the station and packed there. The enthusiastic driver jumped out of the vehicle, waiting for his next order. In a flicker of a moment, Laraba heard the sound of what she concluded must be a log of wood when it was flung in. 

"Shege, dan iska!" She heard one of the female police women curse.

She was one of those at the counter, watching and monitoring all that had been happening from a window. From conversations at the counter, Laraba realised that the supposed log of wood was a dead suspect who died mysteriously in custody. He was brought in two days ago and was to be charged to court the next day. There were several vested interests in his case, but no one could explain what happened. The case was buried beneath a German floor and life continued. This added to her pains and she remembered her predicament and the reason she was at the station. Again, her fear increased and she had another session of tears. 

Every morning, occupants of the compound always left their apartments for work, particularly Rasheed and Niyi who were both bankers in two recently-merged financial institutions. They were lucky to have survived the tsunami that led to the sack of over four thousand workers, rendering many breadwinners financially incapacitated. This was in spite of the dwindling availability of jobs in an economy that already nosedived from a pinnacle it was well known for, hence the epithet, the giant of Africa. 

They were both young men in their thirties who knew early on what they wanted in life and went in pursuit of it. Rasheed sold male shoes and belts mostly manufactured by renowned world-class designers. The goods he ordered were sent to him by courier. He would upload them on his timeline and send the pictures to his prospective customers on platforms he operated. They were a community of friends he made over time, even though he had never met 60 percent of them in person and might never have the opportunity of meeting them. 

Positive comments about his business came in torrents. His online patronage increased and flourished, but for a few hiccups from some friends, family members and colleagues, who would buy his goods, but found it difficult to pay. Sometimes, their refusal to pay was deliberate. The worst that angered Rasheed the most, although he couldn’t talk about it to the hearing of colleagues, was his branch manager who picked four pairs of shoes and belts to match and the attitude that followed afterward. The selected items cost four hundred and seventy thousand naira. The man would not pay and his excuse was tied to family answerability. His salary was about seven hundred thousand naira and his rent was two million, five hundred thousand naira yearly in a posh apartment in Asokoro, an exclusive area under AMAC. He had two children whose school fees were between eight hundred thousand to a million per child, per session. He had a beautiful wife whom he had to maintain despite her job and earnings. She would always remind him of his responsibility to take care of her even if she were paid in millions. This did not include other bills and obligations that were bound to surface. 

Other male accessories, such as shirts, boxers, socks and colognes were also part of Rasheed’s stock in trade. He concentrated on men's clothing, as he found it problematic dealing with women whom he always accused of having excess wahala. He just did not have the energy for their drama, which he surmised as unnecessary and a justifiable reason. 

Niyi operated a unisex saloon and had two secondary school leavers who worked for him and submitted returns at the end of the day. Niyi met Rasheed for the first time in the compound and discovered that several things united them. Firstly, they were both born and raised in Lagos and were in northern Nigeria for the first time. 

It was common for them to leave home at 6:00am in order to beat the famous traffic that heralded late risers and road users plying major routes at rush hour, usually between 7:00am to 9:00am. Although the road that connected the area council to the city centre where their offices were located could be unpredictable and free for movement by motorists, prevention and the panic of getting a query or outright sack was better than an inconvincible explanation. Several of their friends and colleagues who were affected by the mass sack had fallen into depression and were barely surviving. 

One of the married tenants was also a worker that enjoyed priviledges in his organisation. For him, leaving home was not entirely stringent except in certain occasions. Brother Kazeem (pronounced as brodah), the first married man in the compound, was a staff of the Ministry of Special Duties and Intergovernmental Affairs. His ministry had been criticized by many who hardly understood the provisions of the law that supported its establishment. They claimed that from its nomenclature, it was simply an arm of the executive established to promote promiscuity and the wastage of taxpayers’ money. 

“What do they mean by Ministry of Special Duties? What do they mean by special duties if those things are not personal? This government has failed! They should simply tell us that it’s a ministry that will be in charge of providing young girls for all the Abuja politicians and their friends who fly into Abuja. We can’t feel their impact like those of other ministries even though they’re all not functioning. Look at education for example, ASUU strike and out-of school children are a reminder that the ministry exists, but is doing very little.” 

This was the response of an elderly trader to a television crew that came to Wuse Market to conduct interviews. He was not the only one with this impression.  A large number of respondents revealed their ignorance about the existence of the ministry, which they opined existed as a proof of the ongoing scam of the government. 

The response of those who were aware of the establishment of the ministry was soothing to some extent. They all did not know by heart the provisions of the law that established it and the statutory responsibilities of the ministry. Nevertheless, they argued it was too small for its current minister, a two-term governor and a chieftain of the ruling party. They also argued that the existence of the ministry, which was initially merged with the office of the secretary to the government of the federation, was one of the government’s tricks to prove that it had delivered on its mandate in the creation of jobs. 

Brother Kazeem was employed three years ago and had to undergo an age declaration that saw him reducing his age by twelve years. The employment was meant for applicants not above 35 years of age and he was already 46. That was the circular from the Office of the Head of Service and it affected all ministries. 

His wife became a full-time housewife after relocating from Ogun State to join him. They had been married for twelve years, although they had no children yet. She was advised to not waste time in relocating with several examples cited to her with a conclusion that Abuja ladies are vicious hunters who preyed on men whose wives lived in other states. They were said to be available for free services that, with time, metamorphosed into Greek gifts, while serving as conduit pipes. The number of Abuja marriages seemed to have drastically reduced, but not the business of extramarital affairs or the vogue of cohabitation. It was not difficult for her to be convinced, given the understanding of the male configuration. 

The second married tenant was Daddy Fatai, a taxi driver who always had issues with his unpainted taxi, or incomplete and not-up-to-date vehicle particulars. The horror of being stopped and harassed by Vehicle Inspection Officers (VIOs), who arrayed themselves at strategic points on major roads within the FCT, forced him to stay back at home. He carefully decided he would not go through the painful ordeal motorists encountered, who had to pay up to fifteen thousand naira for not having complete papers and other materials that were outside the jurisdiction of the black and white road police. It was a nightmare he was not ready to face. Their excesses had become unbearable that some state governments were forced to scrap the body, citing that they were not backed by the constitution. 

Once, he encountered a nasty experience with the dreaded group that left him with a swollen face, a completely closed left eye, and sores due to slaps he received when he tried to role-play as a tout despite that he knew he was wrong. The men arrested him for the usual offence and forced him to drive to their office amidst his rants. He understood that going to their office would leave large holes in his pocket. Besides, he did not have one-tenth of what would be demanded for his release and that of his car. His alternative choice was to be violent and he dealt one of them a blow to the face. He engaged two of the men who made sure he got a good beating in a scuffle no one attempted to settle. 

Baba Fatai was touted and shamed in their office. He was made to sit on the dusty floor and mandated to come with a guarantor and a stipulated sum of money before the car would be released. He was released at about 6:40pm, but came into the compound when everyone was asleep. He was probably lurking around the vicinity until some minutes past eleven. This late appearance was to avoid the annoying questions that his inquisitive cotenants were bound to ask. 

Most times, he slept throughout the day, or watched movies if the Abuja Electric Distribution Company (AEDC) was benevolent to supply power. Some weeks ago, they made announcements on key radio stations that the FCT and the entire country would experience power outage due to the collapse of the national grid. It was a complex explanation that had to be broken down for the comprehension of the average Nigerian who depends on electricity for the survival of their micro businesses. 

They further went ahead to clarify that the water level had receded far below the acceptable point for power generation and, as such, they were pleading for the understanding of the public. Nonetheless, they failed to illustrate the modalities that were being put in place to curtail the daunting situation. The explanation had become necessary in the face of the humid and uncomfortable biting weather, which medical experts warned was likely to cause serious outbreaks of communicable and non-communicable diseases, such as meningitis, chicken pox, measles and several others, mostly in crowded spaces. 

Shortly after, the minister of power, also informally called the minister of darkness, in an interview refuted earlier claims about the collapse of the national grid. Then what was the problem? No one seemed to have answers even though public analysts had pinned the cause to the monopolization of power by the private sector in the name of DISCOS and GENCOS. 

Another alternative was for Daddy Fatai to purchase fuel to power his "I pass my neighbour" generating set, the smallest of all generators limited in electrical carrying capacity. At least, a litre could afford him the luxury of watching TV and being blown by their ceiling fan for some hours. Between 6:00pm to 7:00pm when he was sure that official duties for the dreaded VIOs had come to a close and they would no longer be seen, he would drive his taxi around, restricting himself to the Kuje, Gwagwalada and AMAC axis. After a two-to-three-day hustle, it was his culture to complain of body aches that would deter him from going out to make money for a whole week. 

Fatai’s wife was a cook at a private secondary school owned by one of Nigeria's topmost politicians and one-time presidential candidate. She barely completed her secondary school education when she became pregnant for her husband, who at that time, was living with his uncle in another part of Kuje. This created crisis in both families. For peace sake, she was married off to him, but with some reservations. She was paid thirty thousand naira monthly, although Daddy Fatai knew her income to be twenty thousand naira. She was participating in a monthly contribution of twenty thousand naira with her colleagues; a monthly turn by turn settlement they used for various home and personal projects. While ten thousand naira was deducted from her salary, the other half was raised from goodwill she receives from parents of some of the students whenever they visited their children and wards, and even from some of the students themselves upon delivery of laundry services or other legitimate favours she did for them. 

On several instances, she had attempted to go into food business by selling grains just outside the compound on a self-made table whenever she was free. This was not possible. The capital and profit were often consumed by their unending, ever-gnawing home demands. She contributed seventy percent of the house rent and sometimes paid the complete sum, mostly after the caretaker of the property had come to disgrace and threaten to evict them. Daddy Fatai was always absent whenever the caretaker came calling. 

Apart from sleeping, feigning ill, and watching movies, he had become a regular caller at the workshop of a vulcaniser down the street and together they talked about mundane happenings within the neighborhood. They also talked football as both were fans of the Chelsea team. They condemned other football clubs and gave technical advice that ended there. Even when he was at home, he never came out to explain the state of things to the diligent caretaker. He left this entirely for Mummy Fatai to handle. She made it a duty to always speak to the caretaker in his dialect after realising that they both spoke the same language. Her choice to not speak English or pidgin with him was to spear herself the embarrassment of always having to explain to him their difficult situation, while eavesdropping tenants peered secretly at her from their windows. 

"No! I don't like this type of thing," the caretaker replied angrily as she spoke in low tones, not wanting anyone to hear them. 

"You now owe one year and a half and you keep promising that you'll pay," he spoke sternly.

 Again, she spoke in their dialect and her entire body language depicted one in a humble plea. 

"You're not the only one going through hardship in Buhari's Nigeria. Things are difficult, but it’s not an excuse for not paying your rent. Is it because Abuja is not Lagos?" He stated with emphasis and in English.

 "Stop begging me, madam! Every time I come here, you'll start speaking language for me. Who told you that it will work? Language no dey for business o. For this Abuja? Abeg o!" He added. 

"Please, sir! Please! I'm begging you, don't be angry. We will pay the money," she responded, gently tapping the back of her left hand on her right palm and then the back of her right hand on left palm, consistently interchanging them, as she entreated him.  

"By the way, where your oga? Everytime I come here, I go dey see dis car but I no go see him. E don get work for town, abi na wetin him dey do now? Light bill, una no dey pay. Security money sef, una no dey pay. Which kain people una be sef? "he inquired. 

"E don comot sir, him no dey. I will tell him that you came...please, we will pay the money," she responded.

 The caretaker tapped on the doors of other tenants that were open and saluted them before leaving.

"Can you see what I’ve been telling you?" Mummy Fatai said to her husband who, as usual, was lying down on a mattress placed on the floor.

 Beside him was a pile of children’s dirty clothes and an empty plate whose contents he had consumed. The wooden frame that housed the mattress had been used as firewood when bed bugs invaded it. The blood-sucking insects kept reemerging even after chemicals were applied to get rid of them. The measure just did not work and, in frustration, they used it as alternative for their charcoal stove, as their five kilogram camp gas had been empty for weeks due to high cost of gas. 

He could not be seen from the window, even though the curtain hiding their properties from prying eyes was raised up for ventilation in a room with a permanent smell from desiccated urine that left maps and boundaries on their carpet. It changed its original colour into a dominant dark brown. The carpet also had stretches of smudge on it. Their almost two-year old baby had stopped using diapers since he clocked eight months, as every diaper brand was beyond their reach. Mummy Fatai had to get creative by making use of cotton cloth and old napkins for the toddler who sometimes walked around with neither of them around his bottom. Each of their first two children also made their urine contributions to the rug. Now with the third baby, the violated item and cemented floor of the room had seen better days and were screaming for mercy. 

"I go kill myself? Don't tell me that rubbish!" He picked his second-hand China android phone and engaged it to check his Facebook status.

 She stood for some time, staring at him from the section of the single room that had been demarcated with dirty, old, frail curtains. One part served as the sitting room where their incomplete set of chairs was placed, and the other part hosted one mattress and other items. 

"You can't just sit at home and expect that a job will come looking for you. You have to go..." 

"Will you shut up? Do you think I've not been making efforts? What do you think I’ve been discussing each time I go to the vulcaniser’s workshop? That’s where advert placements for jobs are seen. You think you can talk to me anyhow because of common twenty thousand naira you spend in this house?" he said, raising the pitch of his voice, then quickly suppressing it. He remembered that some members of the tenants were around and might hear the exchange. 

Quarrels had become a part of their marriage, almost a pastime, and not only members of the compound, but also other neighbours outside of it were aware of this. Their fights were sometimes at midnight and every word they uttered could be heard from a long distance. 

"If the transport business doesn't fit you, you can change to another one. I can't keep making excuses for you. This embarrassment is getting too much for me. E dey enter my bones," she concluded and left his presence. 

"No be your mates dey support their husbands without complain? You no even lucky say you get husband. Ask single ladies about wetin dem dey go through. No be dem don make cucumber to dey expensive now for market? E be like say you neva understand wetin God don do for you," he bragged to console himself. 

"God forbid! If only I knew you would turn out to be like this, I would have remained single,” she blurted out to the hearing of the co-tenants who were home, not minding their interpretation or the implication of her statement. Yet she continued.

“Haba! Na curse? School fees, na me! House rent, na me! Clothes, na me! Food, na me! Everything, na me! I offend God?" Regrets and frustration clearly accentuated her voice.

 Daddy Fatai let out a lengthy annoying laughter, a deliberate mockery to further infuriate her.

"There's no problem,” he said. “If you want to leave, you can go. I'm not stopping you, but leave my children behind. After all, women are fighting for liberation. If you sabi the number of ladies wey dey on top my case ehn! Hmmm." 

Then he shook his head. 

"You know I am handsome and my fineness no dey for market," he had bragged to his wife who continued to ignore him. 

"Wetin dey fire?" he inquired from her.

She also ignored it for her own peace of mind.

Mama was the sixth tenant. She lived with her last child, Amina, a teenager. She had two sons and three daughters who were all graduates from various institutions in Nigeria, except Amina who was still in secondary school. She was not a widow, but lived like one after she had left her matrimonial home due to incessant fights and quarrels from her co-wife who was the first. The woman did not only fight her physically, but also diabolically. 

The stories from Mama were proof that certain things defied logic and science and were purely mystical. For instance, Mama had once narrated to Laraba how on countless occasions the soups and stew she made personally, in her restaurant situated in a university setting, would become unbearably salty despite her several years of experience in the art of cooking. This led to huge losses of thousands of naira and many of her customers, mostly students, were forced to abandon her eatery and look for alternative food outlets. 

The profit from her daily sales was also not adding up at the end of the day’s business. She sold not less than twenty bags of sachet water, but the money she counted was for only about ten. At the start, she suspected her sales girls were responsible for the loss of her gain. Later, she dropped the suspicion and began to follow a hunch that spirits in the form of humans were culpable for the sabotage. She also suspected the spirits to be her neighbours whose shops were smaller than hers, and who did not control much traffic as she did. 

Another instance was the case of Mama's wrappers. They had all been cut by their edges and her personal belongings kept getting missing with no explanation. One of such items was a set of 24 karat gold jewelry that her husband had bought for her while on pilgrimage to the holy land of Mecca. He had also bought a set for the first wife, giving her the opportunity to choose hers first, and then he gave the other set to Mama. 

Eventually, after a proper analysis of all that had been happening, she concluded that all the attacks were from home. All did not seem right and Mama, according to her story, had to leave without putting up any form of resistance to remain in her husband's house. 

"I suffer, my baby. My co-wife say she must make sure say I leave her husband house. Na so she use juju take worry my life. And as dem marry her, na so dem marry me o," she revealed to Laraba during one of her familiarization visits to Laraba's room.

 "If to say na now, I for no gree to become second wife, I swear. And I for go school. Second wife na wahala. The problem no be hia. None of my babies go be second wife, insha Allah!" she promised herself.

“My uncle wife wey I dey live with dey maltreat me. Dem no gree put me for school and na so work for the house wan kill me. Na me go be fess to wake up and na me go be lass to sleep. Instead of school, na so I dey sell market for my uncle wife. Na for her shop Alhaji see me, come take like me, sotey the mata lead to marriage. Dat time I fine, no be small,” she recounted with a bit of nostalgia. 

She referred to all the ladies in the compound as "my baby" except for Mama Fatai whom she always addressed with the name of her oldest child, Fatai. She addressed the married men with their names, using “Oga” as a prefix to show deference despite that she was older than them. She used "my boy" for both Rasheed and Niyi whom she treated as biological sons. Everyone called her 'Mama' and she tried her best to live up to the responsibilities of the name.

Laraba was the last to move into the compound. She had observed that cooperation was the watchword among the tenants, except for Daddy Fatai who always had reasons not to cooperate, principally when money, no matter how little, was involved. He was known for flimsy complaints and false accusations against whoever was responsible for collecting money for services he and his family enjoyed. 

“Una sure say dat moni wey we gada, no be him dat man take buy new moto? How come him no buy moto until him begin dey collect security levy from compound to compound?” he would always insinuate. 

He would say it boldly in the compound as if waiting for a challenger. Brother Kazeem had tried on countless occasions to expound what was involved and the processes. But with time, he understood the nature of his neighbour and decided to leave him in, what he described as deliberate ignorance. 

Mama never had enough, but was always willing to share anything in her possession whenever the need arose. Her children provided her basic needs, although there were times they failed. Nevertheless, they were not doing badly, particularly Ummi, her first daughter who married a prince from Sokoto. Although she was not working, Mama had become her responsibility with the backing of her husband who would always bring the family once every month to visit Mama. 

To cover this gap, Laraba also observed that Niyi and Rasheed had taken it upon themselves to pay Mama’s light and security bills. Notably, Mama adopted, as part of her life, to become the day-time security personnel of the compound when everyone was away. She also ensured the compound was always swept. For her reward, Laraba consistently provided her with beverages that would last her for a month. 

The story Mama narrated to Laraba about herself, her past, and present predicament seemed to be news at the disposal of every member of the compound. Mama was wise enough to know how to engage the psyche of people and win their favours. Daddy Fatai and his wife had concluded that she was a politician who never went to school, but understood the techniques of winning people over; not just anybody, but people of means and those from whom she could benefit. They all pitied her and she enjoyed their goodwill.

Mama had not been in the compound for almost a year. She had become too engrossed in the welfare of Amina who had become a regular visitor of pastors, imams, spiritualists and traditionalists. She was said to have a spiritual challenge that occasionally came as an attack, leading to strong and violent seizures. Whenever she was under siege, it took the strength of all the men in the compound to pin her down. 

One day, Daddy Fatai and Niyi were the only men present when Amina’s strange behaviour started. Mama quickly sought for their attention and, as usual, they were prompt in barging into the room. Both men were disgraced. Amina single-handedly beat them and almost gave Niyi a fracture when he proved adamant in his mission to subdue her. He ran out after Daddy Fatai and reinforcement was recruited. 

Sometimes, the attack would strike when no one was at home. Mama would lock her inside the room or quickly run outside to seek help from youths who might be lurking around, or from just any persons who could be of assistance. At first, Mama was mortified in her decision to seek help outside her immediate surroundings. It was normal for mothers to keep such events private, especially as Amina would unconsciously pull off her clothes during the assault. She would then bend forward, as though taking a bow, and would remain in that position for some time. What was more disturbing was the uninterrupted wild paroxysm that would leave her weak and tired. Afterwards, she would display aggression that was often destructive and will be followed by vulgarity and insults. 

After prayers or incantation sessions, depending on where they went to seek support for that particular episode, Laraba's room was always Mama's first port of call. 

"My baby, the pastor say I shu always givam oliver oil to drink once the attack start," she would say with optimism, hoping that the recent incident would be the very last.

 Laraba understood that “oliver oil” meant olive oil. It was Mama's way of pronouncing the name of the oily substance that many Christian adherents used to administer healing and deliverance. 

"Him pray for her and him jus dey say in Jeeezoo nayyy. In the mighty nayyy or Jeeezooo and I just dey shout ameeennn," she further narrated with enthusiasm. 

"It's well, Mama. God will heal her," Laraba would always say to console her, with the belief that what God cannot do does not exist. 

Mama was the only one in the compound who knew about Laraba's building project after the latter confided in her. Her new job at an international non-governmental organisation had favoured her. In the first two years, she was able to legitimately acquire a plot of land. She had envisaged buying a car, insisting that it was the first of her priorities that had become more of a necessity than a luxury.  But after sober reflection and recalling the disgrace Mama Fatai was always exposed to in the name of being a tenant, she decided that owning an accommodation was more important than having a car, hence the decision to buy a piece of land. 

Laraba promised to take her to site, but their schedules always conflicted and consistently leading to postponement and change of plans. This was the instance until Mama travelled for over a year due to Amina's challenge, which had worsened with time. Mama herself was not spared as her hypertensive condition also became severe, given the hopeless state of Amina's situation. Several relations hosted them all in a bid to find lasting cure to the ailment that troubled the teenager. It reduced her chances of living life to the fullest. Different herbs and roots were used in the venture to find a cure, including smoke. This was with the inclusion of some metaphysical substances. The evil spirits were said to usually go on recess in order to allow their victim rest for some days or weeks before they struck again. 

It was during one of such visits that something was revealed to Mama.

 Amina had a spiritual lover in the guise of a jinni. He was responsible for the turbulence. He was said to be a male spirit whose admiration for human females would make him force them into sexual dalliance. It was further disclosed that whenever the jinn were around, only Amina could feel his presence, which was usually in the form of a mild wind. Her bent posture, accompanied with convulsions, was the sexual act itself. Mama recalled that, indeed, such was the case. Whenever he came, Amina was always thrown off balance and was at the mercy of this invisible being until its pressure eased off.

During one of such periods, Mama visited the compound. Her things were safe and her room well taken care of and ridded of dust and cobwebs. She had left her key with Laraba.  

"Once I fix the tiles and all sanitary wares, I'll move in," Laraba disclosed with enthusiasm.

 "I don't want to renew my rent here," Laraba told Mama on the night of the latter's arrival.  

She tarried in Mama's room and they talked about diverse issues, including the case of Amina, which Mama said was improving. Though she lamented on the large sums of money and energy expended so far on the matter, she was still hopeful a solution was imminent.

"That's good my baby. You jus come as woman, but na man you be. I dey proud of you," she said to Laraba who served her a sumptuous meal and bought her a brand-new wrapper.

 "I jus come to carry some things and I go leave tomorrow morning. When I come nes time, na for your place I go wan stay," was Mama's wish and Laraba approved it.

Laraba successfully moved into her new apartment to the consternation of the other tenants. Apart from Mama, she was also close to Rasheed. She had told him about her movement a few weeks before the actual event. He was the only one who assisted her in moving out her things into a waiting truck she hired. Niyi would also have assisted, but had gone on a date with his girlfriend who came from Lagos to see him. 

"All dis small gels claiming to have big god’s ehn! Hmmm! Dem fit deceive only people like you and not people like me," Daddy Fatai was saying to his wife as they sat in their room, watching from a window as Laraba's things were being moved out of her room. 

He was certain she was moving to a better place, but little did he know she was moving into her own house. This would have been more shocking. After all, she lived well, dressed immaculately, and ate like royalty. Many times, he wished he could eat from her kitchen, particularly when he perceived the aroma of her weekend stew and the sizzling sounds of onions frying in hot vegetable oil. 

"Stop talking like that. People are making it in this town and some people are just lucky," his wife said, trying to correct his wrong impression. 

As the truck drove out of the compound with Laraba seated in front with the driver, Rasheed stayed behind to close the gate. 

"Oh boy, how far? Where your sister dey pack go?”  Daddy Fatai began making inquires upon rushing to their window.

"Na her house she dey pack dey go so o," said Rasheed indifferently, but excited about the progress of his one-time neighbour. “After all, it’s the desire of every responsible person with plans for the future. That’s how it should be, isn’t it?”

"Her house? You mean the one she build by hasef?”, his eyes bulging out in disbelief. 

“Yes nau. God don do am for her. Our own too go come," replied an excited Rasheed. 

“Haaa! Naawwa ooo! How come? Bottom power dey work. I don dey suspect dat gel. I don tell vulcaniser say she dey among the Abuja gels wey dey use dem nyash to take quench fire,” responded Daddy Fatai, while making faces as though he were irritated. 

"Na you get your mouth. Abeg make I go come," Rasheed replied as he released the last bolt attached to the gate into its tiny hole in the ground. Then he opened the pedestrian gate and walked towards the waiting truck where he joined Laraba and the driver, and together they drove off to her new place. 

"I told you that there are opportunities in this town and...," his wife began to say, but was rudely interrupted by Daddy Fatai. 

"Abegiii! Make I hear word. In just how many years of NGO work na him peson don build house for Abuja? It can't be only her salary even if na inside moon she dey work. She dey folo peson husband too, or dey do dog for one point five million naira. Nothing more and nothing less," he said in a dismissive manner to his wife who was no longer paying him any attention. 

"Mama, this is where you'll sleep," Laraba announced when Mama came visiting. She had gone to the compound to get Mama after a phone conversation in which the older woman disclosed her arrival in town and her earnest desire to spend some days in the new building. She had gone to get some scented herbs from Hassan, her younger brother, who had been entreated to search for them in any of the local weekly markets where commodities of different kinds, including stolen properties were bought, sold and resold. They were part of the ingredients needed for further treatment of Amina's dilemma. 

"Kai! Dis house is betifu, my baby. The man wey go marry you is lucky. You be ten men for inside one woman body." Mama showered her with encomiums after being taken around the entire bungalow. 

"This is your room and you're free to visit me anytime you're in town," said Laraba with an open mind and a smile. There might have been no need to voice it, but for emphasis and the delight of a thankful heart, the host laid bare her state of mind.

On the second night of her visit, while they both slept in their respective rooms, Laraba heard a scream from Mama's room. At first, she thought it was a dream until there was a repeat. She jumped out of her bed, almost falling over a stool she had reluctantly left by her bedside. On it were fruit peels she had consumed before sleeping off. Laraba hissed at the slight commotion in her flight and rushed to the room where she saw Mama clutching to her wrapper, loosely tied around her chest. She had slept with only that piece of cloth due to a humid weather that was expected to cool off in the early hours of the morning. 

Mama was writhing in pain, her mouth gasping for air. Now and again, her eyes opened widely and then closed tightly, as her entire face made contortions in a grotesque fashion. She turned from one side to another in severe pain and discomfort. She made efforts to speak, but no sound came out. It seemed as though her voice had been seized or her vocal cords tied.

 Laraba's body began to shiver; she held onto Mama and consistently asking what the matter was. She could not remember experiencing anything as severe as what she saw Mama doing and, at this point, she was blank. 

"Mama, please I beg you! Talk to me!" Laraba panted as she spoke.

She was shaken and confused, not knowing exactly what to do. She looked at the wall clock in the room; it was a few minutes after 2:00am. Several considerations came to her mind in quick succession, but she could not hold tightly onto any. In her state of apprehension, she saw blood rushing out of Mama's nose and mouth. Some of it came out in coagulated lumps. After five jolts, Mama stretched her body and became lifeless. The blood kept flowing as if two bulls had been slaughtered on the spot. 
Laraba's screams rent the air and her only companions were fear and terror. Having a dead body in her house felt surreal and she felt like disappearing from the scene. To make matters worse, Laraba did not have the contacts of any of her children except Hassan’s who was a good tailor and did not live too far from the old compound. He knew about Mama's visit to Laraba and was also aware that his sister’s visit was a friendly one with no attachments. 

"Hello, hello, my aunty! Hello!" Hassan answered as he picked Laraba's call at that unusual hour. She rarely called him except when she had fabrics she wanted to sew. He was married with three children and was not doing badly. He could hear her crying and speaking incoherently. Instinctively, he knew that something was amiss. Amidst her jumbled words, he heard her say repeatedly, “Mama is dead.” 

At 6:13am, Hassan was at the house in the company of two men. Laraba later learned that one of them was a cousin to Mama and Hassan, and the other was only a neighbour and a policeman whom Hassan had briefed of the incident, and he willingly accompanied them. 

Laraba had been outside since 4:30am; she could not sleep all night. Her imagination went wild; she could see strange images on her walls, chairs and even on the ceiling. Thankfully, there was light. She walked down memory lane, recalling how she met Mama. That was seven years ago when she moved into her one room self-contained apartment. 

They had never quarreled, although they had their differences, preferences and boundaries that both respected. She had never been to Mama's hometown; she only knew Mama in Abuja, specifically in the compound they once shared. They were not related and practised different religions. However, Mama's good spiritedness aligned with hers and a friendship was hatched. Mama was never ashamed to ask Laraba for any assistance, including those, society termed personal. Mama inherited Laraba's brassieres whenever she bought new ones and wanted to dispose of the old ones. 

"No troway dem, my baby. Your mama go use them," she once told Laraba when she observed that Laraba was about burning some things and the undergarments were part of them. 

She thought about Mama's children as well as other relatives and their assumption that she might have used her for rituals. She also thought about her own family, primarily her older siblings and their warnings about being careful with life in Abuja, the unofficial capital of social life without boundaries. This made her weep. By morning, she was exhausted and had severe headache.

"Where is the room?” Hassan inquired, encouraging Laraba to be calm and referring to the unfortunate incident as the will of God.

 Laraba pointed to the room where Mama's body laid and the three men went in. She had seen enough of Mama's lifeless body and did not want to see it again. 

A close look at Mama's remains by the men proved that there were no physical injuries whatsoever. But what could have happened at night while she slept? Her body was covered with the bed sheet on which she had laid, while Hassan’s cousin made several frantic calls. Hassan was silent, calm and deep in thoughts, almost forgetting where he was.

"How did this happen?” The police man asked Laraba after the three men left the scene. He could not conceal his shock and several considerations jostled in his mind. A distraught Laraba who was sitting helplessly explained to them, her disposition was that of one drunk with exhaustion.

"This case has to be reported to the police for investigation. Certain things are not clear and more explanations will be needed from you," he announced. 

Laraba, too weak to protest or make further clarifications, only stared into space. Hassan and his cousin remained silent, obviously in support of the policeman. Mama's corpse was evacuated from Laraba's house and kept to a mortuary for some days. An autopsy to ascertain the actual cause of death was conducted and the body was released to the family for burial after, while the result was being awaited.

Mama had been an initiate of the Shay’nyam fraternity, a spiritual call and power that licensed her with the privilege of doubling herself through representation in animal form. While she existed as a human being in the world of humans, she was also an animal of her choice in the forest. 

An interesting principle about the Shay’nyam culture is the ability to share a soul simultaneously with an animal, which, in most cases, is not domestic. This was important as combativeness was the sole aim of its existence as was often believed. A group predominantly membered by females, it was known to be an official army known to test its might during times of war or conflicts with other villages or settlements. Adherents usually turned into bees or wild beasts to fight and sting real enemies who were mostly land grabbers. This intervention was said to have always brought victories, but had been marred by civilisation.

Mama had lived with her Shay’nyam for over forty years. It’s manifestation was passive until some ten years ago. Several women of her generation had been initiated into this group that was hardly regarded as an occult, except for persons who embraced and practised Christianity in full. It felt irredeemably attractive to parents, mostly mothers, who had lost their first children at birth. Many youngsters were given Shay’nyam at early childhood by their grandparents without the knowledge of their parents who, after accepting other religions, continued to see their children as 'innocent'. 

Mama always attended the traditional annual festival of her people, permanently scheduled to be an end of year activity by the custodians of culture and tradition, who were the village chiefs. It was a tradition that she had come to meet. It usually brought together families, childhood friends, clans and well-wishers who often used the opportunity to fraternise with those they had not seen for ages, especially those coming from big cities. 

In the three-day local event, traditional musicians were on hand to provide melodiously flavoured rhythms to push a melancholic or phlegmatic into dancing steps that matched the cadence. This was after some substance had been blown into the air by an elderly woman and leader of the Shay’nyam sociocultural group. During such moments, the fancy of those who had missed village life was reinvigorated for a rebirth. Many were known to invite friends from cities who came with a tourism mindset. They were never disappointed at the display of raw culture fast eroding due to modernity and even post modernity. Its concepts continued to accept modifications even though; they were not anything close to being African. The uniqueness of village life had been consumed by the enticement of the city and everyone seemed to have been bitten by the bug. 

As drums, flutes, gongs and other customised instruments were engaged to the cheers of the crowd, strange happenings that were not entirely new began to occur. A young lady who was dancing was seen making movements in the complementary fashion of a snake. She obviously did not know she was a part of Shay’nyam. She had initially argued that a call for the old practice in modern times would not work in the face of civilisation. Yet, she was lost in her own world as she twisted her body in a serpentine motion just like a professional contortionist. While it was scary for some, mostly the visitors who attributed it as culture shock, others saw it as a circus and one of the cardinals of the celebration. 

Another in the crowd, this time a man, begun to roar like the lion he was in the jungle. He made strange movements that made many to move away very quickly. There were also representations of a rhino, fox, gazelle and crocodile. These humans made the exact sounds of the respective animals they represented in human form, accompanied with their respective bodily activities and movements.  

At this same event, Mama had also displayed her enterprise in the form of an antelope. At her age, and considering her bulk of over a hundred kilogrammes, she had run like a young sprinter until she was held down and forcefully dissuaded. The majority of onlookers, free from the strongholds of Shay’nyam, continued to watch with a deep sense of amazement and amusement. 

In the forest, hunters were known to be merciless when in search of game. Mama and other Shay’nyam compatriots were expected to stand on their hind legs and use their frontal limbs in a surrender mode. With this, they disclosed their real identities. It was expected that with such, hunters would decipher and get their messages of surrogacy in the forest. This used to be the practice, but not anymore. This could be attributed to the high cost of living that had also affected the hunters whose means of livelihood was mainly farming. For diversification, which served as useful business tips and an all-time mantra of the government, many had opted for hunting and other means of income just to pay bills and keep body and soul together. 

Mama had encountered such hunters who showed her no mercy even after identifying herself. They were usually hunters from other chiefdoms who were bereft of such practices. A hunter within the locality who defaulted and shot at an animal with strings linked to Shay’nyam only awaited death that was sure to come through violent means. 

The identities of the hunters were always known and there was no forgiveness for the deliberate killing of their members. Mama had received bullets on several occasions from them, as they were determined to take home their bush meat. She was fortunate to have escaped and sensitive targets missed, while she ran and speedily exchanged bodies with another animal that was picked by the hunters in her stead. She survived in her human form, even though she felt pains in the affected areas that simultaneously returned to normal due to the swap. 

Others were not so lucky. They had been shot in the head or some vital organs, such as the heart. In their human form, they slumped and died on whatever platform they occupied after complaining of unbearable pain in their heads or those affected areas. In times when the animals survived the injuries, the affected parts were often seen as open wounds that defied all forms of orthodox medicines. Medical experts could only see physical wounds, which, in several cases, were decomposing, but they could never find or trace the causes of the injuries. They remained unhealed and unpleasant to look at until the animal representative had been completely healed, or some form of miracle had taken place. 

On the night of her demise, Mama was not lucky. Her antelope form had strayed into a trap that had been positioned by a hunter who was remotely familiar with the terrain and the animals there. It struggled to free itself, but all to no avail. Its horns had been caught in the barbed wire-like net designed for that purpose. The hunter had erected a structure in the dense forest and slept there Mondays, Wednesdays and Saturdays. Then he heard the struggle and got hold of his torchlight, dane gun, sword-like knife, talisman and amulets.  

The sight of the antelope was gratifying and there was no time to waste. In a moment, the hunter used the knife to pierce the antelope around its heart. He pulled out the sharp object and gave the animal another thrust, almost at the same spot. There was mild resistance though powerless. Afterwards, the animal stopped breathing. 

Mama's autopsy result was ready two weeks after her demise. It was not disclosed until after a month in favour of Laraba. It revealed that poison of any kind was not found in Mama's body, neither was there any case of internal injuries. But her heart was said to have been damaged and indications revealed that it was only too recent. The pathologists and other medical personnel claimed that such a case was beyond science. 

With the concise explanation given to Mama's family, her children and other relations continued to insist that Laraba was privy to the death of their mother and relative. The case was taken to court and left for the judiciary to decide Laraba’s fate. 

Kuni Tyessi was born and raised in the heart of Kaduna State, Nigeria. She attended Premier Nursery and Primary School; Federal Government Girls’ College, Zaria; Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria; and Nasarawa State University, Keffi. 


The author of Being Twins, a poetry collection and her debut in the world of writing, her works have been featured in anthologies, journals, newspaper reviews, and on the internet. A selected contributory writer to the YIAGA Africa third edition book project, Beating the Odds, she is also a practicing journalist in Nigeria’s capital, Abuja. Tyessi has carved a niche for herself in gender advocacy and education circles. If Only We Knew is her first work of prose, a collection of a dozen short stories.