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Olorunfemi hurried along the street, his tie hanging loosely on his neck, collar standing upright, and the two upper buttons of his shirt undone. Lagos being what it is, he knew he was late for work even though his wristwatch told him it was just 5:57 am. Before he would walk the long stretch of the street and then to the bus stop, it would likely be 6:15 am, and the queue of commuters was sure to be long by then. The buses come whenever they want to, and as a worker, you know that the earlier you join the waiting queue, the greater the chances of being on the first bus. However, getting on the first bus is no guarantee that a worker will arrive at work early — primarily due to the usual gridlock that accompanies the early morning rush. So, commuters would say two early-morning prayers: First — to join the first bus and second — to encounter lightweight traffic on their journey. He suddenly remembers his collar, and he folds it quickly, doing only one of the upper buttons of his shirt while still on the move. The tie could remain loose for all he cared. No one took keen awareness of another restless commuter at this time of the day.

No one pays attention to another man here. He would do the rest when he got on the bus.

This is Lagos.

There had been no power supply when he left the house. In fact, all through the night, there had been none. The last time he set his eyes on even a dim bulb had been when he put on his small ‘I pass my neighbour’ generator the previous night to listen to NTA news at 9 p.m. The news was all about the upcoming elections. There were video clippings of politicians campaigning from place to place and promising heaven and earth to the electorate who had thronged the venue of the rallies in their thousands, adorned in colourful T-shirts bearing the pictures of their preferred candidates.

“We would build schools in every ward and give scholarships to your children,” the politicians would say, and then women — both young and old — would dance, jubilate and sing the praises of their man in their local dialect. Baba, carry go! Young men would jump over the erected barricades trying to hug their preferred candidates but would be prevented from doing so by shade-wearing, fierce-looking policemen who would push them back, some toppling over. The politicians would be elated at the people’s praises and encouraged to make more promises. “Pipe-borne water is going to be provided to your communities. We would repair all roads in the state and make them like those in America.”

The politicians — flanked by wives, children, associates and godfathers — would wave to the restless crowd, beaming with smiles, their teeth glowing in the sun.

God, let your will be done. Olorunfemi would say when he sees different persons, including those struggling to string a few words together, come forward to declare their intentions to run for various political offices in the country.

He was prepared not to cast his vote for any of these promise-happy politicians, many of whom he knew had their pockets as primary constituency before the people.

Now, he was compelled to vote because rumour has it that civil servants who failed to vote for the incumbent Governor’s party would be relieved from the state civil service. He didn’t want to take chances with his job. He thus collected his voters’ card and kept it safe under his bed in the house. He would even look for a safer place to keep it when he returned from work because of the calamitous activities of the rats in his house. He was resolved not to be disenfranchised and lose his job because of them. The street was deserted.

It seems I am the first person to come out this morning after what happened last night.

He walked forward, carefully avoiding the many potholes on the road. It would be disastrous to carry a broken leg to the office. As he approached the junction leading to the main road, he saw a beautiful black jeep stationed in front of one of the biggest houses on the street; the headlamp illuminated the gate to the building.

Someone trying to enter his house.

To his utter amazement, there was no one available to let the driver in, yet he made no attempt to do so himself. When Olorunfemi got close enough, he peeped into the car and saw that the driver sat with his head on the wheel in the posture of a praying man. A telephone rang continuously in the car, but he didn’t raise his head to answer the call. Olorunfemi could not comprehend why the driver, a presumably wealthy man dressed in native attire, would be in that posture at such an ungodly hour of the day. I’m late; he reminded himself and made to go on his way when in a flash, he noticed some stains, first on around the car then even more on the driver’s clothes. Red stains!

Jesus!

The driver was dead! A gunshot in the head. The blood has stopped dripping now but had collected on the mat below. Very thick.

So, this is where the noise had come from in the night

Olorunfemi instinctively looked around to be sure the assailants weren’t lurking around, looking for another victim. A few cars were parked along the street, but no person was in sight. Daybreak was unfolding quickly. Instantly, two words struck his mind: Police! Arrest!

Being a Good Samaritan in Lagos could be risky. There is an emotional gulf between Lagos and Samaria. Residents in Lagos are known to put their safety first before others’ even when a victim is at the point of death. Olorunfemi did not want to put himself in trouble with the police, who he knew would instantly label him a notorious criminal and parade him as such to the public on if they were not satisfied with his explanations after reporting the incident himself. Indeed, there are better ways to be famous. Nevertheless, Olorunfemi was determined to call attention to the incident.

I know what to do.

There certainly is a gatekeeper in the house because often while coming back from work in the evenings, he sees the Mallam selling provisions in the small shop with a window over the wall of the house. Olorunfemi picked up a spherical stone, went to the gate and, with the stone, banged on it. Twice. The gatekeeper answered with fury on the second attempt: “Who I be?!” Olorunfemi dropped the stone and hastened along the road to his office.

He was now sure to miss the first bus.

Like Olorunfemi, Bala had also heard the loud gunshot in the dead of night but hadn’t bothered checking what had happened. In this part of the world, when you hear a gunshot at night, you just say a silent prayer that you are not visited and then go back to sleep. Sadly, he did not hear the car horn before the gunshot as he was deeply asleep. Bala wondered now if it was Oga that banged on the gate. Madam had been worried when he didn’t show up last night. After repeated calls to his mobile telephone and familiar business associates who denied knowledge of his whereabouts, she decided to continue the search in the morning.

Bala was right, after all.

Opening the small gate now, he immediately spotted the car in front of the house, its headlamp fully on. It was Oga, all right. He made to go open the large gate but thought he spotted something amiss. Oga was asleep in the car, his head on the wheel. Bala strode towards the driver’s side, illuminating the inside of the vehicle with his battery-powered torch.

Just then, he saw it. “Chei!” he exclaimed, staggering back repulsively and running into the house screaming: “Madam! Madam!”

It made the breaking news that morning on major television stations in the country, including the NTA.

Governorship Aspirant Assassinated

In the early hours of today, a governorship aspirant on the platform of the CPP in Lagos, Mr. Olowojowo Amodu, was murdered in his car. Amodu, until his death, was the flag bearer of the CPP and was widely acclaimed by many, including political analysts, to be the clear favourite to win the governorship elections, given his track record and grass-roots popularity. The police said that investigations have commenced into the incident, and soon the culprits would be brought to book.