In The Beginning: The Meeting Under Eko Bridge, Lagos

30 Aug In The Beginning: The Meeting Under Eko Bridge, Lagos

Peter Abel’s hunches as an investigative journalist had always brought trouble. But had he known the kind of trouble this particular story would cause him, Abel might have hesitated, though it wasn’t in his nature to turn his back on a good story, one which affected the lives of every man, woman and child in an entire state. No matter who Abel offended, no matter how sensitive the toes on which he stepped, the truth outweighed all else. That and seeing his name on top of the story! Like all great reporters, Abel had an ego. It was his great strength. In this case, it turned out to be a near-fatal weakness as well.

But Abel couldn’t know any of this yet. At the time, he was bored. For months that he nicknamed the days of the locust, Abel had no big story to investigate. With his work life reduced to writing columns on minor subjects and participating in editorial debates for The Zodiac, the forty-one-year-old reporter regressed into heavy drinking, smoking and chasing skirts.

At 1 A.M. on that Friday, Abel was about to return home with his latest girlfriend after an evening of drinking, casual petting and the occasional stolen kiss. During dinner, Abel’s shapely companion had slid her foot up his leg, hinting at more to come. Abel and the woman sped down Kingsway Road. The curvy model beside him looked sidelong at Abel, humming a love song. He was used to stolen glances at his looks and could not be distracted from the dangerous Lagos Street. Abel was slightly over six feet tall with an athletic build, now somewhat diminished by middle-aged fat in the tummy and cheeks. His skin was sprinkled with light brown freckles. The real attraction remained his face, his warm brown eyes, pointed nose and thin lips. He had a slight overbite to his teeth, an imperfection some people said made him look sexy.

Abel liked women with full figures, but the woman beside him looked particularly attracted to him with her pretty round face and hairy arms. His experience with hairy women in bed had always been positive and he was as eager as she was to get back to his place. When his cell phone rang, the woman scowled at the sound.

“No business tonight, Peter, please.”

Abel ignored her. He removed the phone from his shirt pocket and glanced at the glowing green number. It was Chief Benson, the paper’s publisher and Abel’s boss.

“Hi, Pub! Late to be calling.”

“You’ll have to disappoint her, Peter,” Chief Benson said. He knew Abel well and had figured that at this time of night, from the sound of Abel’s greeting, he was on a date.

Abel glanced at the woman whose eyes now narrowed, suspecting the promising build-up to an erotic romp was about to end in frustration.

“Plenty others are happy to take your place, Peter,” she warned. But Abel shushed her with a gesture.

“Don’t worry, chief. If you’re calling this late, something’s up.”

“How long will it take you to reach the Eko Bridge?”

Abel frowned. What kind of a place was that to meet so late at night? Or at any time? Nevertheless, he glanced at his watch and calculated the time it would take to drop the woman off at her home, then retrace his steps and make his way to the bridge. This time of night, with light traffic, he should be there in half an hour.

“Okay. Park on the east side of the bridge. Meet me right underneath it.”

Abel shook his head. “Underneath it? You kidding me?”

“Never more serious.”

“But, chief…” The line went dead. Abel glanced over at his date. She looked away.

“Don’t think this is going to work out, Peter. Don’t think you’re going to be seeing me for a while.”

Abel knew what she was thinking. Let him miss her and get hot and bothered, he’ll come back crawling. Then she would have the upper hand. Peter nodded. He got that. In fact, Peter Abel wouldn’t be seeing this lady for quite a while. But not for the reasons either of them imagined.

( ( ( ( (

Abel did just as Chief Benson had instructed. He could see the logic of parking on the narrow alley east of the Eko Bridge, lined with small shops. Abel’s car would be hidden from the main road, making it unlikely for anyone to see it. This told Abel two things. The chief wanted absolute secrecy about this meeting, and he was protecting someone. Benson did not have to meet with his own reporter in secret. He could have called Abel into his office any time. This was something different. The time of night, the out-of-the-way place and the cryptic manner in which Benson had acted all made Abel alert. Not out of fear, but out of anticipation. Whatever this was about, he was back in the game. Another big story was cooking. It’s what he lived for.

As Abel walked down the narrow sidewalk toward the corner of the alley, he could smell the remnants of many cooked meals from the apartments above the first-floor shops. There were no people about at this hour, but he heard music drifting down from somewhere; and from another spot, he heard a woman’s laughter. A dog barked at him as he passed another alley. It was standing jealous guard over a pile of garbage. Abel hurried on toward the bridge.

Once Abel reached Eko Bridge, he looked around before taking the stairway down. A car moved past, two young men inside, music blaring from the stereo. They were laughing loudly at something. Abel was relieved when they failed to notice him. Footsteps made him turn. An old man walked briskly toward him, hands thrust into his pockets. He walked by, never meeting Abel’s eyes. Abel could see him tense, unsure of Abel’s intentions. He obviously worried Abel might be a mugger. The man disappeared around a corner. Feeling anonymous, Abel descended the stairway.

It was dark and damp underneath the bridge. Water lapped at the pilings. Abel wondered again at the choice of a meeting place. Suddenly, a light illuminated a figure standing against a piling. The figure had just lit a match. Abel turned, startled. Although he couldn’t make out the man’s features, he could tell it wasn’t Chief Benson. Tense, Abel waited as the man took a few steps forward.

“Are you Peter Abel?” The man spoke in a low, calm tone.

The voice was familiar, but Abel couldn’t place it. Then the figure moved close enough so he could see his face, faintly illuminated by glow of the match. He was shocked to recognize Dr. Idi Camp, Commissioner of Agriculture of Tinnaka State. Abel had attended enough press conferences to recognize him.

He also knew a good deal about the man, a renowned figure in Nigeria. The brilliant thirty-five-year-old Camp was an agriculturist with a global reputation. His serious looks and dandy fashion sense matched his reputation. A nationalist who was deeply worried by the poor leadership in his country, Camp had given up a plum UN job in New York to return home and become Commissioner of Agriculture in his home state; one of the thirty-six in Nigeria, Tinnaka was at the moment in the midst of a terrible drought. Its population, predominately made up of poor subsistence farmers, was slowly starving.

Ironically, Camp’s work at the UN was lauded as a model of how to help poorer countries create a sustainable agricultural economy, based on the idea of self-reliance. But Camp was unable to do this with his own beloved Nigeria from the outside, so he accepted the post thinking maybe he could make it work from the inside.

He had done this against the wishes of his wife, Theodora, a dark African beauty with an MBA in banking and finance. She had worked at Citibank in New York and was offered employment at the state bank in Tinnaka on her return. She also cared for the Camps’ two adorable kids, who were nine and seven.

Dr. Camp dropped the match to the ground but did not light another. He apparently preferred this conversation take place in the dark.

“Mr. Abel. Dr. Idi Camp.” The man held out a large hand, which was very warm when Abel took it.

“I’ve seen you many times, Dr. Camp. I’m a big admirer. Nigeria is lucky to have you.”

“Many in the government would argue against that, Mr. Abel. Thank you for meeting me here under what, you must be thinking, are rather melodramatic circumstances.” Abel liked him immediately. His calm dignity and sense of humour were so different from most politicians.

“I assume since my publisher arranged it, there is good reason.”

“Yes. Nobody must ever know of this meeting. If it is found out that I talked to you… well, it will be hard on everyone. Including yourself.”

“What can I do for you, doctor?”

“As you know, Tinnaka State is suffering a terrible drought. Desertification destroys the equivalent of enough arable land every year to sustain an entire village. The effects of global warming, creeping down from the north. I’ve written about it on many occasions. However, there is nothing Nigeria can do. We are at the mercy of industrialized countries.

“No, we can’t stop global warming. But we can provide water for our people through the drilling of deep-water wells. When I took this job, I was told that the government was intending to drill a series of such wells and commence a forestation programme of the desertified areas of the state, starting in Limi. Several million dollars were allocated for such use. Some of it came from the Federal Government’s ecological fund. Most of it came from the U.K. and the U.S., some from the European Union. Now, it has disappeared.”

“Where? Who took it?”

“That is why we’re meeting. Chief Benson and I are old friends. He is the only person in Nigeria, besides my family, whom I trust. And now, by extension, you.”

“Tell me what you know. I’ll get into it. Once I have enough, our paper will run the story.”

“I can’t tell you anymore.” Abel started to protest, but Camp raised his hand. “My friend, I am in the opposition party. Do you understand?”

Abel nodded. Belonging to the party out of power, Camp had to be careful. He could be fired or, more likely, made to disappear should he anger the wrong politicians. It had happened before in Nigeria. Political opponents were often killed by assassins who were never found.

Camp was telling Abel this could happen to him if anyone knew he was talking to the press, much less to an investigative reporter known to take on the government.

“I can only point you toward things. If I’m not careful, if people in power discover I’m meeting you … your information disappears with me.”

“I understand. Tell me one thing. How involved is governor Huud in all this?” Camp merely looked at Abel without uttering a word. It wasn’t a question he was going to answer, and Abel knew it. But he wanted to see Camp’s reaction. The slight exhale of breath told Abel all he needed to know.

After a moment, Abel said, “All right, doctor. Can you at least tell me where to start my search?”

Camp nodded. “Limi,” was all he said. Abel knew Limi was Camp’s hometown in Tinnaka State. It was suffering the severe effects of desertification.

“If I need to reach you?”

“Tell Chief Benson you would like to know when you can take your vacation. That will be his signal to set something up.” Camp turned to go, then stopped and looked back. “Nobody should know, Mr. Abel.”

“I don’t give up my sources, Doctor. But maybe the police or the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission will do a better job? And please, call me Peter.”

“Thanks, Peter. I know what I want.” He turned to go, but stopped. “You don’t give up your sources, but they do,” he said and disappeared into the darkness. Abel knew enough to wait ten minutes before making his way back to his car.

When he arrived at his Land Rover, he noticed a cigarette butt next to the driver’s side door. Abel tried to shake off the feeling that it meant something. He was being paranoid. Nonetheless, he noted the brand on the filter before climbing into his car.