Daniel Bakare's visit to Abuja had been billed as an official but low key catch up on West African affairs for a small team from the US Defence Department that included a newcomer, Deputy Assistant Secretary of Defence for African Affairs, Sharon Hughes, on her first visit to Africa.
Taj Harding had flown in from London the night before and, as Michael Fayinka and Mark Dobson lunched at Mr Biggs, Harding and Bakare were lunching in greater splendour at the Sheraton Hotel, at a corner table in Obudu's Grill House. They had ordered South African T bone steaks and new Beaujolais.
"You heard the latest about Gabriel?" Bakare asked as they sat down. "Someone put up bail. He's out. We'd told the Kenyans the warrant looked dubious."
"And Solomon?"
"In Ghana at a private funeral I understand."
"And Plan B?" asked Harding.
"Turned out it was the Chinese," Bakare replied. "They met the Foreign Minister and a few others. I'm surprised you didn't know,"
"I'd just resigned," Harding excused himself. "What more do we know?"
"Nothing. But we know the Chinese party had just returned from West Africa and are throwing aid around Africa in the billions. They'll use any influence they can muster."
"Did they offer Gabriel anything?"
Bakare didn't know so they chewed on steaks for a while.
"So why resign Taj? I thought you'd stay in there, fight the system."
"The Gabriel effect I suppose. I still count him as a friend and agree with most things he says. I even understand him wanting to defend his patch of land. No-one invests without some certainty you'll get a return." Harding paused, taking a mouthful of the red wine. "I reckon we could get significant aid to Gabriel. International aid needs to become more inventive. We need some new ideas to invest in viable projects not keep handing out food and blankets and propping up failures."
"Like trusting a local entrepreneur with a track record instead of handing it to NGOs, and governments without any accountability?" Bakare suggested.
"We just shovel cash out the door," Harding agreed. "Blowing vast amounts of tax payers money on daft schemes and to nations with corrupt and dysfunctional governments."
Harding sat forward waving his steak knife menacingly at Bakare. "For fuck's sake," he said. "Did you know the UK is budgeted to hand out around twelve billion pounds in aid - that's point seven percent of GDP, Daniel. It's a massive commitment and much of it is utterly wasted. We've given to Somalia, for Christ's sake, the most corrupt nation in the world. We've given hundreds of millions to Afghanistan, third on the list of corrupt nations, we've handed over millions that have fallen into the hands of Al Qaida and probably Boko Haram and the COK. We pay aid consultants millions. For what? We channel money through charities and agencies to avoid it lining the pockets of corrupt government officials but do we check the charities, the agencies?"
He stopped momentarily. "Christ, I sound like Gabriel but when he says it people cheer the bloody roof off. Whenever I say it I get slapped down."
But then he was off again. "We say we use aid money to fight terrorism, money laundering and tax evasion and that fighting poverty and corruption will end the dependency on aid, It's crap, man. Total crap. The gap between rich and poor just grows wider.
"Just look at where we're sitting now, Daniel. Look around you. All this fucking golden glitter is the bloody Sheraton hotel in Abuja, the political capital of Nigeria and the seat of government. We were both born not so far from here and now we're sat here in our western fucking suits eating steaks imported from South Africa and drinking wine from France. But there's nearly two hundred million Nigerians out there and only ten percent of the kids attend secondary school. And sixty eight percent live below the poverty line. And over the border in Niger it's even worse. How does that make you feel, Daniel?"
Harding threw his knife onto his plate with a clatter and Bakare looked at him.
"You're right. If I closed my eyes, I'd swear I was sitting right next to Gabriel. It happens every time I sit with that bastard and you've just had exactly the same effect. You've just ruined my fucking appetite."
"Good," said Harding.? "So, what the fuck are we going to do about it."