Chapter 6
The following day was a Monday, which meant that Bewaji did not have to be at work. She only worked from Tuesday to Friday. Even though Monday was a free day, she still had to get up early along with everyone else. However, after everyone had left the house, she had time to herself. As soon as she heard her parent's car leave the compound, she sprang into action.
Her parents never locked the door of their bedroom when they were not at home. That made Bewaji's job easier. She went into her mother's closet, and took out an old ankara iro and buba, along with the matching gele, which was really just the rest of the fabric that was left unused. This particular outfit had belonged to her grandmother, but the latter had left it behind on the very last visit to their house. Today, Bewaji was borrowing it for her "investigation."
Next, she fetched all the items on her list from her own closet, including makeup and an old tattered wig. She taped her previous night's sketch to her mirror and began to alter her appearance with the makeup. As a member of a drama group on campus, she had witnessed the transformation people underwent to prepare for their on-stage performances. Although she did not have the luxury of a professional makeup artiste to help her, she had seen enough to know what to do. Her goal was to change her face from that of a 24 year old to the face of a woman approaching 60. The entire process took about an hour, and by the time she was done, even she agreed that she looked like a grandmother. She donned the wig, and wore her grandmother's old clothes, being careful to tie the wrapper very loosely around her waist, the way older women did. Finally, she rubbed some of the makeup on her back of her hands. There was nothing more unconvincing than a person with the face of an old woman and the hands of a youth. Oh no! Her hands would not betray her real age. Before she left, she took a few more minutes to practice her gait and speaking voice to her satisfaction. She took some money and wrapped it in the folds of her wrapper. Then, she set off for Bariga.
As she walked slowly down the road to the junction where she would take a taxi, a thought suddenly occurred to her. Why not test out her disguise to see if it really worked? After all, she chose to take on the personality of an older woman for two reasons: one, she knew that people were more responsive and willing to answer questions if they came from an older person. This was something she had witnessed time and time again. Two, she had not been able to silence that voice in her head that kept yelling "Danger, danger!" whenever Olu Ade's name came to her mind. So, it made sense to go as someone else. That way, he would not be able to recognize her if she ever ran into him elsewhere. That last bit was important because Bewaji had discovered that she lived in a very small world, and in Lagos, the world seemed to be even smaller.
To test out her disguise, she stopped by an electrician's shop not far from the junction. The man had been to their house on many occasions and even knew her parents. He would have recognized her instantly. However, the minute she entered his shop, he rose from his chair and greeted her with a "Good Morning, Madam." Bewaji could have skipped for joy. He did not recognize her. She asked him for directions to another street, and he provided them. As she walked away from his shop, she knew she could fool just about anyone that day. Her parents may not even have recognized her either. Perfect.
Bewaji boarded a taxi and asked the driver to drop her off a few houses away from Number 38. Her plan was to find a spot across the street where she could sit and watch the house before making her move. As she looked around, she found the perfect spot. There was a shoemaker's shed across the street from Number 38. She asked the shoemaker if she could sit in the shade of his shed while she waited for one of the neighbors she had come to visit. The man, who looked like he was a Northerner, agreed. It seemed like he was used to getting similar requests on a daily basis. So, she sat there, watching and waiting.
As at the time she sat down at shed, it was close to 12 noon. For the first thirty minutes, nothing eventful happened. Random people walked past: hawkers, newspaper vendors, women with babies on their backs. All sorts of people. And of course, various vehicles also drove past. But the gate to Number 38 remained shut. Meanwhile, Bewaji - or shall we say Iya Olu - began to make inquiries about the neighborhood from the shoemaker. She did not want to draw attention to the fact that she was interested in that particular house, so she asked him about a couple of the houses in the neighborhood as well. The shoemaker, who had been at that spot for more than five years, was quite knowledgeable on the inhabitants of the houses. The house to the left of Number 38 was a group of flats. According to the shoemaker, the landlord lived on the premises. He was a widower, who lived on the ground floor, and was notorious for chasing young girls. He especially had a thing for female hawkers. But that was not all. On the right hand side, there was a smaller group of flats. On the second floor of the three-storey building, a man who lived there had recently impregnated his house girl. His wife was six months pregnant with their third child.
"So, what about the house in the middle?" Bewaji asked, pointing to Number 38. It was a duplex with an upstairs veranda facing the street.
The shoemaker told her that the house belonged to a Dr. Musa. He was not a medical doctor, but he had a PhD in Biology. His wife was a primary school teacher.
On hearing the words "primary school," Bewaji sat up. Seun had mentioned that Olu Ade was a primary school teacher. But yet, this shoemaker was telling her that Mrs. Musa whose husband owned the house was also a teacher. She had to ask more questions.
"Do they have any children?" she asked, leaning a bit closer to the shoemaker, who had picked up a leather sandal and was carefully putting stitches around the sole. Without looking up from what he was doing, he told her that the Musas had just two children: a boy and a girl. They both attended the primary school where their mother taught health science. Apart from them, there was only one other person who lived in the house and he was a non-relative.
"His name is Justice, and he's the houseboy. He is also the driver, cook, security guard, washman, and anything else Dr. Musa and his wife need him to be. Talk about the devil …"
Lo and behold, no sooner had the shoemaker dropped this revelation, than the gate swung open and out strolled Olu Ade, who Bewaji now knew to be Justice. He wore a blue pair of shorts and cream colored t-shirt, which made him look like he was going out for P.E. He had a blue and green woven basket in his hand. As he turned his back to them to padlock the gate, Bewaji observed him from behind like she had done previously. She was sure he was the same person she had seen from the restroom for one reason only: the peculiar shape of this head.
There was a boy in her primary school who used to get teased a lot for his odd-shaped head: it looked like a bean seed. So, kids with their uncensored words nicknamed him "Beans," a label he was never able to get rid of throughout his primary school days. Bewaji did not know what happened to Beans, but the man across the street who the shoemaker called Justice, could pass for his twin. Head-shape wise, at least.
"He is on his way to the market. His madam insists on getting fresh foodstuff every day, except for Sunday," the shoemaker continued. He had pulled out a tin of thick evo stik glue and was applying it to another leather slipper whose sole was pulling apart from the shoe frame. Bewaji was just about to ask him what he knew about Justice, when a customer appeared. He wanted his shoes polished immediately. The shoemaker temporarily abandoned his evo stick project, and went to attend to the customer. Bewaji knew that she could not ask any more questions at this stage. Instead of waiting for the shoemaker, she decided to look for more answers elsewhere.
Looking across the street to the group of flats to the right of Number 38, she saw a mini-kiosk which the gateman had setup beside the entrance. He sold basic items like cigarettes, candles, matches, chewing gum and even condoms. Yes, condoms. Apparently, the man who had impregnated his house help - he lived in one of those flats - had not patronized the trader to buy th
e latter item, despite the kiosk's proximity to his house. This thought crossed Bewaji's mind as she made her way to that very spot. She knew the day was going and she still had not really used her disguise for its specific purpose. Well, that was about to change.
As she crossed the street, she pulled out a rolled up piece of paper from where she had tucked it into the fold of her wrapper. It was the first picture of Olu Ade, or Justice, which Seun had e-mailed to her. The gateman who seemed to be quite chatty greeted her with a "Good Afternoon, ma." Bewaji smiled. He would never have done that if she had come as her 24-year old self. She asked him what his name was. It was Tajudeen.
"Taju, I am looking for my son. He lives in one of these houses, but I seem to have misplaced the address. Here is his picture. Do you know him?" Bewaji asked, handing over the paper to Taju.
"Ah! So na you be the person wey born Justice? He resemble you sef!" Taju said enthusiastically. Bewaji laughed and told Taju that people said he looked more like his father. Whether this was true or not, we shall never know. Taju told her that Justice lived in "that house" and pointed to the now-padlocked gate of Number 38. He said that she could sit and wait for Justice who, it appeared, was not currently available. Bewaji accepted his offer and sat down.
She knew that at this point, she had to glean all the information she could before Justice got back, because when he returned, her game would be up. So, she began with more specific questions:
"I know you people call him Justice, but that is not the name we call him at home. Did he ever tell you his real name?" Bewaji asked, hoping for a good answer.
"Emmm …. Let me see," said Taju, scratching his head as he dug through the archives in his brain. "Folu … No, that's not it … Bayo … No …. Olu? Olu? Yes, Oluwole Towobola. That's what he told me."
"Yes, that's the name his father and I gave him," said Bewaji. She was a tad bit worried that these lies she was telling were flowing too easily, but for the meantime, they were working their magic.
"So, Ade is not his last name. Where in the world did he get that name from?" Bewaji wondered, as she thought up the next question to ask Taju. She would figure it out later.
"Ehen, Taju. You know Olu … sorry Justice is not getting younger, and you see him more often than I do. Do you know if he has a girlfriend?" Bewaji asked, trying to sound concerned, the way a mother would.
"Ah, didn’t he tell you? Maybe he is hiding it from you. I don't know if he has a girlfriend, but he usually comes to this place to pick up calls from a woman. She is the one who usually calls him. Even sometimes in the middle of the night, he comes here to answer calls from that woman. He said his Oga must not find out about it. But, Mama, your son is doing well o … he might soon buy you a car or even an okada. Wouldn’t you like a motorcycle, Mama?" Taju said grinning widely. Bewaji was genuinely puzzled. What could he possibly mean?
"Ahn, ahn, Mama hasn’t Justice been sending you money? He said his Oga increased his salary o. He even has some dollars. But he said Oga's friend gave him the dollars. Mama, don’t tell me you didn’t know?" Now Taju was the one who looked worried. Bewaji looked like she was hearing this news for the first time and he could see it.
"Okay, Mama, when he comes back you can ask him all these things. Ah, here he is. Justice, come here!" Taju yelled. Bewaji had made the mistake of sitting with her back to the house she came to watch. So, she had not seen Justice arrive on the back of a motorcycle, with a basket full of groceries in his hand. And now he was coming towards them. Bewaji was going to be exposed.
Without another word, she leapt to her feet, and called to the same motorcycle driver who had just dropped Justice off in front of Number 38. Taju and Justice watched in amazement as an "old woman" leapt on the back of the okada and sped away. As the okada rider drove off, Bewaji heard Taju telling Justice that that was his mother. She also heard the anger mixed with fear in Justice's voice as he told Taju that his mother had died five years ago. By then, Bewaji was out of reach and gone for good. And, she knew exactly who Olu Ade was.