Manifest

Eighteen

The street outside of Edidiong Okot's home was lit with only one streetlight. It flickered off and on, sporadically. Dara didn't need to see anything clearly. She didn't want anyone to see her as she exited the compound, either. She could already see the smoke rising above the fence, so she hastened, dragging the bag of sand she had just procured.

Dara was lucky no one was around to see her scrambling through the house looking for flammable liquids and clothes and books. She was also glad people hadn't heard the noise as she'd hammered the mysterious shed door till it gave way. She hadn't had the time to wait around for support. The moment Uduak called her about Senator Emana, Dara knew it was time to act.

Stopping by the side of the road, Dara shifted when a black car with tinted glasses rolled up in front of her. She stepped further back when a man in a suit emerged from the passenger's seat and opened the backseat door for her.

"Good evening," she said as she slumped into the car with her Ghana-must-go bag of sand. Grateful for the reprieve, she dumped the bag into the space between their legs with a sigh. Dara pushed a lock of hair from her face, remembering the patch of her afro that had caught fire. She must have been a sight, hopping around, screaming for help as she attempted to put her hair out of fire. When she'd tried to pack it all back, bits of it wouldn't fit anymore because it was burnt short.

There was another man sitting behind the driver. Joseph Ebo.

"Is there any particular reason you reek of kerosene?" Joseph, asked, lifting a hand to his nose.

Dara wiped the sweat from her face and shifted the bag onto the center of the seat.

"What is inside the bag?"

"It's the sand Abasi Enyong woke up in."

For the first time in her life, she noted a change in demeanor in the otherwise inhuman robot that was Joseph as he gasped slightly and reached over to the bag, zipping it open as if doubtful of Dara's testimony.

"I cannot imagine why the Chief failed to have this packed and stored much earlier. It could prove quite useful in the future."

"She asked me to do it."

He zipped the bag closed.

"And the kerosene smell?"

"I had to burn evidence."

Dara wiped her face again, irritated. She hissed and removed her broach before removing her blouse, altogether. Joseph sighed at her in exasperation. She gripped the broach in her hand as she turned the blouse inside out and used it to wipe her neck, her face, under her arms. Everywhere she could reach on her upper body.

"I beg your pardon, but I find your conduct unruly and disrespectful."

She ignored him. Joseph was a noisy yammer who never stopped. She learned, years ago, never to take him seriously. He complained more times than he had solutions and took some hidden pleasure in seeing everyone around him jump at his critiques. Not Dara.

"I don't know why, but ubokabasi enyong's father was researching Abasi Enyong."

"This is, somehow, sufficient reason to burn down his house."

She was used to his behavior, but she wasn't immune. Sighing, she sat back and looked at him.

"Before you criticize and needle at everything I have to say, just think for a second. He went around Akwa Ibom asking questions about Abasi Enyong. Can you imagine what he uncovered about your family?" she asked, enjoying the look of comprehension as it spread through his face. She wished they were in better light so she could relish in the reddening of his pasty skin.

The shed had turned out to be a tiny cubicle of an office filled with notebooks and pictures of writings and cave-drawings, scattered with depictions of Abasi Enyong's tusk. There were records of sightings of divine appearances and family names.

Senator Emana's name had been on the wall, too.

Everyone had a secret. And if Dara wasn't going to get a chance to sit down and examine every advantage Ibanga Okot's research had to offer, she had to destroy it. If she couldn't have the knowledge, no one else would.

Pressed for time, she'd quickly filled the three Ghana-must-go bags with all the albums in the house and every picture of Ibanga Okot's wife she could find and dragged them to the shed. There were pictures in the rooms, in the kitchen, everywhere. Dara had taken all she could find. She'd emptied his drawers and shelves and put them all in a pile in the shed.

Then she'd set it all on fire.

Not bad for a day's job, if she wasn't being too humble.

"What do we do now?" Joseph asked.

"We pray."

Turning to the window, Dara closed her eyes and took a moment to mourn. An enormous responsibility had just been thrust on her, but she was ready for it. She had prepared her whole life.

"I want everyone assembled by the time we reach Uyo," Dara said.

"As you wish, Obongawan," Joseph said, and Dara flinched.

"Don't call me that."

Joseph looked at her, perplexed.

"The senator is dead. The responsibility to lead ekpo falls on you."

"Call me Dara," she replied, not ready to be reminded of her father's death every time someone wanted to get her attention. "Just call me by my name."

"If that's what you want," Joseph said with a solemn nod.