Manifest

Thirty

Dara watched the seconds hand on the clock, in the wall in the sitting room as it ticked its way till it struck twelve and kept moving. The two pots had been moved from the center of the room to the corners where they were placed in steel bars nailed to the ground. It wouldn't do to have them spill for any reason.

Beside the steel bars, blue and green single sofas were placed around the room. At the head of the circle was a high throne. It was a wooden throne adorned in green and blue stripes of material. Along the seams of the clothes and on the smooth, shiny parts of the wood, simple Nsibidi phrases were carved on it. But at the head of the throne, two lines read; obomme na din, mmedin na obofi.

Abasi Enyong had never sat on the throne. It was just something the ekpo who survived the purge had built. They couldn't meet in shrines. They couldn't profess their true intentions in public gatherings. So, they built a throne to look up to.

The walls around the throne were white. The ukara curtains remained closed. Even though there was still daylight outside, the air-conditioner offered enough ventilation and the house was illuminated enough not to miss the sun.

Dara had worn a new pair of slacks and sneakers when she showered that morning. Staring at the short part of her hair that had burnt off, she decided to mat it all into two huge weaves. Sometime in the future, she'd have to deal with it but not right now. She could tell by the unimpressed look on Joseph's face, he did not approve. Dara didn't care. Because Abasi Enyong hadn't cared. And, as far as she was concerned, his opinion was the only one she ever needed to worry about.

When the seconds hand ticked past four, Dara's chest ached.

"Something's wrong," she said.

Joseph looked up from his tablet, pushing his lenses down to look at her.

"Abasi Enyong promised he wouldn't be gone for more than a minute. Something is wrong."

She grabbed the slim, black briefcase on one of the glass stools between the sofas as Joseph rushed to his feet and blocked her from leaving the house.

"Get everyone ready to move out as soon as I call you," Dara told him.

"Where do you think you are going?" Joseph asked.

"To Antaikot."

"To do what? If I may ask."

She wiggled the briefcase in his face and tried to walk past him. With his hands still at his back, he stepped into her way again.

"I fail to see how this is a strategic course of action."

"Move."

"Obongawan," he said, ignoring the look of indignation on Dara's face. "Yes, I'll call you obongawan, so you remember your place. You are no longer a faceless soldier in an army. You're the commander of one."

"Joseph, I will break your knees if you block me again."

When she moved a third time, he didn't get in her way. Instead, he followed her out of the house. She walked briskly to one of the cars in the shed, opening it with the remote.

"Endeavour to think less like a fool, Dara, for one second."

"What do you think is going to happen to us if Abasi Enyong is put to sleep? Hmm. Joseph, we're all GOING TO BE HUNTED AND KILLED."

"Even if you succeed, you'll still be stranded in a gathering full of mbono who will kill you."

"Well, so be it."

Abasi Enyong was in trouble. Who cared if she was obongawan? Someone had to take mkpo ufok to Antaikot and she was willing to do it.

"Abasi Enyong is in trouble and ubokabasi is right beside him, in just as much peril. Do you think it's smart to send the next-in-command to her death? Especially since you're human enough to actually die?"