BACK HOME

3

 

 

THE PLANE touched down at Muritala Mohammed  Airport, Lagos, Nigeria. While still in the air, I tried to take in as much of my home country as possible. But I couldn’t see much. The clouds were in my way but from what I saw. There were densely packed houses with reddish brown roofs.

The seatbelt sign turned off and the door opened. Air attendants were wishing us a happy stay at Nigeria and thanking us for flying with them. I stepped out of the plane. The first thing I noticed was the harsh sun. It hit my face hard. I put on my sunshades and went to the baggage claim. As I waited for my luggage to come out, I realised I had no idea what I was doing. I had no lead where I could start from. Maybe chasing this case was a mistake. I could just become a tourist on vacation.

I walked to the gate to wait for my escort.

“Mr. Jackson?”

Nobody should be allowed beyond the gates. I turned to see a young lady walking towards me in perfect strides.

“Miss Davis. Joan Davis. “ She said, extending her hand. “Your Nigerian escort.”

I didn’t know what to expect when Charles said he’d have an escort waiting for me. But I surely didn’t expect a young female beauty.

She was taller than average but not tall enough to be called a giant. She had smooth brown skin and nice eyes. I took her hand in a firm handshake and couldn’t help but notice her breasts. She had nice breasts. This was going to be harder than I thought. I removed my shades.

“Clayton Jackson. But you know that already, don’t you?”

She nodded once.

“Yes. I’ll take you to the car.”

I followed her dragging my bag into the terminal which was very busy. Muritala Mohammed Airport was easily the biggest airport in Nigeria.

We moved to short term parking lot. Back in the sun. I squinted and put on my shades as I took in the vast ranks of automobiles standing under the sun.

We walked to an SUV. A Ford. I put my luggage in the trunk and got in the front seat with Joan.

“So, you grew up here?” I asked, trying to kick start a conversation.

She stayed quiet for a while as she tried to manoeuvre her way out of the parking lot. Then she said, “Yes. Born here in Lagos.”

8 Was born somewhere in Nigeria too but I got shipped out to live with my aunt and her husband in Detroit.

“Where are we headed?”

“Mr. Charles got you an apartment in Ikoyi. That’s about one hour thirty minutes from here. It could be longer, depending on the traffic.”

I relaxed in my seat. Not enough legroom. But I managed. I reclined the seat a bit and settled down for a long ride.

I MUST have dozed off because I snapped to consciousness as the car bounced into a porthole.

“Sorry. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Her face didn’t leave the road.

I checked the speedometer and looked at the time on the dashboard. We should be close. I snapped the seat back in place.

“In the glove compartment are your necessary items. Drivers license, ATM card, National ID and other stuffs you might need.”

I opened the compartment and took out the brown envelope. I didn’t see a weapon.