MEMOIRS OF A YOUNG NIGERIAN GIRL

Chronicles Of Osas VIII

Just tell me Martha, why will all these be going on in which you are actively involved and you kept everyone even your parents in the dark, my mother, a dramatic African woman in her late thirties panted and ranted round the sitting room in all her frenzy. My father sat on the sofa in a slouched position staring at me in disbelief. He was short of words.

I stood at a corner of the sitting room mute and watched how the sitcom drama was unfolding and how it became intensifying in seconds. The drama happening now is as a result of the visit from Osas mum earlier in the day. She really caused quite a stir.

Let us all go back to relive the scenario, shall we?.

It's been seven days since the agency took Osas to their office where she was thoroughly interrogated and intense investigation began in earnest. The rules meted out to her were strict and she was only allowed to make calls to people she feels safe talking to. The calls between the both of us were to exchange mere pleasantries, nothing else. Even the calls were legally tapped. I knew for a fact that in the course of the investigation, her mum will be invited for interrogation and to write a statement. I had a very strong conviction that a backlash will ensue from all these, but the deed has been done, I had to live with it. I only prayed that this feeling was a result of my imagination coupled with uncertainty.

I was coming back home from where I went to when I noticed a clean sleek black car packed just outside the compound gate and a driver was in it. As I came closer, I squinted my eyes to see who was inside and immediately my heart sank. The driver inside was the same driver that picked Osas up the day we were all going home. I just knew I was in for shit today.

The driver recognized me, came out to greet me and as usual, neatly dressed.

"Good morning small madam friend".

"Good morning sir", I replied. Why are you here sir, I asked and decided to strike a conversation politely to get a hang of what was going on. I believed if I could get some information out of him, I would know my first step on how to handle the situation. Desperate times call for desperate decisions.

"Ahh, I drive big madam come here", he replied.

For what sir. Do you know what's going on in there, I asked.

"I no know". He replied me with a gesture of his hands in the air. "The only thing wey I know be say small madam never come house since one week and big oga dey police custody".

I grinned internally. The best news of the day is here. Emphasis on 'Big oga dey police custody'.

On hearing the news, I threw all fear to the wind and summoned up all the courage I could muster to go face the bulls. I thanked the driver and found my way into the compound and to the front door of my house. I opened the front door and upon everyone hearing the squeaking of the iron door, all eyes were on me. Funny enough, I converted the scenario to a song by a popular afrobeat queen, NINIOLA, and the song All eyes on me began playing in my head. The attention was just the way I presumed it was going to be. My alter ego appeared immediately and smacked the psychotic egoistic feeling off the surface of my mind. This is not really the best time to bask in your stupidity you moron, my alter ego warned. Agreed, my alter ego is a more rational thinker than I am.

I looked up and met four pairs of eyes. Two pairs which are familiar and belonged to my parents and the other two which are unfamiliar, but I believed they were that of Osas mum and a man only God knows who. The man whom I guess should be in his early thirties was dressed in an all black suit with a leather briefcase sitting pretty on his laps. Everywhere was silent and breath echoes can be heard. It gave off an eerie feeling. I definitely knew I had to say something.

Ok, Let's start with the simplest formality ever to break the silence.

"Good morning everyone", I greeted.

Words in italics are in pidgin English.
Pidgin English is a type of vernacular English spoken in Nigeria.
Thank you.