An African Affair (21 page)

“We are a developing country, as you know. You will certainly find unevenness in our medical care. But we are working on bringing better services to the villages and educating our people to use them. We have a vaccination program sponsored by UNICEF that is operating right now in several areas.”

“But what about region to region? For example, I recently traveled up north and visited the hospital in Kano, and I was impressed by its facilities and supplies—they seem to have everything they need for now. Is it the same here in Lagos?”

The administrator glared at Lindsay. “Is it the same here?” she echoed. Then, looking as though she was trying to compose herself, she looked at Lindsay almost, but not quite, kindly. “How well do you know Nigeria?” she asked.

“Why do you ask?”

“Because if you knew it at all, you would know that of course it isn’t the same here.”

She got up to go. “I am busy. You must go now.”

Lindsay made no move to get up.

“Look, I know Nigeria better than you think,” she said. “I know from good sources that the Hausa gangs supply the Northern Hausa hospitals at your expense. They sell you supplies, which you pay for, and then their gangs steal them before they get here and bring them to the north where they are paid again. What I don’t understand is how you let this happen.”

The administrator looked at her sharply. “You think we could do something to stop it?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But why don’t you buy your supplies elsewhere?”

“Believe me, we don’t have that choice.”

“The government is mostly from the Yoruba tribe and the people in Lagos are mostly Yoruba. How can the authorities allow this to happen to their own people?”

The woman sighed and lowered her voice to a whisper. “This isn’t about the government. The drug gangs run this country. But truly,” she added, “the government does nothing to stop it.” She caught herself and looked down hurriedly. “If you quote me as saying that, I will be in very bad trouble. Do you understand? I spoke in heat. But I ask you to protect me.”

“You have my word. Can you tell me when you last got a shipment of painkillers?”

“It is not that we don’t get shipments, it is that the shipments are only a fraction of what we ordered and need. A week ago we got a shipment that was entirely inadequate.”

“In what way?” Lindsay asked.

“We ordered two hundred boxes of morphine. We received twentyfive. We asked for five hundred boxes of penicillin and erythromycin but received only sixty.”

“What did you do?”

“What can we do? We wrote letters to the company. We issued complaints to the government. Nothing will change. We must make do with what we have.”

Walking back to the parking lot, she saw a black government limousine pull up. A man she didn’t recognize got out, followed by Mike Vale. She watched them enter the hospital. It was strange—this was the second time she had seen him here. Something seemed wrong, and she followed Mike and his companion back inside. The two were walking past the receptionist when she called Mike’s name. He whirled around and was clearly annoyed when he saw her. His companion continued on without him.

“I’m busy, Lindsay,” he snapped.

“Yes, I see. What are you doing here?”

“The same thing you are.”

“Well, not exactly. I’m asking questions about government officials; you seem to hang out with them. Maybe I should just ask you my questions.”

“I guess I just have better sources.” He turned his back and walked away. When Lindsay tried to follow, the receptionist, apologetically, stopped her.

“Who was the man who went in first?” Lindsay asked.

“He from de health ministry. He come here many time.”

Driving home, she noted to herself that J.R.’s information had been confirmed. It was possible Mike was following the same story, but the fact that he arrived by government limo made that unlikely. Since when was Olumide’s government so helpful to a journalist? Maybe the officials were giving Mike some whitewashed version of events and he was falling for it.

Lindsay knew that an exposé in an American paper, even an influential one like hers, would not provide a quick fix. But she had to do something, and writing was the one thing she knew how to do. She remembered her promise to Vickie to hold back information on the bombing and wondered if the drugs played a role in it. The administrator had said the medicine was diverted to the north. J.R. had told her of rumors about a radical northern group that wanted to seize power. The two could be connected, but what did Mike Vale have to do with it?

She was approaching the turnoff to her house and signaled right. Before she could turn, another car passed her on the left and cut in front of her. She hit the brake, unsure of what to do. The car was a black Mercedes like the one used to abduct her. She made the turn and saw the sedan parked on the shoulder. As she passed, it began trailing her, so close she feared it would deliberately hit her fender. She pulled up in front of her house, relieved to see James’s car parked across the street. She ran to her front door and opened it, taking a deep breath to calm herself. Inside, she peered out the window. The two thugs who had threatened her before were parked in front of her house.

Lindsay gave James a quick peck on the lips. He tried to pull her back for a longer kiss, but she slipped away, walked past him, and sat on the couch. She crossed her legs, tapping her heel on the floor so her knee bobbed up and down. Without asking, he poured her a drink and handed it to her.

“What happened?” he asked.

She tasted it and scowled. She’d expected a gin and tonic but he’d poured her a scotch.

“How do you always know when something is bothering me?”

He smiled. “It’s not that hard.”

She took another sip of the scotch. She found she liked it. “I had a rough day.” Then, fighting back tears, she told him everything that had happened, ending with the two men leering at her from the car in front of her house.

Ignoring her pleas to be careful, he strode to the door and yanked it open.

The car was gone. He walked back and put his arm around her.

“Lindsay, I think your usefulness here has come to an end. You have to leave while you still can.”

She remained silent, but her face registered a stubborn resistance.

“What are you waiting for?” he continued. “Do you think Olumide is going to just give up? He knows what you’re doing. He knew you were at that hospital today. He has probably arrested the administrator you spoke to. Your investigation is doing more harm than good, and you’re risking your own life in the bargain.”

She shook her head. “I can’t leave yet. I know I have to be careful. I’m not going to write anything provocative until I get out of the country, and I’ll try not to cover anything alone. But there’s going to be a rally for The Next Step in a few days. I have to be there. I thought I’d see if I can go with some of the people from the embassy.”

James looked exasperated and got up and began to pace.

“Exposing Olumide isn’t trivial, James,” she pleaded. “His policies affect the lives of millions of people. Think of what they do. Think of the depravity of diverting basic medicines from Lagos hospitals to northern gangs.”

“And the northern gangs bring the medicines to northern hospitals,” he continued. “There are needy children there too who would go without medicine if the gangs didn’t exist. The gangs provide a kind of balance to the Yoruba bias toward Lagos, did you ever think of that?”

“I don’t think that’s a convincing argument. It’s so terribly cynical, I find it hard to believe you believe it yourself. And anyway, my job is simply to end the secrecy and let the light in.”

He reached out and tenderly touched her hair, running his fingers through it.

“Let the light in on us, Lindsay,” he said. “Think about how much longer this kind of life will be meaningful to you. Think about where you’d like to be a year from now, a month from now. And with whom.”

She leaned against him. “I have been thinking about that,” she said, “and I know with whom. But you have to give me a little more time here. I promise I won’t take unnecessary chances.”

He nodded thoughtfully. Then he pressed her close to him.

“I’m worried about you,” he said. “I have to go up north for a buying trip. I’m supposed to leave for Kano tomorrow, and now I don’t know if I should go.”

“How long will you be away?”

“A few days. A week at the most.” He looked troubled. “Your stubbornness is affecting my business. This is an important trip. I’ve been working toward it since I arrived. But how can I leave you here now?”

“Of course you can. You couldn’t help me if you stayed. What would you do, follow me around like a bodyguard? You need to do what you came here to do and so do I.”

“Maybe a bodyguard isn’t a bad idea.”

“I think that would just draw attention to me. I’ll try to keep a low profile. They want to scare me off, not create an international incident. Olumide still wants American support and my paper still matters to him. As long as I don’t file, I think they’ll leave me alone.”

“Up to a point. If he really thinks you’re a threat, even a future one, nothing will stop him. People say he had one of his closest advisers killed because he suspected he was working undercover for the Americans.”

She perked up. “Where did you hear that?”

“Around. People talk. Even artists.”

“Yeah. I know that was the word on the street. And it’s probably right. But my case is different. I’ll be okay. Go on your trip. Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

She smiled, leaning over to kiss him. “But hurry back,” she murmured, “because I’ll miss you.”

He gave in, responding to her kiss, and reached under her blouse to undo her bra.

“Not here,” she whispered. “Martin.” She led him upstairs.

“When I get back, we’ll make some plans to get out of here together,” she said.

“First things first,” he answered.

J.R. sent a messenger to tell Lindsay that the rally in the sports stadium would take place the following Thursday morning. Hesitantly—she was not used to sharing her information with government officials—she dropped by the embassy to tell Vickie, who was grateful since Dave Goren didn’t know when it would happen. Mindful of her own safety, Lindsay asked if she could accompany them.

“Of course,” Vickie said. She leaned over and whispered, “Glad this arrangement is working. It’s a big change from the you-can-find-outwhat-I-know-by-reading-my-story line.”

“Well, I need protection, and I don’t think I can get it from that group of miscreants who constitute the press corps,” Lindsay said lightly. “Besides, I said I’d cooperate, though don’t forget I don’t work for you, if you remember.”

“I don’t know, Linds . . . it’s a slippery slope.”

“Okay, okay.” Lindsay was clearly annoyed. “Will you pick me up or not?”

On Thursday, Vickie and Dave Goren arrived in an embassy car. They had a special pass allowing entry to a VIP section near the exit. Entering with the diplomats, in full view of her colleagues, made Lindsay uncomfortable. She saw them exchange quizzical looks.

Lindsay noted how potentially explosive the situation was. The stands were jam-packed, as if for a soccer match. Thousands of people, many of them angry, were pushing and shoving to get a seat in the rows of graduated seating encircling the field. Looking around, she appraised the crowd.

At first Lindsay didn’t spot any white faces other than the foreign press, but after a few minutes, she noticed some—a Swedish diplomat she knew, and a familiar-looking man two rows below her. He might have been the British Airlines representative, which was strange—unless of course the airline job was a cover. Their presence meant word of the rally had reached the entire foreign community.

Vickie leaned over as though to whisper but then spoke in a loud voice. “This is a good spot. We’ve heard there may be a provocation.”

As if on cue, a group of men walked to the podium. One of them stepped forward. He was dressed in loose, cream-colored flowing pants and a red and yellow dashiki. His face was marked by three parallel scars on each cheek. His deep voice boomed over the microphone.

“Brothers and Sisters,” he began, in clear, British-accented English. “Brothers and Sisters,” he said again, louder this time to quiet the crowd, “please settle down. I beg for your silence and your understanding. Our enemies are trying to bury us in our tragedies—all the leaders of our struggle have been taken from us.”

The audience began to listen—you could feel the shift of attention. Lindsay looked nervously at the various exits guarded by groups of armed military police.

“Bayo is gone,” the speaker declared, his voice rising a little, and the crowd stirred. “Fakai is gone,” the speaker continued, his voice rising again. A soft sound rose from the crowd as people nodded assent. The police officers shifted restlessly.

“But we still here,” the speaker screamed. The crowd roared. “We go stay,” he continued. “We go find one more leadah and when dey go shoot him down we go find one moah. And one moah. And one moah. Until we go win!”

Now the crowd was cheering and applauding wildly. The speaker shouted above them, this time returning to flawless English: “So now I give you our next leader. Bayo’s best friend. Fakai’s trusted aide. I give you the man we call J.R.”

The crowd went crazy. People jumped to their feet, screaming and applauding. They chanted: “J.R. You go far. J.R. You go far.”

J.R. walked to the mike with a calm authority. He held his hands up for quiet. Lindsay could hear a voice behind her heckling.

“Dey go lie. Dey go bring nothing fo us, dey go bring mo naira for dem, dat all. It nobody lookout who on seat. All dey lookout is deyself.”