Poll of Vampires

By Anyasi Raymond

Dreadful things happen in an election year; assassinations, bribery, kidnappings etc. As they unfold on the streets, they end up as case files on his desk and questions in his head. Who killed Sola Smith? Whos tormenting Dr. Adeniran? Who did this? and Who did that? Can detective Chidi Phillipe find an answer? Poll of Vampires is a telling of a Nigerian story, politics and all that accompanies it; the bent politicians and the good cops.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Feb 11, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456863623

Anyasi Raymond

Anyasi Raymond Uchechukwu was born in 1986 in the city of Lagos and graduated from the University of Nigeria, Nsukka. Raymond is the director general of creativity Mobilization Movement and writes the column Naphtali Time Machine. He enjoys playing lawn tennis.

Book preview

Prologue

Alhaji Ibrahim Ahmadu and Alhaji Shehu ben Abba were friends—or so they thought. They had been that way for close to three decades since they first met as freshmen at the university of Colombia. They had a few things in common and a lot in contrast. Apart from them being African Islamic kids in a western college, they were co-incidentally from the same Northern-Nigerian state. They most importantly shared the same carreer interest—politics.

Their social origins were the prime contrasting factor about them. Shehu was the afluent, a little spoilt kid with fleshy cheeks and he never lacked anything he really needed, having a money can do all things attitude. On the other extreme end of means was poor Ibrahim. The frail, skinny, streetwise guy who needed one scholarship scheme or the other for every step he took into a classroom. He was brilliant—he had to be. Ibrahim had gone through shit and that wasn’t figurative, a pit toilet had collapsed under him as a twelve year old.

Ibrahim had since them risen a long, thorny ladder to become the governor of Adamawa state. From that malnurished and unkept boy to this pot-bellyed politician. the very kind that stopped at nothing to get whatever he wanted, even political mandates. He was as good as they come, he was also as well fed as they appear—rounded tommy, fat neck with several skin infoldings up to the base of his skull . . . whoever says background determines ones ending? He would have been a fine man if not for a few undesirable features like his longer than usual forehead, his bushy and fully grown eye lashes that required combing and then his tunnel-wide nosetrils. He used to think he was the only one alive that could dip two fingers into a single nosetril untill his younger son tried it out with great success.

His’ was a long journey along which he had learnt some skills and perfected some others. Being the first son in a poverty stricking family of nine and having to compete on the big and rough stage of politics with the wealthy and inflluencial, he had learnt how to be loyal to anyone who had the slightest means to help him in whatever way to achieve his ultimate personal goal. What had been working for him and might as well turn out to be his biggest undoing was his eaganess to switch allegiance to the winning team. The skills he only had to perfect were amongs many; decietfullness, an art he sublimely played to make anyone believe anything that escaped his mouth. He stood as the only one alive who could make the world believe once again the earth was flat with a simple argument

Everything in him spoke of politics, the good and evil of it. He was talented in identifying oppurtunities and when he found one, he never lacked the tenacious will to grab it. A trait that came in handy when he met Shehu a member of the famous ben Abba family believed to be a scion of the great Modibbo Adama. A family that dominated northern-Nigerian politics and business. In Ibrahim’s cabinet, there were two ben Abbas, one at the senate, two at the house of representative, one at the state house of assembly, one federal minister and some others in different appointment offices.

Time seemed to have flown so fast. Alhaji Shehu ben Abba was siting in Ibrahim’s office, face to face with the same man who used to do his laundry, get someone to do his assignments, clean up the appartment they shared, cook his meals and every other chore a housemaid should do, then later in the evening bore him to sleep with stories of the humility of his childhood.

‘This is insane and it’s daddy Mallam’s fault,’ Shehu spat out in sublime anger without any attempt to conceal it. Mallam Umaru ben Abba was widely addresed as daddy Mallam, even among his children, Shehu and his siblings. He was the strategic orchestrator of every political move of the dynasty and by that responsibility surrounds himself with eggheads. According to daddy Mallam three years ago, it was wise for Shehu to go to the senate and if after four years he wished not to continue, would run for governor which had been his desire. Shehu knew well enough how futile and unwise it was to oppose daddy Mallam.

Meanwhile, not just anyone but a family loyalist had to hold fort at the state government house. He had to be smart and at the same time understands the family’s interests. That was Ibrahim’s spot in the picture. Alhaji Ibrahim Ahmadu, a smart and brilliant social climber who could not afford to miss a pint of a chance to fraternise with the famous and wealthy was introduced by Shehu to daddy Mallam, the head of a political empire who seeked and grabed any oppurtunity to add yet another canny wonder kid to his ever growing team. Their meeting was like a desperate spouse searchcing bachelor and an equally desperate spinster. Two oppurtunists, of course when a man searching for a wife stumbles into a woman searching for a husband, marriage becomes a certainty,and that was their story.

When Shehu immediately after graduation at a party organised for him was braging to daddy Mallam about the credentials of his servant friend, all daddy Mallam hung on to was that he was smart, can be loyal and from a poor family. Those were all he required from him. Quickly, he was drafted to a ben Abba’s campaign team and after the senatorial victory, he was appointed as special assistant. He soon became known as daddy Mallam’s boy. Even family members loved him more than their own brothers perhaps for the fact that he had proven to them on many occasions he can give his life for the family’s course.

As expected, Shehu had had enough of the senate’s ayes and nays, now he wanted his birthright governoship. As unexpected, Ibrahim was unwilling to let go sweet power. Two days after Shehu announced his candidacy, he requested him for a meeting in his office. For over an hour, he had been explaining and pleading, applying every trick he knew to sell to Shehu the reasons he needed a second term, Shehu wasn’t buying. He might not be as intelligent and keen as the other man but he had this ben Abba trait going for him. An overwhelming unwillingness to compromise. A slight and gentle shake of his head was all he needed to communicate his firm position.

‘I beg you in the name of Allah,’ Ibrahim repeated solemnly for the twenty-fourth time that afternoon.

Shehu narrowed his eyes on Ibrahim’s large mahogany desk occupying the space between them, it was of a huge size it could stage a grand sumo wrestling championship. For a while he looked around the office, it was grand, a lot better than it was when his uncle was governor. ‘see what this bastard is trying to keep me away from,’ he thought.

‘You know you risk impeachment if daddy Mallam gets to hear of this selfishness,’ Shehu made an attempt at a little threat, he tried to sound cassual but he knew daddy Mallam’s prowess was well known to Ibrahim, at the same time he knew how calm his friend could be in the face of crises. Droplets of sweats formed a trickle down Ibrahim’s cheeks, otherwise he appeared calm. That man could say the two stanzas of the national anthem softly in the midst of a 9.9 magnitude earthquake.

Ibrahim took a 360 degree turn on his swivel chair then returned to fix a jovial stare on his guest. ‘I told you about this long before now Shehu.’

‘I thought you were kiding’, Shehu returned quickly and hotly too, ‘and of course you had to be, you know how much I want this’, he lifteed his hands from the mansion of a desk and folded them on his chest, ‘now its late, you don’t expect me to call a press conference to annouce a withdrawal, do you?’

‘You can do that for a friend.’

‘And jeopardize the family’s political strenght?’ Shehu askd wrathfully.

Still playing it calmly Ibrahim replied, ‘It’s called sacrifice,’ it sounded sakreeifaiice, like Elton John, ‘I do it for the family often.’

Shehu stood up, anger in his eyes, clenched fist and teeth, jerking his chin muscle momentrarily as a characteristic sign of his rage.

‘This conversation is over,’ Shehu declared with such an authoritative tone that Idi Amin himself would have envied. ‘If you dare bring this up again, I’ll make sure daddy Mallam hears,’ he adjusted his agbada, by swinging his arms upward and forward towards his chest. He adjusted his cap too then turned to the exit door, ‘Have a nice day.’

Ibrahim chose not to respond, instead he punched some numbers on his telephone.

The drive from the government house to the airport was roughly twenty minutes giving the slightly heavy traffic. He had to fly back to Abuja for another of those boring executive sessions where all they do was talk and argue endlessly on issues without results and for a little excitement, rain vilifications on each other. When he got elected to the senate, he told his little son he was going to make laws for the nation, after three years inside that dome, he could not remember ever making one. he had moved only one motion in the house so far and that wasn’t to be considered underwhelming for a man who strongly believed the best way to waste four years was to hole up in the senate.

‘This chumphead really wants me to do this for four more years,’ he muttered to himself in anger.

Then a call came into his cell, to his disgust it was Ibrahim. He cursed before he opened his line. ‘Yes?’

‘Calm down Shehu’, Ibrahim attempted, ‘I was just thinking about Idris your late or lost brother, how mysterious his case was, the aftermat of his disappearance . . .’ he went on with an unussual passionate tone.

‘I don’t understand you Ibrahim . . .’ meanwhile his driver made a suden turn into a road that does not lead to his destination. He taxied so fast into this desolate road and the prceeding events happened so fast. A dusty, untared brownish road with shallow drainage gutters on its shoulders and rusted roof mud huts further on its flanks took over from the tared dual carriage city traffic road miles into their diversion.

‘What are you doing? where are you taking us to,’ he screamed at the driver, holding the cell away from his mouth. Without waiting for any response he held the cell closer to finish with Ibrahim. ‘What are you talking about Ibrahim?’

Ibrahim conmtinued still calmly but a little cold this time, ‘This’s what I’m trying to say, now we can’t tell if he’s dead or not but if you get there and he happens to be dead, please do tell him how much we miss him, and tell him I’m sorry.’

‘What are you talking about?’ a confussed Shehu questioned, worriedly.

‘Modu has a better explaination,’ Ibrahim assured.

He turned to his left to face Modu the mobil police escort. Modu already had his 9mm police revolver pointed at Shehu’s left temple. ‘I sorry oga’, the officer’s countenance and next action wasn’t anything appologetic. The next sound and of course the last Shehu heard was a click of the trigger.

Chapter 1

Laughter filled the air. Some crackled, some giggled and one of them was convulsed with laughter on the tiled floor of Essan’s temporary hotel residence. They might have had quite a number of reasons to go on in such hilarious mood on that night but that does not take away the fact that they had gathered for a far more serious reason.

Chief Adeoye, a supposedly respected chief of egbaland and an honorable senator of the federal republic of Nigeria was the ‘Ali baba’ of the night. He was entertaining his little audience with stories of comical events that took place during his recent trip outside the country in his own amusing way. And he was good. His audience were Dr Taiwo Aina, Mr. Akin Jones, Alhaji Agun Wasiu, Barrister Bolaji Yusuf, Olumo Martins, Adeoye Jide, Thomas Jegede and Samuel Seyi. Essan, the core leaders of the Lagos chapter of the People’s Political Party or triple P as they loved to call it. Gathered there, they were supposed to be brainstorming, finding a way to capture the government of the state away from the ruling party, Democratic People’s Party (DPP) by whichever means they can. Hook or crook.

It was the second time in five days they had to gather for this reason, and pathetically, this second meeting was heading the way the first one went, and it could be worse. They were running out of time, they seem not to realize. Thomas Jegede was the only sober man in the room and he proved it with a wrinkled forehead of a sinister frown while the others laughed; it was as though they were laughing at his slowly collapsing political career and his tall dream of becoming the next governor of Lagos state. He was beginning to wonder why in the world he made the decision to join this group of never serious clowns. Why he entrusted his political career into their care. It was regretful and he blamed his godfather for it. ‘Do I really need that man?’ he wondered in his thoughts.

He had wanted to contest for the senate under DPP not as a matter of preference but at least he had a better chance. The governor’s seat was his priority, but since the all-powerful Otumba Wasiu Lamide showed interest in it, it became needless and a waste of time for anyone in DPP to take up a contest. Lamide was influential; seemingly, he had all it takes for one to win elections giving the conditions of the political playing field of the moment. He was a retired military general and a two time minister. Though the electorate might not fancy an ex-military man, he was very confident of his ability to go beyond them. He had the means, he was rich. He had the influence; he was feared if not respected. His personal political muscle added to that of the party in power dwarfed his opponents’ but they would keep fighting anyway.

Jegede couldn’t be more delighted to be approached by Alhaji Moshood Lekan with what sounded more like an offer inside the presidential terminal of the Murtala Mohamed international airport.

‘You can join us and be sure to be part of the governorship race, I’ll offer my full support,’ Lekan offered while they walked gently out of the terminal.

Jegede took a moment to think before he responded.

‘I don’t just want to be part of the race, I want to win it.’

Lekan threw up his arms in the manner of an unworthy grand slam title winner as a faint smile diffused over his chubby face, ‘Doesn’t that make the two of us?’ he smiled more, ‘I too don’t just want to be the godfather of a mere contestant, I want to be the godfather of a governor.’

So the union kicked off, it was a marriage made in the heavens of political interests. Two men, one mission—capture the state and dominate.

That was the very first time Jegede heard a real politician refer to himself as a godfather. He thought it was a terminology for the press and the masses they influence. He would come to hear more of it because Lekan very often proudly addressed himself as such.

If there was anyone in whom Otunba Lamide would find his match, it was Alhaji Lekan. He was a retired military chief and once a governor of Lagos state. He could boast of as much political and financial strength which he promised to throw behind Jegede. He also bragged about a team of political experts in the caucus of his party.

These drunk and merry fellows were that team of political experts. Jegede stood to his feet from his light brown leather single seat chair and paced worriedly a little across his chair.

‘What do you think we are in here for?’ he spat, not being able to hide his anger any longer.

‘Please don’t lose your cool Jegede,’ Dr Taiwo tried to calm him down,placing his meaty left palm on his broad but flat chest.

Jegede turned to Taiwo, ‘And can you tell me why I shouldn’t?’

‘Because there is no single reason to,’ Adeoye helped Taiwo.

‘You can go ahead and worry,’ someone said quietly, low enough for Jegede not to hear.

‘Oh, you can’t see any reason to worry? Now I get it’, he fumed, ‘its none of your business after all, it’s my career that’s heading for the rocks not yours, if I had . . .’

‘Take it easy my friend,’ Taiwo interrupted genially. ‘The race they say does not belong to the swift, haven’t you heard it, or you don’t know it includes politics too?’ he was the most committed in this—we can finagle you into office—team they put together.

Barrister Bolaji dropped his cigarette butt in the ash tray on the finely polished mahogany table before he joined, ‘In modern day politics you simply play your game properly and go to bed while others run, come on man, you are not a kid. I think you are being over worried.’

Jegede had heard them talk so much about playing proper game, he grew sick of it. ‘Perhaps we should forget about this game you keep talking about and start doing something real. Can’t you see we’ve not achieved anything so far?’

The leader of the team, SS. Essan was still able to keep his sense of responsibility and duty even after a couple of glasses of red wine. ‘I think he’s right to be mad at what’s going on here,’ he spoke up. ‘Can you please have your seat?’ he pointed at Jegede’s vacant seat. ‘Thank you,’ he said as Jegede sat down hesitantly. He stood up and rested his back on the wall close to the tainted glass window. He ran his eyes through the walls of the pretty large room looking for the control switch of the yellow electric lamp on the wall. ‘Can someone please switch on this lamp?’ he politely asked pointing at a switch at his far left on the wall he was leaning on. Akin did and the room was flooded with light. He could then see the face of everyone clearly.

He cleared his throat and adjusted his horn-rimed eyeglass. ‘I must apologize for the gross unserious attitude in display here tonight,’ he started at last, ‘Politics is too serious an issue to be handled like this. I guess Jegede’s biggest concern is the latest exit of our members to other parties, I share your concern too, but let’s bear in mind this fact. After the primaries in any party whatsoever, some of those that were loyal to the losing candidate transfer their support to candidates of other parties. People they think is more like their choice. Don’t forget that we benefited from this phenomenon last month after GADP’s primaries.

‘When you said we haven’t achieved anything so far I was wondering what you expect us to have achieved at this stage that we haven’t. You don’t expect us to win before Election Day, do you? I think we have the best campaign activities on ground. Our stickers and flyers are all over the place, we dominate the airwaves and tele with jingles not to mention the daily newspapers. We’ve done a lot I can tell you that,’ Taiwo and Akin nodded their agreement, Essan went on. ‘When you reacted the way you did, to a little extent, it shows discontent for our efforts, and that could be discouraging for us. No offence taken anyway.’

He went on to talk for over half an hour without being interrupted—no one dared—he was a well respected personality not only in PPP but in Lagos. By the time he stopped, the room was quiet for close to a minute. Bolaji was busy scribbling down something with an unsteady hand which seemed to be applying unnecessarily much pressure on the paper with his pen like he had to carve the letters on the paper, he had held the post of the secretary general for three years and would be in it for two years to come.

‘Let’s talk of when we would meet again,’ Akin broke the silence knowing that would be all for the day.

‘We’ll meet a day after tomorrow, on Sunday,’ Essan announced loudly like the teacher of a slightly deaf class.

‘Same venue?’ Taiwo wanted to know.

‘No,’ Essan shook his head, ‘In your house, same time.’

‘I think Alhaji Lekan should be told about it. He might want to be there,’ Agun suggested.

Essan pondered on the thought of Lekan’s presence for a while, ‘I think he has no business there. He delegated this task to us, we just send him reports.’

‘He could have some ideas that would be valuable,’ Agun argued.

‘Let him offer them to the presidential campaign,’ Essan returned coldly.

Dr Taiwo walked closer to Essan, bent over his head and said with a lowered voice, ‘This man has a big stake in what we are doing and at the same time has so much experience than we all put together, we need him.’

Essan softly banged his fist on the table, ‘that is exactly the problem I have with people, you so much underrate yourselves that you can’t believe you can do anything without an external hand to your aid.’

‘An external head,’ Taiwo corrected.

‘We all have heads, don’t we?’ Essan returned with a sacastic mutter.

They shook hands with each other then headed for the exit door in a rather organized manner but some of them still dragged their feet obviously awkwardly.

Jegede was the first to leave. Essan followed them to the door, ‘Hope you know your way out of here?’ he shouted as they disappeared into the elevator. Unsurprisingly, he did not get a response from them apart from the fading footsteps and the clicking of the elevator door.

He went straight to the phone ‘Honey we’re done,’ he dropped the receiver before honey could say anything.

He timed himself and in ten minutes he was able to make out a little orderliness out of the scattered room, though not as perfectly arranged as he would like it but at least ash trays were cleared out of the table into a waste bin, emptied wine bottles that were all over the floor were gathered also into the bin and chairs arranged neatly around the table. He opened the blinds to allow fresh air replace the odor of nicotine and alcohol his wife couldn’t stand. She had left when the meeting was about to start. Essan suggested she stay inside her room while the meeting lasted but she would rather take a walk around the hotel.

‘At a point I wondered if it was going to take you all day,’ she joked as she shut the door behind herself.

He was quiet.

‘How was the meeting?’ she enthusiastically inquired.

He simply shrugged his ‘fine.’

She became deeply concerned about his not so bright mood, ‘Are you okay? What is wrong?’

‘I’m fine, why do you ask?’ his straight countenance said otherwise.

‘You just don’t look like all is well and I was simply being concerned’

There was a long silence and she merely stood over his bulky frame while he sat.

‘Let’s have a warm shower,’ she suggested, ‘then we’ll think of what to eat.’

Ronke was eleven years younger, chocolate brown complexion, dark and starry eyes that doesn’t see so much if not aided by spectacles. She was tall enough not to be described as short. And she was beautiful at least by Essan’s standard which was understandably compromised since she was a far more pleasant sight to behold than his ex-wife. With all due respect.

He met her in an election petition tribunal after the last nationwide elections. She was there to cover the court proceedings while he was the plaintiff. For a number of reasons he disliked reporters, one of them being that over the years he had been often times misquoted by the press. Ronke at the same time was not a fan of politicians which was not unlike the average Nigerian but somehow, they fell in love and apparently not going to fall out of it for a good time to come. They’ve been married for three years without kids and it was gradually becoming a thing to worry about for Ronke but obviously not for Essan who had two boys from his previous marriage.

Chapter 2

Lagos was no Vancouva, it’s hard, cluttered and nearly overpopulated. Its dwellers were always in a hurry as if to outpace the city itself. Lagos had its fair share of rough and unruffled people, shanties and mansions etc. It becomes your turf if you posses the right blend of toughness and gentility, hostility and civility and so on. Though most streets in Lagos resembled the aftermat of hurican Kathrina, it was unfair to classify it as a huge slum and that was the most effectual way of getting under the skin of a Lagosian. Every governor it had in recent time had tried without success to cause a turnaround but maybe Lagos did not need a turnaround, maybe it just needed to be itself—Lagos.

Lame duck Lagos governor, Reuben Ishola from the shower walked bare footed straight to the living room of the executive apartment of the CMS governor’s residence. With the TV remote controller in his grip, he sat on a chaise lounge to search for a channel that he was going to find interesting. He avoided any of them that had a politics related program on. His counterparts, most of them, were struggling to get into bigger political involvements after their second tenor. Some were contesting for the presidency or VP, some were looking forward to ambassadorial offices and some others would rather be ministers. Reuben Ishola knew he would be no pushover if he was willing to contest for the number one job in the country but he was eager to finish his tenor and forever say goodbye to politics for good.

The race for his successor was heating up out there. In the beginning, there were over twenty aspirants. Time passed away and so did some aspirants until only four were left standing. Sixteen of the over thirty political parties reached out for some sort of political synergy when they merged to form the Grand Alliance for Democracy Party. In all their alliance, they remain pretty below DPP in size and in influence. DPP had the majority seats in twenty eight houses of assembly across the nation, twenty six governors, the presidency and a majority in the national assembly that was dwarfing to say the least.

Engr. Wilson Folarin was the candidate with the biggest chance, he had lost the last two elections narrowly to Ishola and this time was his perfect chance that unfortunately never came. He was found dead two months ago in his bedroom at dawn. It was a gruesome murder and a creepy site to behold. His neck was tied with a garrote to his bedpost. Autopsy confirmed he was strangled out of breath, no blood stain, no finger print. It was a perfect job. All that was found were large footprints of rubber boots which police took to belong to the perps. The ceiling of his bedroom was cut open, wide enough for grownup to pass through. Not one of his family members, house attendants, gate keepers and gardeners heard any sound. They had all been questioned by the police. The entrance and exit of Folarin’s killers remained a mystery and they remained at large.

All hopes, chances, opportunities, no matter how big were lost. He was out of the race he started almost a decade ago without reaching the finish line. And the police, they had since been sweating blood to solve that. Funsho Williams was no different.

The governor assumed an awkward posture on his lounge and fell asleep. His legs were stretched out at ninety degrees to each other. The left leg laid on the lounge and the right one stretched forward to meet the wrought—iron table. Arms crossed on his chest and head bent forward. He was dead to the world.

Dr. Biodun Frank, special assistant to Ishola walked briskly with one of the governor’s ADC through the lobby into the sitting room where the governor was.

‘Rubi what’s up?’ Biodun woke the governor. He was one of the very few people in the government house who could do that and it was by reason of familiarity.

‘Good morning your Excellency,’ the ADC saluted before he disappeared immediately.

They both glanced at the door as it was shut. Biodun fixed the governor a puzzled look.

‘I warned them to keep a good distance from me inside the government house,’ Ishola offered to help Biodun’s curiosity.

‘When?’

‘Its been a week or two.’

‘A lot of things have changed about you Ruben. By the way, Lamide and Rufus are waiting in the lobby, I told them you’ll see them shortly.’ Biodun was as slender as a rope, possesing a chiseled, slim face. He had a skin that was black and shinny, very black and very shinny. His eyes were tiny and bright and his lips were almost not there with no visible cleavage. All he wanted in life was to be okay and being okay to him meant being able to pay his bills and afford a little luxury. By his standards he was okay.

‘But Lam told me he was alone,’ Ruben muttered.

‘So you were informed of his visit?’

‘Of course, he has to tell me before hand. I doubt if I really want to see this Rufus man. He acts like he should be worshiped because he thinks he’s the brain behind my second term.’

‘He did a great job no doubt about that.’

‘And he was rewarded with a world of contracts no one cared to ask questions about their execution.’

‘That’s good enough.’

‘He also asked to be appointed commissioner