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432 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2012
Would you die for your child?
This is the only question a parent needs to answer; everything else flows from this. In the kiln-baked emptiness of thorn-bush deserts. In mangrove swamps and alpine woods. In city streets and snowfalls. It is the only question that needs answering.
The boy's father, knee deep in warm mud, was pulling hard on fishing nets that were splashing with life. Mist on greens waters. Sunlight on tidal pools.
Hello ,
I am Barr. Richard Spencer residing in Accra-Ghana,a personal attorney to late Mr.Robert ,a nationality of your country who died in tragic motor accident by running into a stationery Trailer without warning sign on December 26 , 2006.
I have contacted you to assist in repatriating his fund valued at USD$45,200,000.00 left behind by my late client before it gets confiscated or declared unserviceable by the Security Finance Firm where this huge amount were deposited.
Reply to my private email address for more details: richrdspencer1790@gmail.com
Regards,
Barr.Richard Spencer.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Please I will advise you to create a new email address at YAHOO,HOTMAIL OR GMAIL and contact me back because this site is rejecting the the full details of what I wanted to send you.
"Your father signed a document granting power of attorney to the law office of Bello & Usman in Lagos."
"So why aren't you contacting them?" asked Warren.
"Because they don't exist," said Laura. "Jesus Christ, Warren, what part of this don't you understand?"
"Language," said their mother, roused from her indifference.
"What if someone took them up on their offer?" Laura asked. "Flew to Lagos and confronted them face to face?"
Detective Saul looked at her. "People have tried that. They've gone over there and started poking about in the city's underbelly.
"And?"
"Like I said, they usually end up floating in Lagos Lagoon."
"But what if - what if you made them come to you, pretended to be an investor, say? Turned the tables."
"That's a dangerous game. You'd be on their turf."
"But couldn't you meet them on neutral ground? An embassy or something."
"Odds are, even if you made it out alive, you wouldn't get your money back," said Rhodes.
"What if," Laura said, "it wasn't about the money?" [p.139]
One of the boys was wavering on his feet. His eyes were milky and unfocused. It reminded Nnamdi of the glassy gaze of the Egbesu boys, but without the bravado or the gin.
"The hardest part is protecting your line from other boys. We have to stand guard twenty-four hours. Take turns, work it in shifts. But dey fumes is always leaking, from the hose or from the valve. So you inhale a lot of it. Gives you headaches."
Nnamdi looked at his sickly friends, grown wan and thin. "You have to stop," he said. "The gas will make you ill. It will poison you."
"It already has, Nnamdi." And then, in Ijaw: "It was our bad fortune, wasn't it, Nnamdi? To sit on top of wealth that others wanted. Why do you think the gods punished us like that? Cursed us with oil. Why?"
"I don't know."
"Do you suppose the oil is tainted by the souls of the Igbo and others that we captured? Do you suppose it's the blood of those, come back to haunt us?"
"If that was the case, my friend, the oil would make the oyibos [white men] ill as well."
"I think it has, Nnamdi." [pp.289-290]
What was Nigeria?
It was a net, loosely thrown, a name on a map, one created by the British to paper over the gaping cracks in the joinery. A conjurer's trick, where the many became one, a sleight of hand, like the tired magic of old men making coins disappear. "There is no Nigeria." This was the lesson [Amina's] uncle had wished to impart. "There is Fulani and Hausa, Igbo and Tiv, Efik and Kanuri, Gwari and Yoruba. But Nigeria? That is on the pail we carry these in."
But she knew better.
She knew that the naming of a place helped bring it into existence. The naming of a location - or a person, a child - was a way of claiming them. Until you named something, it wasn't fully real. The trick to staying invisible, then, was to remain nameless. Without a name, you couldn't be pinned in place, couldn't be cornered or captured. [p.82]
Subject : MR SULEMAN BELLO
FROM THE OFFICE MR SULEMAN BELLO
AFRICAN DEVELOPMENT BANK (ADB).
OUAGADOUGOU BURKINA FASO.
WEST AFRICA.
TRANSFER OF ($ 25,200.000.00) TWENTY FIVE MILLION, TWO HUNDREN THOUSAND DOLLARS.
I AM SULEMAN BELLO, THE AUDITOR GENERAL OF AFRICAN DEVELOPMENT BANK HERE IN BURKINA FASO. DURING THE COURSE OF OUR AUDITING, I DISCOVERED A FLOATING FUND IN AN ACCOUNT OPENED IN THE BANK BY MR JOHN KOROVO AND AFTER GOING THROUGH SOME OLD FILES IN THE RECORDS I DISCOVERED THAT THE OWNER OF THE ACCOUNT DIED IN THE (BEIRUT-BOUND CHARTER JET) PLANE CRASH ON THE 25TH DECEMBER 2003 IN COTONOU (REPUBLIC OF BENIN).
"You seem to know an awful lot about Nigeria," said Warren.
"I do."
Laura looked at the detective. "You've been there, haven't you?"
"I have."
"Lagos?"
He nodded.
"What was it like?"
"It was like looking into the future."
"That bad?"
He nodded.