Chapter 6: The Secrets in the Madness

To know why Okafor couple die important well.

Captain Musa gather us round lantern light, voice deep. “Until we find who kill Okafor them, nobody dey safe. No sleep for anybody, una hear?”

Whether Bilkisu do am or not, danger big for village—

Even imam and priest, wey no dey talk, meet for dawn to pray. That morning, village feel like hunted animal—everybody dey watch, dey tremble.

If Okafor couple fit die, who know if more people go die?

Rumour fly—cult work, forest spirit vex. People dey drop yam and schnapps for crossroad, dey beg for peace.

That na our biggest fear.

Even officers like Chima begin dey check back. Night wind dey sound like voice, every rafter creak dey make us jump.

After autopsy, Captain Musa carry us move into village, stay for police post.

He insist make we set up temporary post right for village heart. Old market stall clear out, we camp—three mattress, kettle for tea, radios.

This mountain village far from town; to climb mountain road with truck na wahala, almost one hour.

Each trip up and down na battle: pothole deep pass goat, wild dog dey chase tyre, fog fit hide spirit.

Only office truck fit survive—okada men no dey go after dark. "Oga, na only una wahala fit reach there," dem joke.

After Ezeugo murder, we waste one day—road chop most of our time.

Frustration dey; Chima nearly throw notebook for bush. Captain Musa just say, make we patient.

Moving in na best way.

We take night patrol, lantern swing, machete close. Villagers dey look us, half hope, half fear.

First, easy to look for Bilkisu. Second, maybe killer go fear stop.

But if killer dey among us, no fear—just silence, thick as ogbono soup.

Captain Musa warn say this mountain village get as e be.

One evening, he talk low: "No trust anybody here. Even ground fit betray you. Open eye, close mouth."

Road bad, place isolated; no trust for anybody.

He remind us, evil dey grow where nobody dey look. "This place na world of its own," he tap chest.

That time, I no understand why he talk so.

Now, everyday, meaning clear. Every smile fit hide lie; every greeting fit be trap.

After that, we busy—visit every house for village.

We draw list, knock every door, hear every story. Some give us water, some no open gate.

You know say na mountain village—some house close, some hide far for bush.

Some compounds hide well, take hour to reach, na goat track and distant sound of pestle guide us.

Captain Musa tell chief help us; chief pick one person to show us way.

Chief, voice like gravel, send nephew Sunday, wey sabi all corner. With Sunday, we cover ground fast.

By luck, I follow Captain Musa, chief lead.

Sweat soak shirt, chief dey gist about each family, drop hint, drop warning.

One house, we meet strange thing.

Air shift as we step in. Even chicken hide behind drum. House hold breath.

Inside, mad woman dey.

Her laugh high, sharp, echo for mud wall. Children watch her, neighbours cross self when her voice reach evening.

She talk some funny thing, but e make us think Bilkisu.

At first, we dismiss am, say na mad talk. But when she look us, eye clear—too clear. The thing she talk twist my belly.

This family no ordinary. Baba Danjuma, farmer for fifties.

Arm strong like tree, face weathered by sun and sorrow. People respect, but some avoid after dark.

Wife Morenike, almost twenty years younger.

She move strange—sometimes like pikin, sometimes like person with memory wey dey haunt. Cloth loose, she dey hum old song.

Her hair scatter, body dirty, eye lost.

She waka barefoot, dust for leg. Children dey look her with fear and longing.

Chief talk say she no well since pikin, warn make we no mind her talk.

He say, "Morenike no dey alright since dem born am. She fit talk wetin no concern anybody."

But strange thing no end—three children, age ten, eight, five.

Children quiet, eye dey shift. They answer with whisper, hold hands tight.

Children no get their mama problem.

Eldest, boy, talk clear, youngest girl hide. No madness for their eye, just caution.

Na Morenike, when nobody watch, whisper to me:

She lean close, palm oil for breath. "Escape… she want escape… she escape…"

“Dem catch am for back of yam barn... blood everywhere... she dey cry, she dey run.”

Her eye dey run, wild and scared. She hold my sleeve, hand dey shake.

I understand, suspicion enter my mind.

Chill run my body. Na Bilkisu she dey talk? Or another person? Her words hang for air, heavy.

Just as Morenike dey mumble, Baba Danjuma notice.

He move fast, face harden. Rough hand pull her away, eye glare, like say make I try talk.

That moment, Baba Danjuma honest look disappear.

Mask slip, flash of something dark. I step back without knowing.

But because we dey there, he no do anything; he drag Morenike away, face dark, dey mutter:

Words sharp, land like slap. "Stupid woman… keep quiet… foolish woman… always talking nonsense…"

I shock.

My heart beat like drum, watch as he drag her in, feet scrape ground. Chief pretend say he no see, but fear dey his eye.

Chief quick try cover up:

He laugh, wave hand. "She’s not well. If you don’t scold her, she won’t listen—always causing wahala. Don’t mind her…"

But I see Morenike eye shrink, eyelid dey shake.

Tears gather, she bite lip till blood. Her eye meet mine, beg, desperate.

Her dry lips open and close, but nothing come out.

Like say word don finish for her mouth. I wan comfort her, but chief warning echo: "No get involved for wetin no concern you."

Na real pity, like scared bird—helpless and afraid.

The image stick, dey bite my mind. In that moment, I know: more secret dey for this village than we fit count.

That moment, I start suspect this village…

I realise truth deep, hide under pain and silence. If we want answer, we go dig—careful, and at risk.

Murders no be accident.

Pattern dey, violence wey stretch pass Bilkisu, pass Ezeugo. Like mountain dey wait make we dig out darkest secret.

When I return police post for village, I report to Captain Musa all I see.

I no hide anything, even Morenike hand shake or Baba Danjuma eye. Captain Musa quiet, listen. When I finish, he waka to window, look far hill, lost in thought. Silence heavy, only goat dey bleat. That time, I know say this case go carry us where we never imagine, and the mountain was not done with us yet. That night, I prayed for morning, but the mountain only grew darker.