Chapter 5: Musa Photo

That night, after I chop, as I dey waka, I see one man hold camera, dey hide snap the acrobatic troupe tent.

Na small corner the guy dey, near one abandoned kiosk where rats dey play. As I see am, e quick try hide face, but I don already catch am.

Because the case never finish, the troupe still dey stay for town some days.

Rumour even dey say police dey protect dem, so nobody go touch their tent. All the children for town dey try peep inside.

I know the man: Musa, na Mama Musa pikin, that old woman wey dey shine shoe for police station front. Dem house na old mud, zinc roof dey leak; people sabi dem as people wey dey struggle.

Musa get stubborn eye, always dey act like person wey dey find quick money. Since papa die, na him and mama dey survive for that old mud house behind mosque.

Young man, early twenties, no get work, always dey brush him hair back, dey waka with camera everywhere.

Him camera na old Yashica, the kind wey you fit see for photographer wey dey snap wedding for village. But for Musa, na like him life be. People dey call am "Musa Photo."

Normally, I no go mind am, but that day I feel say maybe him catch something, so I call am:

My tone sharp, but I try make am no panic, "Musa, you wan become reporter? Abeg, show me wetin you snap, make I no vex. Na police work o."

"We dey investigate case—abeg, make we see the pictures wey you snap."

Musa eye open like torchlight. E begin stammer, sweat full him forehead, "Oga, no be wetin you think..."

Na so the guy begin fear, wan run.

As he shuffle, leg hook wire for ground. I just stretch hand, hold him shirt, calm voice: "Relax, Musa. You go follow us reach station."

That thing make me suspect, I catch am, collect the camera:

For my mind, I dey think, "If this boy no get wahala, why him dey run like goat wey thief yam?"

"Oga, we just wan check, follow me go station, I go carry you go house after."

I even promise am coke, but him face still dey shake. People dey look us as we cross road.

He no strong reach me, so I carry am enter keke napep go station.

The keke driver dey ask, "Oga, hope say na small wahala. No be thief?" I just wave am, "Go your work, my friend."

For station, I make am wait for door, give my colleague the camera to go develop the film.

The air inside station dey smell of old files and boiled groundnut. For my mind, I dey pray say make e no be bad thing. Time dey move slow.

After about thirty minutes, two of my people rush come out, press Musa for ground.

Na so commotion start, everybody for station wan see wetin dey happen. I just dey look, "Abeg, clear road!"

Dem tell me, "Oga, you need see wetin dey inside."

Their voice low, serious. My body cold—fear grip me for first time as police.