37

It had been a tiring week and an exhausting day for President Nduka.

His schedule, which would have knocked the stuffing out of a man half the president’s age, had left him tempted to take a nap. Meetings with the British High Commissioner and the Chinese trade delegation that morning had been the last straw.

His study was in near darkness, with the only light provided by the fire in the hearth, lit some 30 minutes ago by the kitchen toto.

The president breathed in deeply, relishing the aroma of veranda polish, wood smoke and Jeyes fluid.

There was something he had to do before he could rest.

He took out a fountain pen.

There were some lists he enjoyed compiling.

A Cabinet minister led the way, followed by three provincial officials, trouble-makers the lot of them.

He rang his head of security, who impassively studied the names.

“They are to join the shadow cabinet,” Nduka chuckled. “Phone when you have made the arrangements.”

The man nodded and left the room.

Nduka was tired, tired as an old dog. He rested his head on his forearms.

“Boy! Boy! Bring me my honey water.”

But his voice had been reduced to a whisper.

“Where is my honey water?”

The phone rang, several rings, and then stopped.

The small, slight man at the desk stayed motionless. Ngwazi, who Mounts All the Hens, Life President Dr Josiah Nduka, had made his last list.