The departure hall of Murtala Muhammad International airport was full and the air-conditioning inadequate. A tall, stocky man with deep-set eyes, in the brown agbada and walking with a limp, moved through the crowd of passengers and their families. He got close to the rope barrier separating the crowd from the Air France passengers. He could have moved even closer but he would risk being spotted. He had seen her once at the house; perhaps she had seen him too and she could recognise him.
Amaka checked the time as she leaned out of the Air France queue. There were at least forty people ahead of her, and there appeared to be two lines side-by-side heading to the same place. The official passport checks seemed to be taking longer with each sweaty, impatient traveller. There was nobody in the priority check-in section. She stepped out of the line and headed that way.
‘Ticket and passport, please,’ an Air France official asked. Amaka showed the man her phone screen. He squinted then looked up. ‘This line is for upper class,’ he said.
Amaka nodded and remained where she was.
‘Your ticket is economy,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ Amaka said. She began searching in her handbag.
Amaka retrieved a white envelope from her bag. She held it long enough for him to see the Nigerian coat of arms on it, then she removed the piece of paper inside.
‘It’s from the Nigerian Foreign Ministry,’ she said. ‘It says anyone reading it must treat me the same as they would diplomatic staff.’
The man turned his head, trying to read the letter.
‘Can you let me through now?’ she said. ‘I need to do some shopping for my boss in duty-free.’
The man reached for the letter just as Amaka folded it and returned it to the envelope.
‘Can I see your passport?’ he asked, holding out his hand.
Amaka looked in her handbag again and produced a letter from yet another envelope. ‘Emergency travel documents,’ she said.
‘Please, wait,’ he said and turned to his colleague.
‘What’s the problem?’ Amaka asked.
‘Please, madam,’ the man said, ‘just exercise patience.’
‘I will if you tell me how to.’
‘What?’
‘What am I waiting for?’ She checked the time and looked around at the crowd. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being followed.
Ambrose stood up, clutches of ballot papers in his hands. He opened his fingers and let the pieces of paper fall to the ground. ‘They are all for the other party,’ he said. ‘Every last one of them.’
Sule looked at the remaining ballot papers in his own hand then he also opened one up. Other people were picking up ballot papers from the floor, inspecting them, and passing them around. Everybody looked shocked or confused. Babalola looked constipated.
‘What does this mean?’ Babalola asked, holding a ballot paper in his hand.
‘What does it mean?’ Ambrose said. Both men looked at each other and said nothing. ‘She was working for them,’ someone said.
Ambrose turned to Sule. ‘What was the count at Ilupeju again?’
Sule retrieved his phone from his trousers and began clicking away at its screen.
‘Show me,’ Ambrose said. ‘You have the rest?’
Sule nodded. He scrolled down and handed the phone to Ambrose. The lights went out. In the darkness of the power failure, the glow from the phone in Ambrose’s hand illuminated his face, and as he scrolled, the deep furrows of his frown smoothed out until his face went blank. His party had lost almost every ward. The corners of his lips began to curl. His frown became a grin and then he broke into uncontrollable laughter.
‘He has gone mad,’ a young party member in a campaign T-shirt whispered to his mate next to him.
Meanwhile, in the jubilant parlour in Peace Lodge, the man in white returned to Otunba with more results. He smiled as he announced the numbers of yet another ward won, then he stood and read the results to the rest of the room while Otunba wrote in his notebook.
Otunba looked up at the jubilant crowd and shifted in his chair. He looked at his book again, then he looked up. His eyes began to bulge with panic. He struggled to get up. The man in white lent him a hand. As he stood from the sofa, the notebook and the pen fell from his hands. A sharp pain shot up his left hand. He grabbed his chest. The man in white tried to catch the old man. Otunba’s head shot upwards and his entire body curved outwards. The man in white thrust his hands around the old man. Otunba fell, still gripping his chest.
The man in the brown agbada moved closer to Amaka. He edged his way to stand next to the rope barrier. He half turned his body away and pretended to search on his phone as he listened. She was causing trouble. It could make things easier or worse for him, depending on what he was asked to do. His phone vibrated. He brought it up to his ear and cupped his hand over his mouth.
‘Madam, what seems to be the problem?’ a different Air France staff member asked Amaka.
‘None, whatsoever,’ Amaka said, smiling. ‘The gentleman is just making sure my emergency travel documents are genuine. He’s just doing his job.’
The man took the papers from his colleague. ‘What about your ticket?’ he said.
Amaka fetched her phone, opened up the e-ticket and held the phone up for the man to see.
‘I tried to check-in online but…’
‘You won’t be able to do it unless you have a passport.’
He looked at the phone again, scanning through the screen, then he returned to the documents in his hands. ‘You lost your passport?’ he said.
‘Yes. Along with phones, money, everything in my handbag. They broke into my car.’
‘Oh, sorry, madam,’ he said, gesturing to his colleague to let Amaka through.
The man unhooked the rope barrier. As Amaka stepped through, she felt compelled to look behind her. On the other side of the rope barrier, a square-headed man in a brown agbada was staring at her. His phone was pressed to his ear. She hurried towards the only free counter, but a family beat her to it. She looked back and scanned the hall. The square-headed man was gone.
Sule lowered the phone from his ear.
‘She’s at the airport,’ he said. ‘Samson is looking at her now. What do you want him to do?’
Ambrose patted his chest to stop himself laughing, wiping tears from his face with his thumb.
‘Where is she going?’
Sule relayed the question into his phone, then took the phone away from his ear again.
‘She’s checking in at the Air France counter. Should Samson tell customs that he has information she’s carrying cocaine in her bag?’
The woman at the check-in counter next to Amaka placed her check-in luggage on the conveyor. Behind her, a man at the economy class queue was already stepping forward. The couple ahead of Amaka had several bags. She stepped out and stood behind the woman whose bag was being weighed.
‘Madam, your ticket and passport.’
Amaka handed over her emergency travel document then unlocked her phone and presented it to the woman behind the counter.
‘Please place your luggage on the belt,’ she said.
‘I don’t have any. Only my handbag.’
The woman looked confused. She looked at Amaka’s documents again, then to her right to catch the attention of a colleague.
‘Is there a problem?’ Amaka asked.
‘No, ma,’ the lady said. She printed out a boarding pass and handed it to her. ‘Enjoy your flight.’