‘I’m sure you’ll not feel like a stranger for too long. Everybody likes you. They want you to settle in and see yourself as one of us. Let me know if you need anything. Feel free to come round to my place any time. I live three houses away. I . . .’
‘I know, Aroli,’ he interrupted him. ‘I know you live in a two-bedroom apartment in a block three houses away. I know you have a sister called Bukky, who used to live with you; then she got married and moved with her husband to Accra. I know you have a girlfriend called Janet, who you are confused about. I know your name is Rolland, but everyone calls you Aroli. I know you have a fake Mona Lisa, which you bought from Ojuelegba, hanging on the wall of your living room, above your thirty-inch Sony TV. I’ve visited your apartment many times before and you’ve visited me countless times. I know you, Aroli, I know you well, the poet/estate agent who goes around banging on people’s door with a gentle smile. How can I not know you?’ A faint smile warmed his face.
Aroli shifted uncomfortably, lost for what to say.
Without bothering to ask whether Aroli wanted a drink, he went to fetch two bottles of beer from the kitchen. He opened them and passed a bottle to Aroli, and together they drank in silence.
‘I guess you must be hungry,’ Aroli said, when they finished drinking. ‘Let’s go and get something to eat.’
They went to Mama Iyabo’s restaurant a few streets away where they ate amala and ewedu soup, and everyone gave him that polite smile normally reserved for strangers. And he smiled back at them in like manner, not because he saw them as strangers, but because he no longer knew himself.
*
He went out in the morning to get some provisions and the papers. Then he returned and locked himself away from the world for seven days and seven nights, hoping that by the time he re-emerged something would have changed about the city and that that something would have changed the city in a way that people would begin to remember him, and he would find Lela again, and all that had forced him to go into exile would have changed too, and it would be a happy homecoming for him after all.
His neighbours became very worried about him. They gathered outside his house every day for those seven days, wondering if he had done something to himself, debating whether to break down the door.
But Aroli implored them not to take a hurried decision. ‘After all,’ he told them, ‘Taduno is a nice man who would not want anything bad to happen to anyone, least of all himself.’ And so his neighbours exercised patience. And on the eighth day he emerged. And apart from the fact that his neighbours were delighted to see him, he realised that nothing had changed about the city. Nothing had changed about him either – except that he had grown a full beard.
THREE
It was while shaving off his beard that Taduno experienced his most lucid state since returning from exile; and it occurred to him that losing his identity was not so bad after all. He realised that he was no longer a man on the run from the law, as was the case before. Considering this advantage, he began to see himself as his neighbours saw him – a man with no past – and he realised that if he must find Lela and unravel the mystery that now surrounded him, he must continue to see himself that way.
During the time he had locked himself away from the world, he had agonised over Lela’s plight. He wondered why government agents arrested her, a simple teacher – a maths teacher for that matter – who worked only with equations and never involved herself with suppositions or anti-government activities.
He had always taken care not to reveal much of his life as an activist to her. Even when he had to go into exile he had simply left her a note saying ‘Where I go I know not’. Could it be that he compromised her with that simple note?
For a while this question haunted him. And then, making up his mind to find out more about Lela’s arrest, he returned to her parents’ house, where he found Judah kicking a ball on the street with a couple of kids. The boy was the lone star: he had on the trainers with red lights, the others played barefoot.
‘Judah,’ he called out.
The boy pulled out of the game and walked up to him. He had a smile on his cherubic face, unlike the last time when he wore a confused frown.
Taduno wasn’t surprised. Everyone was being so nice to him, Judah no exception. He smiled back at the boy.
‘Sorry to interrupt your game.’
‘It’s okay.’ Judah looked down at his trainers and then up at Taduno’s face, and it was clear that he still could not connect the two.
‘I want to talk to you about your sister.’
The boy nodded eagerly. ‘Have you found her?’
‘No, I have not, but I’m going to find her.’
Judah beamed. ‘Thank you!’
‘When was the last time you saw her?’
‘The day some men pushed her into the back of a black car, a big black car. It happened right there,’ he said, pointing to a spot on the street. ‘I was playing football with my friends that evening. I’m always playing football on the street, so I saw it all, I saw the men.’
‘How many were they?’ Taduno asked, with a faint smile.
‘There were four in all. Anti Lela was screaming for help, but nobody went to help her, everybody was afraid.’
‘What kind of clothes were the men wearing?’
‘I don’t know. Normal clothes, I think. They had guns and they waved their badges.’
‘Did they say where they were taking her?’
‘No, they didn’t say. They didn’t talk to anyone, they just waved their badges. Then they got into their car and drove off leaving so much dust in the air.’
‘Did your parents witness the incident?’
‘No, they were inside the house. By the time they came running out, the men were gone and only the dust remained.’
He realised that it was pointless questioning Lela’s parents as their story would likely be similar to Judah’s.
He nodded in thanks and slapped Judah playfully on the back. ‘I’ll find your sister,’ he said, looking into the boy’s eyes. ‘You can go back to your game.’
‘Promise?’ the boy said, in an eager voice.
‘Yes, I promise.’
They shook hands, and in that moment they both felt something – like the rekindling of an old friendship.
*
He spent the rest of the day deliberating on how to begin his search for Lela. He struck off one idea after the other, until he came to the conclusion that the best place to start was a police station.
At first, the prospect of visiting a police station terrified him; but, encouraged by the knowledge that he no longer had an identity, he took a taxi to the nearest station where he found the sergeant on duty dozing at his desk with a half-eaten cob of corn in one hand.
The tiny office reeked of a terrible odour – a mixture of decayed food, saliva, sweat, urine, morbid fear and stale cigarettes. In spite of the fact that he had been in several police stations before, Taduno felt himself choking.
He rapped a gentle knuckle on the counter.
The Sergeant jumped in his seat and the cob of corn in his hand fell to the floor, disappearing under his desk. Quickly, he picked up his worn beret from his battered desk and slapped it on his head to dignify himself with an air of authority. Then he smiled – a friendly sheepish smile that revealed uneven brown teeth.
‘Good afternoon, Sergeant Bello,’ Taduno greeted, reading the name tag on the Sergeant’s chest.