CYNTHIA...

Cynthia thumbed the first page of Nigreen newspaper, on the front page was a picture of wailing parents and the wide caption: CHIBOK GIRLS, STILL MISSING—PARENTS. Turning to page seven, she found the details of the report she was actually looking for. It reads:

FIRST LADY MEETS STAKE HOLDERS ON ABDUCTED SCHOOL GIRLS IN CHIBOK, BORNU STATE.

By Veronica West

Earlier today the first lady of the federal republic of Nigeria, Dr Stella Ibrahim hosted a meeting with stake holders on the issue of the abducted school girls, the meeting was held at the presidential villa, Abuja. In attendance were representatives of the parents to the Chibok girls, the Principal of the Government secondary school Chibok, the wife of the Borno state governor among other dignitaries.

The first lady expressed doubt in the integrity of the state security, if about two hundred girls could be stowed away in the middle of the night without opposition, and made a call on the state government of Borno to come up with the exact number of missing girls as the figure is still disputable as yet. She expressed disappointment over the laid back attitude of some Nigerians who aid and abet the carrying out of nefarious activities to disrupt peace and unity in the country.

The minister for education, represented by Hajiya Bala Haj stated expressly that no politics should be played with the lives of the innocent, alongside the West African examination council director for the country, she established the number of student that were registered for the examination as proof that students were actually in the school as on the 14th April 2014 in preparation for the examination. She also called to all Nigerians with vital information about the location of the students to rise up and report to appropriate quarters.

A sixteen-man committee to be chaired by the wife to the Governor of Bornu state Mrs. Joy Wakama was set: To dig into the situation, most especially to come up with the exact figure of how many students were abducted. They were also tasked with returning to Abuja on the 5th of May with at least two parents of the missing girls, the principal and a staff of the Government secondary school Chibok.

The first lady expressed her commitment to the return of these girls and urged the committee to rise up to the task and wipe the tears of the faces of Nigerian mothers. According to her, "Nigerians are all to rise up to this threat and tell the world that we say no to terrorism under any guise. I challenge all mothers in the country to rise and support this movement, our girls are missing and they must be released..."

Cynthia glanced over more articles advocating for the release of the girls, but to some it meant bad press for the federal government, the political undertone beside some reports were just appalling.

A typical example was a report she spotted.

THE TRICK THEY PLAY ON NIGERIANS.

Where a public figure went rambling on how he thinks that the state and federal government are playing games with the lives of citizens, creating a problem in the guise of insurgence to paint some part of the country in bad light.

Abrose Jack, the controversial editor, went on to surmise that the federal government had turned blind eye to the terrorism attack in the north eastern part of the country, so as to warrant state of emergency in those states, such that the presidential election would not be held in them. He went on to blast the Israeli government on partnering in crime with stakeholders to place false satellite mappings indicating the location of the girls.

In a nut shell, he was of the opinion that no one was missing, and that the parent of the girls were all paid up to keep up with the lie of the media.

"The way they talk about the media," Cynthia thought, "makes it sounds like they are not part of it."

It was certain that many would side with this sick argument, but she had been in the country long enough to know people who just want to rattle the nest for the love of it. This same 'public figure' that is desperate to get a column filled could come up tomorrow advertising for the same people he'd blasted overtime. They call it the game of politics and diplomacy, but Cynthia thought it was as sick as kissing the ass you had kicked.

Of course, the government have their share of the blame, but what can one say of an entire slumbering town that failed to make urgent report of the loss of its daughters in the jet age. Whatever the situation was, the blame was for both sides and Cynthia thought it was best treated as such.

Mrs. Linda would be coming that evening for a session and Cynthia was glad that she had an answer for her. She smiled inwardly, a beam that sure shone on her face as the woman entered, a small black bag slug on her shoulder. She wore a short Ankara gown, faded around the edges of the neckline and sleeve, She had smile on her face nonetheless, "Good afternoon." She said in a less mournful tone like the one she had on their first encounter, so for the most part all seem to be well.

Cynthia waved her a seat. The woman must have been paying through her nose for the sessions, Cynthia wanted to make sure that she delivered credible service. She always ensures that.

"So?" said Mrs. Linda with a shrug, "where do we begin?"

"First off," Cynthia trailed off, her fingers deftly sifting through a pile of dossiers, "yes," she resumed her seat having dragged a stapled bunch of papers and gave it to her.

A puzzled look crossed Linda's face, her smile made her younger and beautiful than she had looked before. She collected it nevertheless her face was scrunched as she scanned a line, soon it was resolved in a bright smile that seem to flutter with lack of conviction, she grinned still, exposing her milk white teeth with a slim well placed tooth gap upfront. She shook her head in disbelief, looked back at Cynthia with befuddled expression on her face, "is... is this true?"

Cynthia nodded, "yes, it is. What do you think about it? My apologies if I had gone ahead without your consent, but applications were filling in fast and I had a slot, I thought you may like it."

Mrs. Linda still looked as though she doubted if this was not some sort of joke.

"Serious?"

"Always." Cynthia curtly replied, she decided to press the issue further, ironically she said, "If you don't want it, we could_"

"if this is true," Linda's voice faltered, she paused as if to collect her thoughts, "I want it!" She said with an air of finality, "if you can help me, I'll take it."

"Then it's yours."

Mrs. Linda clutched the paper to her bossom like it was some sort of ticket to a brand new life. Cynthia though, was sure that it meant just the same to the woman. That was a ticket to change her life before she would process divorce—if she would still insist. Cynthia was not going to stand in the way of her happiness, that was not her job, besides the woman has every right to file for dissolution of marriage, but after that, what? That is what she wanted to address, she wasn't hoping for a situation where Linda would wallow in penury like many divorcee. If she wanted out for a justified reason, she should have some financial strength to go through life alone and not fall prey to the demands of society.

It was actually an application form for a small and medium scale enterprise grant. An effort of a non-governmental organization to alleviate poverty among Nigerian women, and encourage them reach for their dreams. Every year, members of the Women Empowerment Society (WES) were given a slot and Mrs. Cynthia being a member had hers.

"The only requirement is a business plan; you need to construct a workable business plan. We have a department that can help you with the construction of a business plan, which I can actually help with, but we have skill acquisition centres that can help train you if you lack necessary skill." Cynthia evaluated her client's reaction as she asked, "What trade do you have in mind?"

Mrs. Linda looked sullen as she slowly replied that she had not really been involved in any craft.

"Well, the skill acquisition experts will help with that, you may take the forms home and fill it up. I'll help you submit it and you can be expecting their call..."

Mrs. Linda was nodding eagerly as she spelt out the options; she was obviously desperate to meet the many requirements. She asked questions too. And as they completed that line of conversation, Cynthia was sure that Linda would make it through to financial dependence.

"So let's get to the business of today," Cynthia began; Mrs. Linda was all smiles as she took her through the session, helping her recognize her failures, accept them and plan ahead. Cynthia's assessment also showed how much the woman had lost her self esteem; that would be a topic for another day.

The rapturous glow on Linda's face stayed through her walk through the darkest region of her domestic abuse experience, and deep within Cynthia was glad. The actual psychotherapy has been the prospect of a new life in which Mrs. Linda would find her feet. Independence.

Cynthia saw Mrs. Linda to the roadside where she took a taxi, on returning to her office she gave her schedule a searching glance, it did seem that there was no other client for the evening and it was almost time to get Caleb from school. Tomorrow she'd be expecting Mrs. Bala, a single mother with an attitude, who struggling with addiction to painkillers, her recovery had been very slow, though relapse have been much less frequent; Mr. Rasheed, a computer scientist who battled with depression and insecurity. The list went on. People with problem would come, and pay for her to help with their lives, and she always try her best to see that necessary changes are recognized and adopted, usually, that pretty much solves the problem.

As Cynthia sat back to think about the detail of her job, she concluded that it was still more up to the clients than to her. She would give the advice, talk them through issues, direct them to professionals, reason out solutions with them, but in the end it was all up to them to make the decisions.

Most times she fancied the fact that life coaches are mostly paid to listen and that is what she does.

The drive to Caleb's school was mostly unconscious; her mind played ping-pong between the issues of her clients. The TKC primary school building stood imposing over the fences around it, she drove past the open gate sparing the waving gateman a toothy smile. The lawn was always a sight to see: well trimmed hedges, blossoming potted flowers and a playing fountain right before the building.

Caleb's teacher, Mrs. Tina was already waiting for her. Caleb, who had not noticed her, was running around chasing a boy and giggling wildly, his backpack bouncing and zippers tinkling as they played hide and seek from tree to tree.

"I'm so sorry, I'm late," said Cynthia.

"It is alright," replied Mrs. Tina, "Caleb, Mark, time to go!" her voice carried across the distance.

"Mommy!" Caleb called at the sight of Cynthia and he came pelting through with an untamed glee on his face, he collided with her as his limbs sought to wrap her.

She hugged him back, "How was school today?" she asked, affectionately cleaning his sweaty face with a handkerchief.

"Good afternoon ma," Mark greeted from behind, she turned around.

"Oh, Mark, how was school today?"

"Fine," the boy replied, before bouncing back to his mother, Mrs. Tina, and imitating his friend, sought to hug her.

The two women laughed.

"Alright, alright!" the woman was saying, as she made her way back to her car, "good bye!" the boy shouted across the distance to his friend who waved back.

Cynthia held her son's hand and made her way back to her car. It was then that Cynthia sighted Mrs. Ade walking towards her with a broad smile, her little girl hoping after her with a doll on one hand, her head was a riot of loose braided hair and dancing colourful ribbons, wild pen markings decorated her small cheery face; her white school shirt spotted graffiti of inks and paints.

Mrs. Ade, was the PRO of WES, a tall woman fair skinned woman, quite notorious for her conservativeness and no-nonsense attitude. She also happened to be Cynthia's family lawyer, not that she'd ever seen any reason for her after Caleb's adoption and Nnamdi's untimely death. "Hey!" the woman said.

"Good evening," Cynthia replied, "Hello beautiful girl." She regarded Mrs. Ade's daughter.

The girl smiled shyly, made a face and waved at Caleb. "Good evening ma."

"I was wondering if you received the notification of an impromptu meeting?" Mrs Ade began, as usual skipping unnecessary pleasantries. Cynthia smiled inwardly as she scanned the woman's attire, a black suit and skirt; white blouse, on a black shoe, her black kinky hair pulled back in bun—a typical lawyer.

"Oh, I didn't check my e-mail this morning. Anything?"

"A few NGOs alongside ours are hoping to stage a protest to fast track government intervention on the release of some abducted school girls in Chibok. Have you read that piece of news."

Cynthia smiled inwardly, it was a major headline, "it's all over the papers." She replied, "So when is the meeting to hold?"

"Monday, April 21." The woman replied, reaching for her daughter's hand, "will you behave?" she scolded the girl who was still jumping playfully.

It was nice to have a pressure group advocating for the situation on ground, but Cynthia felt down casted about how every pressing issue had to be brought to limelight with protests. Lots of protests. It did seem to be the only way to make the government see what is staring at them right in the face, or things they just want to ignore. "Thank you, I'll sure inform any member I come across. We both know many of us check our mails weekly." She added.

"It's understandable, talk about my situation, I need to wake up early in the morning_" she turned crazily around as her car honk loudly, "If you make me get over there, I promise you'd hate it!" she scolded her son who was already on the driver seat.

The boy smiled his eyes glistened with mischief, but Mrs. Ade's scowl prevailed, he slunk to the back seat.

"Sorry about that," said Mrs. Ade, looking embarrassed, "as a rule of thumb, mothers gets so busy with kids, housekeeping and job such that it becomes so demanding that time for other issues becomes as rare as hen's teeth." She turned to the girl who still remained restless, "there you have it, go join your brother!" she said, pointing sternly at the car. The girl protested squeaking and squealing. Mrs. Ade pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration, Cynthia could almost hear her thinking, "It's so tough dealing with these children."

Cynthia felt like laughing but decided against it. Children could be a handful.

"See you then," Mrs Ade said. In a swish, the girl was scooped in her arm; she opened the door to the back seat and pointed sternly inward, the girl sullenly entered. Mrs. Ade smiled back at Cynthia as she entered her car and started the engine. Before she rolled off, the two children were already bickering over who gets to seat near the right window. "Alright, alright, Will you both shut it this minute!" Cynthia could hear Mrs. Ade scream.

Replies came in an order of competition:

"He started it," the girl was saying,

"She started it," the boy chorused.

"I don't care who started it first will you..." her voice died as the distance increased between her and them. The children had ridiculous look on their faces as the sleek car rode off: the boy sticking out his tongue in the most amusing manner and the girl with a scowl on her faces was screeching pointing at her brother's face.

Caleb was already absorbed with her phone, already on to his favourite game. She bent for a handkerchief to clean his nostrils, and then kissed his ruffled hair. The boy looked up from the screen with a cheeky smile. She smiled back.

*******

The sun was high up in the cloudy sky, it would have been a perfect evening for a long walk. The type she usually indulges in with Nnamdi. She made it to the main road switched the gear, full throttle, and drove away.

It did seem though that her car had other plans when she got to lake Chad crescent, still a long way from home; the car hooted twice made a weird frictious sound, then gave some repeated jerk with an embarrassing rapping clicks. Cynthia propped the transmission and tried to pop the clutch, nothing. She kept the pedal low and slowly veered off the highway.

Cynthia picked her phone to dial the number of her mechanic; it did turns out that his phone was switched off. "Mommy why are we stopping?" Caleb asked, still intent on his game.

"Nothing to worry about baby." She replied, wishing it were true.

She scrolled to Grace's number; Grace should be home already if she'd followed her words to the letter. She could come pick the boy while she finds some mechanic to help fix the car.

A car honked a cool slick honk, and then grinded to a halt some yards away. It was Bello's car, at least the car he used the previous night. Bello came out holding out a sunglass. "Evening!" he called with a broad smile.

She came out of the car feeling the more humiliated, "Hello," she replied, trying to sound less miserable than she felt.

"Car trouble?"

"Something like that,"

"Mind if I check it?"

Cynthia considered for a moment, if he wanted to help why not? "You don't really need to I _"

"How did it happen?" he interrupted.

"I don't really know, it just made some weird sound and stopped."

"Help me with the bonnet." He said, rolling the sleeves of his plain shirt.

She reluctantly took to the driver's seat, a click of metal confirmed that the bonnet was open.

Bello lifted the metal top; Cynthia followed his eyes as he scanned the bizarre network of metal and pipes. "There!" he later said, reaching for a loose spring and hooking it to a strut.

"There, that's the thing that came off, try running it."

She did, the car started. She gawked, surprised at him, "Thank you." She said, but Bello was bent before the car, he was already giving Caleb a hand shake. He looked up at baffled Cynthia with a smile, she hadn't known when the boy came down but was partly glad he did.

"You must have met my son, Caleb." She offered.

"And he's such a fine young man." Bello replied, fondly adjusting the collar of the boy's school uniform.

He stood up and led the boy back to the car, then turned to Cynthia. "It's been a pleasure."

"Thank you very much."

"You're welcome."

Bello left for his ride, but came back with the look of someone about to ask for a favour, "Say, are you free tomorrow. We could go to the park." He suggested.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I have a lot to do tomorrow, maybe another time."

The man nodded with a somewhat hopeful look on his face and sauntered off.

That evening as Cynthia got home, her mind still played back to the prompt rescue, and to be sincere, she'd never had a soft spot for any man, except her late husband, like she was having for him. She diffused the idea of possible romance anyway, who would actually be interested in a young sterile widow with an adopted son who had cystic fibrosis?

She turned on her laptop a little earlier than she usually does, and to her surprise when she checked her friend notification on facebook, Bello Danjuma's friend request was staring right at her. After a little deliberation in the council of her mind, she clicked 'accept'.

********

JULIET...

Two odd things happened that evening after the rain stopped, the first was the arrival of some group of villagers to the insurgence camp. As far as the girls were concerned, this was no business of theirs, they wouldn't have even been aware of such guest, but there they were staring at the truck that brought the company of men. It was then Juliet realized that the meeting concerned them more than she knew. Raliat and another girl which she supposed have escaped too had been returned back to captivity. The men exchanged proud handshakes with the man they called commander after which they took to the truck that drove them off, tires rolling on the pot holes that had filled with water from the rain, exhausts trailing its wake.

Raliat and the second girl were left kneeling, both sobbing uncontrollably.

"I had warned you didn't I?" asked the commander with a wide grin on his face, "Two of your friends among others thought they could escape the mighty hand of Allah, well here they are." He said, pointing the butt of the whip he held at the cringing girls, "for this grievous offense," he looked around and pointed at one of the young men, he handed the whip to him and ordered him to give them twenty licks each. And he did with a crazy glee on his mask for a face, expending needless energy inflicting pain.

Juliet teared up, so did most of the girls, who sniffed and sobbed around her. After the man was done, the commander collected the whip and turned to them, "this fate and worse will be mete on anyone who refuses the will of Allah. Take them to the cell." He said, "They have much lesson to learn in isolation. Maybe that would be an effort in curing their madness." With that he turned around and headed for the large tent behind him, his robe bellowing behind as he stormed away, disappearing behind the flaps.

They were about leaving the square when the convoy that left in the morning returned with truck load of women, girls and a handful of young men, the scene from yester night replayed, the sad mileage led like herd of animals through the cascade of tents to their destination where they'd spend the night. Quite possibly, the horrors of yester night would be repeated again, and it didn't look like it would stop anytime soon.

Trust me; you don't want to leave just yet. The next chapter is right on the next page! (Yep, I UPLOADED TWO CHAPTERS!)

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