"Where is Nonye? Why hasn't she called?"

"She's at the hospital, Claire."

***

Past

"Don't go, Nonye. Please. I'll be worried about you." I pleaded even though I knew she wouldn't listen. She got that stubbornness from our mother, no doubt. That and an argumentative, I-know-my-rights persona.

"But I'm not just going to any party. It's Pearl's birthday and you know we've been friends since our Lagoon days." She said that as though it was all the reason she needed for going to an obscure lounge in Ikeja.

I tried to make her see reason, citing the time(if it gets too late, I'll sleep over at her place), travel arrangements(I have money. I'll call an Uber so you don't need to drive me there), dangers(I'm not naive. I won't entertain any foolish boy or accept any drink from anyone). Finally, I gave in and hugged her goodbye.

"Take care of yourself. And understand that some things just aren't worth it." I had no idea where that came from. My mother would've called it a tip from the Holy Spirit.

She looked at me strangely and laughed her throaty, rich laugh exposing her gap teeth.

"Where did that come from?" She asked in-between laughs.

"I don't know," I said defensively. "Just be careful. Not everyone can understand the way you think sometimes."

"Claire, the way I think is the way everyone should think too. But don't worry, I'll keep my politics to myself tonight. I'll even develop a pacifist persona, like you."

"In your dreams," I shot back.

She laughed again and hugged me. I hugged her like I knew what was going to happen at 12.17am the next day.

***

Present

"Hello everyone."

The room is empty, save for a few individuals, one of whom is writing furiously in his pad. My mother always compared my handwriting to that of a chicken scratching in the sand. I'm fairly certain his is the same, if not worse.

"...my name is Timi Osijo...I'm a journalist..."

Timi Osijo the journalist. Independent, does freelance work for newspapers and ghostwrites for other journalists.

"...interview...documentary...it's incredibly important you listen."

The cameraman turns his dark eye towards me and I notice Timi has done the same. It takes a few uncomfortable seconds before I realize I'm supposed to say something.

"Um...Sorry. My name is Claire," I say. "Claire Okoroma." Another awkward pause ensues.

"You don't have to be nervous, Claire." He's trying his best to put me at ease. But he's nervous as well, I can see it.

"I'm okay, Timi." I smile to show my thanks.

"Alright, then. Could you tell us what happened on April the third, two thousand and seventeen?"

I pause a bit. This is the Rubicon. Once it's crossed, there's no going back. I look to the ceiling and imagine Nonye there, shaking her head at my 'pacifist persona'.

"Miss Okoroma? Are you ready?"

Long pause. "Yes."

***

Past

I drove like a mad Formula One driver that day. Only God knows how many red lights I ran, or how many close shaves I experienced. I drove like a mad banshee until I got to LASUTH.

I didn't even wait to collect the gate pass before I blazed into the compound. I parked at A&E, leaped up flights of stairs and ran round the ward  until I ran into Pearl the birthday girl and some of Nonye's other friends. They shrank back at the sight of me, Pearl especially. She looked like she'd been crying for the past hour but I didn't care.

She was the cause of all this. I hated her.

"Where is she?!" I screamed at her. She shrieked and cowered behind one of Nonye's friends.

"Where is she?!" I grabbed her by her blouse and shook her, trying to shake an answer out of her. She hung limply and when I let go of her, she crumpled to the ground. I glared wildly at the people who came with her.

"Will someone tell me where my sister is this instant!" I heard my voice rise to a pitch I never imagined. Her friends remained silent.

"Excuse me, ma'am. Are you related to Miss Okoroma?"

I looked up and saw a man in a white suit. His eyes looked sad.

"Yes, I'm her older sister," I said, apprehension scrawled all over my features.

The man's eyes looked even sadder now.

"I'm so sorry. Miss Nonye Okoroma died five minutes ago," he said.

Time stood still. Everyone remained suspended in motion. Perfect silence filled the ward as my brain took its time to register what it had heard.

Nonye is dead.
Nonye is dead.
Nonye is dead.

I couldn't see anything but her face all over the hallway, in the vending machine, on the chairs, in that doctor's sad eyes. I saw her face all over the hallway and that's when I realized I would never see my kid sister's smile again. After that, I don't remember anything. Pearl later told me she'd never seen anyone so 'horribly angry in her entire life' that the doctor had to call for nurses and it took them ten minutes before they could inject the sedative into my body.

***

I woke up to feel an IV in my arm and a migraine all over my head. Panic rushed through my veins and I tried sitting up in a rush before I felt a pair of soft hands on my shoulders. It was Pearl. For the first time I noticed how ragged she looked. Her makeup was in streaks across her face and her hair looked worse.

"You've been asleep for some hours. Just try and get some rest."

I was uninterested in resting.

"Tell me what happened, Pearl," I said.

"Are you sure you want to know now?"

"Just tell me."

After a long pause, Pearl began.

"Somebody came to meet her at the party. He asked her out. She turned him down. He'd had too much to drink and he didn't take her rejection lightly. He started cursing her out and she threw her drink in his face—you know your sister, she doesn't take crap— anyway security kicked the guy out. After the party, I realized I couldn't find her anymore and went outside. The guy and some of his friends were beating her, Claire. They were beating her bad. The police came by and arrested most of the guys and we took Nonye to the hospital." Pearl reached for her phone and showed me a video of Nonye getting beaten up and pictures of her after her assailants were gone. Seeing the pictures must have had an effect on her because she took my hand and started sobbing again.

"I'm so sorry, Claire. I'm so so sorry," she said over and over again. The tears that had long refused to fall now fell in torrents down my face. We remained like that until the police came.

***

It turned out Nonye's killer was the son of a Lagos State Representative so when the police came by and ruled Nonye's death a 'tragic accident', I wasn't surprised at all. The officer that was sent spoke with a thick Yoruba accent, inserting h's before his vowels. I wanted to throw my pillow in his face. Pearl later wondered why I didn't show the officer the video and pictures of the 'tragic accident'. I told her the truth: if I showed the police the evidence, it would never see the light of day. So instead I smiled and cooperated with the police, knowing fully well what truly happened that night.

The hospital didn't say or do anything except write the cause of death and release Nonye to us. A few days after her funeral, the killer's family sent us some money, I sent it back along with a picture of Nonye's badly beaten face. My 'pacifist persona' as Nonye called it, was gone. I was out for blood. Her killer's blood. And after months of lobbying and protesting, I met Timi Osijo.

***

Present

The camera stops recording and the cameraman packs up his equipment. The interview is over. Timi stands up to shake my hand. He looks excited and I don't blame him. His documentary is nearly complete. I almost feel bad for him. He doesn't yet know what he's dealing with.

"Don't worry, Claire. Nonye will get justice. I guarantee it." He speaks with such conviction, I'm tempted to agree with him. Instead, I smile and shake my head.

"Timi, I'm really grateful for what you've done. God willing, this should get a lot of people talking again. The photos and video I've shown you should convince any prosecutor to look into Nonye's case. But I'm no longer under any illusions. The best I can hope for is already done. I don't expect the trial of Nonye's killer to happen at all. We are in Nigeria, after all." Before he can say anything again, I walk out of the room into the cool harmattan breeze of the evening. 

***

Nonye would be disappointed at my cynicism. She always believed Nigeria would someday get better. She carried that belief with her wherever she went. She wanted so desperately to make a difference in the country.

Yet she was killed and her killer flaunts himself on the streets without retribution. That's enough reason to be cynical.

That lives are destroyed everyday by the people who ought to protect them is enough reason to be cynical.

That the rich and guilty are safer than the poor and the innocent is enough reason to be cynical.

That the government spends four years raping the masses and then brings a flimsy bandage when it's election time is enough reason to be cynical.

There's no reason not to be cynical in this country we live in.

***

I wet my lips with my tongue as I approach my car and open the car door. Just as I'm about to step in, my attention is caught by a sound. In the shanty nearby, a child is laughing. She's surrounded by trash and probably sleeps with mosquitoes every night and yet she's smiling. Her gap teeth are visible from where I stand as she throws her head back and shrieks with laughter.

I smile and wipe the stray tears from my eyes as I step into my car and drive home.