Yemisi
Bonn, Germany

"My husband, Mr. Christopher Roberts. Are you sure he's the one you are talking about? There is no way my husband would vandalize public property. There’s no way he spent three nights in this prison. He—"

“Do you vant prooff, ma'am?" the police officer interrupts my incessant, vain defense with a worried expression on his face.

He'd had it with my ton of questions, but he's the one spewing out nonsense words here. What business has prison got to do with my husband?

"Yes, I want real and solid proof!"

“Very vell sen. I vill giffe you se address to an alehouse here in Bonn. Discuss vith se owner. Her name is Mrs. Jada Suarez and learn se real truth for yourself.”

Something about this doesn't sit right with me. The fact that there was actual proof, that there was someone — a known person that could give me answers I didn't want to accept made my stomach turn. I wanted to find out that everything I'd been told was untrue.

I know I'm being silly. I was the one who willingly walked into the police station because I saw Christopher’s car packed next to it. I was the one who cared enough to step in and ask them if they knew my husband. Now that I’ve realized they know my husband more than I'd thought they would (in a negative light), I am still bugging them and disturbing their peace.

I should stop wasting these people’s time.

“Okay,” I say with a sigh. “Thank you for this,” I raise the paper sheet containing the address in my hand for emphasis. “And...I'm sorry for taking so much of your time.”

I walk out of the police station, and in no time, I find a taxi by the roadside. I can only hope that this woman I'm going to meet understands the English language like the police officer I had spoken with because the amount of German language I had heard today alone was enough to make me deaf.

Thirty-five minutes later, I get to my destination, and I am now facing a tall, vintage-styled warehouse. The building looks ancient, but it is still in great shape. The bricks on the walls looked like they were imported from a quality brand.

As soon as I step in, a tall, slim lady dressed in a white shirt and a midi-sized black skirt approaches me with a professional smile. I need no soothsayer to help me decipher who she is.

“Hallo, gnädige frau,”  The waitress speaks.

I take her words to mean, 'hello, madam' since that is what waitresses always say to a prospective customer before any other thing. So I squirm as I nod to her greeting. 

"Err...I'm here to see Mrs. Jada Suarez, " I emphasize the 'Suarez' so it can ring a clear bell in her head that I am here to see her boss.

The waitress gives me a contemplating look for a moment, then she nods and walks into a room at the far end of the bar.

A few minutes later, I spot an old woman whose stance is similar to the woman I interrogated a week ago. The only difference is that she seems much firmer than the other lady. It looks like older adults are the ones God has destined to be my source of help in this country.

I know that this is Mrs. Suarez, the owner of the alehouse. She smiles curtly at me.

"Good day, ma'am, " I give a small bow. "Do you...understand the English language?"

“Yes, of course. Come haffe a seat, " she leads me to a seat by the window. Although her speech is accented and a bit difficult to hear, half a loaf is better than none.

Once we are settled on our respective seats, I notice that she's looking at something I don't expect her to even care about, and this makes me feel a little uncomfortable. 

“I like sat bag of yours. Vhere ditt you get it from?”

“It's a handmade bag. I have a sister who makes bags. She gave me this as a gift five years ago.” I retain the smile on my face and try not to overthink anything. It was just a compliment, after all.

Maybe, I'm being edgy and irritable because of what I'd heard about my husband at the police station. So I'm not in the mood for pleasantries at all. Still, these things cannot be avoided, so I try to make room for them.

“Voah. Do you mean sis bag is five years old? Sis beautiful bag has been in your possession for sat long!”

“Err...yes, ma’am. Thanks,” I scratch the back of my neck, my go-to action whenever I'm beginning to feel uneasy. “Ma’am, I'm actually here to have a discussion with you. So I’d appreciate it if we could get to it.”

“Oh. I vasn't expecting sat you vould be here to discuss vith me.”

“Oh. What did you think I was here to do then? If I were here to have a meal, I wouldn't have gone all the way to demand your presence. I would have just given the waitress my order,” I shrug in confusion.

Is she acting this way on purpose, or she's just slow?

“Vho are you?” she asks after eyeing me.

“Oops. Pardon my manners, ma'am. My—"

"You don't haffe one to start vith.” 

I'm so shocked by the sudden disrespect that I blink twice to ensure I'm not dreaming. After I do, I can still see her sitting across from me, looking like she'd really just insulted me and she had meant what she said.

I didn't see that coming because she didn't even look angry. Or had I not been observant enough? What is wrong with this woman? I clench my fist under the table and swallow the words I want to say. I manage to remain polite.

“As I was saying, my name is Yemisi Roberts. I'm a lawyer who has a few questions to ask you. They are harmless questions.” I ignore her provoking statements. I'm polite enough to even smile at her.

“Sat's vhat sey all say.”

“I didn't introduce myself as a detective or a police officer, ma'am,” I retort, still retaining my smile. “Besides, what do you have to fear? I'm only here to ask you questions about someone. His name is Christopher Roberts. He spent the night at your alehouse a few weeks ago and vandalized one of your properties. Am I right?”

“Vhat do you vant to know? ” There's a stern look on her face. “I let him go because he paid for se property he damaged. Othervise, I vould haffe let him rot in jail! Don't make me remember se stupid sings he did because he might make me vant to do despicable sings."

How can one try to arrest someone twice for the same offense? Does the German Law make provisions for that? If it does, then I’ll be disappointed. It means that the Nigerian Law is way ahead of it.

I don't say this to her, of course. She'd chop my head off if I did.

“I want to know why he came to an alehouse in the first place. I want to know if he came with someone."

"I can't disclose information about my clients. If it vasn't for the fact sat you already knew he vas arrested before coming here, I vouldn't have—"

“The police officers referred you to me, so it's okay for you to tell me what you know. Besides, this client in question is my husband. Also, you were already revealing things that I didn't ask for. So why don't you want to tell me anything anymore?”

“That won't make me tell you any other thing, though, " she raises a brow at me and scoffs. 

She scoffed.

I don't know what irks me so much about the fact that she smirked, but it makes me lose every iota of politeness I've been trying to hold on to until now. I rise from my seat with a force that makes my chair fall to the ground.

“Ma’am, I don’t understand why you are acting this way to me. Right from the moment I walked in and told you I was here to enquire something from you, you told me you weren't expecting that to be my reason for wanting to see you. What the hell is that?! Then you insulted me and said I was ill-mannered. You've been unnecessarily cold to me. It seems as if you hate me when this is our first time meeting each other. I don't get it at all!”

“You are not effen a customer, so vhy should I be nice to you? I only complimented your bag because I thought you vere going to buy somesing from me. Only for you to reveal sat you are a lawyer vho's here to ask questions. Questions sat I have a right not to answer!” She slammed her hand on the table. “Sell me,  vho do you sink you are to valk in here and ask me stupid questions about your promiscuous husband?!”

I could have sworn that I would have kept arguing with her because I'd prepared the perfect comeback in my mind, but when my ears catch on that word, 'promiscuous,' I knew I couldn’t afford to make her chase me out of here. I have to reach a compromise. Should I manipulate her? Or apologize to her? Why would I apologize to a lady who was rude to me first and doesn't even know how to earn respect?

Ugh.

I sit down, cross my legs and breathe out calmly.

“I’m sorry, ma'am,” the apology tastes like bile in my mouth as I play with my fingers. “I can even get you a bag that's better than this,” I lick my lips as I try to negotiate with her. It seems like the woman is a materialistic person. It would be easier to get to her heart with something she cares about or likes. “I just need to know what my husband came here to do and what made him vandalize your property."

“Hm,” she says after a long pause. “So vhat question do you vant me to answer first?" She speaks after contemplating, meaning that my plan worked.

She's so cheap and shamelessly so.

“I just asked you the question.”

“Oh, yes! Well... I haffe nothing to say about vhat he did se night before because I vasn't around to supervise se activities of se alehouse, but definitely, I saw him se morning after. He came out of a room naked, and he started harassing my vorkers all of a sudden, asking sem if they had seen him vith a lady se previous night.

He vas a serious mess. My employees vere not able to understand vhat he vas saying. Vhen sey could finally understand him a little, he had already gotten angry and started to destroy my property. I heard se sound of se sable splitting into two. I got mad and called se police to arrest him.”

"Is there a way I can interrogate your employees?"

"Your husband vould be se best person to giffe you se rest of se details. I've told you se most I know, and sis is all my employees know as vell."

“Okay,” I resign. “But, can I ask how you know that my husband is a businessman? What was the situation at the police station? Who came to bail my husband out?”

“It vas a lady dressed in men's clothes. It lookett like she vas disguising and did not vant your husbantt to know sat she vas se one coming to bail him out. It vas a stupid sing to do though because I knew it vas a lady.”

I know it's her. It has to be her doing. My husband is going to become someone else's if I don't look for him right away.

And the thought of that makes my heart sore. Christopher might be a bit of a coward, but he's still my husband, and I love him with all of my heart.

We are our persons individually, but together, we are something else. Something new. Something different. It's his betrothed wife and his mother we must fight against, and we can only do that if we stay united.

“Thank you for the information, ma'am. It's more than enough, " I get on my feet, prepared to leave. Quickly, I bring out some money from my bag and drop it gently on the table.  “This should be enough to get you the bag, ma’am.”

She looks at the stack of cash on the table, crosses her fingers, laughs, and looks at me.

"You only love to act all tough and authoritative, but I know people like you very vell. You sink you have people at your beck and call, but you don't. I don't need your money. If you vant to be tough, be tough until se end. All you need is some love and good support because you are veak."

“What do you know, old woman? What are you even saying? Have you ever looked at yourself? How about you make the change you are expecting from me? Earn some respect and have regard for people because if you treat someone like trash because they are not patronizing your business, then you are just a piece of trash.”

I walk out of the alehouse, and I take my money back, of course. I'm not egotistical enough to leave the cash on the table to paint some false picture of myself to a strange woman. Since she doesn't want the money, I have every right to take it back. 

I hail a taxi and ask the driver to ride through the area. I'm hoping I will spot my husband's car somewhere around as I did in the previous times. Thankfully, I do, after a fifteen-minute drive. I see his jeep parked outside a tall, white building with large pillars. I command the chauffeur to stop, and I alight from the car.

I cross over to the other side of the road, glad it didn't take much time to find him. I'm amazed to see that his office has been situated here in Bonn all along.

Time seems to go by really fast, like it desperately wants me to discover something. It’s beginning to affect my building anxiety which is now rippling by the increase of my heartbeat.

In no time, I am able to locate his office since his workers know who I am, and when I walk in unannounced, I meet the most disturbing sight of my life. It's not shocking, and I'm somewhat still sure that my husband doesn't belong to someone else yet but what I see still makes me hot with rage. The words I'd thought of came out of my mouth before processing them.

“Get off him!”