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BOSTON
PUBLIC
LIBRARY
WITNESSES TO TEARS
First published 1986 by
Delta Publications (Nigeria) Limited
5B Aria Road, P.O. Box 1172,
Enugu, Anambra State, Nigeria

© Abubakar Gimba, 1986

ISBN 978-2335-21-5

All rights reserved including the right

of reproduction in whole or in part in
any form.

Delta titles are available outside Nigeria through

The Book Company-Wiltshire, 10 East Street,

Warminster, Wiltshire, England

Typeset in the Philippines by

Vera-Reyes, Inc, and printed in
the United Kingdom
For Ben Umar, Hassana
And The Ladies of the house,
Hauzva and Aisha K.
 1

Another patient. The staff nurse moved rather me-

chanically to attend to the new occupant of bed No 8: a
woman coma. The nurse switched on a TV-like tube
in
attached to the bed. It was a monitoring computer. She

pressed a button marked A.T. and the screen flashed

9NB8. She checked her pocket-watch: 9.05 p.m. Not
bad, she thought. The patient had been unattended for
only five minutes: the computer put her admission time
at 9.00 p.m. Again she pressed another button, this time
marked C.C. The screen flashed SHOCK. Immediately
other displays appeared on the screen BRUISED . . .

SHOULDER FRACTURED RADIUS

. . . BRUISED . . .

FOREHEAD WITH 3MM DEEP CUT LOSS OF . . .

BLOOD 100CC APPROX CONDITION CRITICAL BUT

. . .

SAFE . . .

She heaved a sigh of relief at the last word. A safe

coma. The only such case in two weeks at the hospital.
A safe coma. She mused at the paradoxical description
for an undefinable and indeterminable region between
life and death. Feeling relaxed, she switched off the

computer and made towards her table. Coma's cause

was SHOCK according to the computer. But what caused
the shock in the first place? Quickly she turned back
towards bed No 8. She remembered suddenly that she
didn't even know the identity of the woman in coma.
Who was she? From where? Who brought her? How old
was she? She certainly looked young in spite of her
ruffled hair —
about thirty. She was an accident victim
all right, but what kind of accident? Car? A simple fall?

1
 Witnesses to Tears

Or a suicide jump? The nurse switched on the computer

once again and pressed the button marked P.D. Almost
simultaneously the screen flashed XXX Personal . . .

Data not supplied. Why? As she pondered the question,

across the screen ran the words ASK CENTRE . . .

STOP.
Puzzled, she switched off the computer and grabbed
the telephone beside bed No 8.

"Give me Data Centre, please," she requested. In less

than five seconds she was through. "Data Centre?" she
resumed, "this is Remi, Female Traumatology Ward.
Patient B8 has no Personal Data on screen. Could you
relay information, please?"
"B8, expect relay. Screen on, please," returned the
computer nurse at the Data Centre.
Remi switched on the computer as she was ordered
and held on to the phone. Presently some display began
to show on the screen: P.D B8 ACCIDENT . . . . . . . . .

FEMALE XXX. INFORMATION INCOMPLETE

. . . . . . . .

CONTACT RECORDS DEPT STOP. . . .

"Well, you see that?" uttered the computer nurse. "I

expect the Records Department to send me the personal
data of your new patient in about ten minutes. If they
don't, I'll contact them. And I'll call you back in five
minutes. Okay?"
"Okay. Thank you," said Remi, a little disappointed.
She felt five minutes was too long. She would talk to the
Records Department herself right away. It was unusual,
she knew, but she had to do it. Immediately she was put
through.
"Records Department here," came a male voice, "can
Ihelp you?"
"Thank you. This is Remi from F.T.W. Personal . . .

Data for patient B8 not supplied to Data Centre ..."

The man at the other end interrupted her. "Yes I
know. I'm waiting for the gentleman who brought her.
A doctor. He said the patient was in critical condition
2
 One

and therefore requested that she be taken straight to

F.T.W. and he would return shortly to supply the
necessary data ." . .

"And you allowed him to go like that?"

"I didn't. Sani Tanko did. The man came here around
8.55 p.m. Tanko was still on duty then. He admitted the
woman. I relieved him at 9.00 p.m. ." . .

"So you don't even know the fellow, I mean the

doctor?" asked Remi.

"No. Anyway don't worry. Tanko knows him, and
besides, he told me the doctor left in the company of the
senior nursing sister in charge of Maternity Ward.
What's her name? Right, Serah Bello. I expect the
. . .

two back any minute."

"Okay, thank you," returned Remi and put the
phone down. She switched off the computer and made
to provide the necessary care for the occupant of B8: a
patient without identity.
Some twenty minutes later, Remi went back to B8.
She switched on the computerized T. V. and pressed the
PD button, anxious to know who the lady in coma was.
Again: XXX . . ASK CENTRE
. STOP, said the
. . .

screen.
"Nonsense!" hissed Remi, a little impatient. Could
something be wrong with the computer? But she well
knew that the self-activating powers of this automated
diagnostic device were restricted to providing informa-
tion on a patient within the reaches of the overhead
T.V.-like cameras hung above each bed in the F.T.W.
Personal data that established a patient's identity were
not only far out of reach of the cameras' focus but
beyond their scientific capability. Such information
were fed to the Data Centre, and relayed as required.
For one moment, Remi wished the automated device in
front of her could provide such information all by itself.
She stood there staring at the lady in B8 for a while.
She thought of grabbing her in her unconscious state

3
 Witnesses to Tears

and shouting in her ear, "Who are you!" She shuddered

at her own thoughts. Cruel. She recoiled and made to
walk away as if from some unseen demon urging her to
do the detestable.
But just then the unexpected happened. She couldn't
believe it. Was she day-dreaming? No, what was un-
folding before her eyes was real. B8 occupant had
opened her eyes! The computer was right after all . . .

Critical but safe. Remi watched to see whether the

recovering comatose might speak. But for a full five
minutes, she did no more than open her eyes. There-
after the eyeballs remained still. The only thing Remi
could say about them was that they were not dead. Yet
at the same time, they seemed to possess an immobiliz-
ing passivity and a powerfully penetrating force. Remi
felt as if the eyes were piercing through the ceiling of the
ward into the great heavens beyond. This frightened
her a little and she felt like bolting away. But quickly she
took possession of herself and stood firm. She had seen
all sorts of eyes before: the eyes of the dead, the half-

dead and even the highly dangerous eyes of the mad.

She would not cow before a pair of motionless eyeballs!
As if to reassure herself, she mustered a smile to the
recovering comatose ... or was it to the eye-balls that
had now taken on some personality of their own? She
did not expect any response, though when she didn't
receive any, her heart-beat increased slightly.
Remi remained hopeful, nonetheless, that sooner
than later, her B8 patient would regain full conscious-
ness. Her eagerness to discover her identity heightened.
Ifonly she could talk!
"Remi Bukar." It was one of the doctors on call that
night. Remi's expectant stay at B8 was shortened.
"What are you standing there for? C'mon, get the Blood
Bank. I need 600 cc of group A blood. Quick." The
doctor's voice was calm but firm, betraying however, a
note of desperation detectable only by his aides. It

4
 One

appeared he had a case which the automated computers

would term EXTREMELY CRITICAL. PRECARIOUS . . .

Remi understood. Quickly but meticulously, she

moved to her table and dialled the Blood Bank. She then
made her request.
"But/' began a male voice at the other end, "we have
only about 300 cc of group A left in storage ."
. .

"Just send it, even if it's 100 cc. That could make some
difference between life and a transition to heaven or hell
tonight . .Send it quick please
. .Any group O?"
. .

"Yes."
"Please send some of that too." Remi put down the
phone.
A couple of minutes later, the blood came, and Remi
had it sent to the adjacent Operation Theatre into which
the doctor had disappeared. She then left to attend to
the other patients in the FTW.

At twenty-five minutes past midnight, she was at her

table writing progress reports on each of her patients.
At intervals she would break off and stare at the ceiling,
turning the end of her ball-point pen in her mouth as if
thinking of what to write next. But in fact she was
thinking about her profession, wondering why she
should be sitting down there in the middle of the night
instead of enjoying the warm comfort of her bed. She
thought of the oddity of sitting there amidst people who
did nothing other than just breathe, mostly through
gadgets: sitting among people who were not in her
world, yet were clinging to it with the aid of machines in
a frantic effort to avoid the other, the unknown. Only
patient B8 appeared to be the closest thing to a living
person. Yet, even she, with her eyes wide open and

5
 Witnesses to Tears

seemingly motionless, was as far away from her as stars

from the earth.
On occasions like this, Remi often felt she made a
mistake in her choice of profession. She loathed night
duty — as the 9.00 p.m. to 7.00 a.m. shift was called.
One day, she hoped, she would be far removed from
that odd shift . when she would have become a
. .

nursing sister.
As she sat there ruminating, her telephone rang. She
picked it up. It was the computer nurse for the twelveth
time — as usual she said she called to tell Remi that
neither Serah Bello nor the doctor with whom she had
left had turned up with any PD on the lady at B8.

"It's okay, thanks," returned Remi without any more

enthusiasm. In fact, she held the phone wondering
whether or not to tell her not to call FTW on B8's PD
anymore until such time as she had something to dis-
play on the screen. She hesitated, and just put down her
phone without even saying her usual bye. Not that she
wanted no more PD on B8, but she was confident
somehow that B8 patient would recover before long to
identify herself and fill in the gaps. Her situation ap-
peared to be improving with the ageing of the night.
Within the last fifteen minutes, she had not only moved
her eyeballs but also shifted her head from side to side
— very slowly. Remi had felt very encouraged.
Serah's, as well as the doctor's disappearance or non-
appearance, puzzled Remi. Indeed, by twelve midnight
she had felt like calling Serah's apartment, and did so.
But no one answered the phone. Perhaps Serah was
asleep, she thought, and gave up any idea of further
calls. As for the doctor? Well, she didn't know who he

was in the first place. However, a certain curiosity to

know his identity buoyed inside her. Doctor who? She
felt slightly cynical against Serah for bringing a patient

without supplying the necessary details, as well as

failing to return in violation of a promise to do so.
 One

Suppose the lady comatose simply kicked the

bucket . . .

"My child/' Remi's thought was interrupted by a very

low voice, feeble yet powerful, as it tore through the
quietness of the night, and the even more intense still-
ness that filled the FTW, as awesome as death. She was
not sure from which direction it came. But she was
certain, absolutely certain, that she heard a voice. A
little fear gripped her. She stood up.

"My child," again came the feeble voice. There was

now no doubt as to its source: B8. Remi relaxed. She
moved in that direction.
"My child," muttered the patient as Remi reached her
bed.
"My child," she said again, fixing her gaze on Remi.
Remi got confused at first, but quickly collected
a little

herself. She placed her hand gently on the patient's

forehead.
"Can I help you, Ma'am?" Remi asked softly, assur-
ingly.
"My child."
"Ma'am, where is your child supposed to be?"
"My child," the lady muttered, apparently unaware
of Remi's presence. Remi too realised the futility of
asking her any further questions. Instead she began to
see the lady as a probable referral case for the psy-
chiatric ward — though
still nursing the hope that she

would soon recover enough to identify herself.

After some fifteen minutes by the lady's bedside, she
retired to her table, and from there listened to the
seemingly endless muttering of 'My child'. Half an hour
later, the muttering died down. The lady had fallen
asleep, or so Remi hoped. She too became relaxed and
soon began to doze off.
Remi was aroused from her nap by the ring of her
telephone around 5.00 a.m.
"Yes, FTW," she said drowsily.

7
 Witnesses to Tears

"Too bad . . . have you heard the result?" came the

voice from the other end.
"What? Who are you?" demanded Remi, not in the
mood for talking and feeling an inclination to hang up
on the man.
"Oh it's Records Department ... I mean the
sorry,
result of theautopsy ..."
"Whose autopsy?" asked Remi with agitation, her
eyes now wide open.
"Serah's Serah Bello, the girl who left with the
. . .

doctor that came in with your patient ..."

But before he could finish, Remi interrupted him:
"Serah Bello, dead?"
"Yes, dead!"
Remi was speechless. Incredible! Sleep had now de-
serted her completely. She clung to the phone receiver,
wanting to ask who killed her yet convincing herself of
the needlessness of the question. Who could have killed
Serah but the doctor, known only to Serah herself and
perhaps Sani Tanko? All along she had known that all
was not well, but was not in possession of the facts.
Tears formed in her eyes, and she allowed them to flow
freely down her cheeks, on to the paper on her table.
She was under a spell of shock, so much so that she
became oblivious of the now resumed mutterings of the
strange patient.
Then Remi mustered herself, and asked, in a choked
voice: "Did she die of gun-shot wound?"
"No," replied the nurse at the Records. "She died of
aspyxiation. She was strangled ... A police patrol team
brought her dead around 3.00 a.m. They said they
found her in the Nkrumah Freedom Park. They sus-
pected she must have died before twelve midnight.
Very tragic. The police said they suspect foul play ." . .

"Suspect?" cut in Remi indignantly. "This is beyond

suspicion. What else could it be? It is foul play!"
"But it could be suicide."

8
 One

"Suicide? Oh c'mon! That's unfair on Serah. She

wouldn't do a thing like that ... Or did they tell you
they found her in a noose?"
"No."
"Then, how do you strangle yourself that way? It's
improbable ... at least in her case."
"Well, I guess you could be right. But it's all sad.
Serah is no more ... I better let you go now."
"Okay, thanks," replied Remi and slowly put down
the phone.
The shock of Serah' s death dominated her. She sat,
arms folded, gazing in the direction of the unidentified
patient. Her vision became blurred: blurred not by tears
this time, but by a highly probable answer to a simple
question that flashed through her mind: who killed
Serah? She shuddered to think it was the unidentified
doctor. She now focused her eyes on the lady at B8. Fear
gripped Remi at the thought that either herself or the
lady could be the next victim. Quickly she dismissed the
thought, though never completely disengaging her
mind from the remote possibility of its occurrence.
She looked at her watch: six a.m. She got up to do her
final round and to see each patient before writing their
progress reports. She moved along the centre of the
room rather absent-mindedly. She felt weak and con-
fused. She did not know where to start. Abruptly she
stopped by B8, and decided to start from there.
Thirty minutes later, she was back at her table writing
out her reports, preparatory to handing over to her
reliever at seven a.m. Remi wished she did not have to
write the reports. She simply couldn't concentrate. Her
mind shuttled between what she was writing and Serah
Bello: dead Serah was very much alive in Remi's mind.
Her reports were full of cancellations as never before. At
the end of it, she felt like tearing all of them up and
starting again. But time was against her. It was almost a
quarter to seven. She had to leave them like that. But

9
 Witnesses to Tears

she decided to read through them for the last time.

Midway through her final perusal, her reliever en-
tered the room, a handbag in one hand, a daily news-
paper in the other. Remi looked up, saw who it was and
continued reading. "Good morning," she greeted.
"Oh, dear Remi, morning. I'm scared! Shocked at the
happenings. Some people are out to kill all the staff of
this hospital. What have we done?" The nurse sounded
horrified.
"Very unfortunate," agreed Remi without looking
up.
"Tragic too, and frightening . . . Two in one night!"
"Two?" Remi quickly looked up at the nurse. "Who
again, apart from Serah?"
In answer, the nurse flung the newspaper on the
table. It was the City Enquirer. The bold front-page
headlines announced: KHARTOUM HOSPITAL IN
DEATH RIDDLE: TWO NURSES MURDERED. Remi
became tense. Quickly she scanned the write-up to
establish thetwo involved. The paper only mentioned a
male and a female, both nurses at the hospital. One was
strangulated and found at the Nkrumah Freedom Park.
That's Serah, Remi acknowledged. The other was found
in the gutter along Songhai Street, near Africa Square,
shot in the head and chest. The paper did not establish
his identity.
"Oh terrible! I know one is Serah. Do you know who

the second fellow is?" Remi was horror-struck as she

looked up at her reliever.
"I don't know," replied the nurse, "but I heard peo-
ple say he was on duty at the Records up till nine o'clock
yesterday night ..."
At these words, Remi looked in the direction of the
lady at B8 and cried, "My God Sani Tanko too!" . . .

And she dropped her head on the table in dismay.

Remi related to the nurse what she thought was the
connection between the deaths and the patient at B8;

10
 One

and she swore that she wasn't going to leave the hospi-
tal Her life, she said, was in grave danger.
that morning.
And she made a show of it. Not even the City's Director
of Medical Services would convince her that she was
safe. She vowed to leave only under a police escort.
Remi was genuinely terrified. She was convinced that
she would be the next victim. She felt as if someone had
told her that she had been condemned to death by a
firing squad! She was almost hysterical, and felt as if
under siege, yet considered the hospital her fortress, a
haven. The hospital provided both at once security and
insecurity. She became restless. And her display paid
off.

o'clock that morning, Khartoum Hospital was

By nine
filledwith about a score of men from the police homi-
cide squad. Two plain-clothed members of the team
were attached to the Female Traumatology Ward to
keep watch over the lady at B8. Remi was taken to the
Chief Medical Officer's room, where two senior police
officers interrogated her. She provided the answers
nervously. She had never had to face the police before
in her life. The whole thing appeared like a dream. And
the questions asked by the police officers . some
. .

were suggestive: that she connived or conspired. How

on earth could she do a thing like that? No matter. All
their questioning was secondary to her personal se-
curity.
The question-and-answer session was interrupted by
a knock on the door. A policeman appeared, a piece of
paper in his hand.
"Yes Sergeant," said the more senior of the two police
officers, "any leads?"
The police sergeant stood at attention, gave a salute
without uttering a word and handed the paper to his
boss. The officer read it quickly, gave a smile and
handed it to his next-in-command.
"Well, Miss Remi Bukar," resumed the more senior of

11
 Witnesses to Tears

the two, dismissing the sergeant with a wave of the

hand, "it appears we are getting somewhere. And faster
than we thought too. By the way, we have established
the identity of your B8 patient. According to our re-
cords, she is supposed to be thirty years old. Mother of
an only child, just recently reported missing not quite
twenty-four hours ago. Our investigations are still on
the case, though we believe we may not find the child
alive. A case of child-kidnapping. Mrs. Hussaina Lahab
is your lady's name. understand her husband
I is right
now out of the country. He has gone to Mecca for the
Hajj.
"As for the person that brought Mrs. Hussaina, he is as
good as in our hands already. But we are not saying we
have got the killer or killers of your two colleagues ..."
"Of course that's the killer," protested Remi. "He
brought Mrs. Hussaina and left with Serah."
. . .

"Right," resumed the police officer, "but establishing

that truth does not itself establish the fact about the
killer or killers of Serah and Sani Tanko. It may only
provide a lead. But a strong lead we hope. There are
other loose ends we still have to tidy up. However, Miss
Bukar, I want to assure you that we won't allow the
killer to get at you. Your security is guaranteed. We will
fish out the killer. We are keeping your apartment
under a twenty-four hour watch. But we advise you to
move only in public transport. I mean, minimise ac-
cepting lifts. Okay?"
Remi felt reassured. She forced a smile, the first in

hours, then said, "Thank you, sir."

"Don't mention," returned the officer. "By the way,
we shall be talking to you from time to time, till this case
is disposed of. You may go now."

"Thank you, sir," repeated Remi, and got up to go.

As she reached the door, she paused and said, "But,
sir . Mrs. Hussaina may be in danger ..."
. .

12
 One

"Don't worry about hex," replied the more junior

"we shall take care of her too."
officer,
And they did. Hussaina was immediately placed
under a round-the-clock police-watch.

13
 2

Hussaina would have sworn on her life that never

would she be admitted into Khartoum Hospital. She
wouldn't want to, given the choice.
It wasn't that the medical services facilities at the
hospital were poor. On the contrary, Khartoum Hospi-
tal was one of the best-equipped hospitals in the coun-

try, and obviously the city's most modern. The hospital

was a zonal referral centre, with extensive computeriza-
tion ofits services as an experiment in the nation's

match towards the improvement of its medical care

delivery.
"I shall make sure," she used to tell her husband in all

earnest, "that in my will, I write in capital letters, that

under no circumstances should my body be carried to
that hospital. Not even for a post-mortem examina-
tion."
"You mean it?" her husband would say teasingly.
"I'm positive!"
"Suppose you got knocked down along Gambia
Street . Khartoum is the only Hospital nearby."
. .

"I don't give a damn. Let me get killed right in front of

Khartoum itself. Anybody who takes me one step into
that hospital violates the very sanctity of my being . .
."

"You hate the hospital so?"

"Not hate as such. It's just a matter of taste. A strong
preference. A choice. It's the last place I would want to
be."
True, it was a taste. But it was a taste with a differ-
ence: A taste she did not cultivate: A taste she was

14
 Two

forced to choose. 'Force' may not be the right word.

Whatever was, Hussaina preferred to remain outside
it

the walls of Khartoum hospital and have nothing more

to do with it: and she was prepared to put her life on the
line just for that preference. That was the choice she had
had to make one day.
And that was many years ago.

Hussaina was a nurse by training, a graduate of

Albert Memorial Nursing School. It was there that she

firstmet Serah Bello. Serah was two years her junior at

the school. The two came to know each other through
odd circumstances. They could not, strictly speaking, be
knew each other well.
called friends. But they
Hussaina and Serah were poles apart in their person-
ality make-ups. Oddly enough, this was principally
what brought them closer.
Serah was a very versatile girl, both in and out of
school. Her fellow students and the school's instructors
alike knew her well. She had an openness and cheery
personality that made her easily absorbable into any
company. She was indiscriminate in her contacts —
male or female; and, like a butterfly, she was colourful
and did not hide it nor feel any inhibition to display it.
Some boys misjudged her to be a flirt, while some girls
thought of her as being maligned by pride: to them, she
was no more than a peacock, her feathers being a
composite of her beauty and upper class family back-
ground.
To Serah herself, the way she was was the wav she
saw life. Life, she used to say, was meant to be lived and
not to be carried, like some burdensome load.
"Where would you carry life to?" she was fond of
teasing those she considered to be a bit reserved. "You

15
 Witnesses to Tears

either live it, or you

it will leave
in regrets! Live. —
Don't just exist.meant to be an exciting phe-
Living is

nomenon. Otherwise, the good Lord would simply

have created us as stones: motionless, moodless. Don't
you know that even trees, as rooted to one spot as they
are, try to live? Occasionally, they dance to the forceful
music of the wind, adding their melody Life is fun . . .

and must be lived that way. Especially for the young.

One is young but once."
Serah, therefore, was always in high spirits. And she
had no qualms about it.
Not so Hussaina. Not that she was always downcast.
She was simply reserved, some would say. Others
thought her shy to the point of being withdrawn. Except
when in class,she was rarely seen in a company of more
than three. To some she was a dull character, perhaps
disagreeable, though none ever had concrete cause to
say that. Some high-society girls among her fellow stu-
dents simply concluded that she had some hang-ups,
some inferiority complex. Most agreed that the only
thing Hussaina had in common with Serah was beauty.
In every other aspect, each appeared the reverse of the
other. In fact, most referred to Hussaina as Serah R, and
Serah as Hussaina R, the letter R being the code for their
oppositeness.
Hussaina had a restricted circle: not that she cared for
larger company. Far from it. The smaller the circle, she
the better. She was aware of Serah's openness and
felt,

did not begrudge her. She wouldn't live that way and
would not partake of people's criticism of Serah's atti-

tude to life either: she would always try to avoid dis-

cussing Serah; or even speak in defence of her.
"Serah," Hussaina once remarked to a female friend,
"lends credence to what life is."
"And what is that?" asked her friend.
"A total phenomenon, to be lived to the full," an-

16
 Two

swered Hussaina. "It has many sides, though," she

continued, "and one must have the courage to live it as
she perceives it, from her own angle —
as long as the
society is in no way disadvantaged."
"But Serah doesn't see life that way," argued her
friend. "Or so I believe. Otherwise how do you account
for the very different approach to life between the two
of you? You are poles apart."
"Different approach. Yes, Serah has a right to see life
and live it differently from me. And vice versa. Differ-
ence though does not mean incompatibility or antagon-
ism, for we both have a meeting of minds on one thing:
that life is something unique. We both see life as some-
thing very beautiful, a rare gift to be enjoyed."
"That," returned her friend in amusement, "is Se-
rah's uniqueness, not yours. Now let's have yours!"
"Ifs mine too," contended Hussaina good-humour-
edly. "Of course, we differ in how we apply ourselves to
this uniqueness. I believe in the totality of
7
life ... I see life

as a cool, sunny, bright morning. An indescribable

beauty. A beautifully unique life-span, brief and tran-
sient to be lived, reflected upon and enjoyed ..."
'To Serah," interrupted her friend, "life is all fun.
And that's what she enjoys most."
"Well, as I said, life is certainly something sacrosanct
to be breathed in and fortified against any profanity.
Life transcends simple fun."
"There you are. You'll now concede that there's some
difference between your uniqueness and hers. Why
must you go round the world before saying that two
minus one is not the same as one minus two?"
"All I wanted you to understand, is that there exist
the same figures on either side of the equation. Only
their arrangements make them different."
"Different! Difference. Or do you mean deference?"
"Both. Difference with deference."

17
 Witnesses to Tears

And they both laughed.

Her friends sometimes found her difficult to under-
stand. But they had profound respect for her. She often
spoke little, but whenever she did, she always ended
with smiles, beautiful serene smiles. She was gentle and
most people admitted it. Not a single person either
among her fellow students or her instructors could ever
point to a single stain of mean act on her.
And even Serah later came to admire and respect
Hussaina.
Stemming from their differing nature, Hussaina came
to know Serah (who didn't know Serah?). Serah, how-
ever, didn't know Hussaina, till an incident prompted
her to seek out the latter.
One rainy day, Serah was late to one of her midday
classes. She was thirty minutes late. Quite unusual for
her. As she appeared at the door, the instructor looked
at his watch and quipped: "Hussaina R, what's up?
Having fun in the rain?"
Serah did not understand. At first she thought the
tutor was speaking to someone else behind her. She
turned. There was no one. She looked a bit puzzled and
asked.
"Are you talking me, sir?"
to
"Who you Hussaina R?"
else? Aren't
"Since when have I been so christened?" Serah asked
in her characteristic jovial manner as she moved to get a
seat. Everybody laughed and the brief interruption
ended.
When was over, however, Serah resolved to
the class
find out whyshe was called Hussaina R. Having been
told all about Hussaina, Serah vowed, "I'll seek her out,
even if she is in a closet. And open her up!" It was a
joke, but Serah meant it. And by the following day the
two met.
At first Hussaina did not understand it all. What was
Serah up to? Why was she so keen to engage her to

18
 Two

conversation all the time? It all seemed strange. Then,

news got to her of Serah's discovery of her. And Hus-
saina became amused. Soon the two were frequently
seen together and always smiling. Many were sur-
prised: Serah's magic touch had worked after all.
But to Serah, there was nothing magical in getting
along with Hussaina. The truth was, Hussaina was
always herself and needed no opening up by anybody.
Secretly she admired Hussaina's perception of life and
the way she lived it. She felt, however, that Hussaina
must change to the tunes of the time. This is a turbulent,
fast-moving world, she would tell Hussaina. And one
needs to be in constant motion to keep up. One needs to
be like the world to force the fact of one's existence on
the people. To do otherwise would amount to conced-
ing one's non-existence.
"You may be Hussaina would concede, "but I
right/'
don't know whether the world that needs changing
it's

or I. As of now^ however, I'm contented the way I am.

The turbulence of the world does violence to my nature.
I agree with you that to exist and be non-existent at the

same time is like a tragic waste. But such turbulence,

such fastness that has so fitfully taken hold of the world,
leads to an even greater tragedy. I may be wrong."
"You are too severe on the world."
"Not quite. But I take life seriously ... in part fun,
but not a trifle."
"That'swhy you don't mix with people?"
"Or why people don't want to mix with me."
Serah thought Hussaina was right: people tended to
avoid her because they didn't understand her. And
most didn't try to. Many were often amused to see
Serah defending Hussaina. But she knew she was not
putting up any show. Her only fear for Hussaina, a fear
she kept secret to herself in spite of her openness, was
that she might never marry. She ran the clanger of not
attracting any suitor. Aloofness, she reasoned, was a

19
 Witnesses to Tears

repellant force in a world of fast guys.

Serah was wrong.
Three months after her graduation from Albert
Luthuli Memorial (A. L. M.), Hussaina got married.

It was had just come to the end of

9.15 p.m. Hussaina
her and was heading for the bus-stop, some
shift
hundred metres away from the hospital gate. Half-way
between the bus-stop and the gate, Hussaina heard the
approach of the bus. She quickened her steps. She could
not afford to miss it. That would mean standing for
thirty more minutes before another bus came along. She
broke into a trot, and next began to run. As she reached
the stop, she turned to face the blinding light of the bus,
waiving it to stop. That was not necessary. It had to
stop. But as she was about to get inside, a red signal
flashed by the door: NO VACANCY. The automatic
devise designed to check overloading of the buses held
the door locked. Hussaina had missed the bus . .just
.

what she had feared.

She thought of going back to the hospital, because she
did not feel safe standing there alone. Except for a few
cars that passed, Gambia Street looked virtually de-
serted. Perhaps it was due to the threatening sky.
Heavy dark clouds dominated the sky, with intermittent
lightning. She got her umbrella ready, thinking it was
going to rain. Fifteen minutes later, the sky grew more
ominous. The rumbling of thunder dominated the air,
and, like some conquering general, held all other forms
of noise to submission. Soon a strong wind began to
blow, heralding the coming of a heavy downpour. Pre-
sently it began to rain. The strong wind rendered Hus-
saina's umbrella impotent: the umbrella was turned

20
 Two

inside out, almost into a cone. In a matter of a minute,

she was soaked to the skin.
She felt a strong urge to go back to the hospital but
gave up the idea: a bus might come while she was away.
But thirty minutes passed without any bus. Perhaps the
torrential rain had disrupted bus movements. She was
getting worried. She feared an assault on her person.
No, she would catch a taxi home. Taxi? No, that . . .

was too much of a risk to take. Organized crime owned

fleets of taxis. Instead, she would ask for a lift, some-
thing she had never done before. She recoiled within
herself at the idea. Not that she had never been given a
lift. Many a boy-friend of her friends had given her lifts

home — always in the company of the friends them-

selves. But tonight .she was going to wave her
. .

hand, for the first time, to a private vehicle, and ask for
a ride home! She shuddered. At the very thought, she
felt a hollowness within herself. Well she had to do
. . .

it. The was self-exposure to verminous

alternative
characters. She made up her mind to stop any private
car, going any direction, and ask for help. The night was
getting old, and she had to get home.
Suddenly, she saw a car approaching from the direc-
tion of the hospital. She moved nearer to the road and
waved vigorously. She felt something collapse inside
her, and her heart jumped. A sign of abnormality? Yet
she continued to wave, afraid that the car would not
stop. She hoped and prayed that it did. The car drew
up. She heaved a sigh of relief.

Hussaina quickly moved nearer. It was a youngish

man, some fifteen years older than herself. He pressed
an automatic switch to wind down the glass.
"Anything?" the man asked in a cool manner.
"Please I need your help," replied Hussaina, her
mouth shaking with cold, "would you please give me a
lift home?"
"To where?"

21
 Witnesses to Tears

"Mali Avenue . . . Futa Toro Heights Apartments,

please."
The man appeared to pause in contemplation, then
said, "Okay, get in."
Hussaina was overjoyed. Quickly she got in, as if
afraid the man might change his mind.
"Thank you," she said.
The man drove off without a word. As they neared
Ghana Avenue, Hussaina grew a little apprehensive.
Supposing the man carried her to some unknown
destination? She threw a fleeting glance at the man to
reassure herself that he was trustworthy. She looked
away as quickly lest their eyes met and he read her
thoughts. The man's attention seemed to be in the
direction they were moving. Hussaina felt like saying
something, but didn't know how to start. The appropri-
ate words refused to form. As they reached the junction
between Gambia Street and Ghana Avenue, the traffic
lights changed from amber to red. The man stopped.
Again Hussaina gave him a quick glance. This time she
feared he might turn left into the Avenue instead of
right. Deliberately she stared at him forced a smile, and
said, "You are a careful driver. . . . Last time, when a
boy-friend of one of my
was taking me home,
friends
when we reached this junction and the red lights were
on, seeing that there was no traffic coming, he simply
turned right."
The man simply hummed, with a faint smile of ac-
knowledgement that faded as quickly asit came. He did

not look at Hussaina. But still, she felt she had made her
point somehow.
She did not feel altogether comfortable at the disinter-
ested manner the man took her story, however. Or had
he sensed the motive behind her tale without a tail?
"I'm sorry," she began as they turned right into
Ghana Avenue, "I've forgotten to introduce myself . . .

I'm Hussaina Anas, a student at A. L. M. ." . .

22
 Two

"You mean you're a student nurse?" the man asked, a

little surprise on his face.
Hussaina noticed the expression, and quickly replied,
"Yes, but I'm in my final year. In my last quarter. I'm
attached to Khartoum Hospital for my practical nursing.
And I happen to be in the two to nine shift."
"I see," the man replied, nodding in satisfaction.
But Hussaina was not satisfied. She had hoped he
would also introduce himself. He didn't. Silence once
again engulfed them. Apparently, her cunning had not
worked. She decided to be straightforward. ". And . .

what's your own name?" she asked.

"My name? Are you scared or something?"
"Oh no, not scared," she returned with a broad smile,
as if to assure him that she had an unflinching faith in
his philantrophic gesture. "I just want to know."
"Is that important?"
"To me, yes. Men like come by these
you are hard to
days," she replied in false flattery.
"What makes you so sure of me?"
They had now reached the main Songhai Street. The
man slowed down to stop at the red lights, but almost
immediately, the green lights came on. They crossed
Songhai into Guinea Street. Hussaina felt happy. They
sure were on the way home. She was now confident
that the man had
nothing up his sleeves.
"You don't want to tell me your name?" she asked in
a relaxed tone, smiling.
"What's in a name?" returned the man, in amuse-
ment.
"Identity. Honour. Earned and therefore deserved
pride. A whole personality that is larger than you.
That's what you have in a name. Yours. Your name is
that which is mightier than yourself. That which will
live after you have gone. It's your spaceship into time
and space." She paused, then continued, "You won't
let me know . .
.?"

23
 Witnesses to Tears

The man turned to look at her and smiled, a hearty

smile. Then he said, "First, let's get to your place."
They were now at a junction. The traffic light was a
flashing amber. The rain, though still quite heavy, was no
longer windy. The man looked left, then right, then left
again. There was no sign of any vehicle approaching from
either direction. He turned left into Mali Avenue. A cou-
ple of minutes later, they were at the Futa Toro Heights.
The man drove into the parking lot of the apartment
complex.
Hussaina felt so happy, so grateful.
"Oh, thank you!" she said as the man halted in the
basement lot,". but you still don't want to tell me
. .

your name?"
He smiled, put his car into reverse gear ready to move
back and drive off. "No," he said shaking his head
gently, and adding with a smile, "it's not necessary."
"Oh, c'mmon! Okay, please wait for me just for a
. . .

minute." She left her handbag inside the car and ran
towards the apartment's main entrance. The man
watched, trying hard to figure out what the girl was up
to.

A couple of minutes later, she re-emerged with a man

in his late forties. As the two reached the car, Hussaina
opened the door, and made the appropriate introduc-
tion. "Well, Daddy, this is the man that brought me
home . and wouldn't tell me his name
. . Mr. man, . . .

this is my Daddy."
The man smiled and courteously got out of his car,
but left the engine running. Before he reached Hussai-
na's father, the latter's hand was already stretched:
"Hello gentleman, I'm Anas, Hussaina's father . . .

pleased to meet you."

"Pleased to meet you too, sir," returned the man, still

keeping to the secrecy of his name.

"Well . . . gentleman, you withheld your name from
my girl. Do you mind telling me . .
.?"

24
 Two

The man grinned. He looked at Hussaina, then back

at Hussaina's father, and finally said,
"Well .em . . I'm K. Lahab ... an ordinary
. . .

teacher at Cabral High School."

"Oh, Mr. Lahab! You are more than an ordinary
teacher. You're an extraordinary teacher par excellence.
And it appears you have a lot to teach the world, not
just Cabral High. You certainly are a rare gem in your
profession. Do you mind coming up for some coffee?"
Lahab didn't quite expect this: he looked at Hussaina,
who had been looking at him smiling, then looked at the
father and replied, "Ahm, no sir . . . Thanks. I have to
get home quick."
"Are you afraid your wife will query you or some-
thing?" jested Hussaina's father. The three of them
laughed.
"Not so, sir," replied Lahab, "in fact my wife is in
hospital right now ..." f
"What's wrong with her?" father and daughter asked
in unison, Hussaina's expression indicating concern.
"Nothing serious. Only pregnancy, but she has been
complaining of painful sensations of late. So we came
down to Khartoum for a check-up. And I'm told it
would be necessary to keep her under observation for
twenty-four hours. She's there now in the maternity
ward. I was just leaving her when I saw your daughter
in the rain."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Hussaina sympathised.
"She'd be all right soon," consoled Mr. Anas.
Lahab nodded his head and checked his watch.
"Well, I must go now It's been nice meeting you,"
. . .

he said.
"By the way," began Mr. Anas as he removed a
complimentary card from his pocket, "do you mind
giving me a call sometime?" He handed it to Lahab.
"My pleasure, sir," returned Lahab, who then gave his
card in return. Hussaina grinned, apparently excited.

25
 Witnesses to Tears

There was a flurry of "good-nights", and Lahab drove

off.

"Oh Daddy, Mr. Lahab is quite a man," said Hus-

saina as the two entered their apartment. The father
only gave a slight nod. The daughter continued, "He's
so nice and gentle ..."
"Which shall I fix for you, tea or coffee?" the father
interrupted, pretending he didn't hear her remark.
"Tea, Daddy. I want to go to bed straight. The
. .

man really surprised me. Impressed me, I should say.

Daddy, don't you think he's a rare bird?"
"I certainly do and much rarer than you'd think.
. . .

He's married, y'know," he said somewhat teasingly.

Hussaina took the hint, and quickly returned, "Oh
Daddy, I don't mean that. I'm just voicing my impres-
sion of the man. He had all the opportunity in the world
to play funny games with me. I took a great risk by
going in his car. At a point, I said to myself, 'what a
stupid girl you are Hussaina, for taking a gamble like
this'! But standing there at the bus-stop, in the windy

torrents, seemed an even greater danger. I thought I

just chose the lesser of two evils. I could have been
wrong . But Mr. Lahab was reluctant even to talk to
. .

me. And he brought me right home - without wishing

to disclose his identity! He must be unique."
"I'm not grudging you your impression of the man,"
said the father, half smiling. "In fact I would like to hold
him in the same esteem, too. I appreciate what he
did ... at least he did prove that, even in times like
these when abnormality has gained such ascendancy to
a state of everyday acceptance, not all men are wolves.
Except that, my little girl, most are, in sheep's attire."
"But how could he be, Daddy?" asked Hussaina
defensively.
"I'm not suggesting that he is. But our world is a vast
realm with no discernible lines of exceptions The . . .

point is, you've gone too far, too fast in your impression

26
 Two

about Mr. Lahab. For a woman, it's a dangerous thing to

do-
Well, Daddy, I guess you are right . . . it's only that
virtue, like magnet, attracts me."
"And vice repels you, right?"
"Right, Daddy."
"But remember, a magnet performs both. It depends
on which end is towards you. And for a woman, a man
should be more than a magnet . Here's your tea."
. .

"Okay, Daddy. I understand."

She took the cup of tea and sank into the couch.
Father and daughter sipped in silence. Hussaina fixed
her gaze on the steam rising out of her father's cup of
tea: it was gentle, calm and misty, rising into the air. She
loved the sight. It gave her some kind of inner happi-
ness, warmth and serenity. Suddenly she realized she
was happy but found it difficult to see how her father's
cup of tea came into the picture. Her thoughts immedi-
ately went beyond the steaming cup. Lahab now domi-
nated her. She thought over her father's cautionary
remarks. She tried to imagine Lahab as a bad man, a vile
character immersed in base practices. No! She couldn't
convince herself that Lahab could be that bad. Her
conjured-up roles simply refused to go along with her
character. She shuddered at her own thoughts with a
sense of guilt. She felt she had committed some sin
against a rather saintly character. Gently, almost imper-
ceptively, she shook her head unconsciouslv, staring
into nothingness.
Mr. Anas watched his daughter slip into her state of
distraction.What could she be thinking about? It was no
use trying to guess whatever had so engulfed her. He
simply looked at her. There she was: beautiful, full of
innocence of youth. She represented the very essence of
his own life. Life had a meaning to him because she
lived. His one and only daughter. His only child. He
more than loved her. He adored her. When he saw her
27
 Witnesses to Tears

shake her head in such a distracted state, he wished she

could think aloud.
"Anything wrong?" he asked.
"What's it, Daddy?" returned Hussaina, the question
having caught her off ground.
"Anything wrong?"
"No, Daddy. Just thinking."
"Of course I know that. But thinking of what?"
"Well . thinking of calling at the hospital tomor-
. .

row Mrs. Lahab," she lied, but actually now

to see
convinced of the need to carry through her lie.
"You don't mean it! Are you planning to commit
. . .

murder?"
"Oh Daddy, heavens no! But why?"
"She has never known you before, how then do you
introduce yourself?"
Hussaina did not understand where her father was
heading to. With a puzzled smile, she replied, "Of
course I'll tell her that her husband helped me home on
a stormy night." She paused. Her face was an embodi-
ment She added in a cool voice, "And
of innocence.
Daddy, one good turn deserves another."
Her father laughed curtly. He looked at her, shook his
head and said, "Hussaina, you really still are a kid. I
thought you've grown into a woman. Or perhaps you
are a woman yet to discover herself. You know not the
nature of yourself. It's a question of time anyway. You'll
soon understand. But my advice to you is, you should
not let your good turn shock that gentleman's wife into
death. She has enough trouble already in a contest for
survival. If you can't make things better, don't make
them worse."
"But Daddy, I'm not running after her husband?"
"But how is she sure her husband isn't running after
you, now or later?"
Hussaina looked at her father, then said "Daddy . .
."

but was interrupted by her father.

28
 Two

"Well, my dear one, I'm not saying you shouldn't go

to see her. It's amarvelous idea. But you shouldn't go
there alone." He smiled at his daughter, got up from
where he was sitting opposite her and moved to her
couch. Softly, he said to her, "Tomorrow, I will go there
with you." Hussaina looked brightened by his remarks,
and as she opened her mouth to say something, he
patted her on the shoulder and added, "But right now,
you must go to bed. You deserve a sound sleep."
A couple of minutes later, the two bade each other
good-night.

The next morning Hussaina was still fast asleep when

her father left for the office. She usually saw him off. But
this morning, she slept like a drunken houseraaid.
When she woke, her table clock announced 9:58 a.m.
Could it be right? She rubbed her eyes in a needless
effort to disengage her eyes from some non-existent
web. She opened her eyes wide in disconcerting disbe-
lief. She couldn't recollect when she last slept for so long

into daybreak. She wasn't convinced. She picked her

portable pocket radio and turned it on. Her clock was
not lying after all: the morning's programme announcer
said that in a minute's time, the news on the hour
would be on the air. She was convinced the hour was
ten.
Hurriedly, as if in a race against time, she threw off
her nightgown and made towards the bathroom. Then
the telephone from the sitting room rang. She went to
answer it, hissing impatiently at the interruption.
"This is Hussaina," she said as she picked the phone.

"At last!" came her father's voice.

"Oh, is that you, Daddy?" she replied, brightening
up.
"This is the fourth time now that I have rung. You
must have been out like a log!"

29
 Witnesses to Tears

"Sort of . . . I'm just going to have a bath."

"You mean you haven't had your breakfast?"
"I'm just up, Daddy."
"You must be sick Ahm, I just want to tell you
. . .

that I'll be coming home at twelve noon, so that we

could go to the hospital together to see Mrs. Lahab."
"Why don't you make it two-thirty? You know my
shift starts at two. I'll be in the hospital by then. You
meet me there instead of coming home You see . . .

what I mean?"
Mr. Anas remained silent for a few seconds, then
said, "It's okay by me."
"See you then." She put down the phone and made
for the bathroom.
By the time she came out, it was eleven o'clock. She
had spent three times longer than usual in the bath
without knowing it! As she immersed herself in warm
water, she thought of her imminent visit to Lahab' s wife
later in the day. It was a visit she most craved. She had
thought of the things she would take to Mrs. Lahab, and
settled on fruits and a get- well card. Most of all, she
prayed and convinced herself that Mrs. Lahab would
not take her for a husband-snatcher.
Hussaina dressed quickly to make up for time lost.
She had to be in the hospital by five minutes to two; at
least. And she wanted to go downtown to make some
purchases before returning to prepare lunch. It was a
race against time.
It was half past eleven when she reached the Bus
Stop. The next bus to the down-town area was due in
ten minutes, but to confirm what she thought she knew
already, she checked her handbag and brought out the
Intercity Bus schedule. She was right. The bus was due
Toro Heights Bus-Stop at 11:40 a.m.
to arrive at the Futa
She felt the time was too far away. She had to find
something to occupy her .time. She moved towards the
newspaper vending machine, pushed in a twenty-five

30
 Two

kobo coin and picked a copy of the City Enquirer.

She began moving from one page to the next, never
reading a complete story. None interested her. Onlv the
Medical News page seemed to command her attention a
little: the news item raised hope for cancer patients by

reporting a new therapy for the disease. But Hussaina

left the page with a slight hiss of disappointment. The

new therapy wasn't so new after all. It was basically an

old principle. The newness did not go beyond the tech-
nology of the therapy. Both the probability of cure and
survival of a patient remain unchanged . . .

Suddenly Hussaina stopped reading. She folded the

paper and began to move towards the telephone booth
on the other side of the street. It had suddenly occurred
to her that Lahab was not aware that her Dad and
herself would be visiting his wife at the hospital in^the
afternoon. It was only proper, she thought, that he was

put in the picture. She knew Lahab's phone number.

Once inside the booth, she picked the receiver, pushed
in two ten kobo coin pieces and dialled. She could hear
the phone ringing at the other end, but for a full minute
nobody answered. Perhaps Lahab was at school, she
thought. Or even at the Khartoum Hospital. She was
still clinging to the receiver hoping someone would take

the call when suddenly the bus she had been waiting for
arrived. Quickly she hung the receiver and ran out of
the booth.

Hussaina made it to the town, returned home to

prepare lunch and reported just in time for duty at the
Khartoum Hospital. She got to the hospital at 1:58 p.m.,
much to her pleasure, carrying a shopping bag full of
fruits and other assorted Mrs. Lahab.
gifts for
At two-thirty p.m. Hussaina did not see her father as
arranged. What could have held him up? Certainly not
office work: if it were he would have phoned to say so.

31
 Witnesses to Tears

Perhaps he has been caught up in a traffic jam, she

thought. By three o'clock, her father was still not in
sight.Hussaina maintained an outward calm, but was
growing quite concerned.
"What could have happened to Daddy?" she thought
aloud.
A couple of minutes later, she decided to ring his
office at the Department of Information and Culture. A
lady secretary picked the phone.
"He here around quarter after two," replied the
left

secretary,"and said he was going to the Khartoum

Hospital ..."
"Thanks," returned Hussaina and hung up. What
could be wrong? she wondered again, now sick with
worry.
She asked to be excused for five minutes to go and
check for his car by the hospital gate. Perhaps he had
been around trying to locate her. Half trotting, she
made for the gate, looking left and right, like one being
pursued and fearful of a sudden ambush. She thought
of a thousand and one reasons why her father could be
late, but none satisfied her, at least not enough to
over-ride her anxiety. Except one. But even that gave
her no peace of mind. Why should her father not want
her to see Mrs. Lahab? He had branded her a kid when
she first told him of the idea. But was the whole thing
not settled when he had told her that they both would
be visiting the Samaritan's wife? Now she couldn't
understand. Why did he suddenly change his mind? To
do the visiting alone? Why? Suddenly she felt a certain
strange emotion beginning to swell inside her: resent-
ment against her father's action. Or what she thought
his action was. She shuddered at her feeling. As quickly
she purged herself of her resentment, the creation of the
pigment of her own imagination. A sense of guilt
gripped her. She knew her father would have no reason
for not wanting to go to Mrs. Lahab with her except for

32
 Two

the protection of her interest. And for that, she con-

vinced herself that he deserved no hard feelings. At
least not from her, whom he now lived for. And sec-
retly, she prayed for God's forgiveness, her father's
forgiveness, for she knew she loved him.
She was now by the gate. And there, in the parking
lot, was her father's car! She felt her temperature rise.

She had hoped to find the car there and yet fearful that
she might not. The car was there. That meant her father
was around, somewhere in the hospital or around its
premises. Why had he not called her?
She made a quick about-turn. There was no question
now in her mind where her father was. Maternity Ward.
And there she resolved to go, direct. What of the 'get-
well' card and the gifts she had brought for Mrs. Lahab?
Later. First she must find her father.
As she neared the Maternity Ward, Hussaina caught a
glimpse of her father coming from the direction of the
Paediatric Ward. Apparently he had gone to see her,
she thought. A sense of relief filled her. With excite-
ment, she quickened her steps towards his direction.
At first he did not see her coming. She knew it. He
was looking down, his hands inside his trouser pockets,
walking in oblivion to the rest of the world like a scien-
tist in search of some vital links that would turn his
hypothesis into a theory. She was now only about ten
metres away from him. He still had not seen her. She
could now see the expression on his face. Expression-
less. Unease seized her.
"Daddy!" she called, her voice betraying both worry
and excitement.
He looked up, obviously taken by surprise. As his
eyes met his daughter's, he forced a warm smile. "I'm
sorry . I'm just from your ward," he said.
. .

"Please don't tell me you've been to Mrs. Lahab

without me."
"Yes I did. I felt your going was not necessary, not

33
 Witnesses to Tears

It sufficed that I went alone."

desirable.
"What do you mean, Daddy?" she asked in disbelief.
"Mrs. Lahab is no longer As he said
in the hospital."
this, he deliberately avoided looking at his daughter.
Hussaina looked disappointed. It was not necessary
to go to the Maternity Ward if Mrs. Lahab was no longer
there. But was that why her father had not come direct
to her ward at two-thirty? Was that why he carried an
inexplicable expression on his face?
"When did she leave?" she asked.
"I don't know. She was no longer here when I arrived
at twenty after two." He swallowed hard. There was an
obvious reluctance on his part, to continue talking about
Mrs. Lahab.
"Daddy, anything wrong?" Hussaina asked in a tone
of tender concern.
He looked at her fixedly: a firm look, neutral, painful
and sympathetic at once: a look pregnant with some
message. Hussaina knew, and held her breath. A pre-
mature birth, she thought. Poor Mrs. Lahab! To have
laboured for those seven months, and then have no-
thing to show for it. She looked at her father, yearning
to hear him let out her fears. He stretched out his hand
and tapped her shoulder gently, tenderly. He took in a
deep breath, cupped his lips and slowly, almost inau-
dibly, let out the words: "Mrs. Lahab is dead!"
Hussaina fell into his arms, tears rolling down her
cheeks.

34
 3

Cold, towering and often indifferent. Like a huge rock

in a desert, defiant, yielding only marginally to the
elements. That was how Hussaina used to see men.
Any expression ofwarmth always no more than rising
steam from a large expanse of ocean. The steam, no
more than a miniscule impact which the sun has been
able to exert on the mighty waters. The ocean always,
remains awesome. So also were men. The only excep-
tion was her father.
Then came Mr. Lahab to change all that seemingly
ludicrous impression.
"So, men do cry?" said Hussaina to her father as they
drove back home after visiting Mr. Lahab at his resi-
dence along Zimbabwe Street. Her remark was less of a
question than an expression of a discovery. That was
about two months after Mrs. Lahab's death.
''What do you mean?" returned her father.
Hussaina hesitated, looked at her father, then replied,
"I mean Mr. Lahab . Remember how he wept when
. .

we first went to his house after his wife's death? I had

never seen a man cry so like a baby!"
. . .

Her father gave an almost imperceptible smile. She

thought he was going to say something. He did not.
Instead, he clung to the steering with some kind of
concentration. To Hussaina, her father's mind appeared
torn between the wheels and some happenings some-
where. Perhaps he was trying to recollect the scene of
Mr. Lahab's weeping, she thought. No. The truth was,
Mr. Anas was lost in the significance of his daughter's

35
 Witnesses to Tears

remarks.
"Babies we all are," said the father in a rather sub-
dued tone, "when faced with some kind of deprivation,
and we cry our eyes out when we recognise our impo-
tence, our powerlessness to remedy trie situation. We
cry out of helplessness, self-pity and frustration."
Hussaina looked at her father, though not fully
grasping the impact of what he had said.
"Once in a while," continued her father, "we all have
something to cry for, except of course some lucky few."
"Mr. Lahab must have loved his wife very much,"
said Hussaina.
"Very much so, I guess. Which explains why he cried:
helplessness and, to some degree, a temporary sense of
hopelessness against the deprivation of a dear one. An
irreplaceable loss."
"Very sad."
"Indeed," returned the father, "I know how he felt."
Hussaina was now almost certain that she knew what
was on her father's mind. It was a subject they rarely
discussed: her mother. The woman she never knew.
Hussaina was born an orphan: her mother lived just
long enough to hear her utter her first cry. Within
moments of Hussaina's birth, her mother gave up con-
sciousness as a result of severe bleeding. Nurses and
doctors at the Maternity Ward of Khartoum General
Hospital could not save her life. She needed blood
transfusion to survive. Ordinarily that was a situation
that the could easily handle. But in her
hospital
mother's case, when the doctor called for the life-saving
blood, the staff in charge of the blood bank was no-
where to be found. Gone to an unknown destination on
break. He had not spent one hour on duty by then. He
was later traced to his girl-friend's flat. But no matter.
When he finally arrived at the hospital, there was no
blood in storage left, he And
blood donors? Quite
said.
many, and willing to save a woman's life. But the

36
 Three

hospital was And so, Hussai-

short of collection sacks.
na' s mother had to die. When,
age of sixteen, her
at the
father disclosed the details of her mother's death, Hus-
saina was very upset, and felt like hanging everybody
involved in her mother's case. Could it be professional
incompetence or simply ineptitude in hospital manage-
ment that killed her mother? Those nurses, or doctors,
or whoever they were, did they have mothers? Surely!
And this made it difficult for Hussaina to understand
why they could not care less whether other people's
mothers lived or died. Denying others the serenity,
warmth, and gentle protectiveness offered only by
mothers. Yes, that much she was denied! And Hussaina
wept in anguish and bitterness, bitterness directed
wholly at Khartoum Hospital. Then she made a vow, a
solemn vow, never to step into Khartoum General Hos-
pital. And that vow, was that all the dedication her
mother deserved? A negative recompense? Hate? Bitter-
ness, in remembrance of an epitome of love? No. The
vow was a positive resolution of her dissociation from
the profanity that prevented her mother from living. A
perversion that killed her fountain of love. But a mother
deserves more, much more: some form of self-sacrifice,
nothing less. That much, a mother deserves, and she,
Hussaina, would offer it. She would dedicate herself to
her mother. That love from which she was so tragically
cut, well before she knew herself, she would give to
others, to mothers: to mothers without children, and to
children without mothers. It was not simply a question
of responsibility, she felt it was her destiny. She, Hus-
saina, was going to be a nurse.
Her admission into the Albert Luthuli Memorial
Nursing School was the beginning of the fulfilment of a
dream, a vow. However, her posting to Khartoum Hos-
pital in her final year nursing course for practical attach-
ment violated that vow. Her protestations to the A.L.M.
Principal met with derisive rebuff. Who was to take a

37
 Witnesses to Tears

child's vow seriously? Was she a child at sixteen? Hus-

saina was hurt by this lack of understanding. Adults
arrogating to themselves the monopoly of seriousness.
They never lost their mothers when they were hardly
out of the womb, did they? Wisdom in the void! Well,
what was she do? Refuse to go to Khartoum and risk
to
the collapse of her dream? Not a wise decision, as that
would undermine her other more important vow. Break
a vow to keep the vow, she had decided. After all,
Khartoum Hospital was the oldest, the biggest and the
one with the most modern equipment in the city. She
had a dream to realise. She resolved to go to Khartoum.
Her first two weeks at Khartoum initially proved
emotionally upsetting. Memories of her mother. But
given her will, she soon collected herself, and thereafter
seldom allowed herself to be overcome by those memo-
ries— till the death of Mrs. Lahab . . .

"Oh, I wish the child had been saved," said Hussaina

after a long and pensive silence, her eyes filled with
tears.
"Yes," agreed her father. Obviously he had read his
daughter well, and did not want to get her upset with
longer discourse. He added, after some silence, "Well,
the husband is still very young. Soon he will get another
child."
"Yes," returned Hussaina, "but it wouldn't be so easy
to get over the emotional loss of his wife."
"Perhaps."
"Perhaps? With the type of sorrow that showed on
him, the gravity of his crying, I don't believe a new wife
and another child would make things look quite the
same."
"Perhaps," her father repeated. She looked at him,
puzzled. She could not understand. Was he, her own
father, not a living symbol of the after-effects of the
death of a beloved wife on a husband? Ever since her
mother died, he had not been able to live with another

38
 Three

woman. Twice he got married, and twice he divorced.

Another marriage could not work, he said. He could not
get over the death of his wife, yet here he was saying
"Perhaps" No, she could not understand. "Per-
. . .

haps," said her father again after a long pause, "but

with a child, yes, getting over his wife's death wouldn't
be easy."
True. Hussaina herself was the dominant factor as to
why her father could not get over her mother's death.
Apart from the fact that she bore an outstanding re-
semblance to her mother, Hussaina represented to her
father that part of his wife that continued to live.
"I see," muttered Hussaina. She now understood.
Her father was probably right. "Perhaps," she too
added almost inaudibly. She looked away from her
father, her eyes filled with tears.
v

They were now at the end of Guinea Street. Till they

arrived home three minutes later, both remained silent.
They both understood: the memories of a dead mother
for one, and a wife for the other, always cast a sombre
mood over the house. Such was the power of the dead
woman. Little wonder Mother was rarely discussed.
That night Hussaina went to bed unusually early. She
wept for a long time.

Hussaina saw Mr. Lahab in her father's image: both

widowers, both lost their wives in hospital and through
child-birth. These were parallels strong enough for her
to take some interest, some special interest, in Mr.
Lahab. A perfect pretext for the increasing frequency of
visits paid by her to Mr. Lahab's house, and vice-versa.
At first, it was a return goodwill gesture to a good
Samaritan; then it was a sympathetic concern for some-

39
 Witnesses to Tears

one in her father's predicament. Initially, the visits were

made in the company of her father. Then, as there
developed that confidence and trust, which provide the
basis of all relationships, she began making the visits

alone. Her father did not discourage her. His daughter,

the father reasoned, was mature enough to take her
own decisions. He would not interfere lest she got
offended. He would interfere only if he perceived a
reasonable amount of risk. In the case of Lahab, he saw
little to worry about. Hussaina could take care of her-

self. And more reassuringly Lahab, in his own visits and

demeanour, showed no cause for suspicion. It all had

the aura of an innocent friendship.
"How do you eat?" Hussaina asked Lahab during one
of her visits.
"How?" answered Lahab, a bit puzzled, "with knife
and fork mostly, depending on the type of food. Why?"
She was a little amused at the answer. That was not
what she wanted to know. "I mean, do you cook your-
self or . .
."

"I see," interrupted Lahab, "sometimes I cook, but

most of the time dine out."
I

"Dining out must be pretty expensive, isn't it?" ob-

served Hussaina with an expression of concern.
"Well, it is, but I don't have much choice. Also it's a
matter of convenience."
"Convenience?"
"Yes. Returning from work, then walking straight
into the kitchen, it's too much of a hassle. One has little

time left to rest or do any other thing. It's easier to walk

into a restaurant. Of course that costs more money, but
something has to give."
Hussaina imagined the ordeal of the new life Lahab
had found himself in. All he did before was to walk
straight to the table, eat, and abandon the plates there.
Now, he had not only to cook his meals but perform
tiresome necessities like washing plates; he had to or

40
 Three

else starve ... or eat out at a price.

"You could do with some helping hand, couldn't
you?" She said.
"Well, yes, but . . .," he began, shrugging his shoul-
ders, "I can't afford it."
"Oh mean employing
no," she returned, "I don't
someone. mean, do you mind if I come to give you
I

some assistance, particularly on weekends or when I'm

off duty?"
Lahab was completely surprised. He did not expect
this. "You?" he said, with a little laugh, "oh no."
"Why not?"
"I'm sorry, but just no. Thanks."
"Why? You don't believe I'd be a good cook?" There
was a streak of disappointment on her face, though she
tried to conceal it with a laugh.
"It's not that," said Lahab, "but I'm sure this is your
own idea. Why not first discuss with your Dad?"
"My Dad? What has he got to do with it?"
"Just let him know. Find out what he thinks about it."
"Oh no, Dad wouldn't mind," she said, feeling be-
littled. "But tell me —
what do you make of me? A little
girl with a feeding bottle in her mouth? I am nineteen! If
I can't make independent decisions at this age, when do
I start?"
"Are you offended?"
"Baffled is more the correct word."
"I'm sorry, but you're very close to your Dad ..."
"Very very close," she agreed, "but being close to
someone does not annul your right to be yourself. To be
independent to do and see things your own way.
Freedom ..."
"I know what you mean," interrupted Lahab. He did
not want her to continue with the subject. "Anyway,
I'm sorry. Just forget about everything."
"And before I do that do you or do you not need my
help?" she asked with a smile.

41
 Witnesses to Tears

"Heavens know I do need some help, and none

gladdens my heart as that offered by you."
"You therefore accept?"
"With all my heart!" he said, and they both smiled
heartily.
Hussaina looked her watch.at
"It's time for me she said.
to leave,"
"So soon?" asked Lahab, looking at the wall-clock at
the other end of the sitting-room.
"I've spent one hour fifteen minutes here. I told
Daddy I wouldn't stay longer than one hour. He'll be
worried."
Daddy would be worried, Lahab said to himself.
There you are. Daddy. Freedom. "Yes, I know," he
said. "Thanks very much for the visit. By the way, tell
your Dad I might call tomorrow to say hello."
"What time?"
"Say, about ten in the morning."
Hussaina arrived home some thirty minutes later than
she had told her father. She was worried because she
knew he would be anxious. When she arrived, he was
not at home. She knew it. She had feared he might go
looking for her. No. She dismissed the idea. Surely he
wouldn't react in such a panicky way? She had been
thirty minutes late three times before and he had not
reacted that way. But then times had changed: in-
creased muggings, attacks on young girls, murders,
kidnappings, but no, she convinced herself that her
. . .

father had not gone out to look for her.

She got even more worried. Where could he have
gone to without letting her know? He could at least have
phoned her at Lahab's house. Something must be
amiss. Heavens, no: she dismissed her own faint sug-
gestion that something was wrong. She picked the
telephone to call Lahab. As quickly she changed her
mind. She went and sat on one of their dining chairs, in
a state of tense anxiety.

42
 Three

As she sat there uncertain what to do, she heard what

she believed to be the approaching footsteps of her
father. By instinct, she knew the sound of her father's
movements. This time, however, she was wrong. She
opened the door to Lahab. Why had he come?
"I wasn't expecting you now," she said in surprise.
"It's your Dad," returned Lahab.
"What about him?"
"The Police have him."
"The Police?" She was both shocked and incredulous.
"On what charge? Driving through the lights?"
"No. Assaulting a Police Officer."
"My goodness, no. Daddy would never do such a
thing. Liars! Where is he now?" She was fighting to
control hysteria.
"Khama Police Station. That's where he phoned my
house, barely five minutes after your departure. He
thought you were still there. Anyway, he asked me to
tell you not to bother. He'd soon be home."

"Not to bother? I'm going to the Police Station right

away. If you don't mind I'd like you to give me a ride
there."
"With pleasure — but I hope your Dad won't be
annoyed with me."
"I'm sure he won't be."
They drove onto Mali Avenue, then turned right into
Guinea Street. Hussaina was now engrossed with
thoughts of her father. Did he actually assault a police-
man? He had never even scorned a child, much more
assault a law-enforcement agent behind whom was a
mighty force. No. That's very much unlike her father.
He must have been framed, as the police usually do,
especially when you have no faults and they are bent on
finding one. On such moments, appears the police
it

detest the upright, especially when

they know you
think you are one. No one should be without blemishes,
for that gives the police no job to do. One has no right to

43
 Witnesses to Tears

make these guardians of peace and security redundant.

They on law-breakers. And if you are not one,
thrive
they are sure to goad you into incurring their wrath.
Yes, that must be what happened to her father. But
assault? Daddy could never lose his temper to such an
extent . . .

"Bastards!" remarked Lahab, who had hitherto re-

mained silent.
"Yes, bastards they all are," agreed Hussaina.
"Whom are you talking about?" asked Lahab.
"The police, of course," she said, surprised by his
question. "Why, whom were you talking about?"
Lahab burst out laughing.
"I was talking about the traffic lights," he replied. "I
had wanted to go straight along the Ghana Avenue to
Mutapa Street and then turn into Angola Street; and the
light turned red just as I reached this junction."
"Well, sorry about my remarks," said Hussaina in a
rather subdued tone.
"Oh, never mind. The only thing is that I think you're
a little too hard on the police. They aren't all that bad. A
few bad eggs, yes. But most of them are good, fine
gentlemen."
"Do you actually mean what you're saying?"
"Every word."
"With so many criminals openly boastful and proud
of their misdeeds amongst us, let loose through the
loop-holes in police efficiency? And you still call that 'a
few bad eggs?' Then those 'few' eggs must be very big
and very rotten, for the smell is horrible and pervasive!"
They were now on Angola Street, some hundred
metres from Khama Police Station. Lahab shrugged his
shoulder at what Hussaina had just said. He did not
want to continue with the subject, in part because he
did not want to start a debate that might offend Hus-
saina. That was not what he had come to the Police
Station to do. He had come to see her father disen-

44
 Three

tangled from whatever police knots he was in.

When they reached the Police Station, they headed
for the First Stage Cases Room, whose foreboding air of
captivity made Hussaina feel uneasy.
"Shall help you?" asked one of the four policemen at
I

the counter, moving his eyes from Lahab to Hussaina.

"Yes, officer," returned Lahab.
"We're looking for my father," cut in Hussaina.
"Is he lost or .?" . .

"No," cut in Lahab, "he was brought here not long

ago, involved in a case with your traffic men."
"Oh yes, Mr ..." The officer flipped over the pages
of his report book to get the name.
"Anas," said Lahab.
"Yes, Mr. Anas. He has gone to see the Chief Super-
intendent of Police."
"That old man," cut in a second officer, "he thinks he
can play tough. Let him not stop at the CSP's Office. Let
him report me to the Police Commissioner or to the
Inspector-General if it so pleases him. Who cares? He
thinks he knows his rights; I know my duties too. I am a
He ended beating his chest with some
police officer!"
kind of hollow pride.
One bad egg, Hussaina thought. Bastard! Has he got
any father at all? So discourteous! She wanted to say
something to the Sergeant, something nasty. But she
calmed herself. There was no need. The Sergeant
looked like drunk and irresponsible. She gave him a
final disdainful look.
"Where's the CSP's office, please?" she asked the
Corporal.
"As you leave this room, turn left and keep going.
You can't miss it."
Lahab remained behind in the First Case Room, while
Hussaina left to meet her father. She found him reading a
news magazine in the waiting-room of the CSFs office.
"You didn't have to come," said her father with a curt
45
 Witnesses to Tears

smile. He looked at her and almost immediately took his

eyes back to the pages of the magazine he was reading.
Hussaina said nothing. She knew his smile was a
forced one. She had not seen him look so tense and
upset for a long time.
7
"There is nothing serious/ he continued, "I've fin-
ished with them here. We shall meet in court."
"Court? Was the case that serious?" Hussaina shiv-
ered at the suggestion that her father was going to be
prosecuted in a court of law. Not that she knew what
transpired in courts or ever even been there to witness
the proceedings. But she had this foreboding dread for
the place. A place where you must cease to be what you
are at the whim of an individual feigning absolute right-
eousness. A high priest to whom all else must play
second fiddle. Yes, courts are sanctified houses for
justice, places for putting wrongs right, with some
doses of humiliation. Yes, my Lord! To think that her
father must so belittle himself with such a phrase to
prove his innocence. She looked at him, secretly cursing
the Sergeant who was the root of all the ordeal her
father would have to undergo.
"Thank God, we have working courts in this coun-
try," said Mr. Anas, speaking to nobody in particular,
his glance still fixed on his magazine.
Hussaina sat beside him. Very odd, she thought, that
Daddy should find satisfaction in the courts. Does he
not know that he would lose a part of his height, no
longer walk tall? Perhaps she was wrong. Courts indeed
might be the last remaining houses of hope for the
wronged. Perhaps. She felt a little confused; she felt a
little inadequate that perhaps her understanding of the

courts was but a product of a young, yet unschooled

mind in the complexities of the world.
"Is it that serious that you must go to court?" she
managed to say.
"The police have made it serious. I've no regrets

46
 Three

anyway. In a way, it is a good thing they did."

"A good thing?"
"Indeed. At least I'll have an ear to listen to me."
"But they would waste your time. I mean the police
and the courts with their ^terminable adjournments."
"Time spent in fighting institutional arbitrariness and
irresponsibility is not wasted."
Hussaina did not quite understand, but felt her father
was taking on a little too much. Who takes on institu-
tions these days? A thick-skinned monster. It's a lost
battle from the start. But there was no point dissuading
him now. The Police were taking him to court anyway.
"But what do you want to see the CSP for?" she
asked.
"To lodge a complaint."
"Complaint?"
"Yes. No policeman has a right to hide behind his
uniform to humiliate people." His voice was slightly
pitched, betraying anger. "Or when they do, they need
to be told that their uniform offers them no such right. I
think it is a sacrilege for any individual in uniform to use
his uniform to assault innocent citizens."
"You were assaulted physically?"
"Worse than that." He was interrupted by the ap-
pearance of Lahab.
"May I speak with you for a moment, sir?" requested
Lahab, who gave Hussaina a quick glance and smile.
Both Anas and Lahab left the waiting room to confer.
A couple of minutes later, they returned. Hussaina had
waited, wondering what it was the two men discussed.
She decided against making any guesses, though she
remained curious.
Lahab sat on a chair opposite Anas. And for a full
three minutes, none of the two uttered a word.
"The case is no longer going to court. It's with-
drawn." It was Anas who broke the silence more out of
concern of defusing his daughter's anxiety than for any

47
 Witnesses to Tears

enthusiasm about the withdrawal.

"Oh they did?" said Hussaina, brightening.
"And yet," put in Lahab, "your Dad insists on seeing
the CSP. I think we all need a spirit of forgive and
forget."
"Forgive, yes," returned Anas, "but forget? Very
difficult. And besides, the case going before the court
and my complaining to the CSP were not exactly the
same thing."
"But it's the same case, isn't it?" said Hussaina.
"It is. One, however, deals with principles while the
other concerns the individual."
Again Hussaina did not understand. No matter, her
primary interest was to see her father out of the Police
Station —for good.
Next moment an orderly appeared to provide the
needed interruption.
"Please who is Mr. Anas?" he asked.
"Yes, here."
"The CSP said he would not be able to see you today.
Could you call, say, by tomorrow at a quarter after
eleven in the morning?"
Anas felt disappointed. Was it a deliberate plan to
prevent him from laying his complaints? Well, tomor-
row is not far.
"Fair enough," he muttered.
They all left for Anas' house, Hussaina going in her
father's car.
"Daddy what really happened?" she asked him.
He was obviously in no mood to relate the story.
"Never mind them. Bastards." Harsh words: such game
of insults, her father rarely indulged in. The poor old
man must have been really hurt. She did not want to
force him into a narration.
There was silence —
a long one. Hussaina's thoughts
now wandered from the probable to the forbidding:
suppose Daddy actually went to court, that's victory

48
 Three

number one for the drunken sergeant. Thank God, he

did not have to go, after all. Well, Daddy has not won
any victory, the sergeant was victorious: he took Daddy
to the Police Station. But just suppose Daddy had been
taken to court: Yes, my lord! Terrible. That's the lan-
guage of the underlings. Guilty as charged: suppose the
judge so pronounced. Ultimate victory of the sergeant!
But God forbid. God forbid that the sentencing should
involve her father going to jail, no matter what offence

he might have committed. God forbid she prayed . . .

fervently at her own rather absurd thoughts, daring not

to look at her father lest he discovered the bizarre things
going through her mind.
"He wanted to impound my driving licence." Her
father broke the silence.
"Why?"
"For that," he said, pointing to the longitudinal crack
in the car's windscreen, which resulted from the impact
of a stray stone thrown by playing children.
"Is that a traffic offence?"
"I don't know. The sergeant said it was. He asked me
to pack. I didn't see the justification him so. and I told
He shouted obscenities and said I couldn't teach him his
job, that he rose to the rank of sergeant by merit, that
single-handedly he arrested an armed robber. That, I
told him had nothing to do with my driving licence,
which he said I should hand over to him. It was on my
front seat, together with my insurance certificate. He
tried to get it by held his hand and told him to go
force. I

to hell. He said he would have me charged for assault-

ing a police officer and obstructing him in the course of
his legitimate duties."
"Incredible!"
"Yes. That's what they do. Frame you, try to intimi-
date you so that you chicken out. Beg them, and then
placatethem with bribes. It's a flourishing business."
They were now at the Futa Toro Heights. Lahab asked
49
 Witnesses to Tears

to be excused, but Hussaina insisted that he accompany

them to their apartment first. It was now dark.
7
"Sorry about the incident/ said Lahab as they sat in
the sitting-room. Hussaina had gone into the kitchen to
prepare some tea. "They are terrible people," he con-
tinued. "You see, I really don't like having anything to
do with the police. They can make life awfully miserable
for anybody. I fear them, dread the bunch of them."
"Very sad that ordinary citizens should fear and
dread their own police force. Respect, yes. But, fear?
That's the saddest indictment."
"But they don't care."
"Yes I know. With drunks like that sergeant in uni-
form, I guess there must be only a few safe and sober
men who care. But he thought he could scare me? I'm
not a kid!"
"He was going to complicate your case." As Lahab
said this, he put his hand in his back trouser pocket,
fished out a crumpled white paper and handed it over to
Anas. "Look" he said.
"What is it?" asked Anas as he unfolded the paper.
"Incredible," he uttered in astonishment as he read the
sergeant's version of what had transpired between them
during their confrontation.
Anas read the statement over again incredulously.
Everything had been so distorted as to make him look
the culprit. He shook his head, bewildered by it all.
Unbelievable.
"How did you get this, anyway?" he asked Lahab as
Hussaina appeared with their tea.
"Well, business," returned Lahab; "with money you
can get anything in this country, you know."
"Did you have to bribe that bastard!" asked Anas.
"The report was too damning, sir."
"And you have to spend a fortune to save my neck?"
"Not a fortune. With a drunk like that, you only need
a small amount of money to fetch him a couple of

50
 Three

bottles. For five naira, he agreed to let me have even the

report sheet/'
"My God {"exclaimed Hussaina, "that is bribery!"
Lahab shrugged his shoulders with a subdued smile
of satisfaction, as if to say, ah! one could do anything for
a friend. Mr. Anas, on the other hand, remained silent,
placing his chin in hishand as if lamenting some terrible
loss. He did not like what Lahab had done, yet did not
want to show his disapproval. He liked Lahab very
much. But bribing a police officer for his sake? He
wouldn't have been happy even if he had actually been
guilty of the said offence. And worse, to bribe for
annulling a mere fabrication? No, that's rewarding evil,

a bonus Admitted, he had done it for his

to falsehood.
sake. But that did not cleanse the evil of its odour. It was
very offensive to his moral, ethical beliefs. He felt a little
let down by Lahab. It was as if he had done the bribing
himself, something very foreign to him. He felt a big
hole had been made in the moral baloon upon which he
floated. He felt hurt, yet liked Lahab. Perhaps, he did
not understand why he did what he did: in a bid to do a
friend a favour? He could be forgiven.
"Thanks, Mr. Lahab, for what you did for me," he
said, "but please, next time don't do it." His tone was
almost pleading. "You can't appease a devil with an evil
act. You only make him more perverted —
to everyone's
detriment."
"Well, I don't approve of bribery myself, but it's the
game everyone now plays in the country."
"A repulsive game, nonetheless. Majority participa-
tion in a vice doesn't turn it into a virtue, no matter the
social standing of the participants."
"I agree with you. But by remaining aloof and refus-
ing to manipulate the system to one's advantage, we
make ourselves derided, virtuous fools."
"Better be a virtuous fool than satan's high priest.
And besides, there is nothing like manipulating evil to

51
 Witnesses to Tears

'one's advantage'. What advantage? You may save an

individual, but you endanger the entire community."
Anas gave a little laugh. "Anyway," he continued,
"let's forget about it all. Once again, thanks for the
concern you have shown for me."
"My pleasure."
They abandoned the subject and sipped their teas,
chatting blithely.
"Well, I'd better get going," said Lahab, looking at his
watch. It was eight-thirty. "I have an appointment with
a friend at nine o'clock."
Father and daughter got up to see him off. After,
Hussaina returned to the kitchen to prepare supper.
They were both hungry, neither of them having had
lunch. As they ate, she made a final attempt to convince
her father of the purity of Lahab's action.
"He meant well, believe me Dad."
"I know and appreciate it.And quite admire him
I for
that singular act of friendship. But the point impro-
is,

priety or evil cannot be a real redeeming force. It only

satisfies our vain whims and desires. Remember, Satan

too once went into Heaven in aid of Adam and Eve.
And see how we've been left toiling ever afterwards."
They both laughed. A brief silence fell upon them,
broken intermittently by the chattering of their cutleries
and their munching.
"How did your day go, I mean your visit to Mr.
Lahab's house?" her father asked as they sat to watch
T.V afterwards.
"Beautiful. Indeed I'd wanted to talk to you about it."
"What about?"
"Something important."
"Can I have it right away?"
She hesitated, then said "Daddy, I'll like to assist Mr.
Lahab whenever I can, to prepare his meals."
"Is that all?"
"Yes."

52
 Three

"Whose idea, yours or his?"

"Mine. And he wouldn't take my offer unless you
give your approval."
Mr. Anas looked momentarily at his daughter's por-
trait on the wall opposite, and pursed his lips. His face
was expressionless.
"Ifyou want to assist him, I stand by your decision,"
he answered, a faint shrewd smile on his lips.
Hussaina had never seen him respond with such a
lack of enthusiasm in her previous quests over Lahab.
Why?
Half an hourlater, she bade her father good night, a
depressed, wondering what was on his mind.
little

However, she was happy the next morning when Lahab

came as promised and her father expressed cheerful
approval over his daughter's intended assistance in his
kitchen.
€

53
 4

Hussaina had now left the Albert Luthuli Memorial

Nursing School and qualified as a staff nurse. She had
just turned nineteen and took up an appointment at the
Lusaka Hospital along Libya Street, not far from Lahab's
flat. She was very delighted to take up her first job as a

staff nurse, for it was a realisation of her fondest dream.

So also were her father and Lahab: her father, for having
lived to witness her daughter acquire some qualification
to enable her to stand on her own, and Lahab because
Hussaina's place of work was a bare five minutes' drive
from his residence.
Since Hussaina joined Lusaka, there was almost no
day she and Lahab didn't meet each other —
even when
she was off duty. Hussaina's father began to notice
some unusual affinity developing between the two. At
first he dismissed their increasing togetherness as being

the result of the proximity of Lahab's home to Lusaka

Hospital. But the mannerisms of both whenever they
were together convinced him that there was more to
their relationship than simply one wishing to assist the
other. Neither, however, thought that Anas suspected
the turn their relationship was taking.
Anas was convinced Lahab was falling in love
that
with his daughter. He did not wish to interfere in any
way. Lahab was a nice looking and good-natured young
man many a father would wish to have as a son-in-law.
His daughter, on the other hand, was becoming extraor-
dinarily warm to Lahab. He nonetheless resolved
neither to encourage nor discourage either party. He
 Four

knew that premature romantic adventures <:ould turn

sour for gullible innocent young girls like his daughter.
i

But he trusted in the intelligence of Hussaina to make

the right decision for herself, and Lahab' s seemingly
obvious sense of propriety not to take advantage of his
! daughter.
He did not want to be too protective of his daughter
by cautioning her that the romantic shuttle she was
boarding was a magnificent, unpredictable machine.
Perhaps, Lahab might come to know and get hurt,
disappointed of being mistrusted. He did not want that.
He did not want to spoil their relationship. After all, he
himself had had to take that romantic flight of fancies.
Everyone must pass through that stage in life. If then
his daughter must venture out, it were better to be with
a known pilot than an astronaut he did not know. Lahab
was already a family friend. But even with him, even
with the Lahab who had to bribe a police officer to. get
him out of double, he did not wish his daughter to go
too fast.

It was Saturday evening, and one of those rare ones

that Hussaina wasn't on duty in the Hospital. She had
now been working for three months. As was usual, Mr.
Anas had expected Lahab to come and take his daughter
to one of the theatres or cinema houses.
be going out tonight, Daddy!"
"I shan't
"Why not? Is Lahab out of town?"
"He isn't. Just want to be indoors."
He smiled and nodded in appreciation. He too
needed her company, yet had never complained about
Lahab taking her away from him. He had conceded to
the fact that eventually someone would have to take her
away from him. He had to learn to live with that reality.
"Daddy." She stopped, biting her finger nails, as if
unsure of what she was about to say. "I want to tell you
something."
He looked at her expectantly. "What is it?"

55
 Witnesses to Tears

"It's . . . about him."

"Him, who?"
"Lahab."
His thoughts ran quickly. He was afraid that what he
most suspected had happened. Heavens no! Not his
daughter. Lahab couldn't have got her pregnant surely!
"We are in love," she said calmly.
Good Lord. He felt a little relieved, yet still tensed up.
"Yes, I know," he said. "Is that all?"
"And and, we want to get married." She looked
. . .

up and caught his eyes. There was no smile on her face.

This was the first time she had ever been so tense and
morose in a conversation with her father. He knew she
was afraid he might say no.
He gave her a reassuring smile, then said, "Delight-
ful!" Then, immediately he added, "Are you kidding or
what?"
"I'm dead serious," she said with a smile of relief.
"Why so fast? You've known each other for only six
months."
"Yes I know. The six months seem like six years."
"Hmm! Come blind love!"
"Believe me Daddy, I know what I'm doing."
"Six months. That's not long enough to know a per-
son."
"It's long enough for me to know that we sincerely
love each other."
"For a life time?"
She did not reply. She was obviously disappointed by
her father's response. Disappointed, but not bitter. She
had expected her father to receive the news, though not
with uproarious applause, but at least not with scepti-
cism. She knew her father respected her judgements.
And most important of all, Lahab had been a good
friend of the family. She could not therefore understand
her father's posture.
"You don't approve of our marriage then?"

56
 Four

"I haven't said that, my dear/'

'Then what Daddy? I can't understand." She burst
out crying.
Her father was not prepared for this. The last thing he
would have wished was anything that would make his
daughter cry.
"C'mmon," he an attempt to cheer her up,
said, in
"don't be a baby. never said you shouldn't marry
I

Lahab nor am I even trying to discourage you. All I'm

trying to do is to get you to convince yourself that you
have been realistic and cautious enough about what
you're about to plunge yourself into. Have you given
the matter enough serious {nought and assessment?"
"For how long should that be, Daddy? What more
time do we require to be convinced that Lahab is a most
dependable person? He appears the ideal fellow I have
always dreamed for."
" 'He appears', you say. In marriage, you have to go
well beyond appearances." He paused. Hussaina was
still sobbing quietly. He looked at her, and in a rather

solemn voice continued, "Look, Mama." He rarely

called her by that name. He adored Hussaina, not only
because she was his first and only child, but she bore his
own mother's name, hence Mama. "Marriage as they
say, is a private affair. I won't go to live with Lahab
together with you. My concern is whether or not you
really know this man. Nothing is implied, please. You
see, your mother and I have common great-grand pa-
Yet I courted her for two long years. I know, to
rents.
you young people nowadays, courtship sounds as an-
cient as the great courts of the old empires of our
forefathers. True, it is a tradition even more
ancient, but
it is not a stupid tradition. And many a marriage that hit

the rocks in our society today might have had a longer

life span with a few more months of courtship. Mama,

I'm only concerned about you. I know once you're

married, you're gone. But you'll always be my little girl,

57
 Witnesses to Tears

till I take my last breath/'

Tears continued to flow down Hussaina's cheeks. Mr.
Anas knew when her daughter felt terribly hurt. He was
moved with sympathy. Rather naively, he had felt his
daughter would reason with him. But there he was,
feeling guilty, feeling mean to her; there he was, for
once denying his own most beloved one something she
so much cherished.
"Mama," he soothed, "if Lahab be your choice for a
husband, why, you'll have my fullest blessing. After all,
he is the sort of fine young gentleman any father would
want for a son-in-law/' He paused. Hussaina lifted her
eyes, looked at him and got up. She went to the dining
table, opened her hand-bag and took out a white hand-
kerchief. She wiped off her tears, and blew her nose.
She went back to where she sat before. Again, she
looked at her father without saying a word.
Mr. Anas knew she was now brightening up. The
balm was working. "I quite approve of Lahab." Again
he paused, a longer pause to let the point sink in and get
his daughter re-oriented to the fact that he meant well.
Then, he continued, "But I just want to caution you,
advise you. Candidly, there is no such thing as an ideal
husband. No man is perfect. However, certain imper-
fections are much more unacceptable than others. I saw
a trait in Lahab which made me a little uneasy. In
fairness to him, I don't have any further evidence to
suggest that it is a part of his character. What I observed
, perhaps may be a chance occurrence, one in a thousand.
And as a human being, he is perfectly entitled to such a
failing: it was by and large circumstantial. All the same,
it got me worried and I feel, when it comes to an

all-important relationship like marriage, one has to be

wary. I may be wrong, and sincerely hope I am. Re-
member my case with the police sergeant? A man who
would bribe a police officer, get him to clean off his
crime report, no matter the degree of fabrication, must

58
 Four

have something more up his sleeves.

"Why Dad?" interrupted Hussaina. "That's a harsh
judgment for such a harmless little blot for your sake
and my sake."
"Indeed," returned her father, "I know he did it for
me, for your sake. But to tell you the truth, I was
disappointed. To me, that says something about the
purity of his ethics and morals. Again, I hope I am
wrong. But when a man with a semblance of such dark
traits comes to take a beloved one like you, you don't
expect me to kiss him and sing 'halleluiah !"
7

"Of course not, Dad. But how realistic are your fears
in a country like ours? Such a small slip, and with
conscious good intention ..."
"There you are!" interrupted the father. "You have
fallen into the trap I feared you would: there is nothing
wrong, you think, because that type of behaviour per-
fectly fits into an accepted norm, and there is good
intention. That's the danger. Remember, an acceptance
of evil and acquiescence in it does not confer on it the
qualities of virtue, no matter how well clothed in an
aura of good intentions."
Hussaina remained silent and a little disturbed. She
had followed her father's logic, which she felt was still
unfair to Lahab. Anas immediately read the expression
on his daughter's face and knew she was not happy.
"I didn't like what he did," he continued smiling in a
bid to cheer up his daughter, "but I sure love whom he
did it for. I sincerely pray that we don't have to regret
anything ever afterwards."
Hussaina smiled. "I trust there will be no regrets."
She now understood her father, but did not share his
fears.
"Say by the Grace of God."
"By the Grace of God."
"And please cheer up! Don't be a moody doll. By the
way, what's the date you have chosen?"

59
 Witnesses to Tears

"Oh, Daddy." She was now grinning.

"Oh yes, I'm serious, what date have you fixed for the
commencement of your new life?"
She hesitated rather shyly, then said, "We were wait-
ing to inform you first and and to let you fix a date."
. . .

"Oh, me?"
She nodded, smiling.
"What an honour! Now, let me see. Would a hundred
weeks be too soon?"
"A hundred what?" She exclaimed, "that's almost
two years, Daddy."
"Too short, isn't it?" he jested.
"It's like eternity!"
"Yes, I know. When lovers part at sunset to meet the

next day, they always think the sun may never rise
again."
"Oh, Daddy."
"Yes, I know. Once upon a time, I was in the same
emotional state you're in now. Anyway, seriously
speaking, you may choose the date most convenient to
both of you. You have my full permission and support."
Smiling, she gave him a look that seemed to say 'a
thousand thanks'. He knew.
"Is Lahab coming here tomorrow?"
"No."
"Why not? Went for a weekend?"
"He's in town. He said ..." she hesitated, smiling," . . .

he said, he just couldn't come to face you just after the

declaration of our intention to you."

And just at this point, Anas wished most fervently
that Lahab had come. Somehow he wanted to ask him a
few questions: a few personal questions. Suddenly he
became aware of how surprisingly little he knew about
his prospective son-in-law. He suddenly felt a surge of
thirst for information about Lahab's family background
— his parents, where they lived, whether dead or alive,
what they do for a living, what manner of people they

60
 Four

were, where he was born, what he did before becoming

a teacher and so forth. An urge to ask his daughter
buoyed up in him, but he decided against it. He knew
Hussaina loved Lahab, and convinced himself that Hus-
saina must have found out the answers to all those
questions before plunging into the relationship with
him. To ask her might make her think he was, perhaps,
probing rather too suspiciously: a slight on her sense of
judgment. He had absolute confidence in his daughter's
sense of judgment —to a fault. Now, however, that
confidence had a tinge of doubt. But he decided to
suppress his suspicion and fears, whatever they were,
for he was himself not convinced that whatever answers
he would receive would prove anything.
"Yes, shy!" Anas managed to say. "I know, just as I
was myself. Sign of a complete gentleman." He gave a
smile, an attempt to sustain his daughter's faith in her
chosen life partner.
Hussaina confidence in her
marriage partner had now been restored by the only
person who mattered.
And as she went to bed that night, she felt as if she
were the happiest girl on earth.

Exactly four weeks after Mr. Anas gave his blessings

and go-ahead to the marriage, Lahab and Hussaina
were united in holy wedlock. It was a happy marriage.
Even Mr. Anas was full of delight and happiness. He
had become so close to Lahab that, for those who did
not know, one would have thought that his daughter's
husband was his own son. Lahab too was excited about
the marriage: he had had to wait rather impatiently for
it, and felt relieved that it finally took place after all.

61
 Witnesses to Tears

Hussaina was overwhelmed: first by the joy of being

married, and then by the sadness of having to move out
of her father's house, a home she had known for years
and no other. It was like moving out of oneself, a soul
leaving the body, as in death.
In the euphoric excitement of the wedding ceremony
and her expectant longing for the matrimonial bliss,
Hussaina never seriously thought about the moment of
her final separation from her father. She had convinced
herself that she was no longer Daddy's little kid. But as
she stepped out of their residence at the Futa Toro
Heights amidst the cheery and jubilant air created by
the bridesmaids, friends and well-wishers, to be taken
to Lahab' s house, Hussaina burst into tears. She cried
like she had never done before. At that moment, it
dawned on her that she was now Mrs. Hussaina Lahab.
It was as if she were walking out on her father. A sense

of guilt and some kind of betrayal overwhelmed her.

Oh, no. A man who laboured for nineteen years and
sacrificed everything for her didn't deserve desertion.
She felt like going back, and actually did put up an act of

attempting to retrace her steps to the only house she

had ever known. The bridesmaids restrained her. Some
of them laughed. She was only putting up a show, they
said, a pretence, lest she be accused of being slavishly in
love with Lahab. She, pretending? That hurt her even
more. She forgave them their crass jokes. They could
never understand. And nobody, it seemed to her,
could. Except her father.
"You can go and see your father anytime, any day,"
Lahab had told her before their wedding. It was one of
the concessions she had managed to extract from him to
ensure that Daddy was not abandoned. Yes, Lahab
cares, she said to herself. And as long as he cared . . .

no, no. Still, things could never be the same. Now she
would be letting Lahab know that she would want to go
and assist Daddy to cook. A swapping of positions, to

62
 Four

Daddy's disadvantage. She cried even more. The truth

was, she was leaving Daddy, abandoning him to suffer.
She blamed herself; perhaps, she had hurried into mar-
riage. And as she was ushered into the Peugeot 505 that
was to convey her to her husband's house, she felt like
dissolving into her own tears.
Thoughts of her father dominated her in the first
week of her stay in her new house: Mrs. Hussaina
Lahab's matrimonial life was thus commenced on a
melanchonic note. But not for long. By the third week
she began to regain her vitality and charm. Lahab him-
self played no small part in trying to see that his second
wife regained her former self. With a lot of kisses and
playful teasings that she was still a small baby girl who
could not outgrow Daddy's feeding bottle, Lahab got
his new wife to abandon her gloom about her father.
Mr. Anas too made the change smoother: in the fourth
week after the marriage, he left the city on vacation —
leaving Hussaina more room, as it were, to focus on,
and find happiness in, her new home.

Mr. Anas found his daughter's departure very hard to

bear. But unlike her, he did not cry in public: that, he
left for the four corners of his bedroom, where he shed

tears like a child. It became a nightly affair for him. It

began to tell on his health. And despite his outward
cheery appearances, he knew something was amiss; he
had to do something about it.
"Sir, I want to take my annual leave," Mr. Anas had
told his Permanent Secretary, three weeks after the
wedding of his daughter.
"Annual leave?" The Permanent Secretary was sur-
prised at the seriousness on Mr. Anas' face. "What says

63
 Witnesses to Tears

the leave roster?"

"I'm scheduled for May."
"But this is February."
"Yes I know, and that's why I have come to talk with
you over it."
The Permanent Secretary, a potly fellow in his late
forties turned in his chair, and asked, "Anything
wrong?"
"Nothing," returned Mr. Anas, looking his boss
need some rest. I must rest,
straight in the eye. "I just
Sir."
Again the Permanent Secretary asked, "Are you sure
there is nothing wrong?"

"Sir, it's private and confidential."

"Private and confidential," repeated the Permanent
Secretary to himself. And he shouldn't know? Perhaps.
We all have our little private and confidential matters,
he thought. He knew Mr. Anas had no wife, and so
wondered what the confidential matter was. Neverthe-
less, he also knew that since he was posted to the
Department of Finance and Budget Affairs, Mr. Anas
had never confronted him with any request with such
sternness. There must be something amiss, although he
felt he should mind his own business.

"Mr. Anas," said the boss, "I think I appreciate your

problem, but . ."He caught Mr. Anas' eyes, and knew
.

they could not take no for an answer; neither was he

prepared to court the anger of one his most trusted
officers. "While I really have no objection to your going
on leave before your scheduled time, I think you've
chosen a rather inappropriate time. You know, this is
the budget season, and the budget proposals screening
,

sessions are due to start by the end of the month. And

as the Secretary for Budget Affairs, you have to be
around. Remember, you're the Screening Committee's
Chairman."
"Yes, I know."

64
 Four

"You are indispensable to the success of the exer-

7
cise/
Yes, indispensable, Mr. Anas thought. Over the years
he had been told that. They always tell you that when
they don't want you to take your annual leave. For the
past four consecutive years he had had his leave post-
poned on the same grounds. He gave his boss a smile.
"Indispensable sir, that's a politician's word, not of a
civil servant."
The Permanent Secretary laughed. "Oh, really?"
"Yes sir. We're an institution. An individual may be
relevant, but not indispensable. Only the institution
itself is."

"Ok. You're very very relevant."

"The Under-Secretary is as relevant as I am. Quite
competent, sir. Last year he chaired the Committee's
deliberation for one'week while I was taken ill, remem-
ber?" He
looked very serious.
The last point did not quite convince the Permanent
Secretary. But from the sternness of his Secretary For
Budget Affairs, he knew if he didn't badly want to take
his annual leave, he wouldn't have come to his office so
early in the morning. For four years he had had his
leave cancelled, and he had never complained. This
time he looked very insistent. "All right Mr. Anas," he
said, "let me have your completed application-for-leave
form."
And the following week, Mr. Anas left for a six- week
vacation. Even Hussaina was happy that he was taking
some time off. "Daddy," she had told him while saying
farewell, "you deserve a long rest."
"Yes, you just wait, I'll soon have my longest rest

when I he quipped. But true, indeed, he was

retire,"
nearing retiring age: he had served in the public service
for twenty-eight years, and now was only three years
away from his retiring age. He had said he wanted to
cease being a bureaucrat at fifty-five.

65
 Witnesses to Tears

Mr. Anas made sure he planned his schedule for the

holidays carefully: foremost in his mind was that it
should not be too rigorous for a man of his age. In order
to see a bit of the countryside,he decided to make the
trip by road, driving himself. He was full of excitement
as he left Sabonville.
First he headed for the North East. Destination: Na-
tional Wild Life and Game Reserve, the nation's premier
holiday resort. He was once there before. About twenty
years ago. That was where he spent his honeymoon
with his late wife. Hussaina had requested him to take
her there on several occasions. He never did. Each time
he promised to take her during his leave, everything
was aborted by pressure of work. This time, however,
he was happy he had made it —
sadly, though, without
his daughter.
One thing fascinated him about the Game Reserve: it

reminded him of his childhood. It made him feel almost

nostalgic about his early days in the village, where his
father was born. He, Anas, had the misfortune of being
born in the town, his father used to tease him, so he had
him sent to the village, away from the evil influences of
the city life on children. Young Anas was placed under
the care of his grandfather. He loved grandpa, just as
the old man wouldn't let a fly touch his only grandchild.
Together they went to the farm, followed the honey-
buzzards in hunt for honey, singing praises of the
predatory birds, and game hunting. Surely, grandpa
would have laughed at the idea of a game reserve: a vast
kingdom of forbidden game, how crazy! He would
never understand, Mr. Anas often thought: the old man
lived in a different era.
Mr. Anas spent two weeks at the Game Reserve's
five-star hotel. He didn't have to worry so much about
the cost. The season's special offer by the National
Tourist Board ensured that he paid no more than a two
night's stay at the five-star Sheraton hotel in the nation's

66
 Four

capital. A good bargain.

Suddenly, he found he had to alter his plans. He had
intended heading straight to the Middle Belt from the
Reserve. He telephoned his friend, his host in the
Middle Belt, that he needed an extra week to visit three
capitals of the five North Eastern States. He had heard
so much about them. And when the one week visit
came to an end, he was glad he did change his plan.
Nothing to regret. Except of course his less than skin-
deep disappointment that contrary to all he had heard,
none of the towns were different from other emerging
towns in the country: bustling, badly planned and un-
healthy.
When Mr. Anas arrived at the Middle Belt city of
Alligator, it was already dusk; and the city displayed its

neon lights like stars, impressively bright, as if to say

that this was from those of the
a city in a'class far apart
North East. He drove Durbar Hotel, in
straight to the
the Central part of the city, where he had had a booking
made for him. He was hoping to meet Alhaji Aboki,
who was to be at the hotel to receive him. But his friend
was not around, and he resolved not to ask whether or
not anybody by his friend's name was around. First, he
would check into a room, and later phone Alhaji Aboki.
"What's your name, sir?" asked the lady attendant at
the Reception when Mr. Anas enquired about his room
reservation.
"Anas Al-Amin."
The lady went over to a type-writer-like computer,
punched a couple of keys, and returned to Mr. Anas:
"I'm sorry, sir; there is no reservation made for you."
He got annoyed. "But my booking was confirmed to
me as late as yesterday!"
"Yesterday?" asked the lady in a confused tone as she
went back to the computer.
"Yes, yesterday." Mr. Anas was losing his cool,
though he forced a wan smile.

67
 Witnesses to Tears

The lady returned. "Well, sorry sir, but you're not on

our list."

He looked at her intently. He wanted to vent his

spleen on her. But she looked innocent, very innocent
of the misdeed he wanted to accuse her of. Inefficiency.
Mr. Anas hated inefficiency in the private or non-
governmental sector. This sector should be very effi-
cient,he said to himself, and not be like the govern-
ment, which was so riddled with entangling bureaucracy.
He really didn't know what to do. "Very sad," he
managed to say.
The receptionist looked at him, more sympathetic
than before. She opened her mouth as if to say she
wished she could help, then closed it without a word.
Such words of comfort only hurt, she thought. There
was little point in so doing. Then, she asked, "Who
made the reservation, yourself or someone else?"
"It's someone."
"Who?"
"A friend, an Alhaji Aboki."
"Oh," she exclaimed, "wait a minute." She quickly
pulled a drawer, then as hurriedly pushed it back; she
pulled another drawer, and picked a piece of folded
paper. She looked at it as if to be sure rather like a
scientist, that the label on the jar was not on the wrong
bottle; the jar was the one which contained a newly
discovered cure for a hopeless disease. It was a note for
Mr. Anas from Aboki. "It's for you, sir," she said.
He opened the note, anxious, though trying to main-
tain some. calm.
"Now who wins?" asked the note. It went on, "You
insisted on being booked into a hotel. Now that it is
fully booked, what will you do? Please don't try to go to
any other hotel. You'll find that they, too, are fully
booked. Except one . and that's my secret. Just wait
. .

for me in the hotel lounge and I'll soon be with you."

Signed Aboki.

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 Four

So it was planned, he thought. He nodded his

all

head and smiled to the receptionist. Aboki!

in disbelief,
Still his old self. As amiable as ever. And as he walked

to the lounge, Mr. Anas thought of his past with his

friend.
He first met Aboki at the Queen City University when
they were both undergraduates. That was some thirty
years ago. While he, Anas, read Political Science and
Public Administration, Aboki studied Business Admi-
nistration. Aboki had tried to convince him to join the
private sector. He had refused. With a degree in Public
Administration, he felt that the private sector was the
last suitable place for him.
"Private sector, too, is about administration/' Aboki
once told him jokingly before their graduation, "effi-
cient administration, devoid of bureaucratic red-ta-
pism."
"In public administration, you must have red-
tapism," returned Anas.
"Must have? Why must?"
"Public administration deals with safeguards; safe-
guards for individuals against the narrow-mindedness
of others, for the overall good of the society. And one
man's safeguard is another man's red-tape."
"Then there are too many safeguards in the public
service."
"Necessarily, yes."
"And each
safeguard tends to assume a personality of
its own. Requiring its own safeguard —
safeguard for a
safeguard. It's all too messy; very retrogressive. That's
my problem with the civil service. Anyway, what do
you think the private sector deals with? Stone? They too
deal with people, without being messy."
Anas could not convince Aboki, and he had ever since
been in the private sector. He had moved from bank to
bank over the years, and now he was the General
Manager, in charge of investments, of the largest and

69
 Witnesses to Tears

most successful fully-owned indigenous commercial

bank in the country. Anas knew, when they went their
different ways in their chosen vocations, that Aboki
would make it to the top: he was intelligent and full of
drive.
He looked at his watch for the seventh time. He had
waited for fifteen minutes. Yet his friend had not ap-
peared. He grew slightly impatient. He wondered what
Aboki might be up to next. Any more of his surprises?
Mr. Anas did not like dealing with uncertainty. He
would wait for another five minutes. And if Aboki
didn't appear, he would phone . . .

'Thinking of a possible next hotel?" a voice asked as

he was tapped on his left shoulder; a craggy voice, like
of someone recovering from a bout of fever or cold.
Anas turned.
"Aboki!" he exclaimed with a sense of relief. "What
makes your voice so croaky?"
"Boardroom arguments," replied Aboki. They both
laughed. Mr. Anas stood up, and they shook hands as if
they had not seen each other for half a century. "You're
welcome," said Aboki as they "embraced.
Mr. Anas looked at his friend studiously and teased,
"You're aging faster than I thought you would." He
observed Aboki's beard, now almost all gray.
"That's what private sector does to you. Too many
problems, too much pressure. It's a jungle out there.
And contrary to what you civil servants think, it's a
tough place to survive. Those who successfully survive,
They age
don't live long. —
very fast."
They laughed and proceeded to leave Durbar Hotel.
Mr. Anas did not think to ask where they were heading.
The host led the way, and he drove behind closely.
After about five minutes, they arrived at a fenced two-
storey complex. The sign-board in front of the iron-gate
to the building told Mr. Anas that it was a guest house
for the top management of Aboki's bank.

70
 Four

"Do me the honour/' began Aboki as they emerged

from their cars," of being my first guest to be accommo-
dated since this complex was opened."
"Oh, c'mmon," returned Mr. Anas light-heartedly,
"stop kidding."
"I'm serious. The building's barely two weeks old in
service. You are my first guest, by God."
"I'm highly honoured," said Mr. Anas feeling ge-
nuinely flattered.
"Al," Aboki now put on a little air of sobriety, "I'm
sorry for cancelling your hotel reservation without let-
ting you know. But, to be in town, and for a friend like
you to stay in a hotel," he shook his head, "I can't live
with that."
Mr. Anas looked at him. His best friend. 'AY he had
just called him. The only*person that called him that, he
thought. A living testimony of their intimacy. 'AT, Al-
Amin for short. Thus Aboki had chosen to call him since
their undergraduate days. It was his privilege. Inside,
Mr. Anas glowed with happiness. "A-B," he said for —
thus, he too used to call him, his own special privilege,
"I, too, am sorry for having insisted on being booked

into a hotel. It's unfair on a friend like you."

Like adults of thirty, they held each other's hands and
entered the sitting-room, both obviously happy.
Alhaji Aboki did not allow his friend to admire the
luxurious furnishing of the sitting-room, the video, tele-
vision set, sound systems — all neatly and beautifully
arranged. Mr. Anas only had a passing glimpse. There
was little time to waste, Aboki told his friend. He needed
to show Mr. Anas his room to enable him to go
back to his house. He would return later. By that time
he hoped his guest would have had his bath. Together,
they would go for dinner with his family.
A special dinner it turned out to be. All Aboki' s five
kids, except the first born who was away at a boarding
secondary school, were there. Mr. Anas was over-

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 Witnesses to Tears

whelmed. Very happy. Every thing about the dinner

was more grand than a previous similar dinner given
him by Aboki. That was some twenty years ago. As a
bridegroom, he had come to see his best friend en route
to his honeymoon. At that time, it was dinner for a
newly-wed couple; this time for an old bachelor who
had just given his only daughter's hand in marriage.
"It's a pity I couldn't attend Little Mama's wedding."
Aboki always referred to Hussaina as Little Mama, in
deference to Mr. Anas' mother.
"Oh, A-B", said Mr. Anas. "You don't have to worry
about that. Thanks for the wedding presents you sent.
We all felt your presence. Only Mama felt a little sad
that you weren't around to be introduced to her hus-
band."
"Tell her not worry. I'll visit them soon. How are they
getting on?"
"A most happy bunch when I left them. But it's too
early to assess the marriage itself. It's still rainy season:
the flowers are still blooming."
"Well, everything will be all right. I have faith in Little
Mama's sense of good judgement. You need have no
fears."
"I have already left everything in the great Hands of
God," said Mr. Anas solemnly. "I'm beginning to think
I may have prejudged the young man rather unfairly. I

sincerely pray my fears are proved wrong."

Mr. Anas left Alligator City the following morning,
full of spirits. He enjoyed his stay with A-B. He had

almost allowed himself to be persuaded to spend two

extra days, but resisted the temptation.
As he sped away and his rear-view mirror pictured
Alligator City disappearing behind him in the horizon,
Mr. Anas' mind began to focus on his next stop, Nuclear
City, some one hundred kilometres from Sabonville.
There he would visit an uncle some five years older than
himself. He mused upon the name Nuclear City. A

72
 Four

shanty town of just about ten thousand people could

not be called a city, he reflected. And nuclear? Well, the
nation's first nuclear power station was located some
ten kilometres from the rapidly expanding shanty town.
Anyway, he liked the name. It was scientific, and
sounded both intriguing and awesome, rather like nu-
clear armament and disarmament.
He was now speeding at one hundred and ten kilo-
metres per hour. The road assurance sign had just told
him that Nuclear City was only eighty kilometres away.
He looked at his watch. It was twelve- thirty p.m. He felt
satisfied with his schedule. He would arrive at the City
in good time for the two o'clock Jummu'at Friday pray-
ers. After the prayers, he would then . . .

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted. A petrol-

tanker had appeared oufr of the blue, heading straight
for him. It was a horse-shoe type of bend, with heavy
vegetation blocking one's view of the distance. The
tanker-driver had obviously taken a risk in overtaking a
heavy-duty truck at that point. Mr. Anas was off guard.
He thought of going off the road to the shoulder. But it
was rather too narrow, and dropped sharply. A mistake
could send one rolling down to a rocky valley below. He
decided to go on, hoping that he would be able to stop
or minimise the impact of a head on collision. He pa-
nicked. Accidentally he pressed on the accelerator in-
stead of the brake . . .

The tanker driver also apparently panicked. He lost

control. With a couple of zig-zags, the entire petrol load
was thrown to the ground, and the overturned vehicle
lay across the road, its tyres facing the direction from
whence they came. With full speed, Mr. Anas rammed
into the tanker! He could not come out of his car. In fact,
he did not try to. He could not. He was unconscious,
and held secured to his seat by the seat-belt.
The truck driver stopped some metres away from the
scene of the accident. He ran out quickly in an effort to

73
 Witnesses to Tears

see whether he could get someone out of the wreck. He

had hardly ran twenty metres when suddenly . . .

boom! The petrol tanker exploded and burst into flames.

He took cover. Seeing that with the explosion he was no
longer in serious danger, he ran back to his vehicle and
took out his fire extinguisher. Perhaps perhaps the
. . .

man in the car couldbe reached, perhaps he could be

saved. But by the time he reached the place where he
was forced to take cover, the flames had engulfed Mr.
Anas' car. A veritable inferno!
By this time some other motorists had pulled up. As
the flames raged, they knew there was virtually nothing
they could do. When the fire brigade and the police
rescue team finally arrived from Nuclear City about one
and a half hours later, Mr. Anas' car was almost all
ashes. And him along with it.

Before her marriage, Hussaina had been an avid

newspaper reader. She read most newspapers before
breakfast. Lately, however, she felt contented reading
them after supper, and only the lead stories on the front
and back pages. So she did not read the morning papers
on the day following her father's death until after sup-
per.
"How sad," she had remarked when her husband
drew her attention to the picture on the
page of the
front
Sabonville City Enquirer, snowing the burnt-out carcases
of the vehicles where her father had disappeared, "that
a person should die without trace, unknown to the
family." The brief report under the photograph
tragic
only said that the identities of the persons consumed by
the fire were yet to be established.
Two days after the inferno accident, Hussaina was yet
74
 Four

toknow that she had lost her father. The City Enquirer
now carried the full story about the accident on its back
page, having relied on eyewitness accounts. But still,
there was no information on the identity of the victims.
Day three. The City Enquirer carried a Police an-
nouncement giving two vehicle registration numbers
and requesting either relatives or friends of the appro-
priate car-owners to call at the Nuclear City Police Sta-
tion.The announcement did not link the numbers to the
accident. Lahab saw the announcement at about ten
o'clock in the morning when he was going through the
day's newspapers in the Staff Room at the Cabral High
School. It was his lecture-free period. At first he didn't
notice the number. When he did, he wasn't sure
whether the second number belonged to his father-in-
law. He wanted to telephone Hussaina to confirm. Then
suddenly he checked himself. His heart jumped and
beat harder. He sensed ominous news in the air.
Though obviously not imagining it to be so terrible, he
did not want his wife worrying to death. Suddenly he
became convinced that the second number he saw be-
longed to Mr. Anas.
He hurried out of the Staff Room for the Principal's
Office to seek permission to leave for Nuclear City
immediately. Permission was granted, the Principal
being understanding. Lahab requested his boss' permis-
sion to use his telephone to inform his wife that he
might not return home on time as usual.
"Anything wrong?" she had asked.
"I'll be leaving now for Nuclear City," he said rather

hesitantly, afraid that he might arouse her curiosity,

which might lead to her finding out why he was going
there.
"Official?"
"Ahm . again he hesitated. He wanted to tell a
. .,"

lie by replying
in the affirmative. But there was the
Principal looking at him. "Not official."

75
 Witnesses to Tears

''You sound nervous; where are you speaking from?"

"The office of the Principal,"
"Is he there?"
"Yes."
"No wonder," she said, sounding relaxed. She con-
tinued, "Are you now
his errand boy?" She laughed.
Lahab forced a laugh. For one thing, he felt relieved
that the conversation had taken that turn. "Not yet," he
replied.
"Okay, I had better let you go. Safe journey. And
please take care — no speeding. I don't want you in
unidentifiable ashes."
"Bye," he said, and immediately took leave of the
Principal.
The journey took Lahab about forty minutes.
Throughout he wondered with mounting anxiety what
could have happened to Mr. Anas. Why had the Police
announcement asked for the relatives or friends, and
not the car owner himself, to make contact? He con-
cluded that his father-in-law must have been placed in a
condition in which he was of no use to the Police; in an
unresponsive situation. Perhaps accident. A ghastly
accident in which, perhaps, he lay critically ill in the
hospital? Perhaps. Perhaps he was d Lahab dis-
. . .

missed the thought. No. Not so soon after his marriage.

He was taken before an Assistant Superintendent of
Police, ayoung man about his own age, but made to
seem older by his moustache. He showed Lahab to a
seat, with a show of sympathy that Police Officers
weren't known for in their offices. At that point, Lahab
acknowledged with a sense of dismay that he was in for
some bad news, some very bad news.
The Police Officer, after the formal introductions,
cleared his throat, as one unsure how to begin a tale of
personal tragedy, then asked, "Are you a relative?"
"Yes," returned Lahab, "kind of. An in-law."

76
 Four

The ASP hesitated moment, trying to figure out

for a
within himself how
break the bad news. "I'm sorry,"
to
he managed to say, "your father-in-law died in the
accident."
At last! What he had feared had now been confirmed.
Oddly Lahab didn't feel any shock at the disclosure. It
seemed like just another bad news, an ordinary bad
news. Perhaps because he had anticipated the outcome,
that element of surprise so vital for the creation of a
shock reaction had been removed. He simply closed his
eyes and bowed head into his right hand. And for
his
some moments, he remained mum. His own emotional
calmness somehow perturbed him. Wouldn't the ASP
think him morally insensitive? He felt like shedding a
few tears, but lacked the inner turbulence necessary for
generating them. But must he put up a show of sym-
pathy in front of the ASP? And was he not a man, who
should never allow emotions of distress to overwhelm
him? He did not have to put up any play-acting, he
convinced himself. His father-in-law was dead, burnt to
ashes without a trace. That was that. He felt sorry about
it. And sad. But he wasn't going to holler his sorrow all

over the place. He just wasn't in the mood for that.

"Mr. ASP," he said, his voice a low monotone,
"thank you very much." He got up and extended his
hand to the Police Officer. "I must go now," he added.
'Just a minute, Mr. Lahab," said the ASP in a sym-
pathetic voice, "we have something for you." Almost
simultaneously, he pressed a switch just behind his chair.
A constable appeared, and was ordered to the Storage
Room to bring an item with a code-name incomprehen-
sible to Lahab, but dated the day of his father-in-law's
fatal accident.
A minute later, the constable returned with a small,
black casket. The ASP rose to receive it with a reverence
Lahab did not understand.

77
 Witnesses to Tears

"Mr. Lahab," said the ASP as he tried to hand over

the box to him, "this contains what we believe to be the
remains of your ..." He trailed off. The frozen look on
Lahab's face made the words too heavy to utter.
As Lahab received the casket, the two men looked
silently at each other. Lahab then made towards the
door, and the ASP moved to open the door for him.
"May God grant his soul eternal rest," the ASP man-
aged to say as Lahab left his office.
"Amen," returned Lahab with a sombre tone.
Yes, amen! Lahab said to himself as he began to drive
home. Amen, he said repeatedly with a kind of inner
satisfaction of one who had achieved the ultimate vic-
tory over an obstacle that posed the biggest threat to the
achievement of his life's ambition. Satisfied with the
finality of his father-in-law's exit. Secretly, Lahab had
always wished his wife's father dead. This had been his
most well-guarded secret ... if only Mr. Anas could
just disappear. He had never felt comfortable in his
presence. Somehow, Anas' shadow had always tor-
mented his moral conscience. The man was too upright.
Morally Mr. Anas dwarfed him, always unsettled him,
and held his true spirits in servitude, in chains. This he
had loathed. Now that his moral tormentor was dead,
he felt unbound. Freedom at last; he felt like yelling. But
not yet. For Hussaina's sake, his innermost ecstasy
must be cocooned by an outward show of grief. Just for
her sake. For he genuinely loved her. At least he must
do her the honour of sharing her loss.

Hussaina lay on her bed and looked fixedly at the

revolving ceiling fan above her head, as if counting the

number of the revolution of the blades. She looked very

78
 Four

pale and herlips were quite dry. She appeared oblivious

of her husband, who had been sitting at her bedside for
over half an hour. She did not appear to be aware even
of the entry of the nursing sister in charge of the Female
Ward of the Special Care Unit. Her gaze remained at the
fan.
"The doctor will soon be here," the nursing sister told
Mr. Lahab, who forced a smile of thanks.
Lahab looked at his wife. There was apparently no-
thing too alarming about her condition, but he noticed a
deteriorating change in her that caused him some anxi-
ety. He had pressurised the nursing sister to call the
doctor.
Not two minutes after the nursing sister's entry,
quite
the doctor came in, an ebony-black lady in her mid-
forties. Against the background of her complexion,
whenever she smiled or opened her mouth to speak,
her beautiful set of white teeth gave an added lustre.
She acknowledged Mr. Lahab with a courteous bow and
smile, and made straight for Hussaina.
"Good afternoon, doctor," returned Lahab rather .

absent-mindedly, his eyes fixed on his wife.

"Afternoon, Ma'am," the doctor said to Hussaina as
she held her right hand and adjusted her stethoscope.
Almost immediately, she turned to Lahab and said,
"Mr. Lahab, ahm, you may have to excuse us for some
couple of minutes."
He rose from his chair. Slowly Hussaina turned her
head, looked at him, and gave him a faint smile. A
forced smile, Lahab knew; and as he moved towards the
door, his heart-beat increased.
There was something in Hussaina' s look, Lahab
thought, that was a harbinger of he-knew-not-what.
Reassurance, yes. But that was only a front, a coat paint
to shield an ugly sight from concerned eyes. It unsettled
him. He feared something was amiss or would be.
Hussaina knew, he thought, but did not want him to

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 Witnesses to Tears

know. Well, whatever it was, he felt the doctor would

soon determine, and then he would know. The full
facts. Facts? Perhaps. These doctors never want to let
one know the full facts; they only let you know some of
the facts. At best, they let you know a summary of their
appraisal of a patient's situation; and often, in such
generalised forms.
"Your wife will be all right." That is what the doctor
had always told him. Five times. And she always had
been all right. Five times he had brought her to the
Lusaka General Hospital ever since her father died. Five
times she had returned home. More or less one week at
home, one week at the hospital. But never regaining her
former self. Hussaina had been reduced to rubble by the
shock of her father's death.
When, upon his return from the Nuclear City, he had
broken the news, the only words she uttered were
"What! Oh my God!" Her eyes had rolled and she
collapsed on the floor, from where she was brought to
hospital.
On that first occasion, she was confined to the hospi-
tal for nine days.
"She'll be all right," the doctor had told him then;
"it's the shock of the news. But she must remain here,

away from home environment which would contain

those things that would remind her of her late father.
She must remain here to recover."
And she recovered, only as a shell of her former self.
Not quite one week after her first discharge, she had
cried herself out and succumbed to grief. She returned
to the hospital in a state of unconsciousness. It was a

cycle that had been repeated thrice. Her husband had

been doing the utmost he could to comfort her. Give her
support and hope. Dad's death, he often told her, was
not the end of life. She had her own life to live. Her kind
of mournful grief was going to do incalculable damage
to her health. But he was never convinced she heard

80
 Four

him. She had often stared at him without a word,

subsequently bursting into spasms of sobs. Very, very
unnerving. He was getting worried, affected by it all.
"She'll be all right/' And indeed she began to change
in her style of grief, though he wasn't sure whether it
was a conscious change or just another phase of
mourning. In her last discharge, she cried less and
spoke more. But still, most of the time she would sit
staring into nothingness. Lahab's concern now was that
he hoped the loss of her father would not affect her
mentally . . .

"Mr Lahab." It was the doctor who interrupted his

thoughts. "May I have a word with you please."
He moved towards the entrance door to the Female
Ward from where the doctor emerged, and the two
began to move along the ward's corridor.
"Your wife will be all right." Just as usual, Lahab
thought. "But," continued the doctor, "she needs quite
a lot of rest. I'm afraid you may have to go home. We
want to keep visitors away from her for now. We are
putting her to sleep." She stopped, turned and looked
Lahab straight in the eyes, and said, "I'm sorry, your
wife's case is that of threatened abortion."
Lahab's face contorted. Momentarily he froze stiff.
Hussaina had now been fifteen weeks pregnant. Lahab
had revelled in the confident hope that she wouldn't
abort at this stage. Didn't she survive the first shock of
the news of her father's death? That was when he had
feared she would give up that which she had an-
nounced with loving elation, that which she was carry-
ing for him in her womb. She had survived. And he had
come to believe that she would continue to survive . . .

Until now.
"Threatened abortion?" he managed to say as he
an utterance of
collected himself, less a question thart
hurtful surprise.
"Yes," returned the doctor, "but we will do our best
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 Witnesses to Tears

for her . and don't worry. She will be all right."

. .

She will be all right, Lahab repeated to himself as he

drove home. There was a hollowness in the doctor's
assurance which confirmed something ominous in his
wife's look as he left her in the care of the doctor and the
nursing sister. Something will definitely go wrong, he
thought to himself. But, oh God ... He shook his head
as he tried to banish some of the awful suggestions from
his mind.
It was in the small hours the following morning when

his telephone rang. It wasn't quite dawn. He woke up

with a start. He rarely received phone calls at such
hours. Very unusual.
"Is that Mr. Lahab?" came a female voice.
"Yes." His voice was more or less croaky.
"Sorry to disturb you at this hour. This is Lusaka
Hospital. You are wanted urgently at the Special Care
Unit of the Female Ward. ..."
Lahab quickly dropped the phone even before the
message came to an end. He jumped out of bed and
made straight for the toilet. His stomach emitted some
noise. He prayed his worst fears had not come to pass.
Within five minutes, he had washed his face, dressed
up and was on his way to the hospital.
You are wanted urgently ... he kept on repeating to
himself as he drove at top speed through, the empty
streets. Why urgently? Why? . . . Why?
"Mr. Lahab?" it was the staff nurse on duty, with a
smile, when he arrived at the Ward.
"Yes," returned Lahab. He was in a tense state of
anxiety. The nurse's smile only served to infuriate him.
These nurses and their smiles! They always smile at you
— even when they know that you are going to die the
next minute. They encourage you to die, it seems, just
as the therapeutic values of smiles are supposed to keep
you alive. Nonsense!
"This way please," said the nurse rather needlessly,

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 Four

as Lahab had already started moving towards the direc-

tion of his wife's bed. She looked at Lahab, saw the
anxiety on his face, and added, "it's a pity, your wife
had a miscarriage last night. The doctor had advised
that she should not be disturbed till this morning. But
your wife has been insistent on seeing vou. And I had to
7
oblige/
As the two reached Hussaina's cubicle, the nurse
withdrew. Lahab s anxiety now was considerably re-
7

duced. Thank goodness, she is alive, albeit as pale as

ever. She gave her husband a smile. A hearty smile, the
kind of which he hadn't seen for quite some time. He
tried to return her smile.
"Hussaina," Lahab said with a mixture of relief and
concern. *

She retained her smile and, with a feeble sign, beck-

oned him nearer. He did. He held her hand and kissed
her on the forehead.
"Hussaina."
'Til be all right," she said. It was almost a whisper.
She paused, then added, "the doctor said I'M be all
right."
They always say that, he said to himself. But he
noticed some kind of reassuring confidence in his wife's
face and voice.
"By the Grace of God, I'll be all right," she added.
For once Lahab, too, felt convinced that Hussaina
would soon recover — physically. But emotionally? To
lose a father, then a possible offspring, one after the
other . . . well, he would continue to be her comforter,
and boost her confidence.
"Yes," Lahab said, trying to smile, "by the Grace of
God, you will soon recover."
Some ten minutes later, the nurse returned to politely
request Lahab to leave, saying he would be contacted
later in the day. Hussaina was likely to be discharged
that day.

83
 5

Late Anas Al-Amin, quite unknown to himself up to

the time he made his infernal exit from this life,had
carved a quiet but high reputation for himself as an
honest and dedicated officer. Lahab, of course, knew
that his father-in-law was a respected man. But the
number of condolence messages both he and his wife
received by far surpassed what he had expected: letters,
telephone calls, personal visits from Anas' old class-
mates, office cronies, top government officials, tradi-
tional rulers from within and outside Songhai. It
appeared that even some personalities who hadn't met
him, but had heard of him, sent their condolences.
Among the average government officers, Mr. Anas rep-
resented one of the remaining models of rectitude,
dedication and those values that had not been tainted
by the perverse pervasive pursuit of wealth. Anas,
though not yet at the top of the ladder, was a hope. But
he resolved to make it there; and whenever he did, he
would be a testimony that a man could still remain a
man; not ounces of gold.
Anas, in death, had a much wider circle of esteem
than that drawn for him by Lahab when he lived; and
the esteem rubbed off more on his son-in-law than it did
on his daughter. Within months of his father-in-law's
death, Lahab had been changed from an ordinary
teacher at Cabral High School to its acting Vice-
Principal. By qualification and experience, he did not
deserve the post. But he was opportuned to stand out
above the more deserving teachers when the incumbent

84
 Five

went on a six-month overseas course.

The Principal had forwarded the names of three can-
didates to the Ministry of Education Headquarters —
two senior tutors and Lahab, whose name was recom-
mended on the grounds of 'hardwork and honesty'. The
Principal was just less than honest. It was a camouflage
for the sympathy for Anas. The Principal's uncle had
been a classmate of Anas. No matter. At the Headquar-
ters, the Director of Education (post Primary) who was
in charge of such matters had little difficulty in recom-
mending Lahab, in preference to the other two. How
else does one help a dead colleague, an old school-
mate?
"I hope the young man lives up to our expectations of
him," said the Permanent Secretary as he discussed
with the Director his approval for the Cabral High's
number two man.
"I'm confident he will," returned the Director. "Any-
one with that man's type of potential would do ex-
tremely well. Let's just give him a chance, sir."
And so it became signed and sealed. Lahab became
the acting Vice-Principal of Cabral High. 'A VP' his col-
leagues began to call him.
Lahab knew the challenges ahead of him. The Direc-
tor of Education did not hesitate to let him know he had
had to throw his weight behind him, on account of the
lateAnas, so as to give him the job.
"So, don't let me down," the Director told him.
Lahab did not wish to let him down. And more
importantly, he did not want to let himself down. Why
should he? He had his own plans. His whole future
depended on it. He knew he was hard-working. First,
however, he must prove to his defeated colleagues in
the race that his competence earned him his new post,
not connections. He vowed to put in his best. Let the
Director down? No. How could he? A good perform-
ance in his acting capacity was a sure step towards a

85
 Witnesses to Tears

confirmation as a substantive holder of the post. Per-

haps not in the same school. Needn't be in the same
school. A Vice-Principal. Just one step to the principal-
ship!
"I'll do my best, sir," he had answered the Director
with self-confidence.
"Let's hope," the Director had returned with some
jest, "that your best meets up with my boss' expecta-
tion."
As turned out, Lahab's best was good enough. The
it

Principal was very satisfied with his performance. He

reflected this in his monthly report to the Headquarters.
Even those who had begrudged him his new position
within the teachers' rank had to concede that he was
more adept than the incumbent. Very quickly he had
carved an image for himself.
Lahab, too, was quite happy with himself. So was
Hussaina, who, although still grief-stricken over her
father's passing, had tried to look normal, having re-
posed her faith in Allah who Gives and Takes away,
taking solace in the knowledge that her father had lived
an examplary, upright life. In a way, Lahab inwardly
felt indebted to his father-in-law's uprightness. He had

secretly despised him for that very trait when he lived,

and actually nursed an inner satisfaction when he died.
But now he felt a sense of gratitude to that same trait in
the man. He was now its beneficiary. His old fear and
loathing for him began melting away. Dead men have
no shadows. He was no longer around to see and
question his propriety. Or his bottled up impropriety,
so encased away from the sight of other men. It ap-
peared that only his father-in-law could see through
him. He had morally x-rayed him, laid bare his deformi-
ties. That was why he feared and loathed the man more

than any other person. He stood in his way, in the path

to the realisation of his life's dream. Now that he was
dead, he harboured no more hard feelings.

86
 Five

Yes, Lahab liked Anas more in death than when he

was a living mortal. It was convenient for him to do so.

Nothing could suit his plans more, he thought. He

would use his name. The reputation his in-law had built
must be used to enhance the realisation of his plans.
Dead men don't raise eyebrows; they can't complain or
protest but the daughter must be kept completely in
. . .

the dark. He still loved her. But his plans, the tactics,
would definitely meet with her disapproval, a strong
disavowal, and perhaps a repudiation of their marriage.
A living Anas might want him crucified.
It was nowthe beginning of the third term of the
academic year at Cabral High. And the first week prom-
ised to be a very busy one for Lahab. He had various
schedules to prepare: duty-roster for the teachers and
prefects, time-table of the school's lessons, and collec-
tion of students' fees for the term. All tedious jobs. He
was progressing quite satisfactorily in all of them, ex-
cept that the payment of fees by the students was taking
the entire span of his official working hours. The school
was over two thousand strong; and the students kept
trooping into his office to pay in their fees. They had
been given only a week to make the payments or they
would be sent back home. He had to work very hard —
and carefully too: to receive each student's money,
count it and issue a stamped and signed receipt. He had
to be meticulous. Money matters had to be handled that
way.
By the third day, he had collected about one hundred
and eighty thousand naira, carefully locked in his office
safe. According to his estimation, well over three-
quarters of the student population had paid in their
dues. At the end of the day, he would carry the collec-
tions to the bank.
One-thirty. He still had not been able to go to the
bank. Banks closed for business at two. Well, he would
make it the following morning. Very early in the morn-
87
 Witnesses to Tears

ing. Meanwhile, students kept on paying in their dues,

even though the influx had dropped tremendously.
Lahab was convinced that most of them had now paid
in. A few kept on trickling in at irregular intervals
though. Sometimes there would be nobody to pay in for
ten minutes. Sometimes five. He felt some kind of relief.
Two-fifteen. The school had now closed. He too
would leave for his house in about twenty-five minutes.
But first, he would go to the toilet. Since morning, he
hadn't left his desk. He would stretch his legs. Relieve
himself.
Lahab opened his safe, looked at the piles of naira
notes and smiled to himself. He believed he had done a
good job. There must be over two hundred and twenty
thousand naira in there! Lahab had never been so close
to so much raw cash. Never handled anything more
than six thousand naira — and when he last did, it was a
cheque issued to him, a loan by his bank to purchase his
car. He swallowed hard. Like powerful flood-waters,
temptation began to overwhelm him. Quickly he
hatched a plan.
He closed the safe and went into the toilet. His plan
must change. To raise an alarm that someone had en-
tered his office while he was in the toilet, while his
messenger was still sitting in front of the office, outside?
Incredibly dumb. He scorned the crudity of his own
imagination. Suddenly, like some bolt from the sky, a
new idea struck him! Hurriedly he came out of the
toilet, and pressed the bell on his table. His messenger

came in.
"Ahm, you may go home now," Lahab told him.
"Now?" returned the messenger.
"Yes. You're free for the day."
"But I would like to clean up the office before I leave.
Aren't you leaving now?"
"No. I intend staying till about four."
"I can wait, sir."

88
 Five

"No!" Lahab forced a smile, though visibly getting

irritated. "Just go. I may reach six. Do your sweeping
and cleaning tomorrow morning."
"Okay sir," said the messenger, and slightly shrugged
his shoulders.
Lahab had made the move
in the plan. As he sat
first

there listening to the recedingsound from the motor-

cycle of his departed messenger he told himself that the
plan was working well. But the next moves must be
made fast. Quickly he stapled the day's edition of the
City Enquirer into a paper bag, and opened the safe. He
rolled about a score and a half bundles of the notes into
the improvised bag, and as quickly stapled the open end
of the paper bag and flattened it into his brief case. He
then left the safe ajar and the key with it.
With a quickened pace, though with an aura of self-
confidence, his brief case in one hand, and the day's
papers in the other, he left his office and securely locked
the door behind him.

Hussaina made a remarkable recovery after her final

discharge from hospital. Equally, she mustered surpris-
ing strength in overcoming the shell of gloom that she
had fallen into as a result of her father's death. Daddy
still remained ever dear. But somehow she summoned
the courage to face the fact that she now had to live
without him. It wasn't easy. However, once she started,
a powerful momentum seem to carry her through. Her
husband, a great comforter, was a major consoling
factor.
"We all must die," Lahab told her one day, "it's
Allah's Decree."
"So suddenly, . . . tragically?" Hussaina had replied.
89
 Witnesses to Tears

"That's what makes death a unique phenomenon. An

every-day occurrence, yet so very unpredictable."
"Oh my God, forgive me, but I don't think Daddy
deserved the way he died."
"That's why he died. In matters of death, there are no
choices. And no intercessions. With all those condo-
lence messages, you should know that were interces-
sion possible, your Dad would have lived much longer.
And would have had a colourful death."
"Poor man. Leaving nobody."
"Oh c'mmon. Don't say that. He had you. It's like
leaving a thousand offsprings. And I'm sure in his
grave, he would be proud that he left a single individual
like you instead of a string of wayward progeny."
"Proud, you say?"
"Yes, proud." He paused, looked at her, then con-
tinued, "Besides, you too ought to be proud of the
legacy he left for you. A good name. Daddy lived a
simple life, a perfect gentleman, and died in honour,
full of praises."
"But anybody can open his mouth and praise, sing a
sweet song ..."
"Dead people, especially those who have led humble
lives, are in no position to compel praises for themselves
from the living, any more in death than while they were
themselves alive. Certainly if your Dad had not de-
served it, people were under no compulsion to speak
good of him the way they did after his death. I believe
that during the many years he lived, he did not receive
half as many good remarks as he did within the few
weeks he died."
"I hope they all meant them," she said, almost sure
herself that they meant their words. She believed her
husband. And this knowledge, more than anything
else, cheered her up.
"Of course, they do," said Lahab reassuringly, "and
there is no greater legacy than that. Your duty is to

90
 Five

cherish it. Protect it. Preserve it."

"Can I?"
can, why not?"
"You
"Live in his shadow? Trying to keep pace with his
track record?"
"Not exactly. Like father, like son sorry, like —
daughter. You must protect his good name. Of course
you have your own life to live. But you must live as
worthy a life as he did. That much he would love from
you. Not your daily mourning of his departure,"
Hussaina understood. She knew people"* would be
watching her. And she decided she would prove to be
truly the daughter of her father. A chip of the old block.
It was a challenge, and a tough flag to bear. Then . . .

her vow to her mother. Somehow, she thought, her life

had been predestined towards a very difficult, yet most

worthy target.
"You can count on my support," her husband had
told her. "Together we shall uphold Dad's name and
legacy. It's also my duty."
Hussaina liked hearing her husband's assurances.
She loved him immensely. She trusted him. He is all
she's got. In a way, he filled the vacuum created by her
father's death. She began sharing his hopes, aspira-
tions, successes and fears as she had never done before.
When Lahab told her that he had been appointed the
acting Vice-Principal of Cabral High, she radiated with a
happiness such as she had not been seen with since
before her father's death.
"I knew it," she told him in jest, "your children will
have a tough time."
"Why?" He did not quite understand.
"They'll have the hardest track record to beat! An
AVP, so early in your career?"
"Oh, c'mmon, I'm just starting."
"And very fast too."
"But who knows, I might have a very poor finish. It is

91
 Witnesses to Tears

not how one how one finishes that matters to

starts. It is
the cheeringand applauding crowd/'
She had had no doubt that he would finish well. She
had so much faith in him. She was proud of him.
Then he caused her some anguish! It was when she
heard the news of the missing money from her hus-
band's office. She was on her usual morning break from
Lusaka Hospital, where she worked as a staff nurse.
This particular morning, she was in a state of pleasant
anxiety. She had something to tell her husband. Some-
thing she had wanted to tell him in the warm comfort of
their bed at home, yet could not. This morning, she had
resolved to tell him. Not verbally. She had it written.
She was going to give him the note she had written,
containing her pleasant surprise. Or so she thought. He
would love to hear —to read, what she had to tell him.
She had wanted to inform him that she had not seen
her period as she expected. And this morning, she had
had a test. The result was positive. She was already six
weeks pregnant. That was what she wanted to tell him.
And she was all buoyed with excitement.
As she approached her husband's office, she saw
many people in groups. Nothing unusual about that,
she said to herself. It's the beginning of the term. Teach-
ers wanting to know the duty schedules, timetables for
the classes, students waiting to pay or having paid their
fees, parents, guardians, all who for one reason or
another could gather in front of the Vice-Principal's
office.
She reached the front of the office, and
appeared it

the people did not notice her. Or those who

were did,
not aware she was Lahab's wife. She looked for the
messenger to ask whether his boss was in. She always
enquired that way. If he was in, the messenger would
then request his permission whether or not she should
go in.

92
 Five

"Why that protocol?" her husband had once asked

her.
"I don't want any embarassment," she had replied,
"either for you or for myself."
"Embarassment? Why what sort of
. . .
." . .

"You wouldn't like me to meet you hand in hand with

your girlfriend, would you?" she had teased.
"Oh c'mmon, why do you think I could ever do such
a thing to you?"
"Aren't you a man? You men are capable oi anything
— well, almost anything. Masters of the unexpected. To
believe in you and take you on your face value is the
greatest self-deceit a woman can commit."
"So you don't trust me?"
"Of course, do," she had said, seeing a streak of
I

suppressed disappointment on her husband's face. "I'm

only joking." Yes, she was. But she never allowed
herself to bump into her husband's office without first
getting the messenger to herald her arrival.
Today, the messenger was nowhere to be found.
With some reluctance, she overcame the urge to open
the door to the office and enter. Casually, she asked a
student whether or not the Vice-Principal was in.
"He's gone to Khama Police Station," the student
replied.
"Police Station? what for?" she asked.
The student turned and looked at her as if to say she
shouldn't ask about what everybody already knew.
"His messenger stole some money from his office," he
said matter-of-factly.
"Oh my God," she exclaimed. Immediately, her face
became sullen. How come? And without a word more,
she turned to go to the Police Station.

93
 Witnesses to Tears

Tomorrow, Lahab's messenger had said to himself as

he rode home, I shall have to go to the office much

earlier than usual, so that I'll be able to sweep the office

in good time. And quite early he came. He swept the
Vice-Principal's office, almost not noticing the unlocked
safe. Then he began dusting the table and the chairs . . .

and his eyes caught the safe: ajar. open, he realised

It's

as if affirming the fact to convince himself. His heart

beat faster. He was afraid. Many things went through
his mind, all at once.
He moved closer to the safe and opened it wider, so
as to have a closer look at its contents. Money! Money,
and in bundles. He swallowed hard. Don't touch any-
thing inside that safe, came an unmistakable command
from within him. Bang! As if overpowered by his own
compulsive moral reflexes, he banged the safe to lock it.
When his master came, he would give him the key. His
master would undoubtedly praise and commend his
honesty. Inside him, he felt he was growing tall, a giant
from the moral purity of his action.
Almost immediately, another impulse seized him.
Fool! Something inside him seemed to taunt him. What
do you want to prove. And to whom? C'mmon! Just for
a couple of bundles? Who you? There are more
will jail
serious cases in the courts! Beside, many have made
millions. See how
they ride around, respectable gentle-
men. If what you
are about to do is all that morally
offensive to the society, those who did it before you
wouldn't now be so venerated. And yours, would be
such a paltry sum! Who would notice? Catch you? Deny
it in the court! And your case will be thrown out 'for

want of evidence'. You see? The burden of proof is on

them, not you. It's your piece of luck!
He began to open the safe. He looked at the bundles
of notes neatly arranged inside. Again he swallowed
hard. He picked one bundle. Suddenly he dropped it
inside and hurried towards the door. He locked the

94
 Five

door from inside. He went immediately back to the safe,

took three bundles of notes, locked the safe and left the
key on Lahab's table. As quickly he made for the door to
go and hide his 'piece of luck'.
'
So far Lahab's plan had worked. He chose delib-
erately to go late to work that morning. If challenged, he
would claim exhaustion and over-sleeping. He wasn't
challenged though. To his surprise, however, his mess-
enger was not there. Somehow he panicked. If his
messenger had not entered the office as he had planned
he would, then he would be in trouble. He would find it
difficult to convince people that the messenger took the
money.
"I will not enter that office/' Lahab said aloud, pre-
tending to be furious, "until he comes and gives that
office a proper cleaning."
"He has cleaned the office, sir," said a cleaner who
was nearby, "but he had to go back home. He told me
he had some stomach trouble. Diarrhoea he said."
"And did he leave the key to my office with you?"
asked Lahab, inwardly elated.
"No, sir."
Lahab searched his brief-case for the spare key. He
found it, opened his office and entered. Not quite one
minute, he rushed out, looking bewildered.
"Cleaner!" he shouted, "come here. Where are
you? . How long ago did my messenger leave for
. .

home?"
"Not quite fifteen minutes, sir."
"Did you see him carry anything with him — an
envelope, a paper-bag or something? Anything? ..."
The cleaner did not understand. He looked confused,
especially by the state of Lahab's agitation. "No sir . . .

Well, I can't say. I don't know. I really can't say . .

."

"Come, come. Stand here. Don't let anybody enter

my office. I'm going to call the Principal. I'm going to
call the Police . . . My messenger or somebody has

95
 Witnesses to Tears

stolen the students money . .

."

The cleaner looked shocked. He froze, speechless.

And like someone afraid, he moved towards Lahab's
office to stand guard. Lahab himself, as if possessed,
rushed towards the Staff Room to telephone the Princi-
paland call the Police.
Not quite ten minutes later, the Police arrived in their
usual Peugeot 505 KS car. The messenger had still not
arrived. There were two police officers: a sergeant and
an inspector. Some five minutes after the arrival of the
Police however, Lahab's messenger returned. The sight
of the Police car made his heart jump. He almost turned
back. But that would be giving himself away too easily.
With a false sense of confidence, he walked to his
boss's office. The Police Officers and Lahab were now
coming out of the office.
"That is him!" said Lahab to the Inspector. "He is the
messenger."
Whaap! Whaap! The Sergeant gave two quick
successive slaps to the unsuspecting messenger. The
onslaught took him completely by surprise.
"I didn't steal anything," he protested meekly.
"Who asked you?" returned the sergeant. Immedi-
ately, the messenger was handcuffed on the orders of
the Inspector, and off they left for the Police Station.
Lahab was politely asked to follow in his own car . . .

By the time Hussaina arrived at the Khama Police

Station,Lahab had already finished writing his state-
ment. She looked very disturbed.
"Oh c'mmon, cheer up," said Lahab, "everything is
going to be all right."
She just looked at him, not knowing what to say. But
she was somewhat cheered up by the confidence ex-
uded by her husband.
"May God protect us," she said rather weakly, "from
96
 Five

7
blackmail/
"Amen," returned Lahab.
"And where is your messenger?" she asked.
"In the cell."
"What has he said?"
"What would he say? Of course he keeps on denying
that he stole any money. Denial is the first law for
thieves. First, he denied ever seeing the key to the safe
in my office. he saw the keyTmt did not
Then he said
know it was And he
has stuck to denying
for the safe.
that he ever went near the safe. Bastard. Looks so
innocent Yet so rotten inside."
. . .

"But how come you left the key to the safe on your
table?"
"I forgot. Believe me, I forgot. Pressure of work. You
see, had so much on my mind yesterday while leaving
I

the office. And up till the time I reached the office this
morning, I didn't even realise that
I forgot the safe's key

in the office.Very unfortunate. But if it weren't for the

devil in him, nothing would have happened."
Hussaina remained silent as they entered Lahab's car.
He would go and drop her at the Hospital and from
there drive back to the school. Lahab kept on raining
abuse on his messenger. Then his wife interrupted,
"Well, leave everything to Allah. He is the best Judge."
''Yes, Allah is the best Judge," agreed Lahab with
some impatient, "but the bastard should be dealt with
severely here on earth. Firstly he stole people's money.
Secondly he is trying to blackmail me. And thirdly he is
denying everything."
"He can't blackmail you."
"Oh yes, he can."
"Allah has already written that this is going to hap-
pen. So it would have happened even if your messenger
were not created."
Lahab shook his head, and as if in thought over what
his wife had said, replied, "I don't think God writes

97
 Witnesses to Tears

down things like that. The Devil pushed him/'

Hussaina looked at him and smiled. They were now
at the hospital. As she made to get out of the car, she
said, "May Allah protect us from all mischief of man-
kind."
Lahab looked at her, smiled back and returned,
"Amen. A thousand amens. I need your prayers."
"By the way, how much did you find missing?"
Hussaina asked just as Lahab made to move off.
"The bastard took thirty-three thousand naira! That's
about fifteen years of his legitimate earning!"
His wife shook her head in disbelief, and waved him
good-bye . And the note of glad tidings? She
. .

wouldn't give him yet.

Back at Cabral High, Lahab made straight for the
Principal's office to brief him on what had happened.
The principal expressed his sympathy for Lahab and
gave words of encouragement as well as advice.
"Never postpone decisions on the safe custody of
money," the Principal said, "especially if the money
doesn't belong to you."
"Yes sir," returned Lahab. "My messenger has taught
me a big lesson."
"Yeah. And I'm happy he taught it to you early. You
must try to guard against its re-occurrence at all costs.
Your enemies could use this type of situation to destroy
you, y'know?"
Lahab understood. He shook his head in agreement
with his boss.
"By the way," said the Principal, "has he confessed
anything?"
"He is still denying having taken a kobo."
"Hmm. When those police turn the heat on him, he'll

talk."
Lahab shivered a little at the inference of police tor-
ture. Positive use of police brutality; he mused. That, he
wasn't averse to.

98
 Five

"Never postpone decisions on the safe custody of

,,
money, especially if it doesn't belong to you the Prin- /

cipal's words re-echoed to him. So the moment he left

the Principal's office, he went and removed the remain-
ing money in the safe, and took them to the bank. He
felt much better. So far so good; the plan was working

and he remained not in the least ruffled.

By the time he returned from the bank, it was just
thirty minutes to closing time. People came trooping
into his office, some to curse and condemn his messen-
ger, others to hear the 'true story', but most, ostensibly,
to sympathise. Nevertheless they all made it impossible
for him do any further work for the remaining part of
to
the day. Then some five minutes to closing time, his
telephone rang. Lahab picked the receiver. It was In-
spector D. Doka of the Khama Police Station.
"Oh Inspector, is that you? The Vice speaking
please," said Lahab.
"Well, there is something I just thought you might
know ... I sent some of my men to search your
like to
house, and we found some money."
Lahab's stomach contracted. He was confused. So
they had been trailing him? All the same, he feigned
disbelief. "I beg your pardon, Inspector," he said, "did
you say you searched my house?"
"Oh sorry sir," corrected the Inspector, "it was a slip
of tongue. I we searched the house of your
meant to say
man, the messenger, and we found some money."
Lahab was overcome by relief. He felt as if a big
burden had been lifted off his shoulders. He wiped off
the beads of sweat that had began to form across his
forehead. "Oh, you did? How much?"
"Three thousand naira."
"And yet the bastard said he knew nothing about it."
"He is still denying it."
"Then how does he explain your find, manna from
Heaven? At his low salary level, three wives and God-

99
 Witnesses to Tears

knows-how-many children?"
"We know his kind. We will deal with him. Soon he
will talk. He will tell the truth." He then promised to
keep Lahab abreast of any further developments.
When Lahab reached home and informed Hussaina of
the phone conversation with the Inspector, she felt
highly elated. Her husband was being absolved in the
way she wanted. At that point, she felt like giving him
the note, but again resisted the temptation.
The following morning, the Inspector rang Lahab in
the office to say that the messenger had at last confessed
to removing some money from the safe. "But," added
the Inspector, "he has been swearing to high heavens
that he took only three-thousand naira."
will soon disclose more. As my grandfather used
"He
to say, if one didn't eat raw goatskin, he wouldn't
excrete goat's hair. Now we have seen some hairs in his
faeces."
The Inspector laughed and said, "Well, the most
important thing is that we have the man who tampered
with your safe and removed all the money. Or at least,
by his own admission, some of the money. We will keep
on investigating. Next week we'll be taking him to court
with formal charges."
The Inspector kept to his words. The following week,
the messenger was arraigned before the court. It was a
summary trial. Although the trial judge conceded that
the Police had not been able to prove beyond reasonable
doubt that the messenger stole the missing thirty-three
thousand naira from the Vice Principal's safe, he
granted that there was enough circumstantial evidence
linking him with the entire missing sum. He was there-
fore found guilty as charged, and sentenced to a jail
term of fourteen years.
Fourteen years! Fourteen good years! How many
months, how many weeks, how many days does that
come to? The messenger calculated the sentence in his
100
 Five

head over and over again. And how old was he now?
Forty-five. He would virtually be a useless old man by
the end of his term. And his family . . .? He burst out
crying. Fourteen years, all for three thousand naira. He
shook his head in disbelief.
"But," the judge remarked after passing sen-
trial

tence, "you have the right of appeal within ." . .

The right of appeal, repeated the messenger, to hinv

self. When will that be? In a week's time? Or months?

He had already spent one hell of a week behind bars.

Cognisance wasn't taken of that in the judge's ruling.
Appeal for a fair deal? For three thousand naira, all he
had gone through was more than fair. Very unfair.
Appeal? No, not to the courts. It appears someone had
cashed in on his little vice to commit a great vice. Oh
Allah, he prayed almost aloud, bring whosoever used
me as a cover to light and disgrace. Oh my God . . .

would he accept his prayers? From the dock where he

stood, he looked pleadingly at Lahab and cried tear-
fully, "Sir,help me. You know I wouldn't steal such a
large sum. I've never done it."
Lahab knew he couldn't stand up and return the
remark without a charge of contempt of court. But he
said to himself, I never knew you would even steal at
all. And that's what he would have said if the judge had

asked him.
"And my family? Who'll help me care for them?"
Again the messenger looked at Lahab and then the
judge.
Lahab looked at him. This time with sympathy. He
wanted to say he would do his best, but checked him-
self. Yes, he would do it, in spite of everything.

"Yes, your family," said the trial judge, "because of

your family, this court is being compassionate with you.
You will now serve ten years."
The messenger shook his head without uttering any
more words. He seemed to have resigned himself to his

101
 Witnesses to Tears

fate. The reduction of his jail-term made no sense to

him.
The following evening was a very happy one for the
Lahab family. Lahab feared he might be implicated,
especially about the key. He wasn't. The judge had said
that a man in his position, with so many responsibilities
and pressures, could forget not only keys but himself. It
was only human. Nothing pleased Lahab more. His
wife shared his joy with him.
"But I think the judge was rather too harsh on the
7
messenger/ observed Hussaina.
"Too harsh, you said?" queried Lahab in grim jest.
"Are your sympathies with me or my messenger?"
"Of course my sympathies are ever with you, even if
you have done such a thing ..."
"God forbid!"
"Yes, God forbid. But ten years in jail for just thirty-
three thousand naira is simply out of sight."
"Is it?"
"Yes it is. And
very unfair too. The law has not
shown any sense How long would some-
of proportion.
one who stole one million naira be jailed? Remem- . . .

ber Mr. Brawole's case last year? He only got seven

years for embezzling three and half million naira!"
"But you have to look at the objective of the sentence
as a punishment. A deterrent."
"Deterrence? Well, yes. But the law's primary objec-
tive should be justice to all. Indeed, deterrence could be
achieved through punishment but ..."
"No buts. The one thousand
act of illegally taking
naira that doesn't belong to one, and removing one
million naira, both go by the name of theft. If you do
either, you're a thief."
"C'mmon, darling. Don't be so simplistic."
"I'm not being simplistic," said Lahab half laughing,
"in a truly Islamic State, both would lose one arm."
Hussaina shook her head, and said, "Don't ascribe

102
 Five

such irrationality to Islam. In a truly Islamic State, a

situation would not be created where your messenger
had to steal. Or your millionaire Brawole, who should
be striving to go to Heaven, wouldn't be thinking of
acquiring more money by crooked means. Such illogi-
calities cannot exist in a truly pious, Islamic society."
"You are then in sympathy with my messenger be-
cause he is poor?"
"Exactly."
"But poverty does not confer the right to steal on
anybody. And stealing cannot therefore become a use-
ful instrument or legitimate institution for social justice.
One cannot then plead for leniency on that basis."
"That's not the point. The issue is that poverty makes
a safe full of bundles of currency notes very tempting.
Of course I agree with you that that's no excuse for
playing Robin Hood. But if he does so from the point of
view of necessity, and not avarice, he ought to be
regarded as a compulsive or reluctant thief. He should
be treated by law with understanding. Yes, under-
standing, not leniency."
Lahab shook his head in amusement and said, "You
don't understand law Besides, more than theft is
. . .

involved. Betrayal of trust, lie, cover-up, break-in: all

are involved."
"Yes, I don't, Mr. Barrister" returned Hussaina in
jest, "that's the business of lawyers. I'm just a plain staff
nurse. Let's now go to bed. I'll have to be up early
tomorrow ... By the way, I have something for
you ..."
"What is it?"

"An intercepted letter from your girl-friend," she

teased, pretending to be serious.
"Oh c'mmon! How many times do I have to tell you
that I don't ...
"It's all right, it's all right," interrupted Hussaina,
seeing a slight change of expression on his face. She

103
 Witnesses to Tears

then handed him the note. Hurriedly, he opened it. She

was pregnant! With a joyous hug, he kissed her.
'This is the greatest news I've had for the past twelve
months. " He knew he had told her how badly he
needed a child. 'This time," he continued, "this one
shallbe born."
"Say, by the Grace of God," Hussaina quickly added.
He looked at his wife, smiled and said slowly, "By the
Grace of God."
Lahab could not sleep for a long time that night. The
news of a possible child overjoyed him. So many things
went through his mind. Supposing it were a boy? He
would sacrifice everything for him; and not even a fly,
as his grandfather used to say, would be allowed to
touch the child.

104
 6

Lahab was lost in thought. Uncertainty and unpredict-*

ability are among add colour to human
the things that
existence, he thought. Excitement, anxiety, disappoint-
ment and expectation: they make the hustle and puzzle
of life. They determine whether or not one cries or
laughs, runs or walks, and keep one moving on wher-
ever one may be —
be it on top of a precipitous cliff or in
a green valley, or simply on a plain of indeterminate
clime.
In the eighth month of her pregnancy, Hussaina
delivered a baby girl. It was a She was shat-
still birth.
tered. She had planned from
for the child's arrival right
month five of her pregnancy. Somehow she had been
confident that nothing would go wrong this time. She
had planned to give the best care she possibly could to
the child. She had procured unisex infant dresses, baby
colt, bed and the paraphernalia of new mothers. She
had planned to take her maternity leave at the begin-
ning of the nineth month of the pregnancy. At the end
of that leave, she would take a two-year leave from her
job in the hospital, so that shewould devote her entire
time to the child. All these she had planned to do. For
her first child. As her Dad had done for her. She knew
she could never beat Daddy in his devotion and sacri-
fice. But she would try. Emulate him. She had hoped

though that this child wouldn't be the only one, and

was convinced somehow that she would have more
than one child. Two, three, four or even five. Thus, she
thought, the fortunes of procreation would show their

105
 Witnesses to Tears

benevolence. The single child is normally the parent of a

chain of many children. Why should she be an excep-
tion? Then the child came. Dead. Would she be the end
of her father's line? she wondered in dismay. Oh Allah,
Thou Giveth and Taketh away And she wept.
. . .

Lahab, too, felt quite grief-stricken. First, it was a girl,

and then lifeless. He felt let down —
by Hussaina. He
blamed her within himself. She had a hand in it. Then
he recoiled from his own thoughts. Blasphemy! What
was she? A medium for God's Will. She had no hand in
it. He still loved her. And he knew that she, too, loved

him — more. Perhaps, God was trying to make a point

to him. He had been over-confident about the outcome
of the pregnancy. As if what he felt had its own inde-
pendent creative powers. To bring into being flesh,
bones, and blood. God forgive me, he had prayed under
his breath, more as a concession of his own impotence
in the matter than in the recognition that he had erred in
the understanding of his own belief, that it was God
Who giveth and taketh away.
His wife had given birth to a dead child. A thousand
He hoped and prayed for another one. He looked
pities.
forward to having one. But life must continue, espe-
cially his career.
Since the case of the theft, Lahab had doubled his
efforts toprove himself a worthy number-two man at
Cabral. He had come out of his own scheming un-
scathed. No aspersions had been cast on him, at least
not from the quarters where it mattered to his career. He
remained effective and was regarded highly. He took
steps to ensure that hewas not involved directly in any
more cases of money 'losses' —
for now. He must build
a reputation under which to hide in future. Besides, he
had come to the conclusion that the safe episode tactics
might get him into trouble much sooner. Meanwhile, he
would work and think very hard: to enhance his name
and devise a new strategy.
106
 Six

Some three months before Hussaina' s still birth, the

substantive Vice-Principal of Gabral High School, who
had gone overseas for a course, returned. It was then
obvious that Lahab would have to relinquish the port-
folio with which he had been entrusted in his absence.
He had enjoyed the little trappings of the position. He
no longer wished to be just an ordinary teacher, a
statistic, a member of a crowd. Now the Vice-Principal _

was back, and he, Lahab, would have to take one step
backwards into the great multitude, into the amorphous
group, into oblivion . . .

"What you do?" he had thought aloud one eve-

will
ning while with Hussaina. The Vice-Principal still had
three more weeks of leave before he resumed fully.
Lahab was still holding fort for him.
"What will you do about what?" asked Hussaina.
He overcame his inhibition. "About my post. The VP
is here."
"My goodness," she gave a little laugh, "the man has
been here one week, and still you don't know what to
do?"
"Tell me, if you know," he answered.
"Well, I've never been part of any bureaucracy at —
least in the administrative position. But Dad used to
say, you have to write something called handing-over
notes." Again she laughed.
"Please be serious. That's not what I mean. You see,
the VP is around, and I haven't heard anything about
his posting ..."
"Oh, vaulting ambition!" she interrupted him jok-
ingly; "so you now want to take that man's job?"
"Oh c'mmon, be serious. Not his job. I'm talking
about my you know. Reversion to classroom teacher.
. . .

Some people may deride me, and read meaning into the
whole thing, especially with the money episode not far
off."
"Why do you bother about what people say? You
107
 Witnesses to Tears

can't prevent them from talking, and attempting to

throw mud at you. But I think the important thing is for
you tobe satisfied that you've done your best. The
money episode could have gotten you into real trouble.
But you came out creditably. It's all God's test for
you . It's like a basket-ball game. When a time-out is
. .

called for you to take some rest, don't insist on going

back to the game, especially after a good performance.
The crowd may not be so impressed thereafter to ap-
plaud."
Lahab kept nodding his head in agreement. But right
inside him, he was far from convinced by what his wife
was saying. He had just begun the game. Playing well.
It was hardly the time for time-out. The VP's return

seemed to stand between him and the smiling radiance

of fortune, the way a dark cloud would block the bril-
liant morning rays of the sun. A brake on the upward
thrust of his career. No, the cloud must move. The sun's
morning- rays must be allowed to go to their furthest
point.
"Besides," continued his wife, "that which you are
craving to possessmay neither be in your interest now
nor that of your future career."
"So I should just fold my arm, pray to God, and let

things act themselves out, right?"

"Precisely. Predestination. And that's part of faith."
"Exactly. I know that's where you'll surface. Of
course, I believe in predestination but with limits. Peo-
ple like you are overstretching the belief in predestina-
tion to a point of fatal inaction. You are interpreting it

too literally . . . Remember the Hadith of the Prophet

which your Dad once told us about concerning the man
with a camel? When the man said he would go about his
business and leave his camel, untied and unattended by
any mortal, in the Hands of God, the Prophet told him
to first of all tie the camel, then leave it with God. That's
my idea of predestination."

108
 Six

"But you have no camel."

"My career is my camel. My interest. That's what the
camel symbolises . . . You see, that's my
problem with
fanatics of all persuasions. They are usually deep in
faith, shallow in reasoning and short on patience." He
gave a small laugh.
Hussaina grinned, then protested jestfully, "Me, a fa-
natic? I think you fit more into your own description
than myself. Particularly as regards that bit on im-
patience."
Was he being impatient? Lahab asked himself. Not
quite. was a shot of common sense that had gotten
It

him: knowing what he wanted, and acting or thinking

on how to get it. That was one of the rules of life, of
survival. The VP must have done the same. Otherwise
why had he gone for the course? To be a Principal of
course! Or perhaps, to be a more powerful VP. Could he
now go for a course too to advance his career? It
wouldn't serve his short-run interest: the bureaucratic
rule said that if you were on an acting appointment and
you left for a course, then you would revert to your
previous position. The course option was closed. More
than he had ever felt before, he wished he could will his
wishes. He knew he had no such powers.
What would he do then? Go back to the Director of
Education (Post Primary), he thought. Request him,
nay, go down on his knees and beg for a confirmation as
a substantive VP, at the same time have the incumbent
posted to another school. Or leave the incumbent at
Cabral High and have Lahab posted to a much bigger
school. That was a feasible option, and would probably
yield the desired results. But but Hussaina would
. . .

come to know; and like her father, she would dis-

approve. She would call it many things he wouldn't
like. She would call it wilful bootlicking, lobbying and
playing the sychophant to get a post. Very debasing. He
did not want his esteem in her eyes to fall. He loved her,

109
 Witnesses to Tears

and cherished the respect she had for him. She had
already charged him with impatience. He must not
allow her to believe she was right. He must try another
option.
Try a marabout, a traditional medicine man. He shud-
dered at his own suggestion. Impatience. Hussaina was
right after all. No matter, he would explore this option,
he would do it only once. If they could get him just this
one confirmation, the rest would follow. Thereafter, he
needn't trail any more soothsayers.
The idea of going to a witch-doctor gave Lahab a
feeling of guilt. He felt he was going to do something
very bad without really knowing what. He tried to
convince himself that he was on to nothing illegal.
Hussaina must be kept in complete darkness though.
But what was wrong in getting a little help from some-
one to change the course of events? People pray to God
for the same purpose. He, too, would pray. What was
criminal in that? Since the beginning of human creation,
men had always sought the aid of some Intervening
Power, an intercessor that could will between them and
their objectives and goals. Some people had chosen
woods, stones and other inanimate objects, to a point of
veneration. That was idol- worshipping, at which he
shuddered. He believed in God, and seeking the help of
man. Had the Lord not said that Man shall be part of his
instrument to effect his Will on earth? Lahab was satis-
fied with himself, convinced of the purity of his faith.
"I have been expecting you, my dear young man,"
said Dr. Saahir with a captivating smile as Lahab
stepped into the sitting-room.
"Me?" Lahab said to himself, a little taken aback. He
paused, thinking that the man must have mistaken him
for someone else. "I'm K. Lahab from Sabonville City,"
he said in an attempt to put his host on course.
"Yes, I know," returned Dr. Saahir with the confident
air of an expert. "You are an acting Vice-Principal, are

110
 Six

you not?"
"Yes sir."
"And not long ago you had a problem of some miss-
ing money from your safe?"
"Yes sir."
"And you have a wife, now
pregnant?"
"Yes — — s Lahab, greatly puzzled. He
sir," replied
was obviously not expecting this. The man knew him
too much. How come? They had never met, and he had
only heard about the doctor through acquaintances.
"Feel at ease, Mr. Lahab. You are with a friend." Dr.
Saahir beamed amiably. As usual, his strategy had
worked. The strategy with all first- time clients was
immediately to unsettle them, catch them off guard and
proceed from there; and he had been incredibly success-
ful with Lahab.
Sihril Saahir was a complex, intelligent man: he was
regarded as a medicine-man, a soothsayer, a doctor —
modern science, a psychotherapist, all in
in the sense of
one. His grandfatherwas reputed to have been a for-
midable medicine-man. His father was a great Koranic
Scholar, with expert knowledge of herbs and plant
roots, and their medicinal potency. In addition, he was
a great soothsayer. People claimed he could look into
the special sand in his room andyou when a seem-
tell

ingly barren woman would whether one's

deliver or
pregnant wife would be delivered of a boy or a girl; he
could command witches on night exploits to remain in
one spot till day break, when they; would reveal and
confess their past crimes to jeering spectators.
Saahir, too, was exceptional in the mystical tradition
of his forebears. After his Senior Secondary education,
he went to University to study medicine. In the middle
of the third session of his first year at the College of
Medicine, he was rusticated from the University for
theft — of human skulls. Nobody knew exactly what he
did with them. But the words on everybody's lips were

111
 Witnesses to Tears

that he used them for bizarre occult rituals. The Provost

of the College considered Saahir 'the very antithesis of
modern scientific medicine'. If Saahir wanted to be
re-admitted into the College —
which would be after
two years, the Provost advised that he purged himself
of his 'seeming tendency for sorcery and witchcraft'.
There was too much of his grandfather in Saahir. He
decided against returning to the Medical College. He
had had a glimpse into the secrets of modern medicine.
It tried to restore the physical deformities of man, re-
store his physical balance, and relieve him from physical
pain. Man's biggest problems, Saahir thought at the
time, were deformities of mind and soul. That was
where the biggest challenge lay: men with deranged
minds, men with passions for one thing or another,
obsessed men, sleep-walkers, dreamers, and madmen.
All problems of the mind. And there is a madman in
everyone of us, he said to himself. It's only a question of
degrees, and tightness of the nuts. Some people's nuts
are looser than others. Saahir made up his mind to
study the approaches of understanding this
scientific
phenomenon — the mind: psychoanalysis. For this the
university readmitted him.
And fast, he was becoming a psychoanalyst. He suc-
cessfully completed three of his four years in that pur-
suit. But he was becoming a renowned hypnotist. That
earned him expulsion from University. In his fourth and
final year, he had hypnotised his lecturer in psychology
and got him to reveal the first-term test questions, in
front of an entire class. The students were amused, but
not the University Senate. He was sent packing for what
the senate expulsion letter called 'an unprecedented act
of coercion, intimidation and cheating'. Saahir vowed
never again to study at any University for any type of
degree.
That was fifteen years ago.
"Sir, I have a problem," Lahab managed to say.

112
 Six

know," replied Saahir, "your post as an acting VP

"I
is on the line."
Again, Lahab opened his mouth in confused bewil-
derment. There was silence. Saahir kept his eyes fixed
on Lahab.
"I know what you're thinking about, Mr. Lahab," he
resumed with a smile of tolerant amusement, "you
wonder how I have come to know. The human face is
like a telescreen. Most men relay their minds on it.
That's human."
Lahab knew his host was right. If he knew so much,
there was no need to say anything. He looked down, as
if afraid that he was being examined by a pair of power-

ful x-rays.
"I want you please to help me," Lahab managed to
say.
Yours is a very minor problem."
"I sure will.
And minor indeed it seemed to be. Before the expira-
tion of the substantive VP's leave period, a new posting
order came from the Ministry of Education headquar-
ters. The VP was posted to a Junior Secondary School to
be a Principal. Lahab remained at Cabral High in his
post: acting Vice-Principal —
just as he had wished.
And by the time Hussaina gave him a still-born girl,
he was already dreaming about being confirmed as a
substantive Vice-Principal. The disappointment of not
having a child soon disappeared into an expectation of a
bright career. He must become a Vice-Principal . . .

even if it meant going back to Dr. Saahir.

"You must be very careful," the Principal had once

advised Lahab, "with these contractors. They can black-
mail you."

113
 Witnesses to Tears

The contractors, who supplied food stuff to Cabral

High, had complained about the acting Vice-Principal.
He pried too much into their business, they said. And
he talked too much.
Lahab, who had the responsibility of dealing with all
matters relating to supply of food-stuff, had insisted on
seeing that each contractor supplied the right quality
and quantity of the items he had contracted for. The
government, he would tell them, must have value for its
money. The affected contractors tried initially to lure
him way. He refused. They promised
to look the other
to get him out way. He did not know that he
of their
was trying to dismantle a thriving system. But after the
Principal's advice, he knew. He soft-pedalled, to the
contractor's elation.
Very fast, Lahab learnt about the system, liked it, and
wanted to become part of it. Before long he became a
good buddy of the contractors.
That explained his reluctance to leave the post. The
substantive Vice-Principal who had left also knew the
system, of course very well. And that was why he too
did not want to leave the VP post at Cabral. He had
been part of a syndicate.
Immediately upon his return from the course, the
substantive VP had paid an unscheduled visit to Dr.
Saahir. He had heard that the acting VP had connec-
tions 'at the top', and might dislodge him from the
number two position. Saahir should help to send the
acting VP packing elsewhere. Saahir had asked the VP
several questions about Lahab —
he had always asked
questions about the person one complained about.
And coincidentally, three days after the VP left Saa-
hir, Lahab too went. Saahir always worked on the
premise that the 'other person' would come. With his
retentive memory, he also held the 'other person' spell-
bound, whenever he deliberately started disclosing the
information he had previously been fed with. He wasn't

114
 Six

surprised therefore when Lahab called.

Lahab spend
didn't quite one hour during his first
visit to Saahir. And immediately after he left, Saahir
picked his phone and rang the Director of Education
(Post Primary) at Sabonville Ministry of Education head-
quarters.
"I need your urgent assistance/' Saahir requested.
"What for?" asked the Director.
"A bright young man from your Ministry by name
Lahab."
"Oh, Lahab . .
."

"You know him well .?" . .

"He is the acting VP at Cabral."

"He thinks he is going to lose his post. I want you to
leave him there, please."
The Director remained silent, then said, "But you
asked me to .". .

"Yes I know," interrupted Saahir, "I asked you earlier

on to leave the incumbent VP there. But now, if you can
shift him to another school, or give him the Post of a
one of your small schools, I'm sure he'll be
Principal of
happy."
Again the Director paused. "I'll try," he said.
"Do more than try. Do it —
please." Saahir tried to
sound friendly, but the Director detected some rare
insistence in his friend's voice. It fell just short of a
command: Saahir didn't beg for favours.
Two days later, the Director rang Saahir to say that
Lahab would remain at Cabral, and the incumbent VP
had been given the Principalship of a new school.
"I hope," Saahir had told the Director, "that you
won't let either of them know about this."
"You know I'm not a kid," returned the Director.
The Director and Saahir knew each other well. They
7
had been friends for over seven years ever since Saahir s
father died. Saahii-'s father had been the chief sooth-
sayer for the Director. And when he died, the allegiance

115
 Witnesses to Tears

of the Director was transferred to the son. Indeed most

people whom Saahir's father had assisted with his mar-
about powers turned to the son with their problems;
and his father's customers were many. To Saahir's sur-
prise, clients who turned to him included high ranking
Public Officers, both near and far, who had called for his
head when he was expelled from University. His expul-
sion was widely reported. Many people had con-
demned him then. But his father had been unruffled
and told him not to worry. These same people, the old
man had said, will one day flock to you to use this same
wisdom God has given you. Men, Saahir's father had
observed, are by and large hypocrites: they crucify you
by day and strive to resurrect you by night.
Saahir had been fully resurrected. He was one of the
most gifted medicine men around. That was why peo-
ple called him 'Dr. Saahir'. He had publicly stated his
intention to raise traditional medicine to a comparable
levelwith modern one. His College of Traditional Sci-
ences and Medicine, or 'CTSM' as people fondly re-
ferred to it, was to be his vehicle. He established it two
years after his expulsion from University. With his
father's support and blessing, and government recogni-
tion, the college had become a fait accompli, though it

functioned more as a cure centre than a training or

research institution.
"Yes, I know," said Saahir to the Director, half laugh-
ing, "that's what makes me apprehensive about adults."
"What d'you mean? I don't understand." The Direc-
torsounded a little uneasy.
"Oh c'mmon, I was just kidding," jested Saahir in an
attempt to trivialise the point.
The VP, upon hearing of his new appointment, re-
turned to Saahir to express his thanks and pay the
charge: a black goat, a white hen, seven eggs of a guinea
fowl and seven naira: the money would be given to a

116
 Six

blind man. Lahab too returned. And Saahir decided to

charge him nothing. A way to cultivate a client. Lahab
was very surprised, so thankful. For some inexplicable
reason, Saahir wanted him to come back. And this way,
he knew he would return.

Two years of marriage, two pregnancies and no child

to show
for them. It's time for a break, Hussaina said to
She decided to devote her time to her job
herself. . . .

and her husband. And both made progress. As she

turned full three years on the job as a staff nurse, she
got promoted to the position of a nursing sister, with
the responsibility of heading the Children's Ward at
Lusaka General Hospital. Hussaina adored kids, and
her new posting offered her the opportunity to play
with them: a source of satisfaction and joy.
Her husband too was doing fine in his job. Six months
after the VP's posting away from Cabral, her husband
was confirmed as the School's substantive Vice-
Principal. Hussaina had been greatly overjoyed at his
rapid rise.
A couple
of things disturbed her about her husband,
though, but she kept sealed lips. She loved him, and
would not want to upset him. She observed that her
husband seemed to care more for his job in a manner
that disturbed her: his job considerations took prece-
dent over the family. This was not so before. More
disturbing was the apparent growing affluence of her
matrimonial partner. Her husband seemed to be acquir-
ing a more than hitherto expensive taste, and seemed to
be sustaining it.
His attire and ward-robe now comprised expensive
materials. The family's National Panasonic radio-

117
 Witnesses to Tears

cassette had been replaced with a cassette deck, an

amplifier and a sleek stereo set. Their twenty-inch black
and white Philips T.V set had been replaced with a
twenty-six colour Sony T.V and a Betamax Video ma-
chine. Hussaina was a little at ease with them all. Given
the cost-of-living — index, the whole thing didn't quite
convincingly add up to her. Yet, she discounted the
possibility of her husband doing any wrong. She trusted
him. Then, one weekend, he told her he wanted to sell
their car.
"Sell your car?" She had exclaimed. "And what do
you ride to the office. A donkey?" They both laughed.
"No," returned Lahab, "I intend buying a new car.
Peugeot 606 GX."
"That costs a lot of money. About twenty thousand?"
"Twenty-three on the road."
"But how would you get the money?"
"Savings, of course."
"Savings!" she said, incredulous. She looked at the
new T.V and the stereo sets, and then looked at her
husband. She opened her mouth to say something, but
kept quiet. For the first time, she felt her husband was
not telling her the truth.
"Yes, savings," he said, smiling and fully aware of
the expression on his wife's face. "I'll add the savings to
whatever I realise from the sale of my car." He paused,
then said with an afterthought, "and I'll borrow the
balance from my bankers."
Bank advance, yes. He sounded much more convinc-
ing to her. But savings? She still found it a bit difficult to
believe, though she tried to convince herself that her
man had actually saved. Maybe it was from his recent
advancement to the substantive post of Vice-Principal.
But, what of the T.V, the stereo sets? . . .

"And a little help from my friends," Lahab inter-

rupted her thoughts.
Friends! That was the clue, Hussaina thought. Those

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 Six

friends of his, who always wore expensive attire and

rode all sorts of exotic cars.So, now her husband
wanted to join them. Be in their club. Oh, these contrac-
tors! If only they could just mind their business and
leave her husband alone. Friends . Her husband
. .

seemed to have made ten times as many friends among

these people in the few months he had occupied the
VP's chair than he had in all his life. She did not mind
their friendship. But she feared for him: he could be
seduced by them, used and perhaps later on dumped.
She had heard about it happening so often to these men
who live on contracts . No, they can't all be bad, she
. .

told herself. There are bad eggs in all professions. These

friends of his couldn't be rotten. Her husband wouldn't
befriend them if they were, she tried to convince her-
self. She still believed her husband would do no wrong,

nor be easily tempted into doing any.

Be careful with these people, she had wanted to
advise him. But she was afraid to let out the words. He
might burst out in a flurry of anger and admonish her.
How dare she try. to dictate who his friends should be?
How dare she?
A couple of days later, Lahab bought a brand new car:
a Peugeot 606 GX, as he had indicated, the fashion car of
the top executives in the industries. And he did not
have to borrow from the bank. Nor did he sell his old
car. His savings, and his friends did it all. A VP needed
a second car, his friends had insisted, and would not
allow him to sell the car. This was what he told his wife.
Hussaina became even more apprehensive for her
husband. She feared he was being lured into some-
thing, though knew not what. She decided not to allow
that to worry her too much, however. Her chief concern
was the changes in his attitude towards her. He con-
now than before. He stayed out late.
fided less in her
And became much more secretive. Hussaina felt hurt by
all this.

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 Witnesses to Tears

One day, however, in the third year of her marriage,

she was forced to let out her mind to Dr. Saahir, during
Lahab's first trip to Hajj. "I hope," she said, "that you
people are not plotting anything against me."
"Plotting . . .? Why?" Saahir was surprised.
"I don't reallyunderstand your friend these days, I
mean just before he left for Mecca. He comes home late,
and goes out every evening. And always in a hurry. I
hope the honeymoon is not over ..."
Saahir burst out laughing. "Oh c'mmon," he said,
"you women think very oddly. Let me assure you that
your husband isn't remotely interested in another
woman."
"Yet," she emphasised in jest.
Again he laughed, "Your husband is not that kind of
a person. And if you want my word for it, you will be
his only wife . . . till death."
"Is that supposed to be a joke or you have actually
seen ..." She broke off.
"Don't be afraid. Yes, I'm a soothsayer, and I'm not
just kidding."
Hussaina felt elated. In a way, she believed what
Saahir had said even though she had never required his
services. She knew, though, that her husband was a
customer. At first she felt it was improper and almost
wanted to talk him out of it. But she had found Dr.
Saahir an amiable character, with a captivating person-
ality. She liked him; he was the only friend of her

husband with whom she felt at home. Though not a

resident of Sabonville City, almost every week he would
visit the Lahab family and have lunch with them before
returning home. The only friend who cared, Hussaina
thought. And most important to her, he was not a
contractor.
For some inexplicable reason, Saahir too had taken a
great liking for the Lahab family. He had liked Lahab
right from the first day Lahab had visited him. To a large

120
 Six

extent, that was why he charged him no fees for his

services. did not charge him even when he returned,
He
as he foresaw, to ask for help so as to be confirmed the
Vice-Principal of Cabral High. The only expenditure
Lahab had incurred then was for the purchase of four
cocks — all white in colour. Saahir had recommended

that he bought seven white cocks, slaughter one each

day for seven consecutive days, cook each with a special
herb preparation, eat its parts except the legs, which
Lahab must take to an ant-hill. Because of his liking for
Lahab, Saahir gave him three cocks. He rarely did that
for anybody. The reason for this intimacy, he later
disclosed, was because there was a striking resemblance
between Lahab and his only uncle, a man he had loved
so much. The uncle had died in a plane crash the year —
he was expelled from the University.
"But," said Hussaina, "he is punishing me by the
change. He used to be more caring."
"He has never meant to punish you. Not in the least.
He loves you very much. That much I know. But a man
in his position tends to be busy. Pressure of work, you
know."
"Him? Pressure of work? ..."
"Indeed, yes. But don't worry. When he returns, you
will see a definite change."
"Ihope so . .
."

"You have my word on it."

Lahab game the contractor wanted

learnt very fast the
him way and be paid. He
to play: to look the other
looked one way and extended his arm in the other
direction. Then he looked straight and extended both
arms to extract his dues. The contractors knew he had

121
 Witnesses to Tears

learnt the system. They knew he could outplay them.

They accepted him: first half-heartedly, then they em-
braced him.
It was
all very simple. Supply the contracted item by

lessthan a third. Or supply a much inferior quality.

Lahab needed only to certify that you had supplied the
'correct' quantity and quality. And the contractor re-
ceived his money. At first, he never asked anybody to
give him anything. He just made them aware that he
knew how they made their money. He made himself
morally superior to them. Most felt morally obliged to
give him something.
"Oh, never mind/' Lahab would say, feigning re-
fusal. Then, he would accept. Most of the contractors
used to say that Lahab was not a hungry man, unlike
the previous VP. Lahab never fixed any percentage. His
predecessor used to, and always insisted on his share.
Lahab never insisted on anything.
That earned him more money. They gave him more,
for fear that a smaller sum would displease him. Since
he never displayed his displeasure, they tended to fear
incurring it. But more important to Lahab, they re-
spected him, and related to him —
some even their
family problems. While he was quite aware of the bond
that held them together, he made sure he protected the
confidence they had in him. Therefore, quite unlike his
predecessor, the contractors regarded Lahab as a friend
— and they flocked to him.
For Lahab the proceeds were high. On average he
made as much money in one month as he would receive
in five years as his legitimate salary. A quiet, lucrative
business. And the potentials of making much more
manifested themselves.
Then he decided to take one step forward. At first, he
shuddered at the plan. The morality of it. He convinced
himself that he was an angel —
compared to what many
people had done to get rich. People swindled the

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 Six

government in hundreds of thousands. He only helped

people to receive a few hundred thousand naira. And
they rewarded him. No more. He remembered his
grandfather's words: "A friend of a thief is a thief." He
felt a little ashamed, but brightened up to console him-

self. He was human. Who ever lived, with flesh and

blood, treaded this earth and never committed one sin

or the other? He felt less inhibited. And the word
7
'forgiveness hit him like a divine revelation. He would
seek God's forgiveness later. Morally, he felt relieved of
the guilt of his plan.
Lahab's plan was to use five of the contractors closest
to him as a front. He would give them certified letters of
confirmed delivery of supplies to the school, at periodic
intervals, for goods actually not supplied. The money
received would be shared between him and them on a
fifty-fifty basis. He then added a sixth name. A fake one.

Lahab monies for supplies the non-existent

collected
contractor had made to the school for six months, using
fake letters of authority. Later, he stopped using the
name when he got wind of a proposed visit to the school
by auditors from the Audit Unit of the Ministry of
Education. The auditors never came, but he never rein-
stated the name.
Instead he tried to convince his wife to become a
registered contractor with Cabral High, for raw eggs.
She declined, just as he had feared.
"I don't want to get you into trouble," she had told
him.
"What trouble?" returned Lahab, "I don't see any
trouble in a legitimate business."
"People will accuse you of things you haven't done —
just because I'm your wife."
"And my wife shouldn't try to find a means of liveli-
hood?"
"Not where you're the VP. Divided interest might
come in. It's not proper."

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 Witnesses to Tears

He did not try to press her. He had tried to use her,

she has declined. Blessing in disguise, he thought. If
she had accepted, she might come to discover that she
was being paid monies for which she never signed. She
would then preach to him and torment his moral con-
science forever. That was the last thing he would want
to bargain for. And he thanked his stars that she refused
his offer after all.

By the end of his second year as a substantive Vice-

Principal of Cabral High School, he had become much
wealthier than most people realised. He had built seven
beautiful bungalows for which he received, on each, an
annual rent of fifteen to twenty thousand naira. Few
people knew about the houses. One was Dr. Saahir. His
wife, he deliberately kept in the dark. He would lie to
her that he had obtained a bank loan to build a house.
Later, he told her that he had built the house, received a
rent of two years, and used the proceeds to build
another house. She had felt impressed by his invest-
ment acumen.
"You should be in business," she had told him, "in
the private sector, instead of the teaching profession."
He felt flattered by her remarks. He almost aban-
doned his VP post for the business world as a result of a
certain incident. A contractor had gotten wind of La-
hab's fifty-fifty plan. He approached Lahab in a subtle
way to have himself included in the list. He even con-
ceded seventy percent of any collection to Lahab. The
Vice-Principal refused. The contractor, out of malice,
petitioned the Principal. It all sounded incredible to the
Principal, who decided to call Lahab, and showed him
the letter. Lahab was shocked, especially when the
Principal told him he would request the petitioner to
furnish him with evidence to substantiate his claims.
"I have to do that," said the Principal, "in your own
interest, and mine. If I don't he would go further to
accuse me of collaborating with you ... I know this

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 Six

type of thing is bound to happen. I warned you before.

But I've absolute confidence and trust in you You . . .

don't have to worry."

Lahab knew he had to worry. This man, this contrac-
tor, had the needle to fatally puncture the balloon that
kept him afloat in the air. If he allowed him to succeed,
he, Lahab, would be ruined, disgraced forever.
"By God," he had sworn to the Principal, "I didn't do
such a thing ... I will never do such a thing ..."
"I said you don't have to worry," replied the Princi-
pal. 'Just leave that man to me. I know how to deal with
his ilk. The truth will come to light. As they say, false-
hood is a plant that will never bear fruits: it would only
flower."
Lahab vowed within himself never to allow the matter
to rest with the Principal alone. He had to do some-
thing.He told Saahir the story.
"The man wants to destroy me," he said, "and I don't
want happen."
that to
"Never mind," said Saahir with a mischievous smile,
"he will never get you. We will show the black scorpion
that its sting will not avail it against the giant tortoise . . .

Just leave the matter to me."

Saahir suggested that Lahab should go to the Princi-
pal's office the following day, with a copy of the Holy
Qur'an, upon which he should swear that the contrac-
tor's petition was gross fabrication, and should invoke
Divine retribution against the guilty party.
Lahab did as he was bidden. The Principal said it was
not necessary to have brought the Holy Book into the
affair: he trusted in his deputy's innocence. All the

same, Lahab did swear. The following day, the peti-

tioning contractor was found dead in his room. The
Police said they suspected no foul play, and the hospital
autopsy could not determine the cause of death.
The Principal was shocked by the sudden death,
summing up the whole thing to Lahab as God's sen-
125
 Witnesses to Tears

tence. Lahab too was surprised. The whole thing had

happened rather too quickly. The Principal's remark cut
a sharp, painful imprint on his conscience. He knew
that what had happened to the contractor was not God's
Justice. Of course, he, Lahab, believed in predestina-
tion. But he knew that Saahir was involved in the
contractor's death. He, Lahab, had caused the taking of
a life. A heavy sense of guilt descended on him. He felt
unhappy, very unhappy, and told Saahir so, though
never asked whether or not he was responsible for the
man's death. He became rather frightened of Saahir. He
was in an inner turmoil. He could make money, as
much money as he wanted, without any qualms. But to
take another man's life? Lahab shook his head in
. . .

disapproval. He felt a moral hollowness . . .

"I think I will leave this job," Lahab told Saahir three
days after the death. It was his final decision on how to
mortify himself of the deed.
"Why?" asked Saahir.
"Well, just a feeling You know, this sort of thing
. . .

may happen again. Somebody may feel as dissatisfied

with me again, and threaten to blow the whistle."
"Whosoever does so would do it only once. Nobody
will hear. And the game would continue."
"Always?"
"Yes, always," said Saahir with an air of confidence
which Lahab did not share. "As long as I live. Besides, if
you leave now you'd be exposing yourself to more
whistle-blowers. And what job would you be going
to . .
."

"To be a contractor."
"A more dangerous jungle. You face more risks and
dangers. Business might go bad or when business is

good for you, even your friends might plot your fall.

Head or tail, your back is always against the wall in a

survival fight.
"I'm happier fighting for my life than to take someone
126
 '

Six

else's in the preservation of it.'

7
"But they will take yours/
"Well . perhaps."
. .

7
"No 'perhaps They'd take more than your life.
.

Physical death is a neater thing than what they'd do to

you. They will take your name. Destroy it. You'd be
destroyed. And your children. And their children . . .

You see? They wouldn't spare your progeny and legacy.

We just simply eliminated him. We have not touched
his name. He still has mourners."
Lahab could see the logic in his friend's reasoning,
but his sense of guilt was only slightly abated. His sense
of moral responsibility was still having the greater part
of him.
"Well," he said with a look of resignation, "God is the
best of judges and swift in punishment."
"That's true," returned Saahir, "but the same God is
also theMost Merciful, the Most Forgiving We will . . .

pray for His Mercy and Forgiveness."

Indeed, God is most forgiving; thought Lahab, and
began feeling some relief from his inner turbulence. He
had seen men who showed the most blatant disregard
to all ethics in their wordly self-advancement prosper.
Blooming like the spring flowers. They cheat. But they
also pray; the first to be in churches and mosques; never
missed the publicity to donate to charity organisations,
give to the poor or build houses of worship. Yes, God is
forgiving. He, Lahab, was just beginning. He didn't
have the means to those things necessary to impress the
Almighty. But he would undertake what he considered
the most cleansing act performing the pilgrimage.
. . .

Three months later he left for Hajj, and decided

against quitting his job. Saahir had succeeded in con-
vincing him.

Hussaina missed her husband very much during his

127
 Witnesses to Tears

three weeks sojourn Holy Land, though she told

in the
wish him anything better than
herself that she could not
that trip. There were moments she cried from the over-
flow of happy emotions that her own husband had
taken some great strides towards the Lord. He had told
her that he was going not only to discharge his duties to
God, but to thank Him for His mercies and bounties
upon him. That, to Hussaina, was a great act of piety.
She was kept in complete darkness about the contrac-
tor's affair.
When Lahab returned from his pilgrimage, Hussaina
felt like swallowing him. To her he looked like a man
reborn. Sinless.
"You look like a child," she remarked, looking at his
clean-shaven head.
"And I feel like one," Lahab replied, and truly meant
it. He felt all his past sins had been forgiven, and
morally felt unburdened. He felt no more guilt or re-

morse.
Lahab had another cause to be very happy. Hussaina
was pregnant again. And his friend, Saahir had told him
she would deliver a live baby a boy. —
Five months after Lahab's return from the Holy Land,
Hussaina was delivered of a baby boy. Saahir had been
right after all! An extraordinary man, Lahab thought.
He seemed to see through the future like the X-ray
machine does with the human body. Incredible man.
But why had he failed, Lahab asked himself, to tell him
that his wife would almost lose her own life in the
process of bringing a new one into being? Anas Al-
Amin Sagiir, Hussaina's baby, was delivered by
Caesarian section. Sagiir had decided to make his exit
out of his mother's womb leg first, instead of head first.
A resolve to walk his way out into the world, seemed. it

A fatal move for Hussaina. She fell into coma, and the
doctors had to come to her rescue. All these, Saahir did
not tell Lahab. Perhaps, he just chose not to.

128
 Six

After the tense moments before and Lahab

after birth,
became overjoyed with the baby boy, and all
arrival of a
else took second position. Hussaina's recovery and the
fact that the doctors had advised against any further
delivery by her in future occupied Lahab' s mind much
less than his boy. Of course he cared for Hussaina, and
wished she had not gone through all that agony before
delivery. But she delivered. And she was still alive. So
was the baby. For that he was grateful to her.
"What do you want us to call him/' he had asked
Hussaina five days after she left the hospital. Not that
he cared much what the boy was to be called. He only
felt that he ought to give her that concession, as an

expression of gratitude to her.

She looked at him and smiled, a loving smile. She had
long been thinking about consulting him, nay, crave his
indulgence, to let the child be named after her father.
For some odd reason, she had feared he would say no.
But now, here he was, even requesting her. Slowly she
said,"My Dad."
"Anas Al-Amin 'Sagiir —that's Dad Junior," said
Lahab with an amiable smile. "You've got it!"
Hussaina felt so happy. She got up, kissed him and
made towards the colt where the baby lay. She picked
him up and kissed his forehead, and began to weep.
Tears of joy, tears of lamentation over a loss in the past,
but mostly tears of joy for her baby.
Sagiir seemed to her a reincarnation of her late father.
She was almost convinced of it. And she resolved to live
for Sagiir, just as her late father had devoted his life to
her.
At the end of her maternity leave, she gave a one-
month notice of her intention to resign from her job as a
nurse at the Lusaka Hospital. She was going to devote
all the time she had to bringing up Sagiir, give him the

best motherly care she could for at least three years.

And for once, she did not feel any guilt of a let down,
129
 Witnesses to Tears

for going back on her vow, to serve in the hospital for

her mother's sake. Mother, she told herself, would have
approved of her action. After all, the doctors had said
she could only live to see one child of her own. An only
child had begotten an only child.
For the first time, Hussaina felt like going to ask
Saahir to peep into his special sand into the future and
let her know how long Sagiir would live . . .

130
 7

Baby Sagiir was now one year old, and growing fast,

to the delight of Hussaina. Nothing pleased her so

much as the knowledge that her son looked like her
father.
'There something/' Lahab had remarked, "about
is

Sagiir thatreminds me so much about your Dad."

"What's it?" Hussaina asked.
"His face, his head, his nose."
"Oh really?" She concealed a joyous excitement.
"It seems he would be Dad's carbon copy."
"But to me he looks more like you," she lied. Even
Saahir had said the child didn't look like Lahab half as
much as he resembled her.
Lahab laughed, though he felt flattered by his wife's
remark. "This boy resembles his grandfather even more
than he resembles you," he said.
Hussaina grinned, and paused. Then, as if thinking
aloud, she said, "The best resemblance is the resemb-
lance of character. I hope to bring him up in Dad's
fashion."
"Ridiculous!"
"What? Why?"
"Your Dad lived at a different time and different
environment. You can't ..."
"What do you mean," she quickly interrupted, "by
'you can't'? Nothing is impossible. It may be difficult.
Extremely difficult. But with efforts and determination
... By the way, what d'you mean by 'different en-
 Witnesses to Tears

vironmenf? I shall be his environment in his formative

years . . . Sorry, we shall be. You and 1. We both know
Dad's environment. And for the question of time, I

think certain human qualities transcend time. Like hon-

esty and humility for example. Teach a man these qua-
lities, he can live in any age —
past, present or future."
"I don't understand your argument."
"I'm not arguing. It's an exposition ." . .

"Okay, it's not an argument, whatever you call it. But

I don't see how you can teach a person to live effectively
in a society you know little about. Sagiir's time will not
be our time. We will only be able to understand or
appreciate very little of their time. You and I will be out
of date and may be irrelevant. Everyone learns and lives
in his own time. There is little you can teach him."
"Ho! Ho! Ho! Are you serious? You're a teacher, and I
don't believe you mean what you're saying."
has nothing to do with
"I do. Absolutely. This thing
my being a teacher. It's just my understanding of the
complex nature of human societies and human race
itself."
"Are you saying that societies and human historical
era occur discreetly, lacking continuum?"
"No. But there's always a line between eras and
societies that make them different ..."
Hussaina remained quiet for a moment as if conced-
ing the point to her husband. Then, she said, "There
has always been a continuum in the development of
human character, which neither time nor environment
can sever. In the development of societies, the past has
always shaped the present, and the present shapes the
future. So it has been and so it shall remain. The heart of
the matter is the human mind. Change it, and you
change man and his society —
for better or for worse.
Not time. Not environment. Both act rather remotely
and at a secondary level."
"Okay, you win," said Lahab, still unconvinced.

132
 Seven

"The important thing to me is, you should bring up this

boy to be a man in the society he will find himself, not a
dummy/'
"Say 'we should bring up this boy'. It's our responsi-
bility,both."
"Okay, agreed. But I'm conceding to your own pet
theory. So, you're in charge."
She knew she would be in charge. She nonetheless
felt much happier that he was going to let her be in

charge of bringing up Sagiir. She had feared he would

interfere, and prayed that he did not. It seemed that
God had accepted her prayers.
She had feared because, of late, she had been growing
more and more uneasy about her husband's life style.
Lahab had become very rich, much to her discomfort.
How could a Vice-Principal, despite his investment fore-
sight, ride into such affluence as her husband had now
found himself? She began to suspect that Lahab had
been playing his cards in too fast a fashion. But she had
no basis with which to substantiate her fears. However,
even that one notwithstanding, her husband's growing
love for money worried her. That element alone was evil
enough. She feared he might infest Little Sagiir with his
pecuniary passion. She was prepared to turn Sagiir
away from this avaricious tendency. Partly because of
this, she turned down his offer of a partnership in a
contracting business.
She had also become a bit apprehensive about La-
hab's relationship with Saahir. She had began hearing
stories about him, most of them not to her moral taste.
She still him though for his intelligence, af-
respected
fable attitude towards her and his effectiveness as a
traditional doctor. Many a patient had referred himself
from hospitals to his CMTS. He also served as an unof-
ficial consultant to many modern doctors, particularly

those in charge of psychiatric wards. His medical pro-

wess and stature remained undiminished. He had more

133
 Witnesses to Tears

than justified the raison d'etre of the CMTS that —

traditional medicine is not just a fetish, but a portent
complement to modern medicine: it only needed to be
further explored, developed and refined.
Even Hussaina herself had had to turn to Saahir,
twice, when Sagiir's high body temperature could not
respond to the drugs she had obtained from the hospi-
tal. At first she did not want to tell her husband to

consult his friend. He always told her that she was a

nurse, and she usually felt one inch taller —
except on
this occasion, when she had had to concede to Saahir.
Secretly, she had earlier gone to her former hospital,
and they could not pin down the specific ailment afflict-
ing her child. Then she decided on her husband's
friend. And some twelve hours after, Sagiir's condition
improved remarkably. And, fully recovered by day
three of the treatment.
Hussaina still respected him. But the stories about
him . people had began saying that Dr. Saahir was a
. .

witch: indeed the witches grand patron. He presided

7

over the initiation of new witches. Nevertheless, it was

said that he was a liberal patron, a good leader. He
relaxed the age-old condition of initiation, which re-
quired the newcomers to sacrifice a blood relation, a
next of kin, before they could become true witches.
Saahir, Hussaina had heard, amended the condition.
Any human being from anywhere could be substituted.
His reasoning was that the psychological effect, the guilt
of taking the life of a blood relation, tended to weigh
heavily on the conscience of the newcomers, leading
ultimately to their ruin and betrayal of others at the end.
A stranger's life posed no such risk. One cared little.
Some few older witches of course were against his
reform, and even tried to eliminate him. But he was too
strong for them. The night they flew to his house to
destroy him, they found themselves turned into zom-
bies, sweeping the yard behind his college till day-

134
 Seven

break. In the morning, they confessed their crimes; and

when they reached their homes, they all died within
twelve hours of each other.
"But/' Saahir was reported to have said, "I'm a witch
with a difference. I don't drink human blood as others
do."
Birds of thesame feather, Hussaina told herself, flock
together. To it was irrelevant or not whether Saahir
her,
drank blood. He was in league with those who did. The
possession of tremendous powers to inflict evil on
others was enough of an intimidating force, the capacity
to compel perpetual fear. All powers are prone to cor-
ruption, to be used to inflict injury. There
is nothing like

infiniteguarantee on power restraint. Nothing like a

benevolent witch, Hussaina convinced herself, even
though the human face Saahir had given himself made
him less fearsome, and more approachable.
But the more odious thing, the repulsive thing about
Saahir which perturbed Hussaina, was the rumour she
heard that he was known to have prescribed the exhum-
ation of the dead from the grave, especially when
freshly buried, to remove certain parts of the body to be
sacrifices. He did such things mostly for people
used in
who wanted to be very rich.
Had he done such a thing for her husband? She
Her
closed her eyes in repulsion. Never, she said to her.
husband would not descend so low! But she found it
very difficult to repel the possibility. There was a high
degree of intimacy between the two that would not
preclude it. It even suggested itself. People, she said to
herself, would think that her husband was a witch. She
had seen no such signs in him, either in his demeanour
or possession of strange, exotic objects. She was con-
vinced her husband was not a witch. But riches? . . .

She felt confused; and worried as well, though she was

able to conceal her feelings.
Lahab had become very rich, embarassingly so even

135
 Witnesses to Tears

to Cabral High's Principal and the Director of Educa-

tion. There were no official complaints against either his
effectiveness or financial management. The Director,
however, decided it was time he had Lahab posted
away from Cabral. He was to be posted away from
Sabonville itself to Nuclear City as a Principal of a Junior
Secondary School.
It was a much smaller school. Lahab told Saahir that

he wasn't happy about the posting, and wanted his

intervention. Saahir asked for time to examine the situa-
tion. As usual, he called the Director. The Director
politely but firmly told him that it was too late to change
the posting. If he had talked before the letter of posting
was sent out, perhaps he would have given it a second
thought. Furthermore, he briefed Saahir why Lahab had
to leave Cabral. Saahir was convinced by the Director.
Lahab had to move —
in everybody's best interest.
Saahir kept Lahab in the dark about his discourse
with the Director. He had always kept him in the dark
about the role of the Director.
"I've looked into your stay at Cabral," said Saahir on
phoning Lahab to brief him on the situation, "and
sooner than later, it would not be in your interest to
remain in the school. Accept the posting."
Lahab remained silent. Then said, "But, will it be in
my interest to resign?"
"I have to look into that. But first you must leave
Cabral."
Even Hussaina was not happy about the posting. Her
feelings gave strength to Lahab' s desire to quit teaching.
And when Saahir later on told him that he saw nothing
ominous in his resignation, he made up his mind on
what his next move would be.
Lahab reported to his new school, as the Principal,
and in his third month, resigned from the public ser-
vice.
Three months later, he had established his own con-

136
 s

Seven

tracting firm. Though Hussaina turned down his offer

to participate as thenew company's Managing Director,
he still felt the company must bear his wife's mark.
Husala Businesses Limited, he called his company: 'Hu-
sala' being a derivative of the first two letters of Hus-
saina, Sagiir and Lahab. Hussaina was impressed,
flattered, but refused to be directly involved, though
she wished her husband well.
Curiously, too,^ Saahir politely turned down Lahab'
offer to serve in his new venture. However, he volun-
teered to be the Chief consultant to the H. B. Limited.
H. B. Limited, while registered to carry out all manner
of jobs, including manufacturing of things ranging from
needles to aircrafts, dealt primarily in building construc-
tion and general supplies government establishments
to
and institutions. Surprisingly, HB Limited did not go in
for food supplies to schools, but Lahab himself kept his
'working relationship' with those chosen contractors
with whom he had had understanding of sorts at Cabral
High. Lahab used his connections as a former teacher
and former public officer to win jobs for the company.
Saahir too was of tremendous help in securing con-
tracts: more often than not it was he who would inform
Lahab where prospective jobs were —
having himself
obtained the information from many a contractor who
came to consult him and receive his divinations and
medicines that would help in procuring the contracts.
Lahab was happy at the performance of his company.
So far so good, he told himself. Even Hussaina was
happy. She now felt more at home with her husband's
growth of wealth. Not that she had now discounted her
husband's connections with Saahir, but she now felt
more at ease with how he made his money. Everybody
could see his company, unlike before, when he had no
other business except serving as a public officer. She
really could not reconcile herself to a very rich public
officer whose entire time belonged to the government,

137
 Witnesses to Tears

and on a fixed salary. She could not really understand it.

Yes, she remembered what Daddy used to say: he

whom God wants to enrich, will sell water even by the
river side. That was true; but that required effort and
time. It did not explain an easy overnight plunge into
good fortune. Some people sold more than water, and,
as Hussaina used to fear, her husband probably did.
Now he was out of it and Hussaina was content to see
both his business and boy grow. •

Sagiir was now four and a half years old. A bright and
handsome kid. He resembled his mother in every way
except his gait, which he took from his father. Hussaina
had never felt happier. Sagiir represented her many
months of devotion. And she felt gratified that she took
the decision to abandon her job for his sake.
However, now she began thinking of taking some job
— even if on a part-time basis. She resolved that
whenever Sagiir turned five, she would take him to a
Nursery School. While he was there, she would do a
few hours job instead of sitting at home alone.
7

She thought of going back to Lusaka General Hospi-

tal. But Lusaka was a bit stringent in its re-absorption

requirement. Those out of their profession for more

than three years must sit for an examination. Even if
successful, they may not be put on their former salary
level. She had been off for over four years now. She
must take an examination she wasn't sure of passing.
And she also wasn't sure she could come down from
her high horse to take orders from those she knew were
her juniors. She wasn't being proud. No! She just feared
that someone who deserved not to, would want to boss
her around. That was how inadequacy and mediocre

138
 Seven

satisfied themselves: bubbles of over-zealousness,

swelling to prove that they were in charge. Hussaina
decided against returning to Lusaka.
She had another idea. She would try the City Council
Health Clinic Number 15 along Zanzibar Street. Clinic
Number 15's appeal was that, it was not only close to
their residence, but only about three minutes' drive
from Zimbabwe Street, where Nelson Mandela Primary
School was situated. Hussaina' s plan was eventually to
register Sagiir at Mandela after completing his one year
at the nursery school. Mandela was not only the closest
primary school to their house, but it was the best in
Sabonville City — though the most expensive. She
knew on her own she could not afford such a school.
But her husband had asked her to select the best school
for Sagiir. Mandela was her choice. And Fodio Nursery
was her choice for his pre-Primary institution. Fodio
was located off Senegal Street, about ten minutes' walk
from the Futa Toro Heights apartment, where Hussaina
once lived with her father.
To Hussaina' s delight, Clinic Number 15 agreed to
engage her services, on a part-time and trial basis, for an
initial period of six months. Thereafter they would con-
sider her for a longer term employment. She loved the
arrangement. It was in fact becoming extremely difficult
to get a job with the City Council administration. The
ripples of a world wide economic recession had reached
the country, and the City was feeling the pinch. There
had already been cases of staff retrenchment. Even at
Lusaka, Hussaina had heard that some paramedical
staff, particularly those below the nurses, had lost their

jobs, on the grounds of such catch-criteria as 'redun-

dancy' and 'declining productivity'.
Lahab had approved of Hussaina' s plans, though he
never failed to tease her on the possibility that she could
be thrown out of job at any moment the Principal
Nursing Superintendent in charge of the clinic didn't

139
 Witnesses to Tears

like to see her face: dismissal on grounds of 'unsightly

appearance'. Anything went.
In spite of everything, Hussaina loved spending most
of her time at home, playing the faithful housewife. At
times though, she felt she had to do some little job to
earn just a few kobo —
of her own. She knew her
husband was very rich and could meet all her needs.
But she valued something in what her own sweat could
earn for her. It was more than just freedom. She
couldn't pin down exactly what it was, but she felt some
great inner peace at being able to do things her own way
— very modestly, without grandeur. She loved remain-
ing herself; in full control, well, almost in full control of
herself.
And when Sagiir turned five, she took him to Fodio
Nursery School, while she herself later reported to
Clinic Number 15 as a part-time nursing sister.

HB Ltd was now two years old and had established

itself as a reputable company. And Lahab, its Chairman,

remained its spirit. He insisted on efficient

moving
services. True, he bought sympathies for the company
right from the top of government departmental hier-
archies down to the account clerks wherever he had
business interests. His quotations on jobs were always
right whenever he wanted them to be. His greatest ally
in contract bidding was the Tenders Boards' clause that
the Boards were not bound to accept the lowest or
highest bidder. Technically, he could never be held
responsible for high job prices. Or when he wanted, he
could apply for contract revision, sure that his request
would be granted.

140
 Seven

And they were always granted. True, Lahab wasn't

running a syndicated fraud system. He just simply
knew the rules of the game, and recruited the right
players positioned in the right places. He paid the right
prices and each player in the game delivered only too
willingly. And the awesome long shadow of Saahir, the
HB Ltd's consultant, whom everybody knew to be La-
7
hab ensured cooperation. By all stan-
s close friend,
dards, Lahab became a very successful businessman,
the envy of many a public officer who lacked his courage.
But HB Ltd could not shield itself from the effects of
economic recession. Governmental departments, its
greatest patronisers, could not shield themselves. Re-
venue calculations had all of a sudden gone wrong.
Business generally in the country had taken a down-
turn, and the expectation was that the plunge would
continue. Cash-flow into the coffers of government
agencies was reduced to a trickle. Public services were
gradually reduced. New contract jobs began to freeze,
and payments for those already on the ground began
falling behind. The pinch reached the contractors.
7
Lahab s problem was that he had too many jobs in
hand. At first, he thought out a wise plan of pouring all
the money he had into completing most of his job. He
reckoned that the recession would continue, albeit
mildly, and given import restriction measures, prices of
goods would rise. He hoped to complete most of the
jobs just when the upward trend of prices would be-
come menace to previously concluded contractual
a
obligations. Then he would apply for contract variation,
pleading escalating prices.
But the price rises occurred much sooner than Lahab
expected. And he got hit midway. He completed just
about half of the jobs he anticipated he would, having
sunk substantial sums. He turned to the banks. The
managers gave the little help they could —
very reluc-
tantly, HB Ltd's black ink record not withstanding. As a

141
 Witnesses to Tears

result of the economic recession, they told him, the

Central Bank had turned the screw on them and asked
them to restrict lending. The economy must not be
overheated. Lahab could not understand all the argu-
ment. It all sounded very spurious. How could lending
to him, alone, overheat the economy? Oh, these bank-
ers! Itwas true what was said about them: to get their
help, you have to prove you don't need their help!
Lahab' s last hope was to press for payment for part of
the jobs he had completed. That too was almost a dead
end. He got paid just enough to maintain workers at the
various sites, most of them on permanent appointment.
For the first time, he was paying them for nothing. He
sensed trouble for his dream business empire. If the
situation continued like this for another six months, he
told himself, his business would start showing signs of
crack, and then a very fast collapse. He must do some-
thing. He must not allow himself to diminish.
He consulted with Saahir and expressed his fears.
Two days later, for the first time, Lahab' s great friend
and mentor sounded very reticent.
"There is a great force," Saahir said, "involved in all

these."
I knew it, Lahab told himself. He knew it was not
Yes!
alleconomic recession, economic depression or what-
ever those blinking economic analysts call the situation.
A great force. Causing him not to be paid for jobs done.
Causing banks to deny him required credit facilities. A
great force indeed. A somebody? Who was he? Where
was he?
"A great force," Lahab said slowly but rather
conclusively, like one who has finally found the key clue
to a mystery puzzle.
"Yes, a force greater than either of us."
"Yes, a force greater than you?" Lahab asked. He had
never imagined any force greater than Saahir. Apart
from God. What was more, he had never heard him

142
 Seven

speak in that way. A kind of fear seized him. "So there

is nothing that can be done?"

"Of course, one can always do something. Only that,

in a situation like this —
and I don't want to ever lie to
you, one isnot sure of the outcome of one's action. Its
efficacy and consequences."
"Just help me, please."
"That's not the problem. You know, I am always
willing to help. But this time, I have some kind of
foreboding. Honestly, I don't know why. I can't see the
end of the road."
"If only you can see the beginning. Let's walk along
it. Perhaps, the further along we move, the clearer it

becomes."
"I'm not so sure. It's not that simple . . . You know,
we are friends. And I won't hide what I know from you.
For the first time, I'm in doubt of an outcome. And my
operational rule with friends is: when in doubt, do
nothing. I advise we wait and see ..."
"But all rules do have exception clauses. Anyway, let
me not press you too far, I respect your judgment."
Saahir looked at Lahab. He knew his friend was not
happy. In truth, he wasn't sure of the outcome of the
help he wanted to render. And as they parted, he felt
sympathy for Lahab. When he reached home, Saahir
went straight to his Great Room, his consulting room
with the spirits. He threw his cowrie shells seven times.
Criss-crossed his mystery sand with the bone of one of
the hind legs of a black cat: that's the ultimate of sooth-
saying in the art as practised by his grandfather.
Saahir' s heart jumped without knowing why. He has
seen the results and interpreted them. His craft had
been a little more forthcoming. The end could be
achieved — even though the result, the goal, was still
like an apparition, in a misty smoke. Mocking. Saahir
didn't like that. Still, he felt consoled that, at least, that
which Lahab was after was realisable, and he could

143
 Witnesses to Tears

foretell it. But the means. The means to an end. The

prescribed ritual sacrifices. It would involve blood and
tears, said his mystery sand. Human blood. And that,
was what made Saahir uncomfortable. Not the human
blood: but the tears.
Saahir wasn't a stranger to sacrificial taking of human
life to ensure the satisfaction of certain human ambi-
tions. Through his professional calling, he had had to
prescribe blood sacrifices for scores or world seekers.
But the present divination with its tears bothered him.
The tears signified familiarity, proximity and love of the
person to be sacrificed.
"And you can't pin down who that person is going to
be?" asked Lahab when Saahir reported on his probe. "I
mean, can't you say whether the person is going to be
my relative, yours, my wife's or just a friend or a
friend's relation?"
"That's my
main problem," returned Saahir, "and
that'swhy I'm so worried. One thing I'm sure of
though: we shall both be witnesses to the tears."
Lahab paused, then sounding very reflective said, "it
seems we have a dangerous bridge to cross before we
reach our target."
"Very true," said Saahir shaking his head with an
expression on his face which seemed to suggest that he
would rather suspend the whole exercise than take a
risk. He added, "Indeed, a dangerous bridge across a
crocodile-infested river. Vicious, hungry creatures! If

one falls into the river, let him just forget about swim-
ming across to the other side."
"Yeah. The point is, a rational mind takes risks with a
calculation of proportionality to the expected rewards.
The higher the level of reward expected, the higher the
risks and dangers one is prepared to take. Now, my
problem is the outcome, the reward you said it's all . . .

misty at the other end ..."

"Yes. But even in the mist, the prize is very hand-

144
 Seven

some. The mist is only the uncertainty/'

Lahab nodded. "And can you minimise the risks?"
"I'll try."
"Yes, please try," said Lahab.
The matter had now been decided. The HB Ltd em-
pire would be defended. Fortified. And expanded. Saa-
hir, however, asked that Lahab leave all the plans to
him. And also one pre-condition:
"You will have to leave the city, for at least one
week," said Saahir.
"Oh? One week only? Will three weeks be too
much?" asked Lahab.
"Even two weeks would be just about right," re-
turned Saahir smiling.
"Then I'm off to the Holy Land for this year's pilgrim-
age."
"Fine! And ask for Allah's Forgiveness for us both!"
"You can be sure of that." And they both laughed and
hugged each other, as if to say, by the time Lahab
returned, the deed would have been done. Forgetting
the risks. All guilt forgotten. And God appeased. At the
destination of ultimate success.

Hussaina turned down Lahab' s offer to go to the Holy

Land for the pilgrimage for reasons connected with her
job and, most importantly, Sagiir.
She would have loved to go, she told her husband. It
was a religious duty she would want to discharge. But
she wouldn't -want to take permission to leave her job
for more than two weeks when she had hardly started.
She was just one month on the job. Her employers
might think that she was not serious after all.
But the job could be risked, she told herself. Not

145
 Witnesses to Tears

Sagiir.To whom was she going to leave him? Ever since

he was born, she had never stayed a single day away
from him. And now she didn't think she could spend
three consecutive days without him. How much more
three weeks? Besides, she did not want to leave Sagiir so
soon after his enrolment into Nursery School.
Thus, Lahab had to leave for the Hajj without Hus-
saina. He had conceded to her wish to remain behind.
7
For Sagiir s sake.
And a week after Lahab had left, the Proprietress of
Fodio Nursery School called Hussaina to discuss the
performance of Sagiir. He was barely one and a half
months old in the school. Too early to assess anybody,
Hussaina thought.
"Well," began the Proprietress, "I had wanted to talk
to you some three weeks ago about young Master
Lahab, but felt I ought to give myself more chance to see
things ... To further convince myself." She paused.
Hussaina looked fixedly at her, wondering what was
amiss. A little anxiety crept into her mind, though she
kept it well under control. Then, the Proprietress con-
tinued, "I wouldn't want to waste his whole year here.
He is too advanced, too intelligent for his group. And
I'd strongly recommend that he be allowed to go into
primary school straight away."
Hussaina felt flattered. Immediately she tensed
down. She felt surprised, though proud of her son. She
did not know what to say in response, and just grinned.
"Do you have any objections?" asked the Pro-
prietress.
"Oh, no," answered Hussaina, "but the Primary
Schools are now half way through their first term. No
school might accept him."
"Don't worry about that. I'll try to handle that. Do
you have any preference for a particular school?"
"Yes. Nelson Mandela."
"A very good school. Just appropriate for him." The
146
 Seven

Proprietress picked her pen and jotted down something

on you don't mind, I'll give you a
a piece of paper. "If
letter to the Headmaster of the School right away."
Hussaina said she didn't mind, and some ten minutes
later, she was given an envelope containing the letter.
She could take Sagiir along, the Proprietress told her.
As mother and son made to enter the car to depart,
the Proprietress shook Sagiir' s hand and said, "Young
Master Lahab, mycongrat ..."
"Nop, Ma'am," interrupted Sagiir playfully but
firmly, "I'm not Lahab. I'm Anas Al-Amin Sagiir.
Daddy is Lahab, and he's not here."
The Proprietress shook her head, patted the boy on
the shoulder, and said, "Okay, young man, you win.
Master Anas Al-Amin Sagiir. Congratulations and best
wishes to you." Then turning to his mother, she said,
"You see what I mean? Quite a sharp boy you've got.
He knows who he is, wants to be himself . and that is
. .

the first step towards achieving a successful life. In life,

you've got to know who you are, and where you are
going."
Hussaina wanted to add 'and what you want, in
truthfulness and faith' but kept quiet. She only grinned.
Almost immediately she moved off, very happy. And as
she drove to Nelson Mandela Primary School, she
thought over what the Proprietress of Fodio had said.
Then she prayed. Prayed that when her son grew up to
be a man, he would live up to expectation —
just like his
grandfather: a man, always himself.

147
 8

Lahab had left his house and family in the trust and
care of his friend Saahir. It did not matter that he was
not resident in Sabonville City. No other person, Lahab
believed, could look after his family any better. Saahir
had done a marvellous job the first time he went to Hajj.
They were less close then. Now, Saahir had an even
greater claim to the entrustment.
"When he says 'don't'/' Lahab had tried to instruct
his wife rather jokingly, "do take it as coming from me."
"How dare I disobey him?" returned Hussaina, smil-
ing. She knew what he said was rather needless. The
last time Saahir was their guardian angel, she found him
very understanding. She then added, "When he says
'don't', not even within my mind would a contradictory
thought be allowed. That would be like denying you.
You know dear, I wouldn't commit such a felony
against you ..."
And in Lahab's absence, Saahir took good care of
Hussaina and her son. He made it a duty to make
personal calls every other day, and was in contact with
the family by phone daily. Hussaina was very happy.
She did not think or brood much over Lahab's absence.
The only times she wished he were around were when
Sagiir would ask on end, 'When is Daddy coming back?'
"Very soon. Very, very soon," his mother would say
reassuringly, patting him on the head.

News reports reaching Sabonville had it that the rites

148
 s

Eight

of pilgrimagewere over, and pilgrims from the country

would from the Holy Land in about a
start arriving
week. By Hussaina's estimation, her husband should be
arriving home some five days after the first arrivals.
Anxiety filled her— for Sagiir's sake. Then she received
a telegram from him, saying that he was booked on the
country's first flight home. It was just around eleven
o'clock in the morning. She was quite excited, and
decided she would excuse herself from the Clinic and
rush to Sagiir at Mandela to inform him. First, however,
she decided to go back home and get the little boy some
more snacks.
When she reached the house, she found Saahir' s car
parked in front. She was a little surprised. She had
never seen him around their house at this hour — or she
never knew that he ever visited the house when she was
at work. Quickly she told herself that she should have
expected it. There was no need for her to be surprised.
Everything was to be under his care. In fact the dupli-
cate keys to all the rooms in the house were in Saahir'
possession. He was supposed to have access to the
house at any time. But why, Hussaina asked herself,
didn't he phone me at the clinic? Quickly she banished
the suspicion that was sneaking into her mind. A little
sense of guilt seized her. Saahir could mean no evil.
Otherwise, he wouldn't have come in his own car and
parked right in front of the house.
Hussaina opened the front door to the house by
pressing the numbers on the door-knob. The door was
opened only by coded numbers known to three people
— Lahab, Hussaina and Saahir. The door opened di-
rectly into a large sitting room, elegantly, almost extra-
vagantly furnished. As she entered the room, she
stopped. She heard the voices of more than two people
— all male. The voices seemed to come from the base-

ment.
Lahab's house, a beautiful bungalow, had a basement

149
 Witnesses to Tears

which seemed like a nuclear fall-out shelter. Lahab

rarely descended the stairways into the basement itself.
Since the house was built some three years ago, Hus-
saina saw him go in there not more than half a dozen
times, nearly always with Saahir. She herself had been
down there only once, when Lahab was showing her
through the complex prior to their moving in. She
recalled there were six doors which were supposed to
lead into various rooms: three self-contained bedrooms,
a sitting-room, a kitchen, and she couldn't remem-
. . .

ber where the sixth door led to. She couldn't remember
being told where the door led into. Perhaps a store. She
but couldn't remember anything.
tried to recall,
The voices were coming from the basement.
"Anybody home?" she shouted, cupping both her
hands around her mouth for greater sound effect.
The voices stopped. Silence.
"Anybody home?" she shouted again, this time mov-
ing towards the stairway.
Almost immediately, Saahir emerged, moving hur-
riedly, holding the hand-rail as an aid for forward
thrust. Not far behind him was a man, looking much
younger than Saahir, perhaps in his mid-thirties.
"Oh, it's you Ma'am!" said Saahir grinning, conceal-
ing a sense of surprise. The man behind was express-
ionless.
"Yes," returned Hussaina smiling, "what are you
doing here at this time?" Her tone was playful.
"Oh, just to check a few things plumbing, electri-
. . .

cal checks, y'know ..."

"Some news for you," interrupted Hussaina, not
much concerned about what Saahir was saying. "Look.
A telegram from your friend He'll be here in a
. . .

week's time. And I'm on my way to inform Sagiir."

"Splendid," replied Saahir, feigning surprise. He,
too, had received a similar telegram from Lahab. But
since his contained such phrases as 'Hope plan's all

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 Eight

7
well', and 'Dreamt it he could not show it to her,
failed ,

and so decided not to tell her. "Sagiir would surely be

happy .But Oh, you women, is that why you came
. .

home now? Couldn't you wait till after working hours

or when is over?"
the school
Hussaina only laughed, took back her telegram, and
headed straight for the kitchen. Almost immediately,
Saahir signalled to the man following him to go back to
the basement. Not quite five minutes later, Hussaina
emerged from the kitchen with something in an alumi-
nium foil. As she bade Saahir goodbye, the latter fol-
lowed her to the door and watched her disappear.
By the time Hussaina reached Sagiir' s school, it was
eleven thirty. Break time for Class One pupils. She was
in high spirits /She began throwing glances here and
there in search of her son. That was what she normally
did. Usually it was Sagiir who spotted her first. Five
minutes. No Sagiir in sight. Ten twenty thirty
. . . . . .

minutes, and still she had not spotted her son. The
break was over. She went to his class and spoke to the
class teacher. He could not say where Sagiir was. Ten-
sion began to build inside Hussaina. What was happen-
ing?
Desperate with anxiety, Hussaina requested to see
the Headmaster. And together, with the class teacher,
the three of them went to Sagiir' s class to enquire. A
girl,dark-complexioned, aged about six and half, said
she saw Sagiir and his friend —
she could not remember
the friend's name, talking to some men during the
breakfast break. She said perhaps the men were her
missing classmates' fathers or uncles.
"Did they follow the men?" asked the Principal, his
voice betraying a fear of some mishap.
"I don't know," replied the girl.
The Headmaster, Hussaina and the class teacher
began going round the school in search of the missing
pupils. But Sagiir could not be found.

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 Witnesses to Tears

It was now one o'clock, the school's closing time.

Hussaina knew that she would be going back home

without Sagiir; and immediately she burst out into tears.
As the class teacher tried to calm her down, the
Headmaster rang the police to report that two pupils
from Nelson Mandela Primary School were missing:
kidnapping was suspected.

Dr. Saahir had been a little unsettled by the sudden

appearance of Hussaina. He had been at the house
hardly ten minutes before she arrived. Now he wanted
to get out as soon as possible. He did not want her to
return a second time — as suddenly as the first, to meet
him and a whole crowd in the house. He himself was
not quite convinced by the 'plumbing and electrical
checks' excuse. Next time she might want to go and see
the works being checked. She would find none. No . . .

she must not meet him this morning again in the house.
But he was still waiting for two more of his aides. Their
non-arrival was causing him a little anxiety. If they
didn't arrive in another fifteen minutes, he and his two
aides in the basement would have to leave the house.
Fortunately for him, Hussaina had scarcely been gone
five minutes then the two men, with a trunk box in
Peugeot 405 SW Pick-up, appeared. 'Workman's tools'
was the inscription written on top of the box in bold
The way they lifted it out of the vehicle
capital letters.
suggested contained something quite heavy. Saahir
it

was happy and felt relieved to see them.

"C'mmon," Saahir exhorted them as they entered the
house. He tried to give them a helping hand as they
descended the stairs to the basement. "Let's hurry. We
must get out of here fast. I don't want the lady of the

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 Eight

house to meet us again."

The two men said nothing.
Then Saahir asked, "How many do you have in
here?"
replied the men in unison. They looked at
7
"Two/
each other, and one of them added in a low monotone,
"and one is dead. Suffocated."
"My goodness!" Saahir exclaimed. They had now
reached the main corridor in the basement, and joined
by the other two men. Saahir looked at the men who
brought the box, concealing his dismay. But they didn't
do it on purpose, he told himself. They had been in his
service for almost half a dozen years, and by all stan-
dards they had been effective and reliable. He gathered
himself and resolved not to ask further questions about
the death. Only a little damage had been done to his
plan.
Saahir needed a human head, preferably of a boy
aged between six and ten, as part of his scheme to
defend, protect and fortify Lahab's wealth and empire
— HB Ltd. After his rituals, Saahir believed, he could
make Lahab one of the wealthiest men in the country. A
boy's head was all that was needed to achieve that. But
he conceived a plan of his own.
He would kidnap two children. The parents would
come to him and he would make money out of that,
especially since they would be children of the well-
to-do. He had specifically asked his hit-men to go to
Nelson Mandela Primary School. Somehow his memory
had failed He had forgotten that Sagiir was now at
him.
Mandela. He had asked his men to avoid Fodio
Nursery. Firstly because the kids there were mostly less
than six years old, secondly —
and most importantly —
he believed Sagiir was there. He didn't want to take
chances. Three days before the kidnap operation
occurred, he had dreamt that the daughter of a friend of
his was brought before him, and he didn't know it until

153
 Witnesses to Tears

he took out his butcher's knife to sever the head. He got

furious with his hit-men: for bringing a girl instead of a
boy, and for bringing a friend's child. Of course his
aides had pleaded against his vexation, blaming the
mistake on the fact that the operation took place at
night. Now, in this plan, Saahir wanted to take precau-
tion against his dream: it seemed ominous to him. Thus,

he directed that this operation should take place by day

to avoid mishap.
But a mishap had happened.
// ,
Well,' began Saahir again, "one of the two would
have had to die anyway. By the process of natural
selection, one has gone. Poor chap. That's his destiny.
Perhaps, God chose to make our job easier Get the . . .

dead one out of the trunk. Quick." Then turning to the

two with whom he originally came to the house, he
instructed, "You two will take it to that room there." He
was pointing to the sixth room in the basement. "Here
are the keys. Finish the remaining job there. Put the
head into the deep freezer, and leave the body there. I'll

return later in the night for collection and disposal. Be

quick and leave the house immediately — before the
lady returns." There was great urgency in Saahir's
voice.
He then turned to the two who had brought the trunk
and beckoned to them. Together they left Lahab's house
with the second child. And they all headed for Conflu-
ence Town, where Saahir lived, an hour and half drive
from Sabonville City.
They did not go straight to the town: some fifteen
- kilometres on the outskirts, Saahir and his men
branched off to his 'farm house', a three-bedroom com-
plex which served also as his fetish centre. There the
kidnapped child was deposited. And then, Saahir de-
parted alone for his house in the town, happy that at
least his plan was virtually intact, despite the little

carelessness over the other child's death.

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 Eight

Once home, Saahir was expecting the parents of

at
the kidnapped kids to call. He knew they would call for

his spiritual help to trace the kids. People had always

called for his help to trace kidnap victims. More often
than not, he had succeeded in finding the victims: most
of them found in distant lands, some alive, some dead.
The dead, Saahir used to claim, would have been found
alive had the kindreds of the victims come to him much
earlier, instead of rushing to the Police. Often though,
relations of the kidnapped had even knelt to solicit for
his assistance to locate thebody of their missing rela-
tive. Some of those he had helped locate were whole;
some dismembered.
Even the police had had occasions to seek his help —
all for very handsomewith rich parents being the
fees,
most generous. Saahir then smiled to himself, at his
extortionist plan.
It was now six-thirty in the evening. No one had

appeared in need of his help. He wasn't worried. He

knew someone would come. They had always come.
Usually around midnight. Then he thought of the dead
child, whose head must now be in the freezer. Mean-
while, Saahir decided to watch television News At
Seven on Channel 4. By two o'clock in the morning, in
the dead of the night, he would leave for Sabonville
City, to Lahab's house to remove the trunk of the dead
boy's remains.
Seven p.m. As the newscaster gave the news head-
lines, he smiled to himself: two boys of the Nelson
Mandela Primary School had been kidnapped, said the
newscaster, by persons who had probably posed as
relatives of the victims. Then came the news details. The
first name mentioned was that of Sagiir. Saahir thought

he heard the wrong name, and didn't want to believe

what he heard. But there was Hussaina being inter-
viewed by TV reporters about how old her child was;
when she last saw him; what she thought was the
155
 Witnesses to Tears

reason for his kidnapping; whether it was done by the

enemies of her husband and all such questions. Saahir
froze. Shocked! Immediately he switched off the TV and
headed for Sabonville.
What was Sagiir doing at Mandela? Saahir asked
himself frantically. Was he
not supposed to be at Fodio?
Or had his men just caught him at Fodio and taken him
to Mandela? He must be at Mandela, otherwise Hus-
saina as she was being
would have corrected the report
interviewed. When did she transfer him from Fodio?
She didn't tell him, her guardian. Why? Why? Why?
He decided first to head for his 'farm house', to see
the child that was fortunate not to have died. Saahir
prayed fervently that the living should be Sagiir.
On reaching the room where the boy was kept, he
pulled off the hood that covered the boy's face. His face
fell. The boy, the one living, was not Sagiir! Sagiir was

dead! Suffocated. Beheaded. For the first time since he

set up his practice, Saahir had never before been moved
by an event as this. He was shattered. He threw away
the black hood and ran out of the house, his mind in
turmoil.
As he drove towards Sabonville, a thousand thoughts
crossed his mind. Yes, he had known there was some-
thing ominous in the outcome his magical antics re-
vealed to him. Only that he couldn't pin anything
down. He couldn't see the end of the road. It was all too
misty.Or was his arts letting him down? No. He let his
artdown. He had moved too fast. An outcome had not
been shown, yet he tried to induce one, despite the
discouraging signal — the mist. He should have been
more cautious! Now, he had injured a friend. Poor
Lahab. Poor Little Sagiir, a fine little chap! And Hus-
saina?Oh, he could never let her know he did it. Even
Lahab now would be kept out of the picture. He would
deny any knowledge of Sagiir's kidnapping ... he
must now remove not only the body of Sagiir, but also

156
 Eight

his head.
was before. He took only one
Saahir sped faster than
hour As he got out of his car, he
to reach Lahab's house.
quickly began formulating what he would say to Hus-
saina. To begin with, he must wear a false expression of
shock, and pretend that he prayed it was all not true. He
had come to confirm what he saw and heard on TV. But
then how would he be able to get Sagiir's remains out of
the house with her mother around? An idea struck him!
He would put Hussaina to sleep. He checked his jack-
et's inner pocket for the preparation. He always carried
such stuff with him at all times. The fine-powdered stuff
was there.
Heentered the house and called Hussaina' s name
thrice. There was no reply. Where had she gone to? The
lights in the sitting-room and her bedroom were on, an
indication that she was around: or even if she had gone
out, it must be for a brief duration. He looked at his
watch: it was twenty-five minutes to nine. He decided
to go down to the basement, to the sixth room, to
remove Sagiir's remains for disposal. Hussaina must
never know anything about how her son died or where
his remains were.
Saahir looked at the control switch to the basement,
and began descending the stairs; he took out his pencil-
torch. He had decided not to put on the lights in the
basement. He preferred the pitch-darkness of the base-
ment But as he reached the final
for his operation.
landing of the stairs and turned
into the basement's
corridor, he saw a streak of light from the sixth room.
Who could that be? One of his aides? He wanted to ask
who it was, but just swallowed his words. Stealthily he
moved towards the door. He no longer lit his own torch.
The door of the sixth room was ajar.
Fear seized him. His heart throbbed harder. It was so
quiet down there, such that he could hear his own
breathing. Who could this be? Slowly he pushed back

157
 Witnesses to Tears

the door. He could now see the source of the light: it

was a torch on the floor, with the torchlight pointing
towards the door. he saw nobody
Still yet. Then —
swiftly, as in a cowboy draw, he lit his torch, pointing
directly in front of him. And there, lying across the
room, was Hussaina!

Although Hussaina had wept uncontrollably over the

disappearance of her son, she never lost hope that she
would find him . alive. The kidnappers, she thought
. .

would not kill him. She tried to find the raison d'etre of
the whole abduction, and settled on the rationale that it
was planned by blackmailers to extort money from her
husband. No, they wouldn't touch her son. All they
needed was money, her husband's money.
But, as if distrustful of those extortionists, she would
cry out, "Oh Allah, protect my child."
She had phoned Saahir' s house about three times,
and each time she was told he was not in. Where could
he be? She wanted to let him know as soon as possible
what had befallen his ward. Somehow she had the hope
that Saahir would be able to find his ward. By five
o'clock that evening, she was becoming more and more
restless. How could he get Saahir to come down to
Sabonville quickly? The last time she phoned she was
told that he was not likely to be home till the Maghrib
prayer time. That would be around a quarter to seven.
She resolved to call him around eight.
Seven p.m. Still no news of either of the missing kids.
Hussaina wept. Additionally, the absence of Sagiir was
getting to her. She went to the sitting-room and turned
on the TV for the Evening News at Seven. Perhaps a
news flash would come on announcing that the children
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 Eight

had been found. She listened to the news with tearful

eyes. When it came to an end, Hussaina realised she
was as distant as before from finding her son. More
restlessness. More agony.
She got up, returned to her bedroom and wept again.
Then suddenly she went to her wardrobe drawer and
took out a torch. She would go out and search all nooks
and corners at Nelson Mandela, to see if somehow
Sagiir had been abandoned there —
perhaps dead! She
She prayed fervently that God
recoiled within herself.
should spare her only child. Then she changed her
mind about going out. She would wait till she had
contacted Saahir. She returned to the sitting-room,
waiting for the wall-clock to strike eight.
Then suddenly she got up, as if pulled by a sudden
force. She had remembered what her late Daddy had
once said: when you have lost something, look for it
even in the most unlikely places you think it wouldn't
be. She told herself to go to the basement. At first she
dismissed as absurd the possibility of Sagiir being down
there. All the same, she decided to go down there
anyway. Halfway down th& stairway, she called her
son's name. She could hear her echo descend; there was
no reply. She descended further, and felt a little discom-
fort at the darkness below. She had forgotten to switch
on the light. She flashed her torch straight in front of
her. She continued her descent, till she reached the final
landing. Again she called her son's name and got no
reply. It was obvious Sagiir was not in there. She knew
it would be so somehow. She then made to return to the

sitting-room.
But as she was about to turn, she made a final flash of
her torch around the doors to the rooms, her eyes
caught a small bunch of keys hanging in the key-hole to
the sixth room. Some kind of curiosity took hold of her.
Could it have been forgotten by Saahir or had the bunch
of keys always been there? She decided to remove it for

159
 Witnesses to Tears

Saahir. And if it weren't his, it would be returned.

As she reached the room, and as if driven by impulse,

she opened the door —
just to have a quick glance at the
inside of the room she had never stepped into since they
moved into the house. Then she saw a black sack. She
did not know that it contained the headless corpse of
her child! She just let her torchlight rest on the bag,
wondering what was inside. Perhaps the plumbers'
working tools, she thought. Then she flashed her torch
to the deep-freezer. So there is a deep-freezer in here?
And it seemed to be on. Or was it one of the things
Saahir brought the people to check? She moved in to the
room to see the inside of machine.
She put her torch in her left hand, and with her right
lifted up the lid of the freezer And there staring her
. . .

in the face was the head of Sagiir!!

She gave a horrendous shriek, released the lid, and
collapsed to the floor unconscious.
And the clock in sitting-room struck eight.

"Oh, gosh!" Saahir exclaimed when he saw Hussaina

lying on the floor. What brought this damned woman to
this place? A righteous wind, he told himself, nursing
indignation and contempt for her.
At first he thought of bolting away and leaving the
two bodies there, but quickly changed his mind. Sagiir's
body might start decomposing, and Hussaina may just
pass away. As the friend of the house, he felt he had a
responsibility towards her —
still. He succumbed to his

own moral argument. He had to take Hussaina to the

hospital, then leave her there.He hoped, though, that
she remained in her state of unconsciousness.
Quickly he moved towards Sagiir's body and re-
moved it to his car, dumping it in his boot. He then
came back for Hussaina. Quite a heavy woman, he
thought as he carried her dangling on his shoulder.

160
 Eight

With difficulty, he climbed the steps of the stairway

with her, and finally made it to his car. He put her
carefully across his back seat. He decided on taking
Hussaina to Lusaka Hospital.
But as he turned into Libya Street, he changed his
mind about going to Lusaka Hospital. He remembered
that Hussaina had worked there not long ago. He might
meet her former colleagues. It was a risk. He didn't
want those who knew her to see him. So he drove on,
past Gabon Street, into Algeria Avenue, where he
turned right. He drove along Algeria Avenue past Cab-
ral High School and later turned into Angola Street.
Saahir looked at his watch. It was seven minutes to
nine. He drove on, and shortly turned into Gambia
Street, along which Khartoum Genera^ Hospital stood.
He made up his mind to put Hussaina there. It was a
much safer place: not too far, yet far enough for people
not to recognise Hussaina nor himself, he reasoned. He
would have her admitted under a false name.
But at the out-patient department, Saahir found Serah
Bello, Hussaina's friend, now a Senior Nursing Sister.
7
"Hi, Doctor/ Serah greeted Saahir, "any trouble ar-
ound here you want to solve for us?" She smiled good-
humouredly.
Serah Bello had known Dr. Saahir during one of her
visits to Hussaina. And ever since, the two had become
close acquaintances. Serah had obviously not expected
7
to see Saahir at the hospial, given the latter s reputation
in traditional medicine.
"A problem for you," replied Saahir feigning a smile,
which disappeared almost as quickly as it came, "to
solve for me this time. It's an emergency case, and I
don't think I'll be able to reach my own hospital. That's
why I've to come to the next best place to my own . . .

C'mmon. Could you get someone to assist me? Your

friendis in my car unconscious ..."
. . .

"Hussaina?" Serah asked, incredulously, her face

161
 Witnesses to Tears

changing to deep anxiety.

"Yes/' replied Saahir.
"What happened?"
"I don't know. I justwent to their house to see the
family. You know my friendLahab is still not back from
the Holy Land. We expect him back either at the end of
this week or early next But just before reaching the
. . .

house, I heard that Police bulletin about her son

missing . . feared kidnapped ..."
.

"You mean Sagiir!" interrupted Serah, looking stupe-

fied.
"Yes . And as I entered the sitting-room, I found
. .

her collapsed on the rug."

Serah was speechless for a moment. Quickly she
asked the nurse on duty at t' e OPD, Sani Tanko, to help
with a stretcher. Together the three went to Saahir' s car
and fetched Hussaina, still in coma. Serah felt that the
three of them could not manage the handling of the
comatose and told Saahir that she was going to call the
night-watchman, who was sitting at the gate, to come
and assist.
"No, no, no!" protested Saahir, "we can manage this
comfortably." He did not want the circle of recognition
to widen. That would complicate his plans. Serah, de-
tecting a firm finality of rejection in his voice, did not
press further to enlist the night watchman's to assis-
tance. They took Hussaina straight to the Female Trau-
matology ward. Saahir looked at his watch. It was nine
p.m.
There was still one more business to be done, Saahir
recalled as he thought of Sagiir's remains in his car boot.
He had to move fast. He was at first happy, slightly
relieved, to have brought Hussaina to hospital, though
now a little unsettled to have met someone close to
Hussaina. He began to fear that the contact with Serah
was in itself a risk. A danger which must be eliminated.
Serah must be killed.

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 Eight

" Where would you be going now," Serah asked Saa-

hir as theyheaded towards the latter's car.
Saahir be caught unaware by the question.
seemed to
He remained silent for a minute,then a suggestion came
to his mind. "Back to Lahab's house to tidy up a few
things. I don't want burglars breaking into the house.
Do you mind going with me?"
Saahir knew he had lied. He knew he was hatching a
plan.
At first, Serah was hesitant. But then, she thought of
Hussaina, her good friend.
"No, I don't mind going with you," she replied. "It's
all sad . this thing happening to Hussaina." She
. .

ended on a tone serious concern for her friend.

As the two drove towards Lahab's bungalow, Saahir
asked Serah questions about Sard Tanko; his house,
whether or not he was married.
Serah gave him a quick glance, and said, "He's not
married. Why?
"Oh no, just want to know," returned Saahir casu-
ally. "He appears such a nice fellow. In the few minutes'
contact I had with him, he impressed me greatly."
Serah nodded, without really figuring out what she
was concurring with. "Yeah," she said, "Sard is a gentle
young nurse."
"When is he going to be off duty?"
"He should be on his way to his house any moment
from now," replied Serah. "He was on afternoon duty."
When they reached the house, Saahir thought of first
drugging Serah to sleep, and then strangulating her.
But he feared that she might not go to sleep on time. He
still had Sagiir's body in his boot. No, this business of

Serah must be disposed of quickly. He invited her to

follow him to the basement to help fix something. It was
all a ruse.
And on reaching the basement, Saahir quickly turned
on Serah, clutching her neck firmly. She struggled. But

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 Witnesses to Tears

Saahir was
too strong. Minutes later, she grew limp,
and he her drop to the floor. She was dead.
let
Saahir took her to the Nkrumah Freedom Park and
dropped her there. From there, he headed for his own
house. Then, as an after- thought, he branched to his
farm house, where he dug a very deep grave for Sagiir's
remains.
Upon reaching home, he immediately got his aides to
trace Sani Tanko's apartment. He had to be liquidated
— that night!

Three days after the killings of Serah and Tanko,

Saahir began revelling in the belief that he would never
be found out. He praised himself for eliminating the
possible incriminating links to the kidnapping of the
two children. In the confused state he found himself, he
released the other child unharmed. The news media
reportedhim discovered by a good Samaritan. Good for
him, thought Saahir. His parents never had to pay a
farthing.
Meanwhile, the Police had intensified their investiga-
tions into the murders. At first, with both Serah and
Tanko dead, it was difficult to establish Saahir' s iden-

tity: his name and where he lived. Because his familiar-

ity with Serah, Tanko forgot to do what he ought to
have done first and foremost: register the patient and
the person who brought him or her, with the particulars
of both as fully as possible. However, the night-guard at
the gate of the Khartoum Hospital that night was just
observant enough to see the registration number plate
of Saahir' s car. It was a special, out-of-town number.
That was why the night guard remembered it and gave
it to the police: he knew Serah well, and had thought

that a boy-friend of hers had come from a distant town

to see her.
On the fourth day after the murders, five plain-

164
 Eight

clothed policemen arrested Dr. Saahir. He was so sur-

prised that he had little time to feign any denial of the
He was overwhelmed by the suddenness of
acts. the
swoop on him, and perhaps, more importantly, the
guilt of the acts.
These were not Saahir' s first sacrileges against the
sanctity of human Not that he had not lost his
life.

conscience before now. The lives he had taken for trifles

before were too remote from him. And remoteness
engenders indifference. But now ... he had taken the
life of a friend's child, a child entrusted to him, a child
who looked up to him as a father. And to cover up that,
he had two murders
to carry out —
one, of a person well
known to him. No, he had never had to spill the blood
of people so close to him. So many murders, in so short
a period, was just too much for even his bloated con-
science.
"Dr. Saahir, we are going to charge you," began the
Chief Superintendent of Police at the Khama Police
Station, "for the murder of the two nurses from Khar-
toum Hospital."
"Yes, I know," returned Saahir, his eyes looking at
the ceiling of the CSP's office. Saahir thought of the
kidnapping too. He wondered what Lahab would do on
his return from the Hajj. Would he deny that this was
started by him? No, he dared not, Saahir told himself.
But ... If only Lahab had listened to him, all this would
not have happened. A chain of unwanted events. In one
breadth, he felt some sympathy for Lahab, in another a
tinge of contempt.
Then, as if to exonerate himself, Saahir let out his
thoughts, and said, "Mr. CSP, I have nothing to do with
the kidnappings though."
The CSP looked at Saahir fixedly. Those eyes, Saahir
thought, seemed to contain reels of information of all he
had done. He knew the Police knew very much already.
He knew, this was it: the end of the road.
165
 Witnesses to Tears

"Yes," returned the CSP slowly, a tinge of sarcasm in

his voice, "we know that Dr. Saahir. We aren't asking
you that — yet."
And he signalled to his men to take Saahir away. But
as they reached the door he called out to Dr. Saahir. The
latter turned. The CSP looked him straight in the eye,
and in a philosophical tone said, "Dr. Saahir, why does
a man like you do things like that?"
Saahir knew the CSP didn't expect him to answer.
The question itself stung as no any other question had
ever done to him before. A moral sting. He lowered his
head, as an act of concession to a superior force, a noble
value. A bow of shame. And immediately, the police-
men who brought him into the office took him away.

The plane which brought Lahab back from the Holy

Land arrived at New City International Airport on
schedule. It was fifteen hours local time. Lahab alighted
feeling sanctified.As he moved into the arrival lounge,
he began to look in different directions for Hussaina,
Saahir and perhaps a couple of his other friends whom
he expected to be at the airport to welcome him. Ten
minutes passed without his seeing any of his close
companions. He began to be worried. What was amiss?
Did his wife not receive his telex message about his
arrival time? Or was she held up in the city traffic? Or
did she have an accident? Perish the thought. He
. . .

recoiled from the thought that a mishap might have

come to his wife and little child But why was even
. . .

Saahir not at the airport? Lahab did not understand.

Four men from the Special Branch of the City Police
had been posted to the airport to shadow him on arrival.
Two of the men were in customs uniform, one in Red
Cross uniform and one in plain clothes. The expression
of concern on Lahab' s face became very obvious, the
man in the Red Cross uniform approached him.
166
 Eight

"You're welcome sir," he said, with a courteous

smile, "can I help you? You look disturbed. Have
. . .

7
you lost some luggage or something?'
Lahab looked at him, and after momentary hesitation
said, "Thank you well 'am, I'm only trying to locate
. . .

my friends . . . and my family."

"Wow!" exclaimed the disguised policeman, "in a
crowd like this it's difficult to search for someone. And
since I don't know any of your friends or your family
members, it's doubly difficult for me to help. But I have
an idea." He beckoned to Lahab to follow him.
Together they went to the Airport information Box,
where a microphone was used to beam across the mes-
sage that relatives and friends of 'Hajj Lahab should
come to the Box to meet him.
Not quite five minutes, a man looking as if in his
middle thirties walked up to Lahab. It was the plain-
clothed Special Branch agent.
"Are you 'Hajj Lahab, sir?"
"Yes?" returned Lahab mquiringly.
"Dr. Saahir has asked me to come and collect you
from the airport."
Lahab raised his eyebrows, a little surprised. "Dr.
Saahir?"
"Yes, Dr. Saahir, sir."
"Anything amiss? Why was
he not here himself?"
"Well, I don't know
But I don't think there's
sir.

anything wrong. Where is your luggage?"

"Over there," Lahab replied, pointing towards the
place whence the Red Cross fellow had met him, "just a
handbag and my suitcase."
Within five minutes they were in the agent's car,
which Lahab recognised as that of his friend Saahir. But
to his surprise, the driver headed towards the City
Police Headquarters.
"Where are you going?" Lahab asked, trying to sound
unperturbed.

167
 Witnesses to Tears

"To the Police Headquarters sir/' replied the agent,

"your friend is there. And he would like to have a word
with you before you proceed home."
Lahab' s heart-beats increased suddenly. A premoni-
tion that something was amiss seized him.
"Why is he there?" concern marked his face.
"I don't know," replied the agent. Lahab could de-
tect, for the first time, a streak of authority in the man's
voice. The two gave each other a quick glance. Lahab
tried to wipe off the beads of sweat that had formed on
his forehead. He sensed that there was definitely some-
thing foul in the air. His friend must be in trouble.
They had now reached the PHQ. His escort, still
playing Saahir's messenger, tried to be as courteous as
ever. He rushed to open the car door for Lahab.
Together they walked towards the entrance to the
three-storey building.
At the entrance, they were met by a Superintendent
of police, a burlyman with the face of a torturer who,
despite his awesome appearance, tried to be very civil.
"Yes, may I help the two of you?" the officer asked
smiling.
"Ehr, ehr . .," The agent pretended to falter. "One
.

Dr. Saahir was brought here, and this is his friend . . .

ehr whom he wants to see ..."

"Oh, Hajj Lahab," interrupted the police officer with
a mocking joviality not observed by Lahab. "Please
come this way."
The three went up to the third floor of the building.
They went to the office of the Chief Superintendent of
Police in charge of the case, where Lahab was intro-
duced.
The CSP rose from his chair, extended his hand to
Lahab in a polite and warm fashion, and said "Welcome
back from the Holy Land."
This greeting calmed Lahab a little.
"Thank you, sir," he answered, not expecting this
168
 Eight

degree of dignified treatment.

"I know," resumed the CSP, "that the rigours of the
Hajj rites and the homesickness of being away from
your family must have taken some physical and emo-
tional toll on you. You definitely have need for a rest.
Let me not deny you the enjoyment of that any more
than is absolutely necessary. Please follow me."
The CSP led the way, followed by Lahab and behind
him the superintendent. The escort agent brought up
the rear.
They descended a stairway down to the second floor,
where they went into a small room, almost a cubicle,
large enough to take only one small bed and a bench.
Saahir was seated on the bench, with both his hands
chained together. The sight sent a cold chill down La-
7
hab s spine.
"Doctor," called Lahab, in a state of confused agita-
tion, <'what happened?"
Saahir only gave his erstwhile buddy a cold look that
was enough message to Lahab. He became speechless.
"Well, doctor," cut in the CSP, breaking the silence,
"this must be your friend, Lahab, whom you have
repeatedly mentioned in your statements."
Saahir gave an affirmative nod, as would a champion
that had suffered a hurniliating defeat. This further
confused Lahab. The sight of an esteemed friend so
subdued greatly unsettled him. He wondered what
crimes he had committed .no, which of his crimes
. .

did finally surface?

"Ahm, Hajj Lahab," continued the CSP, now looking
sternly and authoritatively at Lahab, "you are under
arrest as an accused, an accomplice in the multiple
murder of four persons, two of them children ..."
"What!" exclaimed Lahab in disbelief. "Four mur-
ders? Oh no ... sir . ."
.

"Yes, four murders," cut in the CSP, "and unfortu-

nately, one of them is your own child."

169
 VWtaesses fo Tears

"Sagiir!" burst out Lahab.

"Yes, Sagiir indeed/' repeated the CSP. "And your
friend saidyou had full knowledge of the deeds."
Lahab opened his mouth as if to utter a denial, but
there were Saahir's eyes, looking fixedly at him as if

with challenge. Yes, Lahab told himself, that he had to

concede: he had fore-knowledge of the macabre
deeds . two of them, not all the four. But he never
. .

imagined his own son was going to be a sacrificial lamb.

He become tongue-tied. Saahir's eyes seemed to have
told him that it was useless to argue.
"May I please see my wife?" Lahab requested rather
tearfully.
"Perhaps," returned the CSP, "but not so soon. She is
in hospital. Though the latest medical report sent to us
on her condition indicate that she is recovering fairly
fast, it is not likely that you will see her within the next
forty eight hours."
Lahab looked at the CSP, then at Saahir, and then
burst out crying. He knew he had had it.

170
 Boston Public Library

FIG
PR9397-9
COPLEY S . G5W
1936x
3

GENERAL LI

The Date Due Card in the pocket in-

dicates the date on or before which
this book should be returned to the
Library,
Please do not remove cards from this
pocket.
A spate of gruesome killings form the deceptively simple
opening of Abubakar Gimba's new novel. But there is
more at stake than the seemingly twisted mind of a crazed
psychopath.

Through the innocent eyes of ill-fated Hussaina, our

beautiful heroine, this intricate plot carries the reader
through the vicissitudes of everyday African life to
explore the principles governing good and evil, love and
hate, and the law of retribution.

Hussaina's inherent good nature is invariably rewarded

by evil of the worst possible kind as her beloved husband
and best friend join hands in a wicked conspiracy
destined for a climax of unspeakable horror which
underlines Man's disregard for the value of life.

Abubakar Gimba's remarkable eye for situation, so

evident in his first novel, Trail ofSacrifice, manifests itself
again in this unusual tale of love and betrayal, which is
fraught with grim warnings for society.

And don't miss TRAIL OF SACRIFICE by Abubakar

Gimba also available in DELTA

Price N5.00 (Nigeria) ISBN 978-2335-21-5

£3.95 (U.K.)
$5.60 (U.S.A.)
DELTA
wherever good books are sold'