freshwaters:



SHADOWS


By

Tony EKWOABA

























Shadows is a complete work of fiction. The names, characters, organizations, businesses, places, and events used in the book are products of the author’s imagination and are therefore fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, events or places is coincidental.
E-Book Design by Amic Network
Copyright © 2015 by Tony Ekwoaba
www.tonyekwoaba.com

All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA













Dedication
To
Mr. and Mrs. Benedict Ekwoaba, my parents and mentors;
Mrs. Okoro, my teacher, who was the first to teach me how to write;
Mr. Jeffery Ucheh, my brother and editor, who held my hand at crucial points so I may finish this book;
And for everyone that has given their life, fighting for justice.




Chapter One
FINALLY, the results were ready.
Professor Moses Uwi smiled and leaned towards the microphone. He cleared his throat. “Once again, let’s settle down. We’re done with the collation.”
Taking the cue, the police fell into action, ordering people to sit down or leave the hall. But the crowd was defiant. The place grew rowdier.
Irritated, Uwi banged his glass case thrice on the table and barked, “You must all settle down and pay attention as I read the results! I will not repeat any figure once I start.”
This tended to do some good. Substantially greater numbers dashed about, trying to locate their seats before some opportunist did. Eventually the noise subsided. Then with the calm, studied gentleness of an experienced father after spanking his child, Uwi admonished, “You know, except you all keep quiet, we cannot read out these results.”
The strategy worked. Everybody settled down, and calm returned.
“I, Professor Moses Odiga Uwi, being the Returning Officer for the senatorial elections held on this day of February 2010, do hereby certify that these figures are an accurate representation of the results obtained and collated in all the wards of Owerri Senatorial District of Imo State, where this election was conducted…”

* * * * * * *
SOMEWHERE UPTOWN in the state capital, in the Government Residential Area, sixty kilometers from the State Unity Building where the election results were being announced, and twenty kilometers from the Government House, Owerri, celebration was already afoot. Select members of the ruling party, thirty-six in all, had assembled at the luxurious mansion of Senator Johnson Ike. Most were already seated and chatting in anticipation. Anytime now, the senator would make an entrance with his characteristic flourish. He had gone to the airport to receive the Vice President, Alhaji Abdulrahman Isa; the Speaker of the House of Representatives, Rt. Hon. Abu Moko; and the National Chairman of People’s Democratic Network, Chief Afolabi Atanda. It was widely believed that anytime this group converged, a political tsunami erupted.
Johnson Ike’s sitting room was gigantic, about half the size of a football field. The furnishing was exquisite: thick leather chairs, Italian design, with Romanesque flavor. Different electronic gadgets lined the walls and center. The most prominent of these was a five-meter-wide Sony LED flat television screen which took up a sizeable portion of the wall opposite the main entrance. It was a limited edition and installed by its Japanese manufacturers, who had to knock down a wall to bring it into the house. It came with sundry other paraphernalia including a gramophone, DVD player, satellite dish, cabinet, external alternative mixer and a squad of speakers. The speakers looked deceptively small and compact but could rake up a thunder, audible way beyond a mile. That singular purchase was rumored to have cost enough to buy a home.
The wall on the left wing was adorned with several fine quality paintings, some of them masterpieces. The family portrait of the senator with his wife and four children came from a painter in Paris. Right next to it was a copy of Pablo Picasso’s Les Demoiselles d’Avignon, which he had acquired from The Prado in San Diego. To the immediate left of the family portrait was Vincenzo Camuccini’s depiction of the Death of Julius Caesar. Other less famous paintings by local artists also graced the wall. No one who stepped into this room could help but marvel at the gargantuan size of everything. From the imposing glass center and side tables to the massive, fifty-piece compressible dining set; from the floating chandeliers to the ornate flower vases, everything appeared built to either impress or intimidate. Ike always wanted it big.
And he always got what he wanted!
The attendants served packs of Cuban cigars and glasses of champagne depending on what brand the guests preferred. A few proceeded to cut and light their cigars, while most just sipped their champagne and chatted idly in anticipation of the senator’s arrival. Only then would the real party begin.
What was almost certain was, when it was time to disperse long after midnight, they would all be drunk.
It was not long before the big TV screen came alive with the six o’clock news on Grassroots Network Television (GNT). After an initial promise to relay the announcement of the senatorial election results live “any time soon,” the newscaster went on to other items on the headlines: tales of fuel scarcity, bomb blasts, fraud allegation, unemployment, poverty, industrial action, corruption scandals and the like, which the newscaster narrated with a deadpan face.
Like junkies waiting for their fix, they huddled impatiently in their seats through the boring news. Their real interest was the response of the media and the electorate to the result announcement. As for the result itself, that was no big deal.
They already knew it.
A door swung open to the right, and in walked Senator Johnson Ike in stride with the Vice President. Immediately behind them were the Speaker and the Chairman, walking side by side. The quartet was flanked by aides and several Secret Service men in dark suits and goggles.
“Now, here comes the winning team,” a voice announced. Everyone stood up.
The Vice President waved to the entire house, making a double thumbs-up sign with a smile. So also did the Speaker and the Chairman. After exchanging pleasantries, they each took their seats as directed by their host. The other guests also sat down.
“Long live the unbeatable senator!” The state party chairman enthused. The attention reverted back to Ike. He was the beautiful bride of the day.
“Our own indomitable senator!” shouted Hon. Emeka Ezeugo. Ezeugo was the member of the House of Representatives whose constituency corresponded with Ike’s. Several others followed with their accolades, amidst much laughter.
“Thank you all for your kind words. And may I welcome you all to my humble cottage, ladies and gentlemen?” Ike could hardly contain the childlike joy that oozed from every pore of his skin. “Please, feel very free, and enjoy yourselves. It’s aalloondaahaause!” He said the last sentence with a drunken slur, lurching forward like a drunk. The whole room erupted with laughter.
Ike had remained in the senate since the comeback of democracy when the military ‘khaki boys’ were forced by death to hand power to a democratically elected government. There had been a successful challenge against his victory at the polls only during his first tenure. But trust his legal team of Senior Advocates, the court only quashed the elections and ordered fresh polls and did not declare the other party winner as prayed. The legal battle which went up to the Supreme Court had lasted well into the third year of his four-year tenure. In the eventual re-match that took place in February 2002, Chief Alphonsus Okorocha of the Grassroots Democratic Congress was an easy win. His lean resources after the initial three years’ protracted legal battle ensured he was too paralyzed to undertake any further litigation. The eventual result was an elongation of Ike’s first tenure. He couldn’t ask for better!
Since that bitter but glorious battle, every subsequent election had been a “kill-and-chop” affair. After three consecutive tenures without any scruples, the senator had acquired a mythical reputation. He strutted with the confident defiance of an alpha male lion—the seat was virtually a birthright. It was near-impossible to defeat him—he knew his game.
The truth, however, was that with the help of this same cabal now in his living room, he had remained unbeatable. Through the years, the faces might have changed, and so might the political office they each held, but the job description within the cabal remained largely the same. So also did the interest of the individuals: to win at all costs.
The senator had built a clout around himself. His flamboyant lifestyle was legendary—he spent as if he had a dollar farm somewhere in his courtyard, especially during elections. Practically everything he owned was custom-designed. His children attended only ‘Ivy League’ schools and drove only rare-breed luxury cars. His business managers, however, would tell you it all came from his jumbo pay from the senate, and the juicy deals that came with it like icing on a cake. Same went for most members of the cabal. This gathering was, therefore, not just important to all present.
It was a matter a life and death.
Resuming his sober mood, Ike continued, “This isn’t my victory; it’s ours together. You all know that without you this could never be possible. Let’s once again toast to a well-deserved victory.”
He lit a Cuban cigar, popped a bottle of Moet Hennessy, then filled and raised his glass. The others equally charged their glasses and stood up to toast. After the merry clinking of glasses, they sat back down.
At a signal from Ike, the attendants took their exit, while the aides seemed to melt into oblivion.
The National Chairman of the party, Chief Atanda gave an update on the post-election plans and the upcoming general elections. He was followed by the Speaker of the House of Representatives, Rt. Hon. Abu Moko, who expressed concern about the state of affairs within the party and their readiness for the forth-coming elections. The “little chap” the opposition had fielded for the just-concluded senatorial election had given them a run for their money. It appeared as though the senator had suddenly become unpopular since the “brat” emerged. Had it not been for a last minute intervention by the party chairman, the opposition would have disgraced them in the election. Moko said it was a litmus test for the general elections.
His Excellency, Alhaji Abdulrahman Isa, the Vice President, waited to listen to the others before he made his speech. He conveyed the blessings of the President and spoke on the presidential hopes for the party.
At about 1815 hours GMT while these deliberations were still on, the news on GTN was interrupted with live coverage of the announcement of the election result. Instantaneously, the talks ceased, and all eyes were fastened on the huge television screen.
“Volume, please,” someone complained. And the Senator obliged, hitting the volume to the desired decibel level.
On the screen, Uwi continued.
“People’s Redemptive Front (PRF): 353; Democratic Coalition Party (DCP): 474; National Democratic Movement (NDM): 130; People’s Democratic Network (PDN): 1,340,098; and All People’s National Party (ANPN); 1,020,075.
“By this result, PDN is the winner, having polled a total of 1,340,098 valid votes in this election. Therefore, the candidate of the People’s Democratic Network, Senator Johnson Ike, having scored the highest total number of valid votes cast in the Owerri Senatorial District, I, Professor Moses Odiga Uwi as the Returning Officer for the same election, hereby declare him elected and duly returned as the Senator of the Federal Republic of Nigeria representing Owerri Senatorial District.”
A group of children who had just stumbled upon the castle of Santa Claus could not have been more excited than the politicians in Ike’s sitting room. Shouts of “hip hip, hurray!” rent the air. Glasses and more glasses clinked. The wine began to flow more freely, and the tongues became looser.
On the screen, the camera moved away from Uwi and beamed on individual members of the electorate. Grief clothed their faces. They were totally oblivious to the celebration going on in a sitting room sixty kilometers away. Most of them appeared deeply grief-stricken, disappointed, and even exasperated. Some waved the camera away as it edged towards them. A few, however, were eager to ventilate their anger and disappointment.
“What do you have to say about the result?” a reporter made the mistake of asking a young lady.
“What is there to say? This is ridiculous, I don’t believe the result. The election was rigged. It’s obvious it was rigged,” the lady retorted.
“We did not vote for Johnson Ike—how come he got over a million votes? I am sure none of us in this town voted for him, but he has the highest number of votes from our town.”
“This election obviously was a sham. It is sheer corruption,” someone shouted. The camera chased after the voice, but the man had squarely planted the back of his head to the lens.
The cameraman moved a few paces off. “I am not surprised—what good can one expect from a corrupt man like Uwi?” This was from a ludicrously chubby man with a bald head the shape of the butt of a gun. “How can a chicken give birth to an eagle? Ptueerrh…,” he spat out contemptuously and walked away from the lens.
The crowd faded from the hall. To most, it had been a bad day made worse. Thankfully for some, it was over and without any fatality.
The cameraman followed the melting crowd. Under the shade of a mango tree just outside the building, a small crowd was engaged in animated discussion. They seemed to be getting more and more excited. It was clear this particular group was in no hurry to leave the venue. The camera closed further in, and the reason soon became obvious. They were crowding around a man whom they had somehow cornered and prodded to address them. Presently, they were taking turns pelting him with questions on whatever bothered them.
The man was Mr. Steve Obi, popularly known as Barrister Steve.
He was the man whom most people thought should have won the just concluded election.


CHAPTER ONE CONTINUES...