Dear Beneficiary (10 page)

I wasn't quite sure of his point. His tirade went on to cover fuel scams and the dirty deals of Nigeria's oil ministers.

‘The current band of thieves must not be allowed to go unpunished. The civil society must be active and take the front seat in ensuring every penny stolen is recovered, the thieves punished severely, and the funds used to make the nation better,' continued Fasina.

I half-listened but found my anxiety about finding Darius growing with every minute. I wasn't terribly interested in supposed corruption, as it really had nothing to do with me. I was just looking for a friend and wasn't bothered about how these people ran the country, which felt a long way from the suburban glades of Surrey, England.

I took in the scenery as we drove through Lagos, which was a world entirely different to anything I'd seen before. What started as a journey through an apparently prosperous area changed abruptly as we drove past dark and dirty alleys barely wide enough for two people to pass. Where before I'd seen suited men going about their business, the people in the streets looked downtrodden and undernourished. Children weren't playing, but carrying large pots and packages on their heads, taking part in activities that would be alien to any of the children I've known.

Tracey had put her headphones in and didn't seem to notice what was going on, so I continued to concentrate on the journey, making a mental note about the differences between home and Lagos. It was quite difficult to find appropriate comparisons, as I asked myself if parents cared about their offspring in any way or just needed them to fetch and carry. What about supermarkets or schools? Did anyone play golf? Did teenagers have computers? I thought fondly of Tom at that moment and felt some guilt I hadn't told anyone in the family that I was going on a trip – quite an unusual one at that.

After a few minutes in my own thoughts, I noticed Fasina had gone quiet but reckoned maybe he'd had enough of talking to us, particularly as my companion wasn't responding at all, unless singing along to a pop song out of tune counted.

Twenty more minutes into the drive I saw a sign for Manita and was surprised to find we were entering a district that appeared to be built on stilts, elevating all the buildings above a shallow lagoon. The roads were narrow and the houses derelict. There were very few cars, which I assumed was down to poverty.

Fasina piped up at this point and became highly animated.

‘Fishing families have lived here for more than 120 years. There are more than a quarter of a million people here, neglected if not despised by the city's rich people. Look how they are living, having had to make their homes above water.'

He was pointing to a group of people squatting around some wire baskets, sorting fish with bare hands and discarding heads, tails and fins into a rotting and fly-infested pile. The ground was dusty and rough. Children sat by, watching the adults work.

Fasina went on to tell us that in the summer over one hundred officials arrived and demolished dozens of the wooden houses that lined the canals.

‘They had just a couple of days' notice. They told the people to go back where they come from. But they were born here. The governor promised schools and hospitals at election time and everyone voted for him,' he added. ‘Nobody ever mentioned they would lose their homes.'

I remained silent as an indication of my boredom, although I don't think our guide cared too much. It was obviously a subject close to his heart, if far removed from mine and even further from Tracey's.

I'm not one for politics at the best of times, the annual general meeting of the Farsham District Council being about as lofty as I can aspire to. Frankly I think it's up to these people to get themselves out of the situation they found themselves in. I didn't want to listen to this bleating, I just wanted to find Darius.

Fasina stopped the car.

Finally Tracey decided to join the communicating classes by speaking.

‘Where the bloody hell are we?' she shouted a bit too loudly, as people tend to when talking with earphones in.

I was thinking the same but wasn't sure how to ask our self-styled guide. He behaved as if he knew where we were going and we'd shown him the address we needed to find. He hadn't said he didn't know it.

‘We get out here,' said Fasina, taking the luggage from the boot and heading towards the canal before pointing to a canoe. ‘The car won't take us any further this way. Get in, ladies.'

I was horrified. Boating of any kind isn't an activity I enjoy. Even first-class cruising still involves floating on a large piece of metal which, if it sinks, leaves you with nothing but miles of cold and dirty water to deal with.

‘Where are you taking us?' I asked, trying to make sure my voice didn't squeak with concern. ‘Is this where I will find the Western Union bank and be able to get in touch with Darius?'

Fasina didn't reply, but marched speedily towards the canoe, with both suitcases weighing heavily at the ends of his slim arms.

Tracey looked agitated and took out another cigarette from her handbag, lit it and stood stock still.

‘Something ain't right. I can feel it in my water,' she said, dragging as much smoke into her lungs as she could. Her eyeliner and mascara had begun to melt and spread under her eyes, making her look a little like a tired koala – one from Essex.

‘You have nuttin' to worry yourselves about,' said Fasina, slipping into more of an African lilt than had been noticeable when we first met. ‘You are talking to me now!' he said with a big smile. ‘I know where to take you. Have some faith, oh, yes. Faith is good.'

Having given up church some time ago on the grounds of hypocrisy, mine as much as anyone else's, I wasn't a great believer in faith. In fact I'd given up on most things faithful for some time. However, I had little choice other than to follow this man, who did, after all, seem quite pleasant if now a little distracted. And well dressed.

Tracey wasn't at all sure so I put on my best confident demeanour and led us both to the canoe, telling her on the way that I was sure everything was fine.

It wasn't easy getting either of us on board. My balance got the better of me and Fasina had to hold most of my weight, even though it's only around nine stone, as I slipped and slid like a new-born foal into one of the seats. Tracey was wearing wedge shoes with six inches of heel, which I thought were entirely unfit for any purpose, unless working in a lap-dancing club. She'd been teetering along with some difficulty throughout our entire journey, but it had all got much worse as we reached the muddy banks of the canal.

‘Just take them off,' I said to Tracey, trying not to show my irritation with her as she settled into her seat at the front of the canoe. ‘Why you even think that things that look like correction boots are suitable for travelling is beyond me,' I commented, pleased I'd decided to wear my sensible flats, although even Clark's best still rendered me helpless when it came to negotiating my way off terra firma.

‘These are my shag-me shoes,' sniffed Tracey, whose blotchiness was increasing with every ounce of effort. ‘Baz likes them.'

Probably because it means you have no way of escaping while you're wearing them, I thought. I turned my attention to Fasina who was rubbing his arm where Tracey's cigarette had burned him while he'd been helping her onto the boat.

‘So where are we and how long will it take us to get to civilisation?' I said, noting that Tracey's feet, now bare, were very pale compared to the colour of the rest of her. And there were brown streaks leading from her ankles to the bottom of her mid-calf trousers. It took a while to work out it wasn't a skin disease but the result of a home-applied fake tan.

‘We're nearly there,' he replied. ‘We can't drive this way by road without a four-wheel drive. The boat is our best transport.'

Fasina hastily moved along the vessel and started to punt us along the narrow channel at good speed for a man who lacked obvious muscle. We passed hundreds of wooden shacks perched above the water, which were occasionally connected by weak-looking bridges. I thought how I'd be worried walking along them with Darius who was, after all, a man of sturdy build and therefore some considerable weight – particularly in comparison to the man now before us.

Some of the boats were covered with tarpaulins and Fasina explained that families who'd lost their homes lived on them now.

‘We don't need a government any more. They take our homes. We have our own system now.' A shiver ran down my spine, for a reason I couldn't explain.

After about twenty minutes of silent punting, he stopped the boat and moored up close to an area that appeared to be surrounded by a mud wall about seven feet tall. There was an archway made of brick, beyond which five or six shacks were apparently linked together with makeshift corridors, covered with struts of cane, tarpaulin and in some places, plastic sheeting. It looked dark and empty, but as Fasina tied up the canoe and helped us out onto the bank, a giant of a man, dressed in a green cotton shirt and wearing a skull cap, came towards us.

‘Ladies, welcome,' he said in a manner that was anything but welcoming.

Fasina shook the man's hand vigorously and introduced him as Chike, pronounced ‘cheeky', which seemed incongruous for a man with heavily bloodshot eyes, drooping jowls and a scar running from the bottom of his lip to his ear.

Tracey and I looked at each other. If she was as nervous as I was, she hadn't voiced her opinion as yet. She moved closer to me so she couldn't be heard by the men and whispered: ‘I don't know about you, but I don't think these guys are going to find us our men. We need to get out of here. They are creeping me out.'

Regardless of my view of this peculiar woman, I agreed she had a point. It was difficult to know what to think, but I knew we needed to do something. I tried to keep an open mind as to what. Throughout the journey here I'd questioned if we were really on our way to our desired destination but could see no reason why we wouldn't be. What would someone like Fasina want with me and, more relevantly, Tracey?

But there'd been a distinct lack of banks, roads and the normal tourist facilities I'd come to expect when accompanying Colin on his many business trips. It was worrying.

‘Listen here. We really don't want to put you out but I'm not sure we are in the right place to find our friends. I need to find the Western Union bank where I'll be collected and can get on with why I came here,' I said, thinking I'd been incredibly diplomatic and persuasive.

Fasina and Chike looked at each other before bursting out laughing and ‘high-fiving' each other.

The sweat on my bottom was starting to cool and as I thought about damp patches I worried about wetting myself, remembering I hadn't been to the toilet since the vomiting incident. Not only that, I'd developed wind from a combination of my recurrent diverticulitis and the flight – and was getting stomach cramps from trying to hold it in.

‘You come with me,' said Fasina, grabbing both of us firmly by the arms. He'd stopped being the polite and enthusiastic guide and adopted what appeared to be a snarl.

I pulled back, bringing Fasina to a halt: ‘Now, young man. I don't know who you think you are but that is no way to speak to ladies. We don't want to be here and so must insist you call us a taxi so we can be on our way.'

At that point Tracey threw up. Possibly because of the brandy from the plane or maybe from fear, but either way she narrowly missed Fasina's shoes. I briefly noticed the lack of carrots before I stepped away. In a bid to escape the embarrassment of the situation I decided to ask Tracey if she thought her phone might work sufficiently to make a local call for a taxi. As I went to speak the men moved forward quickly, grabbing both our arms around our bodies and dragging us to a shack behind the main entrance area of the buildings. Tracey squealed as Chike pushed her along, using all the force of his knee against the back of her thighs. She was still barefoot, so her attempts at stamping on his boot-clad feet had no effect. She did, however, manage to get a bite of his forearm, which might have been noticed had she paid more attention to her dental health in the past. I heard a crunch and she spat out what looked like a crown onto the dusty floor.

‘Get off me, you fucking brute. I'll do you for frigging assault, you motherfucker,' said Tracey, sporting a very noticeable gap in the front of her teeth.

Chike kicked her harder at this point and grabbed her hair, pulling her head backwards before throwing her onto the floor inside the shack.

‘Get in there and shut up,' he shouted before turning on his heel

Fasina was a little more gentle with me, either out of deference for my age and class or possibly because he was concerned about experiencing any further issue from our stomachs. I didn't struggle, deeming it pointless in view of his superior physical strength, but he still used more effort than necessary to push me into the room with Tracey before quickly pulling the door shut behind him.

The next thing we heard was the sound of keys in the padlock that had been hanging off bolts to the side of the door and Fasina's voice.

‘See you later, ladies. Make yourselves at home.' Then he laughed and his footsteps disappeared into the distance, leaving we two unlikely room-mates looking around our new accommodation with mutual disgust.

Tracey reached round to her side to get into her shoulder bag for another cigarette, only to find the packet was missing.

‘Bastards,' she spat. ‘They've got me fags.'

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The shack was made of various types and shapes of wood and was reinforced with steel struts, held together with bolts and brackets and covered with chicken wire. As much as we tried, using all the brute force I and my shoeless companion could muster, we could see no way to force an exit.

There was a pile of blankets and two mattresses in one corner, a small chair in another, and a large washing-up bowl and a jug of water on a chest that should have contained drawers but was empty. Strewn across the floor were a selection of old British newspapers and magazines, cigarette ends and dirty mugs. A light bulb hung from a pole stretched below the ceiling and dimly lit the room.