GENTLEMEN OF THE BAR (5) by Umari Ayim

ANGELA
Some days I keep my resentment against
the male species hidden under layers of
civility. Other days, I let it run free.
Like now.
As I watch tears fill Amina’s eyes, I find
another reason not to like men. Today
Amina is an emotional mess, her face a
macabre portrait of many colours – black
running into brown, red sitting side by
side with pink, shimmering gold
smudged by overflowing ivory.
Pressing the sodden tissue against her
tear streaked face, Amina sniffs into the
phone.
“Mai ya sa?”
An intense frown on her face, she listens
to whatever her fiance of three years is
saying. I see a slight tremor run through
the hand holding the wad of tissue in her
hand. She lowers the tissue to the table
and runs the free hand through black
wavy hair made possible by her Arab
genes. Her mother, a Tunisian who had
met and married her father in London
and had settled in a five bedroom
duplex in Ennasr city, an upscale area of
Tunis with Amina’s sister, still pressed
Amina about finding a suitor among her
Berber relatives but Amina’s ties to her
Hausa heritage had meant she chose
Nigeria instead of her mother’s birth
country.
“Ba zan zo Sokoto ba,” Amina says after
a while with a shake of head.
I sigh. Even though my understanding of
Hausa is practically non-existent, the
mention of Sokoto gives me an insight
into the conversation Amina is having
with her fiance. The argument about
moving back to Sokoto had been the
bone of contention between Amina and
Aminu for the past year. Aminu
favoured a move to Sokoto to perform
his princely duties at palace of the
Sultan, a place he had not been since he
was five years old after his grandfather,
the last Sultan died in a plane crash at
Abuja while on his way back to Sokoto
from a meeting with a former president
in Lagos.
Amina pulls the phone from her ear and
drops it without much ceremony on the
table. I react with alarm as the black and
gold damask patterned iPhone lands with
a clatter and skids dangerously to the
edge of my desk. Oblivious to my
reaction, Amina reaches for a tissue
from the box of Kleenex beside my
laptop. She blows her nose noisily and
aims the tissue in the direction of the
metal waste basket beside her with
precision.
“I am so tired,” she says, slumping into
her chair. “I want out of this
relationship. This back and forth is
killing me.”
I am angry for Amina’s sake. Her
decision to return to Nigeria was
because of Aminu who is also a lawyer.
They had made plans while studying
together in London, some of which I was
privy to and one of such plans included
making a home in Lagos, but this was
not to be. Aminu had changed the
moment he visited Sokoto for his Uncle’s
burial. His dreams with Amina had
taken a backseat. There were even
rumours of an affair with the daughter
of a serving Senator. A part of me is
itching to tell Amina to move on with
her life but I know that will never
happen. Aminu is Amina’s life, the first
man she had ever known and the only
love of her life.
I fiddle with the pen on my desk and
bite my tongue to keep from interfering
with Amina’s relationship.
“What do you think I should do?”
I look up from the pen. Her face restored
to its natural state with the help of the
tissue in her hand, Amina is a picture of
innocence and dejection.
“You know how I am with these things
Amina. You shouldn’t be asking me that
sort of question.”
Amina slumps deeper in her chair, her
face contorted in pain.
“It is just so hard. Why does he keep
doing this….coming back and then giving
me hope…only for the fighting to start
again.”
I return to my fiddling.
“Sorry.”
“I think I should break off the
engagement.”
My tongue properly restrained under my
teeth, I hold on to my resolution not to
interfere. I look towards the door.
Where is Agatha when you need her?
Moderate in her worldview, Agatha
always took the middle ground on
matters of love. I maintained my
position on the extreme left while Amina
suffered lack of will and emotional
dependence on the far right.
“I think you should talk to Agatha.”
Her eyes lighting up at my suggestion,
Amina nods and drags herself up in her
chair.
“I will.”
Amina remembers a case review she is
working on and repairs her make-up
with the help of my make-up kit. Looking
like a high-powered lawyer once again,
she leaves my office, her steps quick and
assured. As she closes the door, taking
her emotional baggage with her, I
remember my own mother’s struggles
and the early morning conversation with
Fausat who had once again crept into my
bed while I slept. Her nose almost
touching my own, Fausat had been
concerned about the constant fighting
between my parents while I struggled
with wakefulness.
“I hear Aunty and Unk…uncle fight all the
time. That’s not good.”
“Okay.”
“Are they gonna get a divorce?”
“I don’t know.”
“Divorces are bad. I still miss my dad. He
is married again. Her name is Martha
and I hate her.”
“Okay.”
“She is from Mexee…Mexico.”
“Great.”
“Not great. She makes great Tacos
though.”
“Okay.”
“You keep saying okay.”
“Okay.”
“Maybe they ah…argue so much ‘cause
they like each other…”
I remember my lips twisting in a
sardonic smile.
“Do you think they are having sex?”
My smile had slipped. I had closed my
eyes and pretended the question was
never asked but Fausat was determined
to add an amorous quality to the
squabbling that has characterized my
parents’ marriage since I was a child.
“So they are having sex then ‘cause my
friend Tanya says oh…only people having
sex fight that way.
I continued to ignore Fausat who was by
then happy to continue the conversation
with herself.
“Eewww old people sex…..gross.”
Hours later, I met my mother on my way
out of the house. She was dressed in a
simple cream lace layered dress, her
purse tucked under her arm as she
chatted with my grandmother. I learned
from our five minute conversation that
she had an early morning meeting with a
lawyer. Keeping her lips sealed about the
purpose of the meeting, she left me
standing with my grandmother in the
living room and drawing conclusions.
My parents are getting a divorce. Finally.

NADEN
I drive through the gates of the
compound in my new car, a gift from my
boss. The steering of the BMW X5 moves
smoothly in my hand as I steer the car
towards the parking space beside
Angela’s car, a white Audi A6.
I grab my jacket from the passenger seat
and leave the car. I am expecting a call
from him by ten thirty and all I have is
fifteen minutes left, no thanks to
unexpected traffic caused by a broken
down fuel tanker on the expressway that
led to the office.
My jacket slung over my right hand, I
walk into the office and right into the
path of an argument between two
lawyers, male and female. The argument
stops and the lawyers nod at me in
greeting. I respond and begin to walk
past them when the female raises her
finger to stop me.
“Sir?”
I look down at my wristwatch. Twelve
minutes left. I look at the female lawyer
who has now walked to meet me, a small
smile on her face.
“Sorry sir to disturb you sir but Lekan
and I were just arguing….”
I wince inwardly. Not now.
“…About one of our cases. Our client is
supposed to have defaulted in his
Mortgage payment and the bank….the
Plaintiff has applied for Summary
judgment….”
“Under Order eleven of the Lagos State
High Court Rules,” Lekan adds
unnecessarily, a smirk on his face. The
female lawyer whose name I have not
quite grasped does something that
resembles an eye roll, and then
continues.
“Apart from the mortgage payment, he is
claiming legal fees for his lawyer as
special damages…Lekan thinks the judge
might rule in his favour because of the
client’s default.”
I forget my time constraint and turn to
Lekan.
“Is it explicitly stated in the contract that
in the event of a default in Mortgage
payment, the client is expected to pay
the legal fees of the lawyer representing
the bank?”
Lekan’s face squeezes in a thoughtful
frown and he shakes his head.
“No sir. I can’t remember seeing it in the
contract.”
I nod. “Okay, are you aware that special
damages must be strictly proved and
that such damages cannot be
automatically made into liquidated
money claims?”
Lekan adjusts his collar and appears to
think about his answer.
“Fortune International Bank versus City
Express. You might want to look that up.”
“Okay sir.”
“So, legal fees unless previously agreed
upon cannot be claimed in an action
brought against the defaulting
Mortgagee.”
The two lawyers murmur their thanks
and turn away in the direction of their
office while I resume my journey to my
office with the longest strides I can
manage. I am putting up my jacket on
the coat rail when the intercom rings.
“Good morning sir.”
“You will be getting a call from the
Inspector General of Police after I drop
this call.”
“Okay sir.”
His call drops almost immediately and
the phone rings again. The voice of the
Inspector General is gruff but very
warm.
“How are you young man?”
“I am great sir.”
“I guess you are familiar with our case.”
“Yes sir, I am.”
“Good.”
“So what do you make of it?”
I begin to answer but pause as I suffer a
conscience attack.
Naden, this is wrong.
“Hello? Young man?”
I silence my inner turmoil.
“Yes sir, I am. Sorry about that. The
case…we can win it with the right
witnesses.”
“We have some witnesses….the officers
involved.”
“We will need more. Civilian witnesses
probably.”
“I see. Let me see what I can arrange. I
will get back to you soon.”
“Okay sir.”
“And you should be getting ready for a
trip to Kano. I need you to meet with the
officers.”
I am suffering another bout of
conscience attack when someone knocks
on the door. It is Rueben. I remember his
message as he quickly makes himself
comfortable opposite me.
“So how is everything going?”
I listen to my gut tell me all sort of things
about the man seated before me as I
prepare to give him a single word
answer. He is nodding now, his pencil
think mustache curling with his lips as
he smiles.
“Good.”
“So what did you want to tell me about
Angela?”
“Ah that,” Reuben says, straightening the
lapels of his suit jacket and leaning
forward. “I think she wants you out of
this place.”
I find myself smiling at the earnest
frown on his face.
“Okay?”
Leaning back in his chair, Reuben wears
a surprised look.
“Did you know?”
“Know about her not wanting me out of
this place?”
“Yes.”
I shrug. “Well, I know nothing about
Angela’s plans but whatever she is
cooking up is her headache. I am not
bothered by it.”
Reuben frowns some more, elbow
retracting from my desk as he leans back
again into his seat.
“I don’t think you should brush this off
as nothing. She is a very manipulative
and ambitious woman, even dangerous
to an extent. She will do anything to get
you out of that chair….and did you know
she was actually made senior partner for
only a few days?”
“Hmmm.”
Reuben twists in his chair and looks at
the door as if expecting the subject of
our discussion to come charging into the
office. When he looks at me, his eyes
face is full of loathing. He wriggles to the
edge of his seat, fingers settling on my
desk.
“She wants me to help her get you out of
this place. She called me some days ago
and asked me to watch you.”
Reuben’s admission is unexpected. I
want to ask questions but something
restrains me from doing so. I sit and
wait for more revelations. Reuben taps
his fingers on the table and obliges me.
“She asked me to get close to you. She
thinks you are here for something.” His
expression turning somber, Reuben stops
his tapping on my desk. “Women like
Angela…they will do anything for power.
You should watch your back in this
place.”
I adjust my chair and lean forward.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I think you should know.”
I nod slowly. “Okay.”
Reuben begins to say something but my
phone rings that instant, causing his
lower jaw to snap back in place. I nod at
him.
“Excuse me.”
Henry is loud and cheerful.
“Ol’ boy how far na?”
“Good morning Henry.”
“You dey work?”
“Yes.”
“You dey close early today?”
I look at Reuben. His unflinching gaze is
direct and unabashedly curious. Even
though he is settled back in his seat, his
body is tilted sideways as if straining to
hear the conversation between me and
Henry. I lean back in my chair and
increase the distance between us.
“Maybe.”
“You suppose close early na. You don
forget say we suppose do washing for
your new house and your new car this
night?”
“Ah that, I have forgotten.”
“No forget o. We go leave Surulere for
four, so dey expect us.”
“Okay.”
“Text me the address abeg.”
I remember my lack of furnishings and
means of entertainment. I look at
Reuben again. He is still watching me
closely. I sigh inwardly and give up
trying to be discrete in my conversation
with Henry.
“Don’t forget the place is kind of new
and the fridge is practically empty.”
Henry tells me he and his friends will be
bringing beer along with them. We end
the conversation on the agreement to
meet at my new apartment by four in
the evening.
“So you are having a party tonight,”
Reuben says, a smile on his face as one
leg crosses over the other.
I cross my own leg. “Yes.”
“Great. So can I come?”

ANGELA
Everywhere is silent, except inside my
head. I am in the same position I have
been since my meeting with Mr. Hassan.
I massage the back of my neck and push
away from my desk after putting the
papers I had been studying to the left
hand corner of the table. I think about
Mr. Hassan’s revelations.
Why would my father give Naden a new
house?
What kind of deal did they have?
I leave my chair and walk barefoot to
the door, determined to find the missing
piece to the puzzle that Naden’s ties to
my father presented. I make a U-turn at
the door and march back to my desk.
Something…something. What is it?
Think Angela. Think.
Ten minutes and a hundred possibilities
later, there is no plausible answer for my
questions. I am frustrated and a little
upset when I slump into my chair in
defeat. I think of Reuben and our plan,
and as if reading my thoughts, the
intercom buzzes with his call.
“Hey.”
“How far? Gotten anything on him yet?”
“Not really. The dude is elusive but I will
be studying him. Don’t worry. Leave him
to me.”
I am disappointed by Reuben’s answer. I
had expected more. His visits to Naden’s
office had been growing in frequency
these days. How could he not have gotten
information on Naden?
“So you haven’t even gotten where he is
from.”
Reuben’s sigh is long and exasperated.
“Angela, I said leave him to me.”
It is my turn to sigh and I take my time.
“Sorry.”
“Okay.”
“Are you angry with me?”
“No.”
“Good, don’t be.”
Left with nothing to say, I plead a
headache and hang up the receiver. I sit
down with my thoughts for a long time,
vaguely aware of the rapidly darkening
sky outside my blind covered windows. I
am jolted out of my reverie by a knock
on the door. It is Agatha and she is here
to deliver her goodbyes. I wave her
forward in excitement. Pushing my chair
closer to the desk as she approaches me,
a frown of curiousity on her face, I lean
my elbows on my desk and smile.
“What if I get close to him to find out
things about him myself?”
Agatha is aghast at my question. She
does not ask me who. She just stands
there like statue and stares at me like I
have lost my mind.

THE OYELOWO MANSION
Martin Oyelowo was lost for words for
the first time since his marriage. He did
not know what to make of his wife’s
recent announcement. They stared at
each other, two strangers sharing the
same name.
“You want a what?” Martin asked,
incredulous as his eyes followed the new
creature in short white silk nightdress
floating towards the bed, left hand
massaging lotion into her right arm.
“A divorce,” Damilola Oyelowo, his wife,
said calmly as she curled among her
several pillows.
Martin looked for the usual tears but he
found none. The determination on his
wife’s face caused him to experience
unusual panic.
“A divorce for what?” Martin heard
himself ask even as he tried to appear
unaffected by the change that had come
over his wife.
Damilola did not hear her husband’s
panic. She heard arrogance and reacted
to it by shooting Martin a withering look.
“Am I supposed to answer that
question?”
“Yes,” Martin said, crossing his arms
against his chest. “I expect you to answer
it. What do you want a divorce for?”
Damilola was quiet for a while and then
decided that Martin deserved an answer.
She tossed back her head.
“To be free of you Martin…to be free of
this marriage. I told you I would leave.”
Martin wanted to laugh, to call her bluff
but found that his tongue would not
move. He felt his blood pressure rise. He
said the only thing he could manage.
“You are out of your mind.”
Damilola shrugged. “I don’t care what
you think. I am leaving you so you can
chase after every woman that catches
your fancy. My lawyer will contact you
tomorrow.”
Martin glowered at his wife for some
minutes and then turned to stomp out of
the room. He slammed the door
forcefully on his way out, causing the
sound to echo around the house. His
absence gave Damilola a chance to
massage the painful spot on the left side
of her chest. She was not supposed to
hurt. She was leaving the man who had
caused her pain for many years. So why
did she feel pain?

DOWNSTAIRS THE OYELOWO MANSION
Martin Oyelowo searched for his drugs
in the upper drawer of his study desk.
There were several white plastic
containers scattered at the bottom of the
drawer. He picked and uncapped one of
the containers with Atenolol written on it
and then shook a single tablet into the
palm of his right hand. He dragged
weary feet to the water dispenser just a
few steps away and fetched cold water in
a brown mug. He downed his drugs
quickly and walked back to his chair. He
sat still for a while, felt his back begin to
ache. Releasing a short sigh, he pressed
the button on the arm rest of the chair
and the chair became a recliner. He
closed his eyes and the memories came
back.
It was the 2nd of January, 1985. The sky
was overcast and hanging with rain
soaked clouds. The mood in the living
room of the four bedroom duplex Martin
Oyelowo had just purchased in Keffi
Street, a quiet street off Awolowo Way
Ikoyi, was sad and the adults sitting on
camel back chairs with velvet upholstery
avoided each other’s eyes. A little girl,
aged three was tucked in a corner of the
room, a colourful book about gnomes and
wizard shielding her from the pervading
gloom in the room. The middle aged
woman in green kaftan reached for the
limp right hand of the beautiful young
woman sitting beside her.
“Damilola, you will have others. Your life
is more important to us.”
The young woman’s lips quivered and her
eyes filled with tears.
“I want this baby,” she said, left hand
moving to cradle her slightly bulging
belly. “I really do.”
“Be reasonable. The doctor said it is
dangerous. Do you want to lose your life?
Who will take care of Ranti?”
The young woman lifted her head and
looked in the direction of the little girl
and then her eyes sought those of the
man sitting across her. He looked at her,
his feelings hidden behind the mask he
always wore around the older woman.
She knew what he wanted. He wanted the
baby. The trip to London would save her
life and the baby’s. Why had she seen this
new doctor against his wishes? Why was
she consulting his mother?
“I don’t…don’t know,” the young woman
told her mother in law, downcast and
afraid of her husband’s wrath. He wanted
her to keep the baby. His son. But her life
was in danger.
Acute Aortic Dissection.
That was the diagnosis for the pain that
crippled her for days and left her
bedridden. She was in danger of a
rupture. Only an abortion could save her.
“Tolu,” the older woman said, turning to
the young man. “Won’t you say
something? You heard Doctor Timothy.
Damilola cannot have this baby.”
The young man had stood up without a
word, his head held high and his eyes
avoiding those of the women in the room.
He knew he would lose against his
mother’s persuasion.
The abortion was done in the expensive
clinic Doctor Timothy operated just a few
streets away from his house. The day his
wife came back without the bulge under
her flower patterned dress, Martin
Oyelowo went out and got his first
prostitute. The next morning, he moved
his things to the guest room, ignoring his
mother’s entreaties. He would never
forgive Damilola for killing his son. He
found a way to kill the love he had for
her.
Martin opened his eyes.
She wants a divorce.
His hand reached for the button beside
him and he brought himself forward
again. Head bowed over his desk, he
tried to reach a decision. It wasn’t long
when he raised his head up again and
pulled the phone on his desk towards
him. The fear was gone from his eyes
and his heart had settled down nicely in
his chest. Oozing some of his old
confidence, Martin Oyelowo called
Naden Tare George.
*
NADEN
Laughter bounces off the walls and
voices reverberate in the empty space. A
few cans lie scattered at our feet as we
make ourselves comfortable on empty
buckets of paints and two old Coca-cola
crates. Reuben has blended into the
crowd and is enjoying a laugh with
Itohen. He seems to sense my eyes on
him and turns to me.
“May you enjoy many passionate nights
in this place,” he toasts, raising his can
of Star.
“Yes o,” Itohen hoots, raising his can to
join the toast. “Make all the beds for this
place experience plenty action.”
I laugh and then raise my own can.
“Thanks guys.”
“Wait o, chicks suppose dey this party
na,” Henry says, a suggestive smile on
his face. “Make we arrange something
abeg.”
Everyone in the room subscribes to
Henry’s idea before I can make my
misgivings known. Reuben’s tie is slack
and he raises his voice in tipsy support
for Henry. The picture is funny. I take a
mental picture of his revelry and store it
away in a mental compartment for
future retrieval. Somewhere in the
middle of loud laughing and phone calls
with would be female company, my
phone rings and I escape the chaos to
answer the call from my boss.
“Naden,” he says without much
ceremony. “As you know you will be
going to Kano very soon. You will be
going with Angela. The two of you will
work together on this case.”
As usual, he does not wait for an answer.
The dial tone shrills loudly in my ear. I
pull the phone away and look up at sky.
A few stars wink playfully at me. Inside
my barely furnished apartment, my
friends continue to cackle drunkenly. I
stand under the skeet of darkness and
think of the trip to Kano. I had collected
the gifts. It was now time to pay for
them.
*
ANGELA
I receive the call from my father just
before I close my eyes.
“You will be leaving soon to Kano with
Naden.”
Click.
His brusqueness did not fill me with
annoyance this time. I sit up in bed,
dragging the covers with me and reach
for the leather bound book on the bed
stand. I open the pages and draw a plan.
*
UPSTAIRS THE OYELOWO MANSION
Damilola Oyelowo woke up before
midnight to answer nature’s call. She
switched on the lamp on the table beside
her and began to push the covers aside
to leave the bed but she froze for a
second at the sight in the room. Her eyes
locked to the thing that held her
attention, she left the bed quietly and
walked to the sofa across the bed. She
stood there and watched the form
collapsed on the chair, its arms hanging
lifelessly beside its body. She watched
the form for several minutes.
He was not dead but asleep.
The husband she wanted to divorce. He
was here in her room and it wasn’t
because she summoned him like the
other times.
MEANING OF HAUSA WORDS IN STORY
Mai ya sa – Why?
Ba zan zo Sokoto ba – I will not come to
Sokoto
Bio: Umari Ayim is a lawyer, writer and
a poet. Her books ‘Twilight at Terracotta
Indigo’ and ‘Inside My Head’ won the
ANA women prize for fiction and ANA
poetry prize respectively. Her works
have been featured on new and
traditional media platforms. She shares
weekly series on her blog
www.umariayim.com .