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September 23, 2018

Samantha's Chronicles: Showdown time

Confrontation
Confrontation

As the taxi guy takes off, he is still muttering political slogans under his breath. Have you noticed how all the people who know how to run a country are busy either driving taxis or cutting hair? A person working in a salon will happily give you an opinion on just about every ministerial docket. And they’re experts too on matters of law and our constitution! 

It’s the same with football. Every fan believes they would make the best manager and gives a commentary through each game about who should be played in which position and why.

Before my ordeal, I had a million political opinions as well and I would say that I was quite passionate about those views. But after being held captive and fearing for my life, the shenanigans of politicians don’t matter to me. I have clarity. These liberties we take for granted can disappear in an instant. One day you’re having a drink and the next you’re locked up in a hole somewhere. I enter my SQ and head straight to the shower.

The water feels heavenly against my skin, the gentle jet spray washing away all the filth of the past few days. I watch the streak of grime making its way down the drain but I know nothing can wash away how I’m feeling inside. Laid to waste. 

Don’t get me wrong, no one actually violated me. I managed to escape before that happened, I was lucky. But I still feel used, somehow. Now that I’m home I can try and piece this maddening puzzle together. Who wanted me held hostage? Was Mr N involved? Who let me go? Will they try this again? So many questions!

I grab a towel and dry myself off, no closer to having answers than I did when I entered the shower. Well, I’m going to find out! I’m not hiding out here, I’m going to face my enemies and confront them. I dress carefully, choosing a power outfit. I don’t want to look weak. I take my time with my make-up, layering and contouring until I achieve the perfect look. 

I’m not sure what to tell my boss. Will he believe me when I tell him about my ordeal? He’ll want to escalate it further and cops are the last people I want to deal with right now. They’ll make me go back. I shudder at the idea of returning there. Either way, my boss is not first on my agenda, Mr N is. I leave the compound and walk slowly to the local taxi ramp. I’m wearing the type of heels where you need to take your time or risk breaking your neck. One of my regular drivers is there and greets me warmly.

“Offisi,” I say to him. The ride to the office is the same experience as the one earlier. Lots of heavy political talk. I refuse to get drawn in and don’t contribute to his tirade. I turn the music up and he gets the hint and finally clams up. Traffic is not bad and we make it in just under 30 minutes.

Mr N’s office, you might remember, is in the same office block as mine. That’s how I met him in the first place. I bypass my office and go straight to his. 

“Is he in?” I ask his secretary. She waves me in without buzzing his intercom. She has seen me there many times before. I walk in and find him on the phone. I’m nervous. Is this the man who sold me out? 

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