15 Tobechi reached the abandoned government project site just before 10 p.m. He had run the last kilometer, lungs burning, shoes caked with mud, heart slamming so hard it felt like it would crack a rib. The rain had stopped completely, leaving the air heavy and cold. The half-built blocks loomed black against the...
Deadly Design – 14
14 Tobechi had not slept. He had left the unfinished Gwagwalada shell before dawn, moving on foot through back paths until he reached a small motor park. A shared taxi took him as far as Kubwa, then another keke brought him closer to Wuse. By 8:47 p.m. he was walking the last two kilometers,...
Deadly Design – 13
13 Inspector Sanusi sat in his small office at the FCT Police Command headquarters, the ceiling fan creaking above him like an old joint protesting the weight of time. It was late Saturday afternoon, and the rain had started again, a soft, persistent patter against the window that blurred the view of the parking...
Deadly Design – 12
12 Inspector Sanusi’s office felt smaller under the weight of the afternoon downpour. Rain hammered the tin roof like impatient fingers, drowning out the distant hum of generators and the occasional shout from the holding cells downstairs. He sat at his desk, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, flipping through the preliminary autopsy report on...
Deadly Design – 11
11 Thursday dawned clear, the rain having washed away the last of the Harmattan haze. Abuja felt sharper, buildings standing out against a blue sky, traffic horns crisp in the air. But for Tobechi, the clarity brought no relief. He had spent the night in the guest house, bed hard as concrete, walls thin...
Deadly Design – 10
10 The rain that had started Tuesday evening turned into a relentless downpour by Wednesday morning. Abuja’s streets gleamed slick under the gray sky, potholes filling like forgotten promises, vendors huddling under plastic sheets with their wares. The city felt washed but not clean, everything blurred at the edges. Amara had barely slept. The...
Deadly Design – 9
9 The small buka near Jabi Lake had not changed in the months since Amara last noticed it. Blue plastic chairs still stood unevenly on the cracked concrete floor. The roof was half corrugated iron, half blue tarpaulin patched in several places. A single standing fan rattled in the corner, pushing warm air around...
Deadly Design – 8
8 The orange haze of Harmattan thickened into something almost solid by Friday. Streetlights looked distant, like lanterns seen through smoked glass. Dust found its way into everything, the creases of Amara’s blouses, the seams of her sketchbook, even the small cracks around the apartment windows. Breathing felt like inhaling memory. She came home...
Deadly Design – 7
7 The next morning arrived with a thin layer of Harmattan dust on the windowsills. Amara woke to the faint taste of it in the air and the muffled sound of Harwa moving around the living room. She lay still for a moment, listening. No chatter. No cheerful good-morning song from the kitchen. Just...
Deadly Design – 6
6 Abuja nights often carried a deceptive calm. From a distance, the city looked peaceful, streetlights stretching across quiet roads, late traffic fading into silence, laughter drifting from restaurants and lounges where people pretended life was simpler than it truly was. But beneath that calm, lives moved in complicated directions, intersecting in ways no...