Airport secret

I read and re-read the text message several times. What was in the text was not ambiguous. The message was crystal clear but I was ambivalent about it. At first I was very excited about the message but a minute later, I became apprehensive about it. It would be no exaggeration to say that I got panicky and petrified after a minute of my reading the message. My virtual simultaneous excitement and apprehension were not so much about the message itself but my conflicting interpretations of the motives and the intents of the sender of the message. My summation of the matter was that the message was clear but the sender and her motives were opaque. My panic sprang from a recollection of the popular saying, “Be careful what you wished for.” I had wished for Rosaline and now that she seemed at hand, doubts about having her began to flood my mind. My head was at war with my heart. My heart was gung-ho about wishing for Rosaline and getting her while my head was equally adamant on the perils

My navigator instinctively trusted my judgment. He did not ask me why we would be returning to Abuja that night. He noticed my encounter with the SSS officer at the hotel and he sensed that returning to Abuja would be safer for us. He reassured me that if anyone tried to secretly trail us, he would out-maneuver them with his superior driving skills. I trusted his driving skills but I was not counting on those skills to keep us safe that night. I had an old flame in the capital city who owed me a big favor. Time for her to repay part of her debts to me, was my immediate thought. I called Dorcas the Babe and I explained the situation to her. She was very sympathetic. Her new boyfriend was an assistant commissioner of police at the state capital. She assured me that she could call him and ask him to send extra police security to her house. Dorcas said that I could spend the night there and stay for as long as I wished. I told her that that would not work. Her new boyfriend knew of our

Traffic was heavy on the highway and on the streets of Beijing but Cynthia drove effortlessly and soon, we were at her brand new house. The house contained a large living room, a small study, a medium- sized kitchen and three bedrooms of an equal size. I was amused that there was no master bedroom here. Cynthia read my thoughts. “Prof, this is not racist America. China does not have a history of slavery and we do not have rooms reserved for masters.” I had no idea that the concept of a master’s bedroom had any racist connotation but I did not push it since Cynthia did not say anything flippantly. Later on, during a tour of the house, Cynthia and Li ming took me to a small garden where Cynthia grew tomatoes, basil, peppers and spinach. I had read the glossy publication, China Illustrated, when I was in primary six and the magazine had several articles on the role of gardening in Chinese cultures. I noticed that all the houses in the neighborhood had small gardens.Li