IMPORTANT NOTICE

Until the new tenant moved in, number seventy two was regarded as the most peaceful on Apata Street. All the tenants in the house lived like one big family. Our house was one of the few multi-tenanted buildings on the street. Apart from my single room which was closest to the house’s main door, there were other four single rooms and two room and parlour apartments in the house; all facing one another.

Adamu the only tenant from the Northern part of the country was the only bachelor in the house. His room was the next to mine. I and the other tenants lived in the house with our wives and kids. Adamu operated a tea shop a stone throw from the house while I work with an Accounting firm on the Island. Mr. Obinna and his wife and children stay in one of the room and parlour apartments and operated a boutique where they sell ‘second-hand’ cloths at the street’s main market. The other room and parlour apartment had Chief Ayinla and his family members staying in it. Chief Ayinla is one of the renowned native doctors in the area. Apart from clients who come for different spiritual solution to their problems, Chief Ayinla’s patients included Lepers and Mad Men. The remaining four rooms in the house Mr. Johnson a taxi driver, Baba Wale a meat seller, Goriola a bus driver and  Mr. Akin a primary school teacher; all with their wives and kids.

Unlike all other multi-tenanted houses, the bond within the house was extra-ordinary. There were no restrictions within the house. Children of tenants visited each other’s apartments at will. Food and other gift items were regularly shared among tenants and were gracefully received. A tenant’s problem was the problem of the others. When necessary we contributed money to save dire situations. One of such occasions was when Mr.Obinna’s wife needed to go through a caesarean operation to deliver their fourth child; we all to pooled our resources together to ensure that the operation was done.

There was also a time when the tenants came together when Adamu needed to be operated to remove a stone from his gall bladder. To some of us, there was no other place like number seventy two Apata Street. Things were soon to take a new dimension. After about ten years that I had been resident in the house, something grievous befell the house. Goriola the bus driver died mysteriously in his sleep. Before he went to bed on that night both of us had been involved in a little argument. It was the UEFA Champion League week. Goriola’s favourite team Chelsea was to play my favourite team Real Madrid. “For the last six weeks Chelsea has never lost at Stamford Bridge and I don’t think Real Madrid with all the star players in the world can defeat us”, he argued. I told him victory was sure for the ‘Galatikos’ and that Chelsea was going to go down by a lone goal. It was discussion that lasted for over fours.

It was already 10.00pm on my wrist watch before both of us departed for our respective apartments. When Goriola’s death was announced the next morning, I almost fainted. He was the last person I spoke with before going to bed. My wife and kids were already fast asleep before I retired into my apartment. I could not even summon enough courage to go and see his corps. His corps was later removed by his family members by mid-day and buried at Agun Cemetery about ten minutes drive from the house. To me and the other tenants, that was the saddest moment at number seventy two Apata Street. We prayed such an incident never repeats itself. For the next six months Goriola’s apartment remained unoccupied. Though his wife and children had immediately after his death relocated from the house; they were yet to remove their belongings from the apartment. They eventually did at the sixth month. 

A new tenant was immediately admitted into the house. It was as if the landlord was waiting for the room to be vacant. The new tenant was Dr. Suraju. He was in his fifties. He was neither with his wife or any children. As nosy as I was to issues around the house, it took another three weeks before I could get any meaningful information about Dr. Suraju.  He was infact not a medical doctor as we I ealier thought when he newly came into the house.  He was a ‘doctor of wrist watches’. He was a horologist. Dr. Suraju was a very quiet person. When ever he was at home, he was always indoors. He had no time for house gossips and gist. Even when he attended to monthly house meetings on the environmental sanitation day, his contributions to issues were always minimal. Infact, his quiet disposition had started to generate some misgivings among the tenants in the house. “I don’t he is quiet, he is just being arrogant”, Chief Ayinla once told me. “I am sure he is only hiding his true character, we will all soon discover his true identity”, Mr. Obinna told me after one of the emergency meetings called by the landlord to address burning issues in the house.

The house’s sewage reservoir was full and needed to be excavated. The landlord had called a meeting of the tenants demanding that we contribute money for the job to be done. All the other tenants as usual had spoken in one voice against the landlord’s request. Dr. Suraju was the only one that refused to make a comment. It was a stance that infuriated many of the tenants. I really didn’t want to add my voice to that of the condemn party, it was however difficult not to buy the idea of the other tenants who believed that Dr. Suraju was infact an impostor. Exactly one year and two weeks after Dr. Suraju came into the house, something serious happened in the house.

A thief broke into the house at midnight. Mysteriously, the house’s main door which was always pad-locked was left open. All tenants in the house had duplicate copies of the key to the padlock. It was difficult to say who had opened the door for the thief. Although the thief did not brake into any of the apartments, their entry into the compound caused a steer among the tenants. There was total silence on the issue of how the pad lock to the main door was opened. It was an incident that had never happened before and it was difficult to point accusing fingers at anyone, more-so there was really nobody delegated with the duty of always ensuring that the door was locked. In another three weeks the robbers were back. Their target was Chief Ayinla who had recently received a large sum of money from the family of a patient he had helped to cure of epilepsy.

Apart from the bewilderment surrounding how the robbers knew about the money the pad-lock to the house’s door was again open. The thieves simply strolled in. The house was again thrown into a state of confusion.  Now all the tenants agreed to keep a routine check on the house’s door. In my closet, I knew there was a mole within. But who could it be? There was only one person on my mind. Three days after the robbery incident, Chief Ayinla told me he had a clue about who the ‘infiltrator’ was.  His thinking tallied perfectly with mine. He told me his wife said the voice of one of the armed robbers resembled that of the tenants he mentioned to me. I could not help but agree. Now we were to be more strategic.

We decided to keep our plans only between the two of us. We decided to alert neighbouring vigilante groups. It was at this time that we found-out that other buildings in the neighbourhood were also being attacked by robbers. We were extremely sure the thieves will still come-back. At least there was an informant within the neighbourhood. Exactly, three months after, the thieves were back again. They were captured by men of the vigilante group. What followed the arrest is something I would not forget in a jiffy. Against all expectations, Dr. Suraju whom I and Chief Ayinla had thought was the inside person to the armed robbers was not the mole within. We were dead wrong. Adamu the innocent looking tea seller was the ‘inside man’. We could not believe our eyes when we went to conduct a search of his apartment. All valuable items stolen from different tenants in the house were found in Adamu’s room. Dangerous weapons like gun, knife, machete and cutlass were found in his apartment.