Empathy is not a Colour. Chapter 6

Akinyemi Ola was pleased with the meeting with Oritse and its

success. But then again he knew it was a forgone conclusion. Oritse

had no option. Ola had secured another exit point for the marijuana

that was now coming from Morocco as well as sub-sahara Africa.

There seemed to be an expanding market for Morocco's Khatema

Treble Zero in London and New York. Akin had recommended it to

his father, reckoning that a detour via Lagos to London from

Morocco had less chance of being detected. It would increase the

cost of course, but the margins were so good that the slight extra

cost would be absorbed by the increase in volume. So far Akin had

been proved right and Jones in London had been helpful as promised.



After the deal, Rosemary's life expectancy improved dramatically.

She was shielded from the worst that Warri could offer, growing

strong and fit. Not for her the ravages of hunger or the

gastrointestinal diseases that came in waves and decimated her peers.



The oil had brought misery for most, those at the bottom of the

corrupted Nigerian economy were mired in squalor. The oil

companies enjoyed the situation. Super-profits from the Delta's

misery were nearly comparable to the super-profits the Portuguese,

Dutch and British enjoyed from the times of slavery. Wages could be

kept low because so many people were desperate for the work.

There was never less than five hundred people chasing every job with

the oil companies. Wages just enough for the people to reproduce

themselves. Nothing more. No welfare except from charity. No

environmental controls. It all helped with the bottom line - more

profit and shareholders dividends increased.



By twelve Rosemary had grown to dislike school. She was

academically quite gifted - but lazy. Liked geography most. The

expectations evoked by the pink Commonwealth swathe that reached

around the schoolroom globe fascinated her. It was inclusive of

Warri. She skivved off occassionally, truanted down at the port

day-dreaming of far away places were life was exotic, better and

clean. Without the stink of oil. A home in a skyscraper among the

clouds that know no border or boundary. London, New York, Hong

Kong, Bombay, Naples and Marseille, the destinations of the ships

that edged in and out the harbour. Continually moving. What she

would give to be on one.



When her mother found out about the skivving and the visits to the

port she was furious and scared. Scared that her beautiful daughter

would be raped by the “riff-raff” who gang around the port waiting

on the possibility, no matter how thin, for work. Or worse - wreck

the alliance with the Ola's. Isabella beat Rosemary the worst she had

ever done.



When she was 13 Rosemary fell in love. A deep hormonal yearning

had won her to a gawky, totally uncoordinated boy her age who was

thought an intellectual with great promise. She was passing from her

puberty to adolescense and thought she was ugly. She didn't see what

everybody else knew of her. Rosemary was stunning. Skin - red

hued black. Burnished flawless. An oval mouth, the lips not quite

meeting, her peltrum was exquisite. Wide set jet-black eyes. The

swish of her skirt stirred in old men long stowed cargoes of memory

and desire. The boys her own age were scared of her beauty, kept

their distance. Except the Gawk who the oestregen surges demanded

she be close to.



It was time to tell her of the betrothal to Amari Ola.



Rosemary didn't take it to well. She was distraught, thought of

suicide more than once. Ran away from home without a plan or

destination. She was found wandering the docks looking for a ship to

take her anywhere but Warri. Thirteen, and she thought she had no

future.



From then on Rosemary was chaperoned everywhere by a stern and

eagle eyed aunt. A car and driver were brought and hired to drive her

to school and church. Escorted all the way. She was not to touch the

street with her feet lest she do a runner.



Umukoro Oritze told his daughter, “This is the way it is going to be

for the next seven years. You are not going to tarnish this family's

honour by not carrying through your obligations to it. We are now a

wealthy family because of the business brought our way by Amari

Ola's father. Your future is as his wife.”



“That is the longest you have spoken to me in my life and its to

destroy it. I don't want to marry an old man. Its your obligation not

mine.” Rosemary shouted.



Speaking back and out of turn to her father ellicited a slap from her

mother that sent her reeling.



“Don't answer your father back.” She barked.



Isabella's initial reaction to the news of the betrothal had been

apocyleptic. How dare he do this. Now, every time she looked at

Rosemary, Isabella could see and feel the terror the Igbo inflicted on

Warri when Rosemary was all of six months old. With a conditioned

reflex she recoiled from loving her daughter. Saw her as beautiful but

flawed and wanted to change the age stipulation, get her daughter

away from her, remove the fear and terror. Isobella's greed also got

the better of her. Over the years since Rosemary's birth her

husbands business had grown in alliance with Akinyemi Ola. She

wanted more and her daughter would be the means to cement her

families relationship with the Olas. As political a marriage as any that

the royal families of Europe have entered into down the centuries.

Selling daughters for treaties. The similarity would not have been lost

on Isabella if she had known. A callousness had inhabited the

emotional space between a mother and her daughter



Umukoro had insisted on sticking to the marriage agreement, his

conscience still needing the salve, the acquaintence with scruple still

causing him qualms. This show of defience from their daughter might

help Isabella change his mind.



“My obligations are this families obligations. You will not disobey me.”

Said Umukoro Oritse. Sounding concilliatory he added, “Amari lives

most of his time in London and you will join him there. You've always

wanted to travel and dreamed of London. He travels all over the

world on business. You'll be happy. You'll see.”



School became a relief for Rosemary. A place to dream till her plans

were discovered. A friend at school had accidentally let slip to her

own parents that Rosemary had been gradually sneaking a change of

clothing into school. She had worn a garment at a time beneath her

school clothes over a two week period and hid them in her friends

locker. She was going to get changed at lunch time and walk out of

the school gate, give herself an hours start before they searched.

She wouldn't head toward the docks put to Benin, because everybody

would assume she would look for a ship. She would go north, inland

and find somebody there who would help her. She had no idea who.

The friends parents visited Umukoro Oritse. Clan allegience between

cousins did for Rosemary's plan.



Umukoro Oritse beat his daughter. Banned her from leaving the

house and would have stopped all schooling but for the insistance of

Isabella.


“If she is going to be married to Amari Ola, be of value to him and

live a rich life in London she needs to be able to hold intelligent

conversation with people.” Said Isabella, “My own lack of education

meant I haven't been as useful to you as I could have been.”



“You've been a good wife. Rosemary is the problem. But you are

right about her role with Amari. OK we'll hire a tutor and set a room

aside. It may mean she'll be kept so busy it'll stop her making plans.

If this keeps up I may have to think about he age stipulation. But not

yet.” Said Umukoro.



Isabella wanted to say, 'you said that before', but held her tongue.

She hadn't raised it this time. He had.



Rosemary had become a valuable commodity with her betrothal. An

asset, nothing more. Her wishes, her dreams for herself of no

import. She had to marry into the Ola family. For Umukoro it was

not just because of his family, clan or tribal honour, it was gangster

politics. He had grown wealthy as an outpost of the Ola empire and

wanted to join the inner circle. His ambition could not accommodate

the wishes of his daughter and was dissolving the salve to his

conscience.



Value would be added to her if she had a little education and still a

virgin when married. The house would now be her prison and she

would be constantly watched by a permanent chaperon. If she ever

went out of the house she would be accompanied by the chaperon and

a driver.



The first year of her imprisonment she never left the house. Her

siblings were no help. When Rosemary said she would prefer to

marry an Ibo than Amari Ola, her brothers denounced her as mad.

Told their friends, and made sure that Rosemary's friends heard,

that their sister had gone insane and needed to kept at home. That

she was a danger to herself and others. Rosemary did think of

suicide but would never have hurt anybody else. There were times

she thought herself going mad, that the lies and rumours her

brothers had spread were true. Her sister was to young to fully

understand the implications of Rosemary's betrothal, so kept her

distance as Isobel and Umukoro demanded.



After a years confinement, Rosemary's parents allowed her to leave

the house to go to church as she had demanded. Religion became her

new refuge. A haven from the family she now hated. Confession a

chance to tell of her predicament. She asked how to become a Nun.

The austerity of Orders looked more attractive than marriage to

Amari Ola. Non of it helped. No servant of God came to her

rescue, answered her prayers. The opposite. The priest sold the

confessions and requests to Isabella, kept her informed. Cousins

were to be helped, especially if they helped you. Catholicism is not

innured from corruption.



For three years she lived this charade, this fraud that was Rosemary's

family, replayed itself everyday like a bad dream. She still held to her

dreams of escape and was growing suspicious of the Priests

confidence. Twice her mother had mentioned things she had told the

priest the day before. The first time she put it down to coincidence.

The second time and Rosemary started holding back some of her

thoughts at confession.



She had used some of the time watching a succession of drivers and

what they did. Umukoro had changed cars four times since buying the

Rover P5, and everyone an automatic. The latest a Merc. Each time

they went out she study the drivers movements, how he switched on

the engine; selected the automatic; indicated; applied the brakes or

turned the wheel. Occassionally she asked a question about what he

was doing, couching it in terms that would not raise suspicion. One

driver had offered to teach her how to drive but that was immediately

scotched and the chauffer sacked.



Three days short of her sevententh birthday an opportunity to escape

appeared out of the blue and she took it. The driver, a new

employee not fully aware of the rules governing Rosemary's life, had

left the engine running while he went back in side the house to collect

his coat. The chaperone met him at the door and screamed as she

saw Rosemary drive the car out of the open gate. Leaving a brick

dislodged from the wall and a dent in the front near-side wing.




She had put the car in 'drive', released the hand brake and floored the

accelerator, suprising herself at the surge of power and finding it

hard to steer despite the power-assisted steering. She made the road

and turned left forcing a car on her right to swerve and roll. three

hundred yards down the road and she had some semblence of control

and hadn't hit anything since the gate. A few pedestrians had been

scattered and some cars took evasive action but she was gaining

control.



Her bolt for freedom would last four days.



When Rosemary and the car had not been found by the following

morning Umukoro Oritse phoned Akinyemi Ola. He was put through

to Adan. Akinyemi had grown old and frail over the last few years and

Adan had been called back from New York to take on some of his

father's responsibilities. Prepare to take over the leadership of the

family business.



“What?” Was shouted down the line. Adan was as abrupt as his

father and ruder if that could be achieved. A psychopath whose time

in New York was notorious for its brutality in carving out space for

his dealers and whores.



Umukoro Oritse baulked. He would have preferred to deal with the

father. Akinyemi's anger at the news would have been difficult to deal

with, but Adan?



“Please extend my regards to your father.”



“OK. OK. Wah d'fuck da ya'wan?” Adan's acquired American accent

and tone mimicked the worst of US gangster movie argot. Lifted

straight from B-movie film noir.



“Rosemary r-ran off yesterday and we still haven't found her.” The

single stammer betraying his fear.



A cruel laugh came down the phone. “Again? Be here at 2 the day

after tomorrow.” Said Adan as he slammed down the phone.



Akinyemi and Adan grinned at each other. The patriarch had been

listening in.



“You've got him. Well done. He's yours now.” Said Akinyemi Ola

bequeathing Oritse's obligation to Adan. “Phone Amari. Tell him to

come home. The 'wedding' will be brought forward as soon as we find

her. Get Akin in here. We need to get searching. By all accounts

she's a stunner. Should serve that witch in London, Dada Acacia

well.”



The brothers and the father were a quartet known as the “4A's” by

friends and enemies . Misogynists all. The brothers were sons of

different mothers who were thrown out when they were born and a

series of wet nurses employed. None lasting more than six months.

The brothers emotional centre - for what is was worth - was their

father.



Akinyemi Ola was living off the streets of the slums of Lagos at 4

years old. He had no clan. His parents were cousins and incest

tabooed. His mouth one to many to support and there were no

cousins or aunts or uncles to take him on. He was bright, intelligent,

a natural leader of his age cohort. If his education had not been the

streets and the university instead, he could have done anything, been

anybody. As circumstance was he built a reputation and grudging

respect amongst the criminal.



He led his first gun battle at 15, defeating an older gang of boys and

young men, taking territory, growing. He became noticed and feared,

survived two assassination attempts then wiped out the gangs

responsible. Through the 1940's and 50's his brothals screened black

& white 8mm pornographic films smuggled into Lagos by sailors. His

clients enjoyed watching Europeans fuck, have it undermine white

purity, but some would complain about not seeing black women

humilated and as his empire grew he rectified that by producing local

Lagos porn. The punters would have to pay to watch of course, but

the 'girls' were expected to comply in copying what their punters had

watched then demanded. The Ola brothals became the most popular

in Lagos



Akinyemi wouldn't have recognised it but he was addicted to porn.

Women knew his coldness, his cruelty and love for their degradation.

His mechanical sex. The pain as their asses are ripped. The blowjobs

and forced swallowing. Their ritual cleaning of his dick after fucking.

The Ola brothers learned their misogyny young.



Umukoro Oritse entered the Ola's office. Wary and scared. They

were all there. The 4A's. Amari had caught the first flight after

Adan's call and was angry at being disturbed from his enjoyments in

London. Akinyemi was sitting in a high chair, leaning forward and

putting his upper body weight on the walking stick he held in front of

him. The head of the walking stick was the carved head of a black man

and a carved spiral swirled along its tapered length to the foot.

African blackwood and heavy, it could kill a man with one blow to the

head. Akinyemi was old and frail but still armed.


Akin lay sprawled in an exhibition of relaxation across a three seat

black leather sofa.


Adan sat behind the massive desk that had so impressed Umukoro

Oritse at his first meeting with Akinyemi seventeen years earlier.


“Well. What have you got to say?” Asked Adan.


“We still haven't found her. We know she didn't go to the docks. My

people there were the first to be informed, 10 minutes after

Rosemary stole the car. We now think she is heading north towards

Benin. I have informed Isabella that once Rosemary is found, and if

your in agreement, then the wedding to Amari will be brought

forward.” The humiliation of his position gave a whine to his voice.



“I'm not marrying her but she is coming to London when she is

found.” Said Amari.



“We have an arrangement.” Said Umukoro.



“Fuck your arrangement. Your obligated to us.” Akin responded as

he cleaned his finger nails. “We found the car yesterday, two miles

from your house. If I wasn't such a generous man I would think your

family is trying to hide her, renage on your obligation.”



“No we're not. All in my family recognise the importance to us of the

wedding to Amari.” Umukoro could not have heard Amari or did not

believe him.



“No. Your just useless.” Said Amari, “Didn't you hear me. I am not

marrying her but she is coming to London.”




“Who would she know 2 miles north of your house?” Asked Akin.




“She hasn't been out of the house for three years unless escorted to

church. The priest keeps us informed of everything that happens

there. All I can think of is boy about her own age, who she had a

crush on four years ago. He lived to the north of us. He's called the

Gawk.” A trembling and totally humilated Umukoro Oritse

whimpered. His eyes darting across the four faces that glared with

malice at him. He was out of his depth with the gangsters of Lagos.

The relationship had worked well for the last 17 years but its true

face was exposed by this, the first difficulty. And he met the power

of fear that the Ola's exercised with well practised effect.



Akin got on the phone and spoke to his man in Warri.



“His name is The Gawk and lives close to where you found the car.

Check it out and phone me as soon as you have something.” Turning

to Oritse he said, “You stay here till we find her.”



An hour later the phone rang. Akin answered it, “Hello.” He

pressed a button on the phone and let everybody in the room hear his

henchman.



“We've got her.”



“What about the Gawk.”



“Dead.”



“Good. Pick up her mother and bring them here.” Akin hung up.



The Gawk dead in a casual, off-hand way. A future Nigerian Nobel

physicist will not now be nominated.



Rosemary and Isabella were escorted into the office just before

midnight.



Adan met them. “So. This is the runaway from Amari's wedding.

Very beautiful. What do you think Amari? She good enough for you?”



Amari came forward, “Very nice. No I'm not going to marry her but

she's coming to London with me when I return.”



“You can't do that.” Said a defiant Isabella, “We have an agreement.”



“Fuck that you bitch.” Said Adan, “Get over there with you worthless

husband.”



Isabella looked toward Umukoro who beckoned her toward him. He

was sat with shoulders hunched as though waiting a blow. She went

with questioning eyes wondering what was happening.



Turning to Rosemary Adan asked, “Did you fuck with the Gawk?”



Rosemary stood shivering in fear and shock. The last time she saw

the Gawk he was lying dead on the path to his house with his brains

and blood spreading a grey, red streaked halo from his bullet

shattered skull.



“Well?” Adan shouted.



Isabella and Umukoro sat and watched the humiliation of their

daughter, recognising their powerlessness. Their plans and dreams of

marrying into Lagos' gangster royalty snatched away by the foolishness

of their daughter.



Rosemary nodded a trembling yes.



“You two can go.” Ordered Adan to Umukoro and Isabella. “Say

goodbye to your daughter.”



Isabella walked up to her and said, passing guilt, “You are stupid. We

gave you a chance in life and now a young man has died because of

your selfishness.” With a sneer she looked Rosemary up and down,

turned her back and joined her husband who had simply cut his

daughter dead.




Once they were out of the room Akin asked, “Whose first to start

the breaking in, the training to obey. Father?”




“No. I'll just watch. Maybe give a bit of advice.”




“Amari. The bridegroom. How about you?”




“No. I can see how much your itching to put that dick of yours to

use. I'll ease into it as we go along”




“I will.” Said Adan the lust in the voice broked no arguement as he

bent Rosemary across the desk to begin the 'wedding'.




Isabella and Umukoro were getting in a taxi when they heard

Rosemary scream but just ignored it and ordered the taxi driver to

drive.



For the next two weeks Rosemary was used by every member of

Akin's crew. The enforcers knew how to break in new whores.

Akinyemi kept an eye on things. He got a hard on once watching, but

by the time he got to Rosemary he was flacid again and ordered two

of the men to, “Fuck her in the ass and cunt together".



It was Akinyemi who determined when her spirit was broken and she

was able to be taken to London as an obedient whore for Dada Acacia

to look after and train. Rosemary no longer screamed or complained.

Had learned to laugh competently enough at the Ola's sadistic jokes

or smile while being abused as if she enjoyed it.