Sons & Daughters: On My Honour
The Homeland Newspaper
Beach Road, Takoradi
Tuesday, 8:30 a.m
The ambiance was uncharacteristically somber. Around a table in the austere office space, six forlorn faces waited for the morning meeting to start. It was their first day back to work after the newspaper closed their offices a week ago. In the early hours of that Tuesday, Rahim Sulemana, seasoned investigative journalist and editing manager of The Homeland was found dead in his car.
A motorist had come across his Hyndai Accent on the Sunyani-Kumasi road, wrapped around a tree, in flames. Before morning, pictures of Rahim’s charred body and number plate had been circulated on social media. Which is how his colleagues found out— how Ato Aikins found out his friend was dead.
The police report cited a tragic accident had claimed the life of the phenomenal citizen, and that contrary to public opinion, there was no evidence of foul play. But across the country, radio and TV stations debated the veracity of the statement. In any other case, concluding that the driver had lost control of his car while trying to avoid an oncoming vehicle would be acceptable. There would be no cause to sniff around for more. But Rahim Sulemana wasn’t anyone. There had to be more. So they asked, why now? What was the story that had finally cost Rahim his life?
Aikins looked up from his phone as the door screeched open. Kwabena Berko, editor-in-chief of Homeland marched in, a file tucked under his armpit. His standard garb, a three-piece suit with no tie, gave him the look of an old Englishman. A rather small and assuming man, his countenance cloaked a ferocious beast which when awakened, tore down all in its path.
“Good morning,” he cleared his throat with a cough.
“Morning, sir.”
“I’m glad to have you all back here.” His gaze drifted to the conspicuously empty seat on his right. “Shall we observe a minute of silence.”
Aikins closed his eyes, putting effort into focusing his thoughts. Today was the day. The torch had been passed on to him, a lot earlier than expected, but he was ready, looking forward to his briefing with the chief. It was better to focus on that and not the screams of a man engulfed in flames.
“Okay,” Kwabena Berko exhaled, “this will be quick and painless. We have a lot to cover this week. Adina will be taking over as interim editor-in-chief. Please support her in this transition. I’ll be working closely with her, of course. This is going to be difficult, but it’s what we do. We only have so much time to tell our stories. Let’s make today count.
One more thing. We’ll have a representative of Vortex securities coming in around noon. It’s imperative that we review our security protocols in light of recent events. I expect everyone to be there.”
He rolled a pen between his fingers. “That’s it from my end. Adina?”
***
Aikins knocked and opened the door to Kwabena Berko’s office. He’d expected the chief would call him into his office after the meeting, but that hadn’t happened. So, here he was. Three large books were spread out on his enormous desk. His face was buried in one, glasses perched on his nose.
“Can I have a word with you, sir?”
“Go on.”
“It’s about KPharma.”
“Close the door.”
He did and took a seat across him. The small office was taken up mostly by an ornate floor-to-ceiling bookcase, custodian of the chief’s most-priced possessions. The portrait of his family on the cream-colored walls seemed out of place hanging over the plaques displayed on a credenza.
“What’s on your mind?”
“I just wanted to let you know that I’m up to speed on everything. I’ve pored over every correspondence, email, letter or phone call. There are a few more interviews he had left to do. I’ve already contacted all of these people to update them on how we plan to move forward. There are a few hiccups but I got some traction. In fact, one of the board members agreed to have a meeting with me today. I just have to call and confirm the time this morning.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
Aikins waited. “The call, sir?”
Kwabena Berko looked up. “Aikins, you’ve done phenomenal work here. I appreciate your zeal and enthusiasm, and I see that you’ve worked very hard on this. You’re smart, hardworking and resourceful. All good qualities. But I’m afraid there are other factors that come into play here. Rahim was a household name, tried and tested. He had a reputation that got him through closed, barricaded doors. You have potential, yes, but you’re just not the right man for this job.”
Aikins stared at his boss, confused. He had expected a drill. The chief would question him about every detail he claimed to know and he would knock his socks off. He’d stayed up three nights straight, chugged countless cups of coffee to make sure of that.
“Sir, I… I understand your hesitation, but I assure you, I am capable. I worked with Rahim on this, I know the direction he was going and I know how to get there.”
“I disagree.”
Aikins shook his head, running a hand over his tie. They had talked about this on Friday, just four days ago. The man had agreed there was no one better to take the story on. He’d even called him ‘son’ at some point. What had changed since then?
A thought occurred to him, something he hadn’t even thought to consider. Of course. They were going to hire someone to replace Rahim. That was it. He had been presumptuous, assumed he’d automatically be called on to fill those big shoes. He nodded.
“Sir, I don’t mind working with whoever will spearhead the investigation. I’ll run errands, set up meetings, whatever is necessary. I just want to see this through.”
“That’s alright,” Kwabena Berko said, his tone dismissive. “For now, our focus should be on tightening security. You know Ofori is on leave, so I’ll need your help when Vortex gets here. Work with them to make sure all the cameras are set up to our network properly.”
“Cameras? I thought we couldn’t afford those.”
“They’ve become necessary given the events of the past week.”
Aikins watched as he returned to perusing the book. Emboldened by the chief’s response to his query, he ventured to recapture the tone of their conversation that Friday.
“So you think the rumors are true? This was a fallout from the investigation?”
“We can’t rule it out.”
“But looking at what we have, I’m not so sure. He called me the night before from Sunyani, asked me to look up some names. He didn’t sound like he’d got his hands on a smoking gun. He would’ve told us for sure.” He shook his head. “And I really can’t believe these people would be that stupid. If anything, hurting a member of the team, would make us want to go after them even harder. They should have known killing Rahim wouldn’t kill the story.”
Kwabena Berko looked up at the boy. For a moment, Aikins tried to convince himself he had mistaken the resignation in his eyes, but it was there, in the pursed lips, in his silence.
“Right, sir?”
A frown crossed his face. He shut the book. “Like I said, Aikins, the story is on hold.”
“On hold till when?”
“Till I say it’s not,” he barked. Then as if catching himself losing control, he wiped his forehead and sighed. “This is only our third year and we’ve done more than I ever thought possible. We have a reputation, the public’s trust. There is no upside to ruffling feathers unnecessarily. I know you’re grieving. You lost a friend and you want blood. But this is not the time. Let’s keep our heads above the water and flow with the tide until things calm down.”
Aikins swallowed. Head above water, swimming with the tide, it all pointed to one reprehensible direction. He knew he was supposed to say ‘yes sir’ and leave. But he stayed. Perhaps it was the caffeine still running through his veins and a sleep-deprived brain that clouded his fears and made his next words possible.
“With all due respect sir, that sounds like killing the story.”
Kwabena Berko looked like he had been slapped across the face. “What did you just say?”
Aikins half expected him to jump over the table and rip his heart out. Against his better judgement, he leaned forward, clasping shaky hands. He had already stepped in it. There was no point backing down now.
“Eight months ago, ATS engineered a targeted political vendetta to take down a reputable businessman and his organization. Bulldozing their way to the number one transport company in the country with impunity, they left in their trail hundreds of people who lost their livelihoods and their reputations. Rahim took up this story to expose the truth. For five months he’s scraped the bottom of the barrel and spent nights in this office. I can bet everything I own that he was driving that night because of this story. He may have gotten killed for it. He died for that story, and he would do it again because that is what we do. Now, I know I’ve only been here a couple of months, but I believe I have become well acquainted with the driving force of this establishment— to shine a blinding light on the truth. We have to shine the light here. That’s it. Everything else is inconsequential. And putting this story on hold, for whatever reason, goes against everything this newspaper stands for. Everything you stand for, sir. ”
Aikins backed away from the table, gripping the sides of his chair. He knew without a doubt he had crossed a line.
The hint of a smile appeared on Kwabena Berko’s face and then it was gone almost instantly.
“You pursue this story, you so much as mention it to anyone, without my express permission, and I’ll make sure you never work again in this country. Do you understand?”
***
11:35 a.m
“So, what does that mean exactly? Paapa crossed his arms. Aikins shrugged. They were standing by the printer in the hallway, the sound of their voices covered by the whirring of the old machine.
He stared at the door of the chief’s office . If he didn’t know better, he’d think the man he’d just spoken to was a doppelganger of the revered journalist.
“I don’t know. It was an order, a threat even.”
“But you think he wants to kill the story.”
“I know it’s crazy because this is Kwabena Berko, incorruptible, three-time-journalist-of-the-year force of nature. The man whose speech inspired me to quit my job and become a journalist.”
“Yeah, he’s all that. But everyone has a price right? Maybe they got to him, whoever you guys are going after.”
Kwabena Berko’s integrity could never be for sale.
And yet, he suddenly can afford fancy security, from Vortex. Aikins run a hand over his tie. Was it possible?
“Just do as he said, man. Find a juicy story and become the next Rahim. Forget about these people. They won’t be the first to get away with corruption in this country. Do what’s best for you, my friend.”
“I’m not sure I can do that.”
Paapa laughed. “So you want to get fired instead? You know Rahim fought to keep you here. Without him, you’re on very shaky ground.”
Aikins locked eyes with his friend. He hadn’t thought of that. “I just… I have to see this through. There are so many questions. All we have are interviews with some of the drivers and the C.E.O. Detailed yes, but nothing life-threatening.”
There was nothing concrete indicting any of the executives at ATS or the National Defence Party.
“Something happened, something that drastically changed the tide and put his life in danger. Or maybe he’s had a game-changer all along and he just kept me out of the loop.”
“None of that will matter if you get fired or someone puts a bullet in your head.”
The door opened and Kwabena Berko stepped out. He turned to the empty cubicles and then looked their way. Paapa turned around, focusing on packing paper.
“Vortex is on the way. Meet them downstairs in ten minutes.”
“Yes, sir.”
Paapa waited till the door closed.
“Chale, I’m telling you, don’t risk your life for this country. No one gives a damn.”
“I know, but I keep thinking Rahim wouldn’t let this go.”
“Rahim’s dead, and you could be next. Think about that.”
***
12:23 p.m
Viva Asante, an officer of Vortex was rounding up her presentation. Aikins yawned into his palm. Her focus on recorder pens and camera sunglasses was confusing since no one in the office did undercover work. Rahim had brought it up a number of times, but the chances of him ever being successful at going incognito were zero at that point.
His phone vibrated. He checked the number. Normally, he’d put an unknown number down for later, but it was a good excuse to escape the desperate saleswoman and the hawk eye of the chief. He pushed his chair back and headed out, mouthing an apology.
“Aikins.” He closed the door behind him.
“Are you alone?”
He frowned. “Who’s this?”
“Answer the question. Are you alone?”
He pulled the phone back and checked the number again. No, he didn’t recognize it. And yet, a combination of the caller’s audacity and his curiosity convinced him to stay on the line.
“Yes.”
“I have a message for you. Count Abraham, 2324 in one hour. Come alone.”
In a beat, Aikins was at his desk, scribbling in a notepad.
“Wait, where is that?”
“You come alone, or I walk.”
“Okay. I understand. At least tell your name.”
The line was dead.
Aikins tore off the piece of yellow paper. This was about Rahim. It had to be. The minions in his cerebrum got to work, pulling up a database and crosschecking against all things Rahim. One hour, so this place had to be in Takoradi or a nearby town. He’d figure it out. He had to. Rahim had left a message for them, probably something pertinent to the story, or what happened that night.
“Okay. Okay.” He gripped the edge of his desk, closed his eyes.
He was supposed to tell the chief about something like this. But after this morning, that was not an option. He glared at the picture frame on his desk. His first day on the job. If he made a wrong move now, all the work he had put into getting this far would go down the drain. He took a deep breath and exhaled. He would talk to the chief after meeting with the caller. If what he brought blew the story wide open, there was no way he’d get fired. He emptied his cup of coffee and grabbed his car keys.
Here goes nothing.
“Going somewhere?”
Thanks for reading the second installment of the Sons & Daughters series. I hope you enjoyed it. As I said last week, I’m dabbling in the waters of this genre so let me know what works and what doesn’t so I can get better. And check back on Saturday for the next episode. You can also subscribe or follow so you don’t miss a thing. Ciao!
