JIJI NDOGO: The road to success is lonely

Called to the scene of an apparent suicide, I made the bold conclusion that it wasn’t a self-inflicted death but a murder. As it turns out, I was correct. The young man called Valentine had indeed been killed by a Nigerian drug lord or his agents.

You’d think such an accomplishment would win me accolades, right? Well, as things stand, it’s more complicated than I thought. I had at least expected Sgt Sophia, my partner at work and in the bedroom, to join in my joy. She hasn’t. Instead, she’s become more contentious than before.

“No matter the outcome,” she says with sneer, “the man died because of a girl. Just like the suicide note had alluded.”

“He was murdered, Sophia,” I quip. “Murdered.”

“True, but why?”

“Because he was laundering money for a Nigerian gang leader in the guise of social media ‘gifts’. I thought this is clear by now.”

“Yes, but why was he murdered? Because he wanted out, right? And why did he want out?”

I shrug. “Who knows? Maybe he had a change of mind.”

She spits a derisive laugh. “Now that’s the Makini I know being as clueless as ever,” she says.

“Valentine had a separate online persona, remember?” she goes on. “He pretended to be homosexual so he could garner as many likes as possible.

“Then he meets Nancy, the other social media personality in town. He falls in love and wants nothing more to do with being a drag queen. Then what happens? Boom! He gets himself killed. Ergo —”

“Ergo? What does that even mean?”

“It means therefore, silly. Ergo, he died because of a woman. Which means I was also right.”

Sophia is the most competitive person I know, and the fact that I cracked this case doesn’t sit too well with her.

I flash her a satisfied smile. “I guess we did alright for a small village police post, right?”

“We?” She turns towards me, looking ready to claw my eyes out. “There’s no we. Your name got to be in the paper, not mine. Everyone is singing your praises, not mine.”

I point to her name on the copy of the Star bearing the article on the case. “Your name’s here, too. See?”

She flicks the paper away. “Yeah? It says, ‘Assisted by his partner Sgt Sophia.’ It makes it sound like all I do here is fetch your coffee and get your dry-cleaning.”

“What dry-cleaning? I thought you only washed clothes by—”

“Don’t play dumb, Makini. You know what I mean. So, what’s next? Detective Gundua will invite you to go to Nairobi so you can join the DCI?”

I sidle towards her. “Oh, honey, is that what you’re worried about? Are you afraid I might go to the city and leave my wife in Jiji Ndogo?”

She shrinks back and stares at me for a few awkward seconds. Then she bursts out laughing. “Seriously? You don’t… C’mon, Makini. You think I was being serious? You think a lucky stab in one case will graduate you from a police sergeant to a detective overnight?”

“No,” I say defensively. “I was only… I was kidding. Besides, Detective Gundua would recommend a donkey to the DCI before he puts in a good word for me.

“But seriously, Sophie, you’re my wife. You should be happy for me.”

Her face softens up. “You’re right, honey.” She plants a wet kiss on my cheek. “Of course, I’m proud of you.”

But as she walks out of police post, I’m less than convinced of her candidness.