“Soon,” my father says, “Del, Abraham, and I developed a routine. I hustled, and she had the business sense and knew when a deal was good or not. I trust her above anyone else, and with our partnership, I rose higher and higher in the ranks of one of the local organizations we got in with. There are many organizations from various countries who trade and work together to import and export goods, drugs, arms, money, things like that. Eventually I had enough sway to unite a few of the African organizations working out of London. These became the African Tribal Council.”
The Tribe. I recall the conversation I overheard between Dad and Mum.
“The Tribe, as we call it, is a conglomerate of countries from all over Africa. Our investors are wealthy people who come from those countries. We dedicate ourselves to the advancement of all African nations and Black people everywhere. You see, we hate that the world thinks of Africa as third world, though there are factions within and abroad who prefer Africa remain split and at war all the time. That we remain unaware of the riches we walk on every day. Those entities seek to plunder us, to take advantage of our trusting and loving nature.”
His words have me enraptured, but as I continue listening, a thought begins to develop. What if N’nkakuwe had had the Tribe’s protection? The people would all still be alive, and I would have never been taken and sold. The troubling thoughts crash about in my head until I can no longer hold them in.
“Where was the Tribe when N’nkakuwe needed them?” It comes out as an accusation, an unfair one, but I cannot help what I feel—let down, as if the world turned its back on us.
My words wound him. His face crumples, and he sucks in a deep breath, searching for the best answer. I should take back my question. Dad has been nothing but kind to me. But then I think about my dead papa, my brothers and auntie, my entire village, and I wait for his response.
“There’s nothing I can say that will be suitable enough, Nena.”
That is all he offers, and I don’t know what I am supposed to do with it. But I suppose, what can he say? Dad is not God, but how can he claim to be a protector of African people if these things happen beneath his nose?
Dad continues, “Even though the Tribe is focused on advancing the African cause as a united entity, sometimes we must employ extreme measures.”
“You mean killing others.”
Dad hesitates. “It’s not as simple as just killing people. Everything we do is for the advancement of our cause. We do not condone anything that denigrates African people. Our focus is on controlling imports and exports out of Africa. We do smuggle contraband as necessary to make money, to obtain power.”
“Do you smuggle slaves?”
His eyes cloud. “We are businessmen and women working in unison for the advancement of Africa and the people in it and of it,” he says again. “Do you understand, Nena? We work to make Africa as powerful as the Western world.”
My eyes never waver from his. “And the imprisonment of humans, of children? And the rape and torture of them? Does the Tribe trade in that?”
“No,” he says firmly. His gaze holds mine. “The Tribe would never knowingly participate in human trafficking.”
Dad says they would never knowingly, but he cannot say unequivocally, because this Tribe of his is not perfect.
He cannot deny the Tribe dabbles in selling people to others for their entertainment.
“Nena, we have transferred people in and out of Africa, yes, but not to be sold as slaves. Never that. At least, that is not something we condone or would allow if we knew. I cannot dictate what the individuals decide to do on their own or what those under their watch do, but when the Council learns of such actions, we take care of it. We quell it.”
Does he realize how naive he sounds? My expression must tell him so, because he frowns back at me.
“What happened to your village should not have happened. Paul performed those atrocities, not the Tribe. Sometimes, we do move people in and out of countries for various reasons—the main reason being that the people want a new life and can’t get out properly. However, our transportation of them is not against anyone’s will.” He looks at me as if checking if I am still with him. Begrudgingly, I nod. “Sometimes, we have enemies transferred elsewhere to repay a debt or as punishment for something they’ve done. But sometimes—”
“Sometimes, the murder of innocent people, the selling of their women and children to be slaves for disgusting pedophiles, falls between the cracks,” I finish between clenched teeth, hands balled by my sides. This moment is the first and only time I ever want to strike my dad, to rain punches upon his head for each and every life lost in N’nkakuwe.