An African Affair by Nina Darnton Page A

express how deeply I regret some of the excesses that have occurred under military rule, but they were necessary to ensure order. Stability is the first step in our march toward freedom.”
    Lindsay wrote down the quote and then looked up.
    “In fact, you have announced a return to free elections, haven’t you?” she asked, her pen poised to scribble his reply.
    “Yes, of course.”
    “But you haven’t set a date yet,” she pressed.
    His eyes quickly registered his irritation. “They will take place any time from now,” he said, slapping his desk for emphasis. The election process would be aided enormously by increased U.S. aid, he added, “and a most favored nation trading status that the U.S. government currently refuses to allow because of false allegations of so-called human rights violations.
    “You see, Lindsay,” he continued, reverting to his amiable mode, lecturing her as though he were an avuncular professor, “it is circular. When the lives of our people improve, we will be able to trust the nation to democracy. By slowing down our economic growth, your government keeps us from holding free elections.”
    This, clearly, was the message he wanted conveyed to the West. He leaned back in his chair, conspicuously looking at his watch.
    “I am so sorry,” he said, “but I have an appointment with the French ambassador and I have some papers to look over before he arrives.” He dismissed her with a disingenuous smile.
    Her fears had been realized. The interview was practically worthless. Olumide had given away nothing and was about to send her off with a bromide sound bite and a pitch for American aid. Irritated, Lindsay decided to take a chance. “General Olumide,” she said, a little nervously, “there are rumors that Fakai is going to be arrested before the end of the week. Can you confirm or deny them?”
    There was a brief pause. It was so slight that someone less observant might not have noticed that his grip tightened on a pencil he’d been casually holding in his right hand. Abruptly, he snapped it between his fingers, as though he were imitating a thug in a gangster movie. Then he reached over, so abruptly Lindsay jumped, and turned off her tape recorder. When he spoke again, it was clear that the interview was concluded.
    “There are rumors of every kind in this city,” he said. “It never fails to amaze me what people will say. Now, if you will excuse me, I must go.”
    Stubbornly, she pressed further. “So I can quote you, sir, as denying the rumors? My sources said your government would use the chaos such an act would provoke as a pretext to postpone elections.”
    Knowing she was crossing a line, she added: “I wonder if the death of Babatunde Oladayo, when it is announced, will also provoke demonstrations among the students.”
    He froze. She had obviously taken him by surprise. Before he could speak, the phone rang. He picked up the receiver and shouted into it.
    “I told you to hold calls.”
    He listened for a moment and then, sputtering in rage, answered in Yoruba so Lindsay wouldn’t understand, but there was no mistaking the menacing tone as he gave an order and hung up. His gaze fell back to Lindsay, and he seemed to be making an effort to control himself. She turned to look at the door and sat quietly.
    “Babatunde Oladayo.” He spat out the name like a curse. “I talk to you of progress, of democracy, and you talk of Babatunde Oladayo. People like him, they are nothing. They are bugs. Did you say someone swatted one bug? That is not my lookout.”
    She watched his hands clench and unclench and finally, with relief, she saw he was regaining his composure. She hurried to gather up her belongings, stuffing her tape recorder into her bag, and rose to leave. As he walked her to the door, he said, “I’d love to find out who your sources are.” Then, more ominously, “Perhaps I will one day. But I’m sure, as a professional, you will be sure to check them very well and