Hamza The Detective
ThaHoodScholar Teecube@tersootsafa488152
4 days ago
Back in my neighbourhood in Samaru Zaria, I remember Hamza - not his real name, alias 'the Detective.'
He earned that nickname over an incident that stunned everyone who lived on our street. What marvelled people most wasn't the incident itself, but how he managed to absolve himself from any blame despite being the primary suspect.
You see, Detective, or the 'Detector,' as we fondly called him, was way older than me and the other kids who were my peers. He was quite a jovial guy who never started quarrels with anyone. He spoke softly, with an air of intelligence that hadn't been properly harnessed, for he probably had only a secondary certificate then. He kept to himself most of the time.
I knew him as a chain smoker. His lips had turned black from many years of burning tobacco. He was dark-skinned and of average height. But there was one thing about the Detector that set him apart from most people in the neighbourhood who were his contemporaries: he loved books. You would hardly see him without one in his hand.
I can remember vividly that he loved to read James Hadley Chase; I believe he was his favourite author. He had stacks of his books, or maybe borrowed them from his student friends, I'm sure of it, because he never ran out of different titles whenever you approached to see which copy he was reading at any given time.
He was a voracious reader with a natural inclination toward crime novels. Sometimes he loved to share stories of his favourite characters that caught his fancy. At some point, I believed his alter-ego had assumed one of those characters from the novels he devoured. He loved to carry himself with the aura of a supercop or hero.
Until an incident happened that unmasked his facade...
Back then, my neighbourhood was a community where many students lived off campus. He had forged ties with some of these students, most likely his contemporaries who were university undergraduates, privileged in a certain way to pursue their higher studies while he, despite his undeniable intelligence, lacked the opportunity. I believe they found him interesting, and they allowed him to get close to them.
There was this compound on my street where the students lived. He was a regular there. They trusted him so much that they would leave the keys to their rooms with him whenever they travelled home for semester breaks. He had unfettered access to everything they owned; their electronic appliances, furniture, and the fashionable shoes and clothes that filled their wardrobes. Some of these students came from privileged homes, they had money and had furnished their rooms well.
One fateful day, the house where the students lived was engulfed in a raging inferno.
Smoke bellowed up into the sky, throwing residents into a state of panic. There was no fire service back then in Samaru community to respond promptly to the emergency, except the Fire Service Department inside the ABU main campus, and there was no GSM back then to call during such emergencies, so people had to improvise. Many brought out water from their homes in buckets to battle the flames. With luck, the fire was put out but it had done considerable damage to the building.
The detector happened to be the person who was in the house when it started. He was staying in one of the students' rooms, as he always did whenever they were away. He was unscathed in the incident. According to him, he noticed the fire start and was able to escape to safety and cry for help.
He was quick to tell anyone who cared to listen how the fire started and how he first 'detected' it, as if it was a puzzle and he wanted some credit for solving it. I guess nobody really cared to probe further asking how he 'detected' the origins of the fire and its cause.
However, after the dust had settled and people trooped into the room that had been left in his care, what they saw raised immediate suspicion about how the fire had started.
The room appeared to have been wiped clean of anything of value before the fire.
People expected to see charred remains of items like burnt-out frames of furniture, cooking utensils, melted plastic, Television and sound systems, or even twisted metal and debris of clothes or shoes burnt but there was nothing to show that such items had ever been there to burn. Eyebrows were raised. Something was fishy. The scene resembled a wiped-out crime scene. It was obvious that a thief and arsonist had ignited the fire after cleaning out the apartment of any valuable property they fancied.
Detector appeared to be thanking his stars that he had survived the incident, making it out before the flames engulfed the whole building according to his account.
But he was the sole witness to how the fire started. And there was no evidence of him moving any property out of the building beforehand.
His argument? The fire had reduced all items of value in the room to ashes. Charred remains had turned to ashes. Unbelievable right? There was no way to argue further.
It was unconvincing, yes. Many didn't believe his story. But the Detector had argued his case with the calm, measured logic of one of those crime novel heroes he so admired. He presented his defence beyond a reasonable doubt, at least to some neighbours who had been skeptical. The police weren't called to investigate further. People simply allowed the case to die a natural death. The students whose rooms and properties were "burnt" took it as the will of Allah.
Shikenan.
And that was how Hamza became the legendary 'Detective.'
The story is true. The attached image is AI-generated. Any resemblance to the character in the story is purely coincidental.
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