Growing Pains

Chapter 7: Under the Mango tree

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*Chapter 7: Under the Mango Tree*

The photo on Ada’s phone wouldn’t leave her eyes.

Her back. Chike’s back. Running from the Nsukka house at 4:12am. Taken from the bushes by the fence.

Someone had been that close.

The police van smelled like rain, metal, and fear. Inspector Dike drove fast. Mama sat in the front, gripping the dashboard. Chike was asleep on Ada’s shoulder, but his hand kept clutching her sleeve.

“No one sleeps tonight,” Dike said into his radio. “I want patrols around the Adebayo home in Enugu every 2 hours.”

Ada nodded, but her mind was back at the mango tree. The metal box. Her father’s letter. _Oil._

Oil meant money. Money meant people would kill.

At 5:30am they reached the station in Enugu. The man they caught in the kitchen was in a cell. Mid 30s. Scar on his lip. He wouldn’t talk.

“Name’s Musa,” Dike said. “Petty thug. Hired. He doesn’t know who paid him.”

“Then who sent the photo?” Ada asked.

“That’s what we’re trying to find.”

Uncle Emeka hadn’t spoken since Nsukka. He sat on a bench, staring at the floor.

Ada walked to him. “Uncle. The night of the storm. What really happened?”

He flinched. “Ada, I told you—”

“You ran. Dad’s letter said you know who did it.”

Emeka looked up. His eyes were red. “I don’t know names. They were 3 men. Face caps. One of them called the other ‘Boss.’ They told Papa to sign the land. He refused. Then there was shouting. Then... I heard the roof break. I was hiding in the outhouse. By the time I came out, he was on the ground.”

“Why didn’t you tell police?”

“Because they told me if I did, they’d come for you. And I believed them.”

Mama came over and put a hand on Emeka’s shoulder. For once, she didn’t yell. “We’ll deal with this. Together.”

Dike cleared his throat. “The documents are now with the Ministry. With police protection. But Ada, until we catch the ‘Boss,’ you and Chike can’t go to school. Not alone.”

Ada wanted to scream. WAEC was in 11 weeks.

That night, the house in Enugu had 2 policemen outside. Floodlights. It felt like a prison.

Ada couldn’t sleep. At 2am she went to the living room. The big Bible was still on the shelf. She opened it. Psalm 23.

_The Lord is my shepherd..._

Her father’s voice in her head.

Behind Psalm 23, nothing. The envelope and USB were gone. With the police.

Her phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

Video call.

Her finger hovered. She declined.

It rang again. She picked up, but didn’t speak.

Silence. Then breathing. Then a voice, distorted, like through a filter.

“Miss Ada. You’re making this hard.”

“Who are you?”

“You dug up what wasn’t yours. Now we have to dig you up.”

Click.

She threw the phone. It hit the wall.

Mama ran in. “What happened?”

“They called. They said—”

Mama pulled her into a hug. “It’s okay. The police are here.”

But Ada knew. Police can’t be in every room.

*Day 3*

School was out. Chike was going crazy. Nneka came to visit with her brother, but they were searched at the gate.

Ada spent the day reading. WAEC past questions. If she couldn’t go to school, she’d study.

At 6pm, NEPA took light. The generator didn’t start.

The house went dark.

The policemen outside radioed in. “All clear.”

Ada was in her room when she heard it.

A tap. On her window.

She froze. 2nd floor. There was no tree near her window.

Tap. Tap.

She crept to the window and pulled the curtain an inch.

Nothing. Just darkness.

Then her phone buzzed.

Photo. Her window. From outside. With her shadow behind the curtain.

The tap came again.

She screamed.

The policemen were at her door in 4 seconds. They checked outside with torches. Nothing. No ladder. No footprints.

“It’s a drone,” Dike said later. “Small one. With camera. They’re testing us.”

Ada didn’t sleep that night. Or the next.

*Day 5*

Inspector Dike called a meeting. “We have a lead. Musa gave us a number. It traces to a burner, but we tracked a purchase. Someone bought 4 burners and a drone in Ogbete market 2 weeks ago. Paid cash. But the seller remembers the man. Tall. Tribal marks. Drives a black SUV.”

“Like the Toyota in Nsukka,” Ada said.

“Similar. We’re checking CCTV.”

Uncle Emeka stood. “I want to help. I know the land. I know where else Papa might have hidden things.”

“No,” Mama said. “You’ve hidden enough.”

“Let him,” Ada said quietly. “We need everyone.”

Emeka looked at her, grateful.

*Day 7*

They went to Nsukka again. This time with 6 policemen.

The house was worse. Rain had caved in part of the roof.

Emeka led them to the outhouse. “This is where I was. That night.”

He moved an old drum. Under it, a loose brick. Behind it, a small key.

“Papa gave me this years ago. Said ‘if anything happens, this opens the church box.’”

St. Paul’s Church in Nsukka. Her father was a deacon there.

They went. The pastor, an old man, remembered Tunde. “He kept a box here. For tithe records. No one has opened it in 2 years.”

The key fit.

Inside: nothing but a folded paper.

A drawing. Childish. Stick figures. A house. A tree. And under the tree, an X.

And words, in a child’s handwriting. Ada’s handwriting. Age 6.

_“Me and Daddy hide treasure here.”_

Ada stared. She didn’t remember this.

Emeka pointed. “The tree. The other mango tree. Behind the house. Not the one we dug.”

Ada’s stomach dropped.

They ran back to the house. Through the weeds to the back. Another mango tree, smaller, half dead.

Dike nodded to two officers. They started digging.

6 inches. A toy car.

1 foot. Nothing.

2 feet.

_Clink._

Another metal box. Smaller. Rusted.

Inside: a flash drive. And a letter.

_“Ada,

If you’re reading this, you remembered. Good girl.

This flash drive has video. Of the men. Of their faces. Of the ‘Boss.’

Don’t watch it alone. Don’t watch it anywhere public. Take it to Abuja. To the EFCC.

I’m sorry I left you.

I love you.

Dad”_

Ada’s hands shook. Video. Of the murder.

Dike took it carefully. “We’ll watch this at the station. With lawyers.”

But that night, at the station, the power cut. The generator failed. The CCTV for the evidence room went offline for 8 minutes.

When it came back, the flash drive was gone.

*Day 9*

Panic.

Dike was nearly fired. Internal affairs came.

Ada blamed herself. “I shouldn’t have brought it there.”

Emeka put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s not your fault. They have people inside.”

That night, Ada dreamed of her father. He was standing under the mango tree, pointing at her. He wasn’t saying anything. Just pointing.

She woke up sweating. 3am.

Her phone had a new message. No number.

_“Nice try. We have it. Now, do you want to see Chike again?”_

Her blood froze.

“Chike?” She ran to his room. Empty. Bed made. Window open.

“CHIKE!”

Mama and the policemen came running.

The window had muddy footprints. Leading out.

Chike was gone.

*Day 10*

Hell.

Posters. Radio. TV. _“13-year-old boy missing. Last seen Enugu.”_

Ada didn’t cry. She couldn’t. If she cried, she’d break.

Dike’s team worked nonstop. They traced the last photo. It was sent from somewhere in Nsukka. Near the old house.

They raided 3 buildings. Nothing.

On Day 10 at 11pm, Ada’s phone rang. Unknown number.

She answered.

“Ada?” Chike’s voice. Small. Scared.

“Chike! Baby, where are you? Are you okay?”

“They said if I talk, they’ll—”

A man’s voice cut in. “Enough. You want him back? Bring us the video. The one in the box. Alone. Tomorrow. 12am. The old house. Or we bury him under the mango tree.”

Click.

Ada collapsed.

Mama held her. “We’ll get him. We’ll get him.”

Dike was already moving. “It’s a trap. But we have to go.”

*Day 11. 11:30pm. Nsukka.*

Rain again.

The old house looked like a skull. Empty windows.

Ada walked alone. No police in sight. Dike’s plan: snipers, drones, plain clothes. But from a distance. If the men saw police, they’d kill Chike.

She had a decoy. An old flash drive, empty, in an envelope.

Her legs shook.

The front door was open.

Inside. The lamp again. Burning.

On the chair, tied up, Chike. Mouth taped. Eyes wide when he saw her.

And 3 men.

One tall, tribal marks. The one from the market.

One short, fat.

And one in the back, sitting in shadow. The ‘Boss.’

“Tell me where the video is,” the Boss said. His voice was calm. That was worse.

Ada held up the envelope. “Here.”

“Give it to Musa.”

The scarred man walked to her. Took it. Opened it. Frowned.

“It’s empty.”

The Boss stood. “You think we’re stupid?”

He walked to Chike and put a knife to his throat.

“Last chance, girl.”

Ada’s mind raced. The drawing. Age 6. _Me and Daddy hide treasure here._

She remembered. When she was 6, her father buried a time capsule for her. Not treasure. Just letters and a small tape recorder. Under the roots, in a plastic bag.

But there was something else. Her father had a habit. He hid things in Bibles. But also... in the roof.

“Wait,” she said. Voice steady. “It’s not here. It’s in the roof. Where he fell.”

The Boss laughed. “You’re lying.”

“Check. If I’m lying, you can kill me after.”

He gestured. Musa went up the ladder to the damaged roof.

Ada used the second. She whispered to Chike. “Close your eyes.”

Musa shouted from above. “There’s something! A small box!”

The Boss smiled. “See? She’s smart. Like her father.”

He walked to the ladder.

That was when the lights exploded.

Flash bangs. Shouting.

Police from everywhere. Dike kicked the door in.

The Boss ran. Out the back.

Dike grabbed Chike, cut the ropes. “Are you okay?”

Chike nodded, crying.

Ada ran for the ladder. “The box!”

Musa had it. He jumped down and ran.

Ada chased him. Into the rain. Into the bush behind the house.

She tackled him. They rolled in mud.

He pulled a knife.

She screamed and grabbed a branch and hit his hand. The knife fell.

Police caught up. Handcuffed him.

In the box: not the flash drive. A micro SD card. Tiny.

And a note. _“If you found this, you’re brave. This is the real one. -Tunde”_

*Day 12*

They watched it. In a secure room. With EFCC, police, and a judge.

The video. Night vision.

3 men on the roof. Her father arguing. Then a shove. He fell.

And the Boss. He stepped into the light for 2 seconds.

Councilman Obiora Nwosu. A big man in Enugu politics. Land developer.

The room went silent.

“Arrest him,” the judge said.

*Day 14*

Obiora was arrested at his house. With the original flash drive. And Chike’s school bag.

He confessed. The land had oil. He’d been trying to buy it cheap for 5 years. When Tunde refused, he ordered it.

He also admitted to the texts, the drone, the k********g.

“It was business,” he said.

*2 Weeks Later*

Things were quiet.

Chike was back in school. With a bodyguard. Ada too.

The land was now under government protection. Part of it would become a school. In her father’s name.

Uncle Emeka moved back to Nsukka to watch the house. He and Mama were talking again.

Ada sat under the mango tree one evening. The new one. The one they hadn’t dug.

She put her hand on the earth. “I miss you, Daddy.”

Her phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

She almost didn’t open it.

It was a text.

_“You did good, Ada. Proud of you. -Dad”_

Her heart stopped.

She looked around. No one.

Then she looked at the number. It was her father’s old number. Disconnected for 2 years.

She called it back.

It rang. Once.

Then voicemail. Her father’s voice.

_“You’ve reached Tunde. Leave a message.”_

Ada started crying. Not from fear. From relief.

“Hi Daddy,” she whispered. “We’re okay. I’m okay. I’ll make you proud.”

She hung up.

The rain started. Soft.

On the tree above her, a bird sang.

Somewhere, a gate creaked. But this time, Ada wasn’t scared.

Because growing pains don’t stop.

They just teach you how to stand.

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*End of Chapter 7*