Certainly Marcus, our Cook-Steward, was comfortable with the address but his familiar morning greeting outside my bedroom door had an unfamiliar tone this time. Higher pitched and almost panic stricken.

Master, - he repeated, please come quick! A thief man has entered the house and carried away some of Master and Madam’s goods!

My wife and I responded quickly by pulling on last evening’s clothes and following Marcus downstairs and into the living room.

There was no doubt that Marcus’ assessment was correct. It seemed that all of our things had been touched, handled or moved in some way. The sewing machine cover was off to one side, the lenses and filters from the camera were scattered over the table my guitar was out of its case and sitting on the couch and severed wires were all that remained of a short wave radio and a tape recorder that had once graced the side table in the living room.

The visit had been a leisurely one, with careful selection of booty following an unhurried inspection of nearly everything we had brought to Nigeria with us a year before. The sounds of the thief’s nocturnal activities were unheard by either the two of us in our bed or by our 10 year old daughter sleeping across the hall. The gentle hum of window air conditioners, one of our few luxuries, blotted out all the sounds of the world and gave us relief from the ninety degree heat and humidity in Ibadan.

Marcus who cooked, cleaned, laundered and essentially ran our household lived in a small house at the corner of our garden with his two children had heard nothing during the night and was clearly more distressed about our missing things than were we. Our thoughts were more on being grateful that the thief concentrated on plundering the house, rather than causing harm to us or to Marcus’ family.

Ordinarily there would have been a guard or "Watch Night" on duty but we had just moved into this residence two days before and had not yet gotten around to hiring a new guard. The men who worked as watch nights were mostly from the country’s northern states and spoke little English. This made the interview process a little cumbersome and selection a bit chancy. However, the Hausa reputation for fierce loyalty to their employers and a combination of skill with the machete, extraordinary strength and a certain supernatural ability made these men the ideal choice to guard ones home, family and possessions. All these points were academic since we had no watch night - of any kind.

Charles would know what to do next! After all he had lived in Ibadan for at least 10 years and had had one or two experiences with "thief men" that he had shared at parties. Charles’ experiences had for the most part ended well because he had two Labrador Retrievers to supplement his Hausa watch night. Alfred and Bumble were of course lovely dogs, well behaved and having a number of tricks with which they entertained Charles’ friends and delighted the younger members of our community, my daughter included. However, their size and boisterousness convinced most folks that they were not to be trifled with.

I entered Charles’ driveway in my Volkswagen bug just as he was saying good bye to Alfred and Bumble on his way to work. Charles was the general manager of one of two departmental stores in Ibadan. The son of a well to do British family, Charles managed the store, played polo and organized the most enjoyable parties and picnics in town.

Yes, of course Charles new what to do. Off to the police station in my bug with Charles giving directions and prepping me for the experience that lay ahead. My only experiences with the Nigerian police had been in securing a driving license and observing them as fixtures in Ibadan’s many roundabouts as they waved at the traffic in a feeble attempt to restore order to frenetic vehicular chaos.

As advertised by Charles the police station was a hodge-podge of activity with men in and out of uniform and many with mismatched collections of black and brown shoes, hats of varying design and ill fitting trousers. Appearance belied efficiency however and there was much sympathy for our story and for the loss of property.

Sergeant Kale ushered Charles and myself into a stark interrogation room and handed me a sheaf of papers to complete. I sat at the rickety table and chair that were the only pieces of furniture in the room and was momentarily distracted by a bird chirping noisily outside the room’s single glassless window. The forms consisted of only three pages but had to be filled out in quadruplicate. Carbon paper was "not available" and the writing instrument was a stubby 2 inch eraser-less pencil, probably from the nearby golf course. Needless to say, the process took quite a while. Sergeant Kale lingered patiently and occasionally peered over my shoulder to inspect my entrees. He was particularly concerned about one of my responses. The question was "Was the stolen radio intended for use by a man or a woman"? I had dismissed the enquiry with an officious N/A since I saw no particular relevance in the question. Kale said "Ah Ah, what is the meaning of this N/A? I explained that it meant "not applicable". His patience faded briefly as he corrected my response. A radio is used by both men and women so the correct answer is BOTH. I dutifully crossed out my N/A and supplied the correct answer.

Sergeant Kale inspected my forms for omissions and other incorrect responses and asked a few questions about whether I had locked the door the night before and why I had no watch night. His major preoccupation was with knowing whether I had sacked any employees lately. As a matter of fact, I had let our previous cook steward go when we moved to the new house. It was a somewhat acrimonious parting but since his services had not been without issues and the new house came with a steward who was known by Charles and others to be an excellent employee, I paid him the required 2 months salary as severance and bade him farewell.

As I looked around the interrogation room, I could picture Emmanuel sitting wide eyed on the rickety chair being asked hostile questions by a battery of policemen and decided that no radio was worth having to endure that picture for the rest of my life. I lied about my parting with Emmanuel and moved on.

Sergeant Kale didn’t press me on the story but probably was not convinced by my assessment. He had more concerns about how the crime was to be investigated. The police department was chronically short on transport but did have an investigative team to go to my house if I could carry them in my VW. I agreed and the team (fortunately of diminutive stature) loaded cameras, lights, plaster of Paris, tape measurers and other investigative accoutrement into the front of the Beetle. Charles, now late for work, pulled his seat as far forward as his 6 foot 2 frame would permit and squeezed in. The three policemen denied being uncomfortable so we struck out for the house and crime scene.

An initial inspection of the glass door panels in the side door of the living room left little doubt that the thief man had gained access to the house by breaking a small panel and turning the key that also served as a door knob. Marcus, who had conducted his own investigation, led the policemen from place to place editorializing about what was examined by the thief man and shaking his head over the brazenness of the robbery.

It was unclear why the camera, lights, measuring equipment and such were brought along because they laid in a heap on the driveway where they were unloaded. The piece of equipment that was most in use was a mysterious jar of dusting powder and a well used brush. Each item that was thought to have been touched by the interloper was dusted and examined for fingerprints. Unfortunately a full set of fingerprints was not recovered but there was no doubting the thoroughness of the investigative process. The team cautioned that the powder was a deadly poison and to touch it or get it into the mouth would be a fatal mistake for any of my family.

Marcus gave the investigators sandwiches and cokes which they devoured thankfully and returned to their chores. All of a sudden, Sergeant Kale appeared at the broken window and bid my wife and I good afternoon. He spent a few minutes with his team reexamining evidence and receiving a thorough briefing on their findings. Once again Kale returned to the issue of recently discharged household staff but more resolved than ever, I lied about Emmanuel’s departure.

Suddenly, Sergeant Kale’s mood became more optimistic as he related to me the many insights and adventures he had had as a policeman and investigator. Then he unexpectedly revealed that the "modus-operendi" of this thief man was familiar to him. He even further encouraged me by saying, "I think I know this man". He went on to say "as a matter of fact, just last week I surprised him in the middle of a similar robbery and chased him down a dark alley". My spirits soared as I entertained thoughts of getting back the stolen goods. But, Kale went on at the last minute he saved himself by turning into a cat.

Needless to say, I never saw my radio again.

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