Free Night Must Wait by Robin Winter

movement of her shoulders, so was the question a mistake?
    "Tribal rivalries and misunderstanding," Lindsey said, not waiting for Wilton to answer. "An ancient country, full of different cultures. When the military gunned down the government leaders, all that old stuff blew up."
    "The trouble started in your Western Region where all the Yoruba live," Gilman said. "Never understood the Yoruba, proud as the devil, so formal, just like you, Lindsey."
    "But it's all about your Eastern Region Igbo," Lindsey said. "Westernized and pissed everyone else off. If they would just stay home…"
    "And pretend to be dumb?" Gilman said.
    Sandy wished she and Lindsey were back in Ibadan. This visit was a mistake even without Ojukwu fucking declaring independence. If only Wilton would stop trying to make Gilman and Lindsey friends. Gilman always overreacted when Lindsey rubbed her the wrong way. Let 'em stay on opposite sides of the country and then they'd have a chance to like each other. A few hundred miles between them. Had they ever gotten along? Seemed to her she'd watched them tangle assholes at Wellesley from day one. Gilman was okay when Lindsey wasn't around. Never put on airs or makeup and never criticized the way Sandy chose to act. Would share, down to her last cigarette.
    "We were doing fine until the Nigerian army decided that gunning down corrupt officials would solve everything." Lindsey balanced her glass in her cupped hands.
    "They killed Prime Minister Balewa," Wilton said. "If only they'd spared him. The leader of the North, a Muslim, who had clean hands, the right ideas and the right profile."
    "You really believe Balewa was clean?" Lindsey sipped her drink. "If so, he must have practiced selective blindness."
    "Balewa was a good leader," Wilton said. "But they killed him. That got the entire Muslim Northern Region terrified and angry, and fear of Igbo domination exploded when the military stepped in and General Ironsi took over governance. Another Igbo, so he got slaughtered next. Coup number two."
    Gilman stared at Lindsey as if she expected contradiction. "The paper said the first coup was a plot by the Eastern Igbo, said they've been infiltrating all the powerful jobs in the other Regions for years now trying to take over the country."
    Sandy wanted to slow Gilman down.
    "Someone called the Igbo the African Jews," Gilman said.
    "Nonsense," Lindsey said. "What crap."
    "Well look at the way the Northerners always segregated the Igbo and other outsiders who moved to the Northern cities into ghettos—the sabon gari . Acting like they were unclean and had to be locked up apart. Just like the Jews. Not nonsense at all."
    "Racism. Yeah, reporters love bad stuff," Sandy said before Gilman could react further. "American or Nigerian. They'll make trouble outa nothing. Next thing you know they're gonna call someone a Nazi."
    If nothing else worked she'd have to spill her beer or something to cool everyone down. Waste of good beer.
    "Hey, I live here in the East and I work with the Igbo and the Ibibio all the time," Gilman said. "They learn fast and rush right into everything new, even Christianity. Great sense of humor. Ambitious as the day is long. I like them, but I can imagine why they scare lazier tribes."
    "Well in Nigeria, of all countries, you shouldn't believe anything you read in the newspapers," Lindsey said. "Talk about inflammatory nonsense."
    "The ghetto arrangement made it real easy when the Northerners decided to massacre the Igbo." Gilman stopped even pretending to sip her drink.
    Bad sign. Sandy tried to think of some way to derail the argument. She turned meaning to sign to the houseboy that she wanted a fresh beer, but he'd moved out of sight.
    "They marched right into the sabon gari and pulled people out for machete practice. God, the patients I saw coming down from the North, raped children, crucifixions, even this seventy-year-old with nails pounded into his skull for a crown of thorns. Died on the table.