HOSTILE TAKEOVER (PT.3)

The ambience in the courtroom was eerie and
commanding for Nolan. The last time he was in this
room was six weeks ago, and he had watched his best-
friend get dragged away to be held without bail to await trial.

Now he was back, sitting uncomfortably on one of the nicely
vanished wooden benches that stretched on the left side of the
courtroom. The knowledge that he was one of the witnesses in
the trial made him so nervous his heart shifted every time he
thought about it, but in the present moment, he was more
eager and worried about his dear friend who had been in lock
up for six weeks.

‘Is he holding up alright?’ he thought.

He remembered what had happened in church the previous
week, the scene came to him as though he was watching it on
a big screen; his friend strolling in, interrupting the wedding,
being hauled away violently.

‘Sta can do some dumb stuff when struck with desperation,
he’s definitely not alright.’ he whispered to himself.

He shifted his eyes to the front, sited at the right counsel desk
was a tall dark fellow in a black suit and beside him was a lady
in a black skirt and pale blue shirt, her hair was as short as
Nolan’s. From this angle, he couldn’t see much of the two, behind them sat Mr. Atsira Amol, with his fat bulk squeezed in
a carefully probably steam-ironed grey suit, half his head filled
with patches of grey hair. His line of site moved left-wise to the
judge’s nest that was empty, then over to the left counsel desk.

On it was a lady and a man, the man was Mr. Akebet Suseyi,
in a beige three-piece suit and a dark shirt. The lady was
wearing a white smart shirt with a brown pair of trousers. Mr.
Suseyi was the only presence that gave Nolan some comfort in
the entire courtroom every time his nerves got the best of him.

His eyes went on to the jury benches on the far left, a number
of people were sitting not talking to each other. A mixture of
youthful females, males and a couple of men in their forties or
fifties. The squeaking sound of the doors turning upon their
hinges made him turn back quickly. 

The Bailiff brought in a
man holding him by the elbow. He was wearing a navy-blue
two-piece suit with black lapels and a white shirt; One of
Nolan’s best suits he had to lend out. What he had been
worried about is what greeted him. His friend’s face was a
mask of bruises; the forehead, the left cheek.

 His right eye was
so dark and swell his pupil was in hiding, his lower lip was cut
and bloody. There was a long red line right above his left
eyebrow that was partially overlaid by two strips of band aid.
Nolan felt a strong surge through his sternum that could have
either been anger or grief. His friend’s only visible eye was a
squinted cold stare to the front and it seemed to blink a lot. He
never turned his head to the sides.

‘Oh Arista, what did they do to him?’ Patra sobbed softly from
behind in the arms of Aunt Maureen. 

‘What… what did they do to him?’

Nolan extended his right hand and placed it on hers for a few
seconds, then he shifted back in time to see Arista take sitting
beside Mr. Suseyi.

‘All rise!’

‘The Honorable Madam Justice Iynen presiding.’ The bailiff
uttered loudly.

The judge strolled in from her chambers through the door
alternate to where the jury sat. She had on a long black Robe
and a bright Bob wig. She had a scary but awe-inspiring aura
around her as she confidently walked uto her desk and sat.

‘Be sited.’ She said, her voice warm.

‘This is case MF/HK/20/2024, Arista Loma vs The People, held
in the High Court of Zambia here at the Kitwe District registry.’

She started…

‘As counsel, for the people we have Mrs. Ey Imela – State

Advocate and for the accused Mr. Akebet Suseyi of – Suseyi &
Semayi Associates.’

‘Is the state ready with its opening statement?’ She asked.

Mrs. Imela stood up and confidently walked to the front and
started.

‘Hello, I am the State Advocate Imela and… I want to thank
you all, for your attendance today.’

‘I am expressing my gratitude because all of you, especially
the jury chose to be here today to witness and ensure that
justice is served.’

She went on…

‘I am expressing my gratitude because there is a hundred
other things you all could be doing right now but instead, you
had to be here, willing to sacrifice time and sit in a tedious trial
to see to it that a man is brought to justice.’

‘This man, is Mr. Loma, who has been accused of aggravated
robbery among other cases. He has been accused of
maliciously robbing The Noisiv Reserve.’ She paused and
looked inquisitively at the jury.

‘Mr. Loma here walked in the reserve with what is believed to
be a vest full of explosives around his torso, terrorized the
customers and the employees and through force and threat
managed to persuade the branch manager to open the safe.
Mr. Loma fled The Noisiv with six hundred thousand kwacha in
cash; all hundred Kwacha notes.’

She started pacing, looking at the audience, Arista, the jury
and the judge as he talked. Some of the members of the jury
seemed to be appalled by the state advocate’s remarks while
others had expressionless faces.

‘Then he was apprehended and was made to appear before
the court, he pled not guilty; knowing clearly the evidence
against him. He was taken into holding without bail to await trial and during that time, he somehow managed to escape the
custody of officers during in the sick bay assaulting one of
them.’

‘They chased him around and caught him, in a Roman Catholic
Church disrupting a wedding. It is our civic duty, mine and
yours, to ensure that citizens feel safe and secure not only in
banks and reserves or churches and weddings but in society at
large. During this trial I am going to prove beyond reasonable
doubt that Mr. Loma here is not only guilty of this crime, but a
threat to society as well and therefore deserves a fitting
punishment, thank you.’ She concluded and went back to her
seat.

‘Defence!’ Justice Iynen called not wasting any time.

Mr. Suseyi stood, while at his desk he started,

‘Suseyi & Semayi Associates. As Mrs. Imela has stressed, we
all are sacrificing time to be here so I won’t waste any of yours,
but I want to tell you a story, a woeful story.’

He then walked over to the jury and placed his right hand on
the wooden railing.

‘It is a story about a troubled, aggrieved, distressed and
misunderstood young man.’

‘This young man is a victim of circumstance, and in turn a
victim of a mind break. He has suffered all his life, socially,
emotionally, mentally and physically in the hands of both
poverty and Aristocrats.’

‘This young man had a loyal hardworking father who worked in
an unsafe environment of a particular company for almost
three decades until he died on duty. He left behind a wife, a
son and a daughter, suffering at the hands of impoverishment.’

He sighed wearily.

‘This particular company was supposed to provide certain
benefits to this family as per contract but it never delivered. Six
years passed of constantly going back and forth with the
company but this family never had the finances to file or even
survive through a law suit.’

He moved away from the jury and faced the audience.

‘Six years after the death of his father, this young man lost his
mother and his little sister in a terrible traffic accident. They
were vending the streets selling tomatoes when a vehicle lost
control at a curve and ran them over; it was a gruesome scene,
they died on the spot. He lost everything, with nothing left, he
fled the funeral home the day after the burial to hang himself
on a tree right next to his mother’s grave; luckily, someone
found him in time, neck around a noose, convulsing. From
there he was taken out of town to try and disconnect him from
the solitude. It was so bad he still has a few scars noticeable
around his neck from the bruising of the nylon noose.’

The members of the jury shot glances at Arista with saddened
faces. Nolan stared in despair.

‘But months later, he returned with the idea that, had his
father’s former employer processed the due benefits, his only
remaining family would not have been vending the streets
where they were run over, even after the death, the funeral and
suicide attempt, the company still did nothing. So with all the
anger, the grief and a collapsing state of mind, he did the
unthinkable and got caught.’

‘Are you admitting the guilt of your client Mr. Suseyi?’ Mrs.
Imela spoke.

‘Stating the facts of the case as they appear state counsel.’ He
replied curtly.

‘Mrs. Imela, you are advised to refrain from interrupting.’ The
Judge broke in.

‘While in holding,’ He continued, ‘this young man came to learn
that the love of his life; the only girl he has ever loved was
pregnant with his child.’

The people were whispering through each other’s ears. Nolan
could only stare, Patra was still weeping.

‘And… he also came to the knowledge that, in the time he had
been away she had been introduced to another man and was
getting married in a few days, so he made a desperate move.’

‘This young man is Mr. Loma Arista.’

‘Put yourself in his shoes, I want you to consider the cause;
what led to the events that took place, I want you to consider
the root throughout this trial. I am going to make it my sole
focus to show you that sometimes, the justice system should
not only look at the product of the crime but also the cause,
that the justice system should seek to remedy the illness and
not the symptom. I don’t ask you to disregard the evidence that
will be presented against this young man, only that you follow
this trial with an open mind and an open heart, thank you.’ He
concluded and went back to his seat.

‘Alright, we have heard both sides,’

‘May the state call the first witness?’ The Judge said.

Mrs. Imela stood, stared at a piece of paper in her hands and
proceeded,

‘I would like to call Miss Prunella Mubanga to the stand please,
as my first principal witness.’

A young lady arose from the middle role right in front of Nolan
and walked to the stand. She was wearing a pink blouse, a
coffee brown knee-high skirt and black flat slippers. She was
short and slender with a light complexion.

‘Do you swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth?’ the
bailiff asked pressing her hand on a bible.

‘I swear.’ She responded and sat as the bailiff walked away
with the bible like God’s messenger.

‘Miss. Mubanga, it is to my understanding that you work within Noisiv Reserve.’ Mrs. Imela started.

‘I do,’ she replied, a little shaken.

‘Please… relax, take a breath, only criminals should be
nervous amidst the law, you’re alright.’

‘What is your job description?’

‘I am the manager of the Mufulira branch.’ she responded.

‘Okay, have you ever experienced before what you
experienced on the fifteenth day of April?’ Mrs. Imela asked.

‘No, I haven’t, Noisiv has never recorded a robbery or a theft of
any kind.’ She responded, handling the nerves a bit better.

‘Would you care to take us through what happened, what you
saw, what you heard and how you felt from beginning to the
end?’

‘Okay uh… so I was in my office doing… I don’t remember
what I was doing.’

‘It’s okay Miss, just the key details.’ Mrs. Imela re-assured.

‘I was in my office, then I heard a few screams, they were not
very loud but they were distressful enough to fill me up with
fright, so I hid under my desk.’ She continued.

‘As I was shaking, trying to think of what to do, I heard a voice
asking about the manager, where is the manager? He shouted
twice, then I heard a door open.’

‘He called out to me; he told me to come out or he would
detonate the explosives so I slid out from under the desk.’

‘He said that, that you should come out or he would detonate?’
Mrs. Imela asked.

‘Yes, because when I came out and saw him, he had on a
black vest, like an army vest with explosives all around; I knew
he was serious because I have read about jihadists a lot.’

‘He asked me to take him to the safe, that I should comply or
he presses a button and the entire building collapses on us all.’

‘Sorry you said you knew he was serious because you have
been reading about jihadists?’ Mrs. Imela asked.

‘Yes.’ She replied.

‘Explain to the audience what a jihadist is please, so we are on
the same page.’ She said.

‘Jihadists are Islamic extremists who see violent struggle as
necessary to eradicate obstacles to restoring what they think is
Allah’s will on earth. They are not afraid to die along with who
they term as ‘infidels’ as long as it fulfils what they believe is
the cause; most of them pose as suicide bombers. Jihadism is
like a violent subset of Islamism.’ She enunciated.

‘So, you perceived him as a terrorist?

‘Objection! Speculative.’ Mr. Suseyi shouted.

‘Sustained! Do not put words in the witness’s mouth State
counsel.’ Madam Justice spoke out.

‘Let me rephrase, what is it that made you think he may be a
Jihadist?’ Mrs. Imela asked.

‘Well, everything about him, he was wearing a Thobe; which is
a white ankle-length, loose Islamic robe whose top is tailored
like a shirt. On his head was a Taqiyah which is a traditional
Islamic skullcap and brown sandals on his feet. Then there’s
the explosives and the fact he also spoke a few sentences in
what sounded like Arabic.’ She replied.

‘Tanaul tamak something I don’t know, he said it repeatedly.’
There were gasps and loud mummers in the crowd.

‘Order!’ the judge exclaimed pounding her Gavel until order
was restored.

‘You seem to know an awful lot about Islam Miss.’ Mrs. Imela
spoke.

‘My best-friend is Muslim, we always argue about these things.’
she replied.

‘Alright, he asked you to take him to the safe and then what?’

‘When I left the office with him, people were staring in fright,
customers, employees; a total of around thirty to fourty
altogether. The guard with his gun dropped stood helplessly
unable to attempt anything; it is company policy to do whatever
it takes to preserve life in a situation where safety is not
guaranteed, money is insured, life isn’t.’

‘Was Mr. Loma alone?’ Mrs. Imela asked.

‘Yes, he was alone, but with the explosives, he was the most
powerful man in the room.’

‘I led him to the safe and opened it, he told me to get some
bills from the first roll of the stack and throw them in his bag.
But surprisingly, his take was very specific, thirty bundles of
one-hundred-kwacha notes. Each bundle was twenty thousand
kwacha, he was counting and pointing at them, it was weird.
There was a moment I threw a bundle in the bag and he took it
out and replaced it. I thought he was going to ask me to get
him more but, he didn’t, which I thought to be strange because
they were lots of money in the vault and his duffle bag was big enough.’ She said.

‘Then he zipped the bag, looked me in the eyes and a tear run
down his cheek which he wiped quickly and left.’

‘Thank you, Miss, your honour I would like to present in
evidence the security footage inside the branch to collaborate
what Miss Mubanga has explained.’ Mrs. Imela said.

‘Go ahead.’ She approved.

The state attorney’s assistant walked to the front with a
memory stick and handed it to the bailiff who plugged it into a
monitor and gave a remote to Mrs. Imela. Everyone in the
courtroom was curious, Nolan was anxious, he looked at
Arista; though he could only see the backside of his friend, he
could tell he was uneasy. 

Everyone’s eyes were pinned to the
screen. All in concentration, the only sound that was heard was
that of a creaking bench at the back. The screen showed a
man entering the bank, he looked uneasy. He was pacing the
Bank’s hallway and it was clear he was yelling at people, in a
white robe and sandals, a black army-like vest full of some
wires attached to some steel pins that were stuck in some sort
of paste-like cuboids. 

Clasped in his left hand was what gave
an impression of a detonator with a button on which his thumb
rested; a long red wire went from the bottom of the presumed
detonator to his vest. The man on the screen looked like the
one in the courtroom, but he seemed a completely different
person. The screen showed him move swiftly to the manager’s
office and shortly leave with her to the glass doors leading to
where the walk-in Vault was, just like the principal witness had
explained. Everyone else remained in the hallway. 

The
manager; entered the codes and the two entered the Vault and
disappeared. The surveillance cameras only covered the Vault
entrance and not the inside. After a few seconds, the man in a
robe re-appeared gripping the duffel bag in his right hand and
still gripping the detonator in his left hand and left the bank.

‘Okay that’s enough, we have all seen with our own eyes what
transpired, and we have all heard from the witness. Nothing
further your honour.’ Mrs. Imela said as she walked back to her
seat.

‘Your honour I would like to cross-examine the witness.’ Mr.
Suseyi requested.

‘Proceed.’ Madam Justice approved.

He walked towards Miss. Prunella Mubanga.

‘What made you believe Mr. Loma here may be a jihadist?’
he asked.

‘I Think I already answered that question.’

‘Remind me of your answer please,’ Mr. Suseyi pushed.

‘He was wearing a Thobe, a Taqiyah and brown sandals on his
feet, he had explosives and he spoke a few sentences in what
sounded like Arabic. All of which we both saw from the
footage.’ Miss. Mubanga answered with a little frustration.

‘Is every Muslim a jihadist miss?’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘I am just wondering because about eighty percent of what
suggested jihadism to you was all the fact that he appeared to
be Islamic. The only other factors are that he spoke a few
Arabic sentences and he presumably had explosives.’ Mr.
Suseyi continued,

‘If he had on a T-shirt and a pair of jeans, but still spoke a little
Arabic and presumably had explosives; would you have
thought him to be a jihadist?’

‘Obviously not, because all jihadists I have read about are
Muslim.’ Prunella replied now getting nervous.

‘But are all Muslims jihadists?’ Mr. Suseyi asked.

‘Of course not.’

‘So why wouldn’t you describe him as a Muslim who spoke
Arabic and had explosives? Why did you jump straight to
jihadism? Because according to you and I quote;

Jihadists are Islamic extremists who see violent struggle as
necessary to eradicate obstacles to restoring what they think is
Allah’s will on earth. They are not afraid to die along with who
they term as ‘infidels’ as long as it fulfils what they believe is
the cause; most of them pose as suicide bombers. Jihadism is
like a violent subset of Islamism.

Have you ever heard of prejudice Miss?’

‘You judged Mr. Loma beforehand and labelled him a jihadist
which is eerily similar to the definition of terrorism, are you
calling my client a terrorist Miss Mubanga?’

‘Objection!’ Mrs. Imela shouted.

‘Your honour!’

‘Sustained! I advise the defence counsel to quickly arrive at a
point and refrain from wasting time with this bombardment of
questions.’ the judge spoke.

‘I am just trying to clear things up your honour, it is these small
details that tend to thwart people’s objective reasoning when
fed in their minds. I’d hate for the jury to go home thinking my
client is something he is not all in the name of misrepresentation.’

‘Make your point and make it quick.’ the judge said.

‘Alright, let the record show that and let it be agreed here and
now that the law dictates that one is innocent until proven guilty
and therefore my client shall not be subjected to the class of
jihadists unless it is proven that he actually is a jihadist.’ Mr.
Suseyi said.

‘Fair enough,’ the judge commented.

‘How did you know he was carrying explosives?’ Mr. Suseyi
phrased another question.

‘Come on this is absurd your honour we all saw it; we all
watched the footage? Mrs. Imela interrupted.

‘I didn’t see any explosives, your honour did you see
explosives in the footage?’ Mr. Suseyi argued.

‘Oh, come on.’ Mrs. Imela shot back.

‘Order!

‘Order in court!’

‘Miss, answer the question,’ the judge spoke.

Prunella looked at Mrs. Imela, then at Arista.

‘I think so.’

‘You think so, or, you are sure?’

‘Have you seen any explosives before?’ Mr. Suseyi asked.

‘No, I haven’t seen one before but it looked…’

‘If you haven’t seen one before, how did you know they were
explosives? He asked again.

Mrs. Imela was scratching her weave. Prunella couldn’t get a
word out.

‘How did you know they were explosives miss?’ He repeated,
his voice now getting snappy.

‘Well, they hard wires and… and he said he would blow us up.’

She finally spoke.

‘Your honour, I ask that this trial be postponed until all the
evidence is carefully examined by forensics. My client and I
refuse to go on with this until it can be proven that he truly
carried deadly explosives. This entire case is built on whether
or not the accused paused imminent danger to parties in that
bank, the case is that of aggravated robbery, how do we move
forward when we cannot prove certain constructs?’
He looked at the Jury, Mrs. Imela, then at the witness;

‘No further questions.’ He said and walked back to his seat.

Nolan could feel awe building up in him. He was certain most
of the people in the courtroom could feel it too, the energy was
everywhere.

‘As requested, it is only fair and just that we continue these
proceedings when the examination of the evidence is
concluded.’ Madam Justice spoke,

‘Court is adjourned.’

……TO BE CONTINUED……