Who is Anisa Haque?

Chapter 16

I drove through the gates of Murg plaza and became enveloped by a familiar ravenous feeling that today, like every other day at this busy complex, I'd have to fight with someone to get a parking spot.

It's impossible to find parking at Murg plaza. But that's normal for customers right? Actual tenants that have offices in the plaza can have reserved parking right?

Wrong!

Not in this one! To guarantee a spot , especially one in front of my office, I have to constantly bribe the security guys with N1000 every few months or else, I'd be left fighting for 3 spaces with a hundred people, like everyone else.

People often ask me why I picked this location for my shop and I tell them it's because my dad had bought a shop there in 2002 and was willing to give it to me rent free.

Which is true, but not the whole story. Murg is one of the busiest plazas in Abuja, second maybe only to Banex and Emab. Before you even get to the entrance you get accosted by hordes of print boys, electronic vendors and flyer distributors.

It's super busy and overwhelmingly noisy, which also makes it discreet and astute for a PI agency. It's the perfect place to get lost in a crowd. My clients can come in without being spotted for going to a PI agency and I can pretend to be just a CCTV company without people asking questions.

I arrived to find that Godwin, the security guard for our block had guarded my spot with a traffic cone so I was able to park my trusty little Honda in my spot.

Today was going to be a good day.

'Aunty, don't worry,' he said to me, reclined on his chair at the security post. 'Even the president no fit park for your space o!'

There was a sign hanging at the door:

"Back in 5 minutes."

I turned my key in the lock and pushed. A gust of familiarity and belonging swept over me.

The place looked super clean and organized, you wouldn't believe that I hadn't been here in over four days.

Gaga, my assistant was great at her job and I consider myself very lucky to have someone run my business for me as if it were her own.

I walked across the waiting area, a white spacious room with 2 rows of electric green chairs, a magazine rack, the receptionist's table, a Cable linked TV and a water dispenser.

I opened the first of the three doors at the back of the room, a store room, housing CCTV and tracking gear. Everything was in place and tidy and our next installment order was already packed and ready to go.

The second door was the archive room where we filed paperwork and hard drives. It was also orderly, not a single file out of place.

The last door is my personal office. A cosy 12 square meter space I had decorated myself with the walls covered in cork boards holding my personal pictures, reminders, to do lists, phone numbers, info on my current case and a white board, also made for compiling evidence and brainstorming ideas but sometimes, you might find me doodling random images on it when I'm bored.

My slim white desk floats in the middle of the room, right in front of the window. I have a large pastel pink PVC covered swiveling chair behind the desk and on the other side, 3 clear acrylic chairs. The floor was tiled in white marble with the centre covered in a black shaggy rug.

Everything was either clear, black or white with a tiny sprinkle of pastel pink. It was perfect for me.

The motion sensor beeped and Loud clacks of stiletto heels against marble tiles echoed around the office.