Inside was a makeshift studio. Reel-to-reel tapes lined the walls. And in the center, on a vintage Revox machine, spooled “The Ebony Coal.” But the Albino Marmoset was there. She was not a ghost. She was a pale, gaunt woman in a raincoat, her monkey mask resting beside her as she spliced tape.
"You're the reporter," she said, her voice a soft Irish lilt. "I’m not stealing it. I’m restoring it. Chief Eze asked me before he died. The coordinates on this song lead to a mine that the government plans to bulldoze for a shopping mall. If I release the tape, the artifacts will be saved." enugu tintin
It began on a Tuesday, during a torrential downpour that turned Ogui Road into a red river. Tintin was nursing a warm Star Lager at the "Coal Camp Buka" when a woman in a dripping, expensive agbada collapsed into the chair opposite him. Inside was a makeshift studio
"You want bronze?" Tintin said, reaching into his jacket. "Here. Take my drawing of it." She was not a ghost
"Because, Adanna," he said, "in Enugu, the best mysteries don't have villains. Just lost people, buried coal, and songs that refuse to stay silent."
Her father, the late Chief Mbadinuju Eze, was a legendary highlife musician from the 1970s. Months before his death, he had recorded his final, unreleased song—a haunting melody titled “The Ebony Coal.” It was said to contain the coordinates of a secret, illegal mine his band had discovered, a cavern filled not just with coal, but with ancient, pre-colonial bronze artifacts.