Conspiracy Theory (All’s well that ends well)

By Baba Galleh Jallow

Around 10am the next morning, the door to Moses Mijofa’s cell creaked open 
and a state security agent asked him to please come with me Mr. Mijofa. 
Moses was drenched in stale sweat, his face was swollen and his head 
throbbed from a very long sleepless night of mosquito bites and the horrible 
stench of stale urine mixed with a faint smell of dry feces. The floor of 
the tiny, oven-hot cell was dirty and dusty as hell, with dark stains of 
what looked like dried blood. There was neither mat nor mattress. He 
couldn’t bring himself to lie down on that nasty floor. He preferred to sit 
up all night, tapping and whacking away at the vicious mosquitoes, 
occasionally covering his nose with his sleeve to keep off the horrible 
stench, and dozing involuntarily on and off.

The security man escorted him into a small office at the edge of the huge 
building covering most of the grounds of state security headquarters. Inside 
the small office stood a lone desk behind which sat a small man in a black 
felt hat and dark glasses. The small man looked up as Moses entered the room 
and motioned for him to sit down. The security agent stood behind him.

“Moses Mijofa,” the man behind the desk said, as if he was addressing the 
papers before him. “Two things. One, you have been charged with seditious 
libel against the state and the people of this country; seditious libel 
against His Excellency the president and head of state; conspiracy to commit 
treason and treasonable felony against the legally constituted government of 
this republic; and intent to destabilize and disrupt the peace and 
tranquility of this country. We need you to write a statement explaining why 
you should not be considered guilty of these crimes. You must know that 
anything you write will be used against you in a court of law.

“Two, after you write your statement, you will be granted self-bail but you 
must report to this office every morning at 8am until the date of your 
appearance in court. Failure to do so will result in a revocation of your 
bail. At the same time, we are holding on to all the documents in your 
briefcase – your passport, ID card and everything else in there. So, here is 
a pen and the forms for your statement. After you finish writing your 
statement, you will sign your bail bond and will be free to go for now. But 
you must report back here at 8am tomorrow morning.” He looked up at the 
security man who had escorted Moses to that office and said, “Vulture, sit 
here with Mr. Moses and have him sign the bond before leaving.” The small 
man got up and walked out. Vulture took his place at the table and Moses 
Mijofa started the tedious process of writing his statement. At least he 
knew he would be let out shortly and then he would demand an explanation.

Outside the headquarters of the state security service Moses Mijofa hailed a 
taxi and headed for the Ministry of National Intelligence. As he came 
through the front door the secretary looked up and asked him what he wanted.

‘I’m here to see Minister Marrtaat,” he said.

“Is the minister expecting you?”

Moses told her he was expected and announced his name. The girl spoke into 
the phone and hung up. Almost immediately, the Honorable Minister of 
National Intelligence, Mr. Muchukat Marrtaat himself stood at the door, 
holding it wide open for Moses Mijofa and hailing him hi and welcome.

“Hello, hello my dear little brother. Welcome, welcome. Come in, come in. I 
was expecting you.”

Moses walked through the door, the honorable minister’s arm wrapped around 
his shoulder.

“Sit down, sit down little brother. And I’m so sorry about last night, you 
know, the inconvenience and all . . .”

“So you know about last night?” Moses was surprised and stared at Minister 
Marrtaat as he walked around the huge desk and slumped into his easy chair.

“Oh yes, oh yes I know about last night. We all know about last night. I was 
there at the – what did he call it – oh yes, oh yes, the chat room when the 
director was asking you those questions. And you know even His Excellency 
was there. Clever chap, clever chap; he was there himself . . .”

“But . . . so . . . what is all this about? I was arrested at the airport, 
humiliated and locked up in a stinking cell all night. And you had assured 
me that I would be just fine . . .”

“Come on, come on little brother, you are just fine. Everything is just 
fine,” Minister Marrtaat laughed. “You are a smart boy. We know you a smart 
boy and that you will understand. You see, it’s all part of His Excellency’s 
grand design for you. He designed this whole project for you. You are a 
lucky chap boy. His Excellency likes you. He said so himself last night.”

“What grand design are you talking about Mr. Marrtaat? I was charged with 
all manner of crimes this morning and I will be appearing in court. I’m 
supposed to report to the state security every morning at 8am.”

“Oh yes, oh yes my brother. It’s all part of His Excellency’s grand design. 
You see, let me tell you something. I have a doctorate of philosophy but I 
lay my hat at the feet of His Excellency. That young man is a genius little 
brother. A genius I tell you. You’ll see.”

“So what is this grand design you are talking about? I came here for 
debriefing and orientation etc and I find myself spending the night in a 
stinking cell and being charged with treasonable felony . . .”

“Relax, relax my brother,” Minister Marrtaat laughed. “Listen, here is how 
it works. As at now, only three people know about your mission here. You, 
me, and His Excellency. He will personally supervise your training himself 
because you will be reporting directly to him. Not even the boys at state 
security know about this. So everything has to look real. You have been 
charged, you will appear in court, and your trial will proceed and all the 
newspapers will cover your story and all those so-called human rights groups 
will make fools of themselves shouting out their sick lungs about the 
injustice being done to you. But it’s all a show. It’s all a big bad show my 
boy. His Excellency likes a good show and we all enjoy a good show. So after 
your trial is made to drag on for as long as necessary, the judge or 
magistrate will receive orders from His Excellency to throw the case out and 
you will hop on a plane and fly back to your base in Europe and start your 
patriotic work for your country. Does that sound like a good plan my boy? Do 
you see His Excellency’s point, my boy?”

Moses Mijofa nodded again and again as the ingenuity of the whole plan 
struck him with full force. Yes, he would be a hero. He would still be a 
hero. He would still act the radical. And he would earn lots of money as a 
deep cover personal agent for His Excellency. Not bad, not bad at all.

“Well it all makes sense now, Mr. Marrtaat,” he said. “It all makes sense 
now. But do I still have to report to the state security every morning at 
8am?”

"Oh yes, oh yes for now, for a few days at least. Remember, this is a 
top-secret mission. Those boys at state security have no idea what’s going 
on. I just told the director last night that you should be granted self bail 
but that they must hold on to all your papers. His Excellency justified his 
presence there last night by feigning great anger at you and saying that he 
wanted to be there personally to see you in person at close quarters. They 
are in the dark and they must remain in the dark. Everyone must remain in 
the dark about this project. But you will be meeting His Excellency himself 
in the next few days and getting more specific details of your training 
schedule. You will love the man my boy. You will love him. In fact, he has 
something for you. There is $5,000 in cash in this envelope and a personal 
letter of welcome from His Excellency. So go home, my boy; have a good rest 
and I will contact you on this cell phone as soon as His Excellency is ready 
to see you. Dies that sound like a plan?”

Moses Mijofa thanked the honorable minister and picked up the bulging 
envelope and the cell phone as he stood up.

“Don’t worry my boy. Be happy,” Minister Muchukat Marrtaat hailed as he 
reached across the desk to shake his hand. He headed for the door feeling a 
strange mixture of guilt and elation. He was just fine after all. He was 
just fine. All's well that ends well, he thought with a smile on his swollen 
face.

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