Enugu: Tintin

In the humid, red-dust heart of Enugu, where the coal city’s hills slumber under a canopy of flame trees, there lived a man they called Tintin. Unlike his Belgian namesake, he didn’t sport a quiff or a trusty fox terrier. Samuel “Tintin” Okonkwo was a lanky, wide-eyed investigative journalist for the Enugu Eyeglass , with a rumpled linen jacket, a battered notepad, and a knack for stumbling into trouble where the NEPA light failed to shine.

As for Tintin, he sat once more at the Coal Camp Buka. His new notepad was already half-full. Adanna Eze slid a chilled Star Lager toward him. enugu tintin

There, tied to a chair, was Enugu’s foremost sound engineer, a bald man named Professor Phono. His ear had been sliced—a warning. In the humid, red-dust heart of Enugu, where

"You want bronze?" Tintin said, reaching into his jacket. "Here. Take my drawing of it." As for Tintin, he sat once more at the Coal Camp Buka

His first stop was the Rangers FC training ground. The button was from a limited-edition blazer, given only to the club’s "Executive Life Patrons"—a list that included politicians, oil barons, and one notorious scrap-metal dealer from Abakpa: Chief "Pocket" Nwosu.