Never before now did Taiwo think much of windows, until those long weeks of unemployment which pinned him to his flat. Every morning, he would drag a plastic chair and sit by his window which overlooked the road and some houses around. From there he would watch life spill away in fragments. Behind the curtains, he could see the bread seller balancing her tray, the neighbors sweeping dust into the gutters, cars driving by, children playing and shrieking with laughter.
It was lack of something to do that kept him there longer than he should have. It was boredom that made him take note of who left the house early, who was always arguing, whose curtains never seemed to open. He didn't think of it as more than a pastime, which stemmed from simply having nothing better to do.
But that evening, the pastime became different.
It was midnight and the power outage threw the entire street into darkness, save for the crescent moon shining in the sky above. He was fanning himself with an old newspaper when suddenly, a light flickered on across the road. It was from the block of flats on the other side. His eyes innocently settled on the window with curtains drawn halfway down, giving him a clear view into a large portion of the living room.
A figure had come in and gone to the window, casting a long shadow on the floor. Though it was vague, Taiwo was able to recognize him as one of the new tenants who always wore sunglasses during the day. And there was the other figure, sitting. He thought his presence meant a friendly visit of some sort. Then the standing man raised his arm and there was a glint.
Taiwo felt somehow certain it was a knife.
The figure just standing on his feet suddenly jerked up and tried to move away, but the man shoved him back with harsh force. It was a sudden violent motion. Taiwo's heart pounded as he leaned forward. The curtain moved, and for a moment he saw the glint again, up against the other's chest.
Then all went black. The light went off.
He staggered back into the room, his heart pounding loud enough to echo in his ears. "No, no, I'm sure I imagined it," he whispered, but he replayed in his memory, the shove, the glint, the struggle. It was then it dawned on him that he had witnessed a crime.
He was pacing his living room while indecision gnawed at him. Should he call the police? But what if he was wrong? What if it was just an argument? But then what if it wasn't?
At last, he picked up his phone and dialed.
Two policemen arrived an hour later, in shrunken uniforms, annoyed at having to be called out so late.
"You said you saw a stabbing?" asked the taller one.
"I think so. I was sitting by my window. Across the street, that flat... second-floor, third window from the left. A man with a knife. He pushed someone, stabbed him, then the light went out."
The officers exchanged glances. The shorter one sighed. "Let's check it out."
They knocked on the door of the flat while Taiwo watched nervously from his window. After an unusually long pause, the door creaked open. The man was without his sunglasses — he now stood there.
"And what is this about?" He asked, voice flat.
The tall officer spoke. "We received some report. Is everything all right here?"
The man frowned: "Report? From who?"
Taiwo swallowed hard, he could hear their voices clearly in the stillness of the night.
"It doesn't matter who. You were seen struggling with a man and then you stabbed him."
The man’s frown deepened. “There’s no one else here, just me. I was sleeping before you came knocking.”
I saw the officers go inside the living room and come out again. Obviously, there was no sign of a struggle. No blood, no body.
“You see?” the man muttered. “There's nothing here, whoever called you is disturbing you for nothing. People should just learn to mind their business.”
The officers had a weary look on their faces. “Sir, we are sorry for wasting your time, we should be on our way now."
They left. The man shut his door with a sharp slam, while Taiwo stood by his window, trembling.
“But I saw it!” Taiwo whispered to himself. “There was someone else, I swear!”
That night, he couldn’t sleep. Every sound made him jump. He kept replaying the scene in his head. Maybe he was crazy. Maybe boredom had tricked his eyes.
By 4 a.m. that morning, a faint chill swept through him as he watched from his window. A car was parked outside the opposite flat. Two men lifted a heavy sack into the trunk. The man with the sunglasses stood by, directing.
The sack was long. Too long.
His throat went dry. He thought of calling the police again — but they had already dismissed him once. If he called now, they’d laugh.
Instead, he grabbed his camera with the long zoom lens and took photos. The men glanced around, but didn’t notice him. He snapped quickly: the car, the sack, the number plate.
When the car drove off, Taiwo sat back, his hands shaking. He checked the camera screen and zoomed in, the photos were clear — proof at last that something had happened.
Because whether the police believed him or not, he knew what he had seen.
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