An old man in a faded yellow shirt sat in a windowless room on a raised concrete form. The only source of heat came from somewhere beneath the plastic mattress and the rough blanket the blank-faced police woman had handed him after taking his thumb prints. He heard voices and metallic clang as the cell door swung open. At the front desk a tired looking policeman handed the old man back his belongings, his worn-out cap and the Seiko watch that had stopped working the day his beloved Evelyn left. The policeman dramatically held the blue plastic bag at an arm's length to the old man who took it and made sure its contents were undamaged: the goat meat, palm oil, leaves and spices. He ignored the confused expression on the officer's face and signed the document declaring he had been returned the possessions they had taken off him the night before. No one spoke to him as he walked slowly towards the exit. "Mr. Easy-nwa?" He stopped and prayed to the God who now took care of Evelyn to please take him far away from this unhappy place of expressionless faces, clipped accents and people who did not even attempt to pronounce his name right. "Ezenwa," He said and looked at a woman with tangerine lips, her name tag said Jessica Harlow, Social Services. "A bit far from home,,,she said as she drove fast and with confidence the way Evelyn used to. He wondered if she meant the 50 miles from Liverpool or the 50,000 miles from Enugu,a city in Nigeria. He did not bother replying as this woman had plenty to say about the weather, bad drivers, her daughter's school play... At last she drew up outside the block of flats where he lived. "Got here in the end",said she seriously, "Really Mr. Easy-nwa, if you keep getting lost, we will have to consider moving you into a home". "No need, I was not lost,,,he answered. He carefully rolled up the sleeves of the oversize bomber jacket he wore and turned on the tap to wash his hands, relieved the pipes were not frozen. In a clean pan he placed the chopped pieces of goat meat. The herbs and spices that had taken him three months to track down, the uziza seeds had taken him into the heart of Granby Market in Liverpool, his uchanwu leaves down a shady back alley in Manchester, and yesterday, among other food items, the finest goat meat from a Sierra Leonean Butcher in Birmingham. That had taken some time, so much he missed the last train and when the police found him shivering outside the locked up station, so cold he couldn't answer loudly enough the pink-faced big copper who yelled in his face, "What's your name sir?" spraying his face with spittle  as he did so, leaving them with no choice but to search an exhausted, frozen old black man and finding him in possession of mysterious condiments  including a bag of dried bitter-leaf which could of course be mistaken for anything that resulted in him getting read his rights and charged with ...possession??? He lifted the lid of the bubbling soup, the room was filled with the rich and spicy scent of his culinary  effort. He served two bowls, taking the chipped one and placing the other opposite where Evelyn would have sat. He would tell her about his adventure, it was their anniversary and this was the perfect pepper soup to celebrate. Ken Onyia, UK (Nigeria) Commonwealth Sport Short Story Prize Mr. Ezenwa was taken to the prison for a night because  _  .
he was too weak to move he couldn't find his way back home he then had nowhere else to go he was suspected of possessing drugs