by AC Alegbo
‘I mean, he says that he has been involved in recruiting people but that was only because some politician sent him and gave him money. Even then, it was just because he was at the right place at the right time and he can’t expect to get that kind contract every time.’
‘God! Is that what it is – a contract?’ I asked, shocked and disbelieving. ‘We are talking about thousands of lives, here.’
‘Well, that is really what it is,’ he replied. ‘I heard from a good source that, besides Mamu story, a lot of all this fighting are arranged by big men who pay people, uneducated and homeless people, some of them not even Nigerians, to start fighting. They even make the fights look like religious clashes when they really are ethnic conflicts just to bring general instability into the region which these big men can exploit. Most of this is political.’
‘Maybe Mamu does not have the power to do all that but you don’t want to offend someone like him who can maybe raise a small gang at least, especially when he is at home and we are not,’ I replied.
‘Yes, but Taribo too has got backup. I think he knows that Mamu cannot touch him now. He will soon leave Kaduna and he won’t be returning. Also, remember that Taribo has also got strong connections here in the North; his papa is one of the top executives at NNPC and has links with a lot of powerful Northerners.’
‘Ehn but the only protection those people can give him will be while he is still alive,’ I replied. ‘Mamu can reach him faster than he can find protection.’
‘Ehn but also Mamu cannot reach him as quickly as Taribo can leave the city, that is, if Mamu can reach him at all.’
It was evident that Taribo had his offer of protection and was not reluctant to take advantage of it. He must have held himself back before now from any clash with Mamu, waiting for the right time, since he knew that his protection could only be useful if he were able to get away from the city in one piece; he had suggested as much to us.
The value of protection, I mused - and I go and dump the only one I could lay claim to even though it may not be as comforting as the armed guard I presumed Taribo’s guardians would summon on his behalf. It certainly had not proved very comforting to the priest whose eyes were gouged out by the Muslim mob before he was killed in the last riot but it was better than nothing and much more comforting to have some reason – any reason - to hope.
Banjo had even joked about the horror of such a hopeless situation by recommending having a gun, not to use against the rampaging rioters but against oneself. ‘You will just be wasting your bullets,’ he’d said. ‘When you shoot, the bullets will simply fly upwards away from them. They charm their bodies with juju that deflects gunshots and you’d surely be better off dead than being caught by them.’
I kept turning our conversation over in my mind even after we had gone on to other topics like the difference in the taste of bread up North and down South. Though I wasn’t inclined to believe him given the number of stories that had been flying around forever about juju feats, I reckoned a gun was another form of protection one could use, even, if just to guarantee a quick suicide. I imagined owning such a weapon and constantly having to pray that I’d never have to use it; it was ironic that I’d only feel safe if I never had to use my protection. I didn’t feel safe now, not in the volatile Kaduna of the present and, definitely, not sat in an old bus on a long and uncomfortable journey home, on roads fraught with danger. I missed my eschewed religion and having to call on God’s protection and that was simply why I knew I was not safe – I needed protection.
‘Taribo is going to connect me to one of his papa business partners in Kano,’ Banjo suddenly said, interrupting my thoughts. ‘You know – oil deals and all.’
I didn’t know but could understand and nodded. ‘Hmm?’
‘That was what we were finalising this morning. He gave me a letter to take to this man and instructions about what I should tell the man. I will stay for two weeks in Lagos and go back to Kaduna.’
‘So what will this fetch you?’
‘Wake up man,’ Banjo replied with a look of disbelief. ‘How can you ask that? Don’t you know the power of oil in this country?’
‘Yes, but I’d like to know its power where you are concerned.’
‘Well, the plan is that this chap will help me into a position in his business. Well, when I say his business, I really mean Shell; he will help me get a place there which could mean that I might need to relocate to Rivers State.’
‘That’s good; you will earn more money in a month than you can carry.’
‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘Come on, don’t ask like we are going off to the ends of the earth and won’t ever see each other again,’ I answered trying to buy some time.
‘No, it is a valid question. You’ve finished your Service and we’ve never had this conversation before.’
‘Yeah, as deep as our friendship is,’ I replied with a little unnecessary sarcasm. ‘Anyway, I don’t really know. My Ecostat didn’t give me plenty of choices.’
‘What’s your degree got to do with anything?’ Banjo cut me short. ‘You are a graduate – that’s the main and only thing; you should begin to seriously look for lucrative fields.’
‘I know, I know,’ I chanted, trying not to appear ignorant. ‘For goodness sake, I know but it is not like I have any connection in the banking sector or in oil and I don’t want to be a teacher but I think I that I can swing a lecturer position in UniLag.’
****
Ireneh led the way through a sand-filled area to the left of which were two tin roofed ramshackle structures that, judging by how out of way they were, I concluded were the bathroom and the toilet. We went right as I struggled to contain the disgust that was seeping through me, hurdled over some low piled bricks that someone must have intended to be the start of a wall and through a small grass path to a little clearing in the middle of some tall grass. There was an equally derelict structure here too and the only safe looking things about this building were the zinc sheets that completely covered the opening at the top. The walls were half concrete, half mud and looked to have been patched in places with elephant grass. The inside was too dark to be made out from a distance but as we drew closer to the entrance, Ireneh suddenly froze, did an about turn that only went halfway so that he ended up turned to his left with me facing his shoulder, completely startled. He stooped slowly and beckoned to me to do the same; I leaned lower and lower until I was resting on my hands and following his gaze, I could make out a figure in the darkness of the shed. There was a sound of rustling and suddenly the shape burst through an opening at the left side of the building that I hadn’t detected. It was TJ.
Ireneh stayed put for about four minutes after TJ disappeared through the grass; the youth had changed from his school uniform but the shirt he wore was also draped across his torso, buttons undone the same way his uniform had been when he came in the living room a little earlier. The shirt was a little dirtier like it had just seen action; just as I began to tell myself that there was no reason to think that he had been in another fight, I noticed the big branch in his left hand as he deftly balanced it onto his shoulder and zoomed out into the green.
It felt like some real adventure as we wormed our way into the dark of the shed; as our eyes grew accustomed to the dark, I could make out the contents. It was quite like Ireneh had described; there was a low bench across which hung a barbell, several weight plates lay at one end of the building and a few dumbbells adorned another corner. Some light filtered in through a small hole in the wall at the back of the shed. Ireneh put his eye in the hole, promptly cutting off the light. ‘That’s my mama’s shop,’ he said.
‘Which one, where?’ I asked.
‘Come. Look.’
I did the same thing he had and saw the top of a zinc roof through a small clearing in the tall grass. There were a few children playing around the area and two men pushing a wheel barrow laden with food produce.
/> ‘That first shop there – that’s my mama’s shop,’ Ireneh said behind me. ‘She’ll be there now.’
I left the hole and saw he had turned his attention back to the contents of the shed. He had not said anything about his father and I did not want to ask. His father must work away from home, I figured, like mine.
The building we were in must have been used as storage in the past as junk cluttered about a quarter of the space it had. I tried lifting the different dumbbells, straining myself as I went for bigger ones. Ireneh lay on the bench and lifted the bar off its rest, he heaved twice before resettling the metal.
‘We are not supposed to do this, you know?’ I said. ‘We are still very young and I have been told that carrying weights can make someone short.’
‘So why are my brothers tall?’ Ireneh asked.
‘They didn’t start carrying weights when they were our age,’ I said. ‘Have you seen all those short men who have gathered muscles all over their bodies like that gateman in that compound near school? That’s the kind of thing weights can cause.’
‘That’s a lie abeg. Lie, lie,’ he said as he got off the bench and moved further into the darkness. I followed.
‘Oh, you think that I am lying? Why have you stopped then? You can go and continue so you can become a short man,’ I teased on.
But Ireneh was no longer listening and was looking at one end of the clutter that filled a portion of the space around us. He started to move some of the things around and I could not understand what he was about. ‘This is where TJ keeps his things; he knows that I know and that was why he was saying he’ll roast me if I touch his things. But he hasn’t seen anything; who does he want to roast – me?’
I didn’t like this. I had seen TJ and knew the lad was going too far. ‘Don’t touch his things Ireneh,’ I said a little worried for my friend. ‘Do you want to be in trouble with him?’
‘I am not afraid of him!’ Ireneh spouted, a worrying look coming into his eyes. ‘What can he do that he hasn’t done before? He has broken one of my teeth before, burnt me with a hot knife,’ he gestured to his right thigh, ‘broken my arm and beaten me many times. Look, he was the one who gave all these marks on my back – look,’ this time, he lifted up his shirt so that I could see the faded scars of whip marks. ‘What more can he do? I am not afraid of him,’ he ended.
I did not like the way he spoke now, muttering aloud and spitting out his words.
‘What about your brothers – did they not try to stop him from doing all those things to you?’
‘They can only fight him and he fights them back with his jaguda gang. My brothers don’t care anyway. It is not like they are ever here; only my mama tries to stop TJ but she can’t do anything herself.’ He went back to sorting through TJ’s things and I could see there were mainly cans of food, a few shirts and a seasoned piece of wood that could be used as club.
‘What about your papa?’
‘My papa has told me that he will take me to go live with him.’
‘Your papa does not live with all of you?’ Amazingly, it was the first I’d really heard about his father. We’d always talked about anything else.
‘No, he lives far away. He is a big man, you know? And I’ll live with him.’
‘When?’ I asked not sure if I was worried he’d be leaving.
‘I don’t know but my papa said I shouldn’t worry that it’ll be soon.’
‘Ehn but maybe you should leave TJ’s things alone for now, Ireneh,’ I said, genuinely scared for my friend now. ‘You don’t want him to beat you again and you know that there is nobody here who can stop him.’
At this, Ireneh straightened and paused, his back turned to me. I could make out the dark outline of an object he held in hand. And then, he turned round and in his eyes was a fazed look that I was to see again. He looked transformed and seemed to be staring past me to the darkness beyond. He muttered again as he looked at the object he held in his hand; he had just pulled it out from the rubble that was TJ’s stuff. Even in the darkness, the blade of the ten inch sharply pointed dagger gleamed as he pulled it out of its leather skin scabbard.
‘Ha, I’ll stop him,’ the boy furiously drawled, slightly slobbering at the sides of his mouth. ‘Watch and see. One day will be one day.’
****
This time, only White coat appeared. I laughed as soon as I saw him. ‘I know,’ I blurted out. ‘You can’t fool me. Although, it is not your fault...I am the one dreaming.’
‘What do you know Arinze?’ he asked looking really serious. He must be well paid, I assumed.
‘I know this is a dream and soon you will be gone. See, I have a very good memory. I have been here before,’ I trumpeted.
‘And where will you be?’ he asked.
‘I will be in the real world, where I should be,’ I laughed. ‘I will be back at work.’
He hesitated and held up a white envelope which I recognised instantly. ‘Did you write this?’
‘How did you get that?’ I asked in shock. It was the reply I’d written to Banjo.
‘What do you do?’ He asked ignoring my question.
Then I remembered that this was a dream and I relaxed. All was well.
‘I work in a garage like a sort of mechanic.’
‘Is it far from here?’
‘I don’t know where “here” is,’ I countered intelligently ‘after all this is a dream but my garage is on the outskirts of the city, past Sabon Gari.’
‘Where is Sabon Gari?’ asked White coat.
‘You don’t know Sabon Gari?’ I asked in turn. ‘How long have you been in Kano?’
‘I see why you think this is a dream,’ White coat said. ‘You are not in Kano.’
I didn’t reply
III
‘Loose Wheels’
At the turn of the New Year, I was promoted to Primary 5; at that time, the school year began in January so we’d just come back from the Christmas holidays – saddest resumption time for all kids. But Primary 5 also meant that we had our classroom on the second floor. It was sheer delight that coursed through me as I raced up the stairs to locate the room; I’d been waiting for this a long time and was now one floor away from my ultimate goal.
From then on, I always found myself gazing out of the class window. From my prominence, there was a good view of the city to delight in, as far as the eye could see. But I only did that in the first three months after I’d picked my seat. No effect, however mind-blowing can last for much longer than that – not for me anyway.
Now, when I say pick out my seat, I really should say, the seat – and desk - that my closest friends and I would share. We always had to share; if it was very cheap education, then a lot of families took advantage of it. As a consequence, desks and chairs were always fewer than pupils. The school had solved this problem in one swoop by exchanging the single locker desks for double ones and chairs for benches. The way it worked out, three students sat on a bench and arranged with one another how to use the lockers. First days of the year were always an insane rush as kids picked out hotspots in the classroom and seatmates as well.
I was firmly in the rush and secured a window seat but I didn’t have to do the other bit of picking out seatmates. Ireneh and Eze were already on standby. Eze was not a ‘closest friend’ but he moved in our circle, not that Ireneh and I had much of circle.
‘Do you know who is going to be our teacher?’ I asked Eze with whom I shared a bench alongside some other random pupil.
‘It looks like it will be Mrs Deji,’
‘Mrs Deji,’ I repeated, rolling the name on my tongue like it was something bitter. ‘Who is that?’
‘I know?’ Eze answered back with a question of his. ‘Why are you asking me? Have I not just come to school as you have?’
He had a point; there was no way he’d know. I was even lucky to have him around. It was the first week of the term and as school year always began slowly, about a third of pupils were
bound to be absent on some day or another in the first week. Not me though, thanks to my parents; I was always on hand to see the school kick into full steam. My parents were a direct obstacle to one of my requirements for happiness. They were fiercely insistent that we went to school every day that I became the most regular kid in the class, so regular that I could accurately keep track of everyone else’s attendance especially Ireneh’s which faltered badly as the year wore on; so regular that I had a feeling at one time that I was beginning to bore the teachers by my mere presence.
‘If only, he could stay at home just once,’ I could hear them think. ‘No one needs that much knowledge.’
I couldn’t disagree; if only my parents knew what the teachers thought of me, maybe then, they would let me have the occasional holiday.
‘And I know that when she comes, she will want to mix us all up,’ I said to Eze, stating the obvious. ‘All these teachers who don’t have enough work to do. At least, thank God that it is a woman. I can’t deal with male teachers. They are too wicked.’
‘They are not more wicked than women o,’ Eze replied sniffling like he always did. ‘Let’s just pray that this Mrs Deji is not too wicked.’
‘Anyway when Ireneh comes, he’ll sit down here,’ I pointed to the space occupied by the other pupil who could hear us. He looked so alone it was a little difficult to see him. He’d be no trouble, I concluded. ‘So, at least, two of us will still be sitting together when the teacher finishes mixing up the class.’
‘Yes, true,’ replied Eze.
I was already planning for the shake-up that every teacher made to the sitting arrangements. Any teacher, who wanted an environment conducive to teaching and learning, would not allow us to sit the way we wanted. They would break our little groups into fragments, fixing each person with total strangers, a lot of the time doing this by mixing opposite sexes in a standard ratio of two to one. The odd one always sat in the middle.
