By Lechi Eke
“Eka-ason, ma!” he greeted ‘Good afternoon’ in an expansive manner typical of illiterate Yoruba. “I hope ants no disturb you? Believe me, ma, outside better pass inside. Thisanimals no dey sweep their house. I tell dem make dey no carry you go inside. I know you no dey use to dirty surroundings. Forgive me, go-slow too much from Lekki. God go punish all the leaders- no road, no light, no money anywhere. They no go die better. Shey you de alright, ma?”
Ulari, whose mouth had gone dry, could only nod. Hooded boy brought him an upholstery chair from inside the house. He waved it away.
“You wan make kwarikwata enter my agbada? I beg bring plastic chair for me,” he cried.
Ulari watched him closely as one would a rattlesnake. Hooded boy brought a plastic chair for him and he sat down after watching him clean it. The others disappeared into the house and the teenage boy brought a medium-sized red plastic cooler from the old jeep and set it down beside him.
“Who say dey nefer born the beauriful ones?” he asked Ulari.
Ulari had no clue what he was talking about.
“Who write the book?”
“Ayi Kwei Arma,” Ulari replied, perfunctorily.
“True. We read for school. Me I go school small, na wicked people no let me finis. You’re beauriful!” he said with a foreign intonation to impress Ulari. “You see this people are mad and greedy and bad. Write am down say I tell you… do you care for a drink?”
Ulari shook her head.
“I want to go back to school,” she said.
“Of course, of course. Sorry, for the way they carry you come here- no be this wicked people say make we carry you? (Ulari’s heart skipped a beat). The business dey short. You go soon go if you cooperate with us. (Fear jumped into Ulari’s eyes and he saw it.) No fear- we be correct guys, we no dey do bad business erh? So, no shaking.”
He opened the cooler which contained huge chunky glassy ice blocks mingled with cans of beer- Star, Guilder, Heineken, etc and he picked a can of Heineken and opened it with a pop sound. The sound jarred Ulari’s frayed nerves. Some liquid spilled and the little man put his mouth to the can and sucked it in, his legs moving in tune to an imaginary music.
“Why am I here?” Ulari asked capitalising on the man’s good mood. “I want to go back to school.”
“Forgive me omoge, man need drink for this weather- something cold and soft. Shebi na the thing I was saying… this bad men don divide and share Nigeria. They no wan poor man. They say they no wan you (Ulari’s heart thudded- fear returned swiftly into her eyes). Now, be cool, o-m-o-g-e! (His voice drawled in a sing-song manner and his knees swayed from side to side. Ulari could see that drinking made him happy). No be say they wan make you commot for this world patapata, they only wan make you leave the Wan Tor, he’s not afailable.”
He emptied the content of the can into his mouth and threw it on the dirt ground, licking his lips. Ulari’s heart missed a beat.
“Who are the ‘they’?” she asked her heart in her mouth, her voice croaky.
“The ruling people, the cabal. They come pay me to beg you make you leave His Royal Highness Wan Tor Tiv Benjamin Torkular junior.”
It took Ulari some time to connect the long titled names to Jamin.
“Who are the they- girlfriends? (For a moment she betrayed lack of total trust in Jamin’s avowed fidelity for that was what jealous lovers did on campus, snatch or hurt their rivals). The Army? Cultists? Who?”
The little smarmy man saw clearly her nescience and he pitied her.
“Lovers of his family,” he said.
“Lovers of his family?” her voice sounded incredulous.
The little man took time to attend to another beer and swayed his legs in enjoyment before talking to Ulari again.
“You go know the truth. As I dey, no mago mago for my side. Your bobo family no wan you, their family friend come find out. Their friend come hire me say make I beg you in the name of God to leave the bobo, ’im na the only boy wey im family get, even ’im papa wan commit suicide (he swore, touching the dirt ground with his index finger and putting it to his stuck-out tongue before raising it to heaven.) so, ’im papa friend say make we call you and beg you to leave am. But no be for nothing,” he added quickly. “Any amount wey you wan make dem pay you, dey say dey go pay you dat amount (he paused and drained his Guilder and threw the can on the dirt and picked a can of Heineken). Na this place we must to work together Hulary. You must ask big. These men, na dem dem- na dem get Nigeria. If you ask billion dey go give you and you go remember me-o.”
As Ulari was trying to digest this she saw a young woman bearing a blue plastic basin on her head with bottles of different shapes and sizes filled with liquids of different colours, stroll into the compound. The little man on sighting the woman placed his Heineken on the cooler and beckoned to her. Ulari was still speechless. It could not be a dream. She thought of Jamin and her mind began to think like a heathen. Anxiety said, ‘This marriage is ill-fated.’ Ants were climbing her left foot up under her skirt- she shook them off. She thought of all the positive confessions Jamin insisted on. She sighed. The woman greeted and set her ware down at the feet of the little man and without questions, she lifted a bottle filled with roots and an amber-coloured liquid and poured it into a dwarf glass and added a green liquid with green leaves and handed it to the man. He took it and throwing his head back, drained the glass in one gulp and then he exhaled through his mouth noisily rubbing his chest. With his right hand, he pulled out a wad of money in N500 denominations from his pocket and handed the woman a piece and waved her to the house. Immediately, the sinister men rushed out. The little man’s attention then returned to Ulari with a happier face.
“Yes, omoge, wetin you talk?” he asked in a hoarse happy voice.
“I’ll think about it,” she said.
The little man shook his head.
“They no wan make you tink about it- they wan make you tell dem how much today, now now before you leave this place. You be pretty girl, fa- you no need dem- wetin you need na owo- raw cash omoge. The bobo even fit come back to you in future but they no wan make you marry-am. (Suddenly his face darkened) How much is the Tiv prince worth to you? (Ulari knew that was the exact words his engager used; she knew also that he was an unstable man). They go pay cash in your UBA account (Ulari started, how did they know?) tomorrow but you go promise nefer to see the bobo again-o”
A scripture jumped into Ulari’s heart- agree with your adversary quickly…
“Does Jamin know about this?” she asked.
This suddenly angered the little man.
“You be farsity girl, jor, why you dey do like this-now?”
“Okay, I’ll leave him but I don’t need your engager’s money.”
“How much?” the little man asked as if he did not hear Ulari. He drained the Heineken and threw the can away. Opening the cooler, he picked a can of Becks.
“I said…” Ulari began but he cut her short.
“Oya, make I just tell you the truth, if you no play, the bobo no go see you again. No be say I just dey pet you your head don dey swell. Me, I no no beautiful woman- that one no concern me. If they kill you shey na there you go dey, dey consider-am abi? Na death na im no gree small dog smell shit, no be so? Make you smell the shit collect am go-o. My hand no dey-o. You wan kill your mama, Mrs Grace and your papa? This people know your family-o!”
Ulari sat transfixed not really seeing the little man as he demonstrated with gutter gestures.
“How much now, Hulary? How much now? No be this small business I go do for today. (He’s now speaking like a man near sobbing) Wetin you wan take love do? You go chop-am? Even your mama go tell you say, money better pass love. How much Hulary-now? I take God beg you. Make we commot here.”
Seeing how unstable he was, Ulari was afraid with fresh fear.
“Fifty thousand,” she said.
“Fifty tor-sorn what?” he asked, his eyes glittering dangerously.
“Fifty thousand naira,” she replied.
The little man shook his head and began to laugh. His laughter curdled her blood. Then he sneered at Ulari.
“Suegbe na-im you be. Fifty tor-sorn naira wey girls wey open eye well well dey put for handbag dey waka Lagos road na-im you wan make them give you? You mean your bobo nefer gif you fifty tor-sorn since wey e dey chop your yam? Anyway, as you don call fifty, I go just tell dem say na fifty million you wan- make we no wase time bikos I don see say you be real suegbe. (Then his voice went deadly) But where things go spoil be say if they see you near the bobo again- na-im be say things don parfuka be dat. I sure say you understand Englis well well. Na die na-im you wan die if they see you with the bobo after they don pay you the money. I don finis. Make you dey go your school. (Raising his voice) Oya, wey dem? Girl don finis!”
Teenage boy reappeared minus hood, with sinister men and they trouped into the rickety jeep and drove through the now traffic-free Third Mainland Bridge and took her back to school with no hurry.
Ulari stood by the side of the road near the Bookshop where they dropped her and suffered a blackout. She had no idea how long she stood there but when she came to only one word came to her mind- JAMIN! The vision of the little man’s wild expression and his sobbing voice chased her to the car park where yellow cabs parked waiting to be chartered. She fled to one.
“Do you know DMI Headquarters, Apapa?” she asked the driver.
“Yes,” the driver replied.
“Take me there,” she said racing in her mind ahead of the cab to the Headquarters of the Directorate of Military Intelligence Apapa, Lagos, to Jamin’s arms.
“N800 ni-o,” the driver warned in Yoruba. He would not want any trouble about the fare when they get there.
“Let’s go,” she said and jumped in, collapsing on the dusty cloth seat.
Culled from The Girls are not to Blame by Lechi Eke
To be continued next week
