By Lechi Eke
Continued from last week…
“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.
“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.
Ulari had no idea how far Apapa was from Unilag, not knowing Lagos very well. Soon, she became afraid wondering where the driver was taking her. She began to rummage in her bag for her cell phone, but it was not there. Then it dawned on her that because it was threatening to rain in the morning she had changed her bag to the bigger hobo bag which could take the umbrella and the raincoat as well as her books. Her phone was in another bag! Even as she was wondering what to do, the taxi driver announced: “O tide!”- And pulled up beside a massive gate.
She looked up and saw that it bore the inscription Directorate of Military Intelligence. Her heart revived. Jamin meant safety.
“Thank you, sir! O se goni!” she said very grateful.
“Owo da? Where’s the money?” he asked stretching his hand backwards to her.
Ulari began to search for money in her bag. It was a big classy bag and she had put into it a lot of stuff that morning, but money? She found only two hundred naira and lots of food vouchers. She poured the contents of the bag out on the taxi seat and went through every item piece by piece but found only fifty naira more.
“Owo mi da? Where’s my money?” the driver repeated now with the first hint of impatience.
“Ejợợ- Please,” Ulari began to plead. “I thought I had some money… I made a mistake…”
“Jợợ,” the driver cried, “fun mi lo’wo mi. Give me my money, please.”
“I stay in Moremi, B12; I will pay you when I get back,” Ulari pleaded. Her voice had become husky with desperation now not wanting any scene.
“Aaah, fun mi lo’wo mi-nah, fun mi l’owo mi. Give me my money now, give me my money…”
The taxi driver sounded like he was going to cry. He had got off his car and so had Ulari. They stood facing each other with Ulari’s right hand bearing the N250 stretched towards him, her eyes pleading. His roughness and street behaviour frightened her and she looked around for help. Uniformed guards at the DMI gate stared at them with some interest. A passer-by stopped briefly to listen.
“Take my bag,” Ulari offered in desperation, trying to avoid a scene. “When I return to school, I’ll pay you and take it back.”
“Wetin I wan take your bag do, fun mi l’owo jợợ,” the driver yelled.
Ulari said under her breath, “Lord Holy Spirit, please, help me. What do I do? Help me, Lord.”
“Wetin dey happen?” another passer-by asked.
Soon they had a pocket of passers-by.
“Hey, oya, driver commot your car for our gate, go park over there,” a soldier yelled.
He quickly scrambled into his cab and drove away from the gate and parked by the side.
“No be there you go stay-o. Do quick commot, our oga dey come,” the same guard warned him.
The driver turned to Ulari demanding for his money more angrily now that her action posed trouble for him with the soldiers. Ulari turned to the nosy passer-by and asked, “Can you speak Yoruba well? (When he nodded, she said,) Please, help me tell him to take my bag, I’ll collect it when I come back he knows my hostel in Unilag.”
Another passer-by laughed and clapped his hands gleefully drawing closer and saying, “Aaah, Unifasiti gals and soldiers – na khaki uniform na-im go kill una.”
“How much is it?” the one Ulari appealed to asked her.
“N800,” she said.
“From where?” he asked.
“Unilag,” she said.
“Haba, that’s too much! It should be N500. Hey, baba (he addressed the driver, oya… (A string of Yoruba that Ulari did not understand followed).
Ulari stood there praying that the passer-by would be able to broker peace between them. She removed her jacket for it was insanely hot at that moment, and checked the time. As the two men talked, she noticed that the driver’s eyes were on her wristwatch – “Oh, my God,” Ulari, prayed, “don’t let him ask for my wristwatch.” It was her father’s Christmas gift to her. And she wore it only to church and important occasions. She did not know what demon made her wear it that day. The passer-by turned to her and said in English, “He wants your wristwatch. You shouldn’t have agreed to pay N800 from Unilag to this place, it’s too high. Anyway, give him the watch, when you get his money, you pay him and take your watch.”
“No,” she protested, “ask him to take my bag.”
She feared the man might run away with the gold-platted wristwatch which she overvalued. The driver she reasoned could simply change stations.
“You no wan pay nah. If you wan pay you for give the man your watch,” another passer-by judged.
“Give him the watch,” the first passer-by said.
“Hey, all of you move out from this area!” a soldier yelled.
More people had stopped to listen so that they had a small crowd. Ulari quickly took off the watch and handed it over to the driver but she took his car registration number. As she walked over to the gate, the driver got into his cab and zoomed off and the crowd began to disperse.
“You don pay am?” the soldiers asked her when she reached the gate.
“I forgot to bring money but I gave him my watch. I’ll take it back later,” she explained feeling very bad.
“You know am?”
She nodded, not desiring to go into details.
“Who you wan see?” one of the soldiers asked her as three or four of them trained their eyes on her to feed on her exquisite physique and to listen to what she had to say.
“Major Benjamin Nguuma,” she said hoping they would know him.
“Aah-aah, na oga Jamin she wan see-o!” one of the guards announced to the rest throwing his head back.
“And she no fit pay taxi money?” one of them spat.
Loud general guffaw.
“I hope she sure say na oga Jamin?” a different guard said from the back.
“He send you come?” the one talking with Ulari asked her.
“No,” she replied truthfully.
The guard talking to her cast a meaningful glance at his fellow at the back.
The six-man-strong guards exhibited different reactions: someone rolled their eyes; someone chuckled while someone else shook his head. Finally, one of them spoke to her.
“You no fit see am. If to say he give you appointment, then…”
“E be like say he travel sef,” one of the guards said.
“E don come back, I see-am this morning.”
They began to discuss Jamin leaving Ulari standing there.
“Please, let him know I’m at the gate. My name is Ulari, he knows me.”
“You can’t see him,” one of the guards told her flatly.
“Why?” she asked getting offended.
“You think say because you fine well well, oga Jamin go run out come see you? That one, no be ordinary soldier, e born again. Oga Jamin no dey look women, na ogbonga Christian,” the guard at the back whom Ulari had identified as a foe shouted.
Ulari was distressed now, thoroughly alarmed by the events of the day. The taunting of the soldiers drew tears to her eyes.
“But he no say make you come, nah. Na for appointment na-im them dey take see big oga dem. Dat one no be small soldier. You go go book appointment make im tell you which day…”
“Oga Jamin no dey even allow women make dem see am. You know say him na Christian.”
Ulari enraged now, raised her voice. “Well, let him know first. If he doesn’t want to see me I’ll go. Tell him first!”
“Aaah, we no fit-o,” the one at the back spoke again.
Ulari suddenly began to cry. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She thought, what a day! She should have stayed in bed. She felt so frustrated and blamed herself for forgetting her phone. She had tried Jamin in the morning and his lines were switched off and she knew that they were probably airborne. She knew that he would be worried sick about her now. One of the guards went in and brought another soldier. He came forward and was surprised probably by Ulari’s height, or looks, or her crying. He came to her and asked politely in English, “Good day, ma’am, how may we help you? Who do you want to see?”
“Major Jamin, Benjamin Nguuma Torkula.”
He asked in Tiv if she was related to him. She did not understand him.
“Did he know you were coming?” he asked her in English.
“No,” she replied.
The soldier stood for a while, thoughtful then he asked her, “Are you sure he knows you? – Because oftentimes university girls get into all kinds of pranks. If he doesn’t know you these guards would be in trouble.”
Ulari wondered fleetingly if Jamin was a wicked man.
“He knows me very well. Just tell him that Ulari is at the gate…”
“No, come, I’ll take you to his orderly.”
“I know him,” she said quickly.
“What’s his name?” the soldier asked stopping.
Ulari had never heard Jamin address him by name and she had only seen him on three occasions. So, she said, “He knows me very well. But I don’t know his name.”
“Okay, come. If he doesn’t know you, you’d not be allowed to see the major.”
“Okay by me,” Ulari said happy thanking the Holy Spirit inwardly.
They met the man walking towards them. Ulari marvelled at the soldier’s security tactic for he deliberately made to pass Jamin’s orderly before Ulari pointed him out. When Jamin’s orderly saw them, he quickly crossed over to their side of the drive, visibly excited.
“Princess!” he cried. “Who brought you?”
“Campus taxi,” she replied very happy. In fact she was so happy she could hug him!
“Sergeant,” the orderly said, “thank you. I’ll take the Princess to see oga Jamin.”
The soldier that was walking with her agreed quickly and turned back. But when Ulari looked back, she saw him standing with the guards and all of them looking at her and Jamin’s orderly, obviously wondering what kind of princess that could not pay taxi fare.
She had not been to Jamin’s office. It was a serene beautiful environment. Beautiful drives lined with long stretches of well-manicured flowerbeds and beyond them luxuriant flowering plants soaking up the afternoon sun sitting like flower-baskets on well-mowed lawns. The buildings looked freshly painted and in good condition and the corridors were squeaky clean. She saw on the door that Jamin’s orderly stopped and reached for the door handle the words DATA COLLATION OFFICE in shiny silver letters. He turned the knob and pushed open the door without knocking. It was an outer office with two unoccupied desks. He knocked on another door and waited. Ulari heard Jamin’s voice call out with authority she never knew existed, “Come in!” The orderly opened the door and stepped aside. Jamin’s desk sat on the left and Ulari was surprised that it wasn’t in the centre of the room facing the door. Jamin sat, reclining on an army green upholstered office chair. He must have been working for his PC was on throwing a soft light on his strong muscular chest. He looked every inch a soldier. It took him a while before it registered on his brain that it was Ulari. Obviously, he was not expecting her and when it did, he jumped to his feet and addressed her in a manner he had never addressed her.
“Sweetheart!” he exclaimed with joy.
His excitement for her revivified her soul. She heard the door gently close behind her as the orderly slipped out of the room. The stress of the whole morning dissipated in the presence of the one who cherished her. Then, suddenly overcome by her emotions, she flung herself into his arms and began to weep.
To be continued…
Culled from The Girls are not to Blame by Lechi Eke
