Читать книгу Under Fire - Chinedu Ogoke - Страница 6

Back in their room, Yunusa was by a large window, lapping louver glasses with newspapers, an exercise meant to insulate the room from heat outside. Beside him, was Aham, decorating the pasteboard before one of the two reading tables in the room. Aham had commenced to stick a Nature Conservation Society calendar on the board. And to Aham’s right was Imoni. Imoni was seated on Aham’s bed, his legs spread on the padded floor. He was set for laundry downstairs, but he wasn’t done with sharing his worry.

This was a story that had been told before. It was about cigarettes. Cigarettes depreciated quickly, Imoni was saying. And he had turned this thing over and over in his mind. He still couldn’t understand how he could have invested all the money into it, when he didn’t have any income or sponsor. He was beginning to think it was all over with him. Really. Aham still disagreed with him. He wasn’t any the worse for it. He didn’t see why Imoni should continue being unfair to himself. After all, if everything had come off as planned, Imoni would have been smiling. He pinned a press clipping on the organisation on the board. He shouldn’t blame himself. The customs were human beings. All they needed was explanation. Here was a genuine subsistence effort by a helpless student. That should be encouraged. So simple. Everybody suffered financial reverses sometimes. And any good businessman would have done the same thing.

For certain, Yunusa agreed. He crossed a tape over a paper. Business was all risk, he added. It was rather unfortunate it was happening that way. Imoni would still recover, he assured.

Imoni appeared unconvinced by the assurances. There was no crash barrier if one was going down, he still argued. When it was all over, and he had walked away with his fortune, he started wondering where he did go from there with all that money. It came up to fifteen thousand naira, and more. He was confused about what to do with it, start a small scale business, or acquire a new commercial bus, or even resign and go back to school. He wanted his friends to draw a line between having money and getting anything going with it. The company’s fortune had started looking up as well, he continued. He was no longer keen on just having money slapped into his hands. At his place of work, his colleagues started to notice when the money started coming in. One of the directors wanted to take a closer look at what was happening. The man suddenly turned around with a hey, what’s going on here attitude, and came up with various schemes and before he knew it, he had started reporting directly to the man. The man came up with some guidance, but behind it were some traps. It wasn’t a good game. Everything ceased being fun. His employment terms were reviewed. He was placed on full salary, and no more commission. But he was no fool. He took JAMB, the entrance examination anyway, and here he was. He now regretted his decision.

Aham had finished doing the work now. “There’s no use regretting your action,” he said, to Imoni. “Just perch. You’ll see.” There was nothing to regret, Yunusa added. Imoni was anything but finished. With those business drills, he reasoned, Imoni had some experience to take with him. And age was on his side. “Very much on his side, in any case,” Aham said. “Just turned twenty three. But, can’t you try and connect a high-ranking army officer to intercede on your behalf?” He addressed Imoni specifically. “You could count on a better representation if you seek somebody in the town. Or even any big, waded guy.”

They all agreed he had to approach somebody in the town to make his case, to take his case up to the appropriate table. To get the goods out and turn it over to him. One had to ride on somebody’s influence to obtain one’s items. Anything could be reversed. A working man was entitled to his goods. Everybody knew how it was, being separated from such goods.

He knew one Idingi, Imoni said. But the man was a fly weight. To another question, he said he knew what was involved initially. Very important in the business was knowing how to get away with such things, even when apprehended. And that was the edge Austin, his friend, for instance, had. Austin was in the same trade. Austin already had five years experience behind him in it, and earned at least four thousand naira on each trip. He put in nine thousand naira, and another five hundred, on two occasions, and another five.

“Some pay,” the other two acknowledged.

He ought to have had some back up capital, he continued. The smuggling environment was an uncertain environment. He had tried as much as possible to cut down on his risks, and made enough financial sacrifices. He had, traditionally, notified a link man he was on his way, but that the fellow’s colleagues had to jump other smugglers to cease his goods was simply baffling. He was used to give others passage. Everything had been within a speaking radius. It was a stage-managed error. He had been locked into a situation whereby he couldn’t get rid of the thoughts troubling him. He did better hear the last of that episode, and have his peace. And, should the goods slip off him, such a crash it would be. Which meant, he would be left with about one thousand naira for the remainder three years in the university. How could he begin now to deal with this new reality?

The other two shook their heads in sympathy. His case wasn’t like one who stumbled foolishly, Aham said. Smuggling at that scale by a student could still be considered small time. So, if they should penalise him at all, it should be with restraint. He should be treated as a first time offender and because of his status.

“Okay, look at it,” Imoni continued, “I spent about three grand last session on the Waltz and others. Already I’ve blown about four hundred since resumption, just a few days.”

“Oh, no,” Aham redirected the discussion, “the Waltz was great. It just woke the school up from slumber. The show broke the ban on social and political activities in the school. And when one considers you brought the band single-handed.”

“For us, it was such an unforgettable moment,” Yunusa said. “Even up till now, one is enjoying the glory of that moment.”

“And how much profit did I make from the show? Just five hundred. Not your box office success.”

“Any way, the gate fee was moderate, and many students who couldn’t afford it were allowed in. One of those things. Men, guys are still clamouring for a repeat. They expect you to go ahead and do it again. Even yesterday, Yunusa and I overheard a boy and a girl telling some jambites you were keeping the date secret. They talked about you as if you were not the guy we know.”

“Really?”

“You can’t try.”

Imoni’s approach had really made the difference. It was unbelievable. After that face-off with the authorities, it was like everybody was sitting down together and talking again. The party industry was having a great season now. But everything went all the way back to that first step he took. It opened things up also for other activities. The lifting of the ban on parties on campus was tied to it, then followed the cultural activities. And newspapers followed and so on. It all came back to him, too. Like now he had that touch about him which he hardly admitted. That touch expressed a lot about him. By doing it, he hadn’t been chasing any applause. He had presented to the school, a well-executed entertainment, with his support staff of Aham, Yunusa and co, with a make-shift office. Everybody got his wage. He, too. He had his benefits, being now a legend. Like it was being handed over to people who never witnessed it. It had entered the story books. A deserved myth. The atmosphere then had created him. The school authorities suddenly realised they had to listen to the students’ silence. Enquiries Imoni had earlier received had been encouraging. Yea, he agreed with his friends, the school wanted the Waltz to come back. They hadn’t forgotten a good time. But it had almost put him in debt. “Maybe somebody else has to do it this time,” he said.

“How many students can risk that type of ticket?” Yunusa asked.

“Damn too many, I tell you. What it cost me is how much they squander at Lake Tchad.”

“Quite a lot of them. What I mean is, how many of them have the organisational skill, discipline and patience? Remember not a word was breathed out until everything was certain, then the publicity took the school by storm.

“I must have built a wrong image of myself, then. If I lose the goods, and no more coins, the realisation, my now-supposed true status would spread, and the mags are always there.”

“But you’re pessimistic about everything, Imoni,” Yunusa rebuked him. “You should be rather hopeful and not despair.”

He stood up, picking up a bucket filled with clothes. “Is it not strange that in this school, most of the guys who have never worked in their lives are those basking recklessly in luxury?”

“Recklessly, men,” Aham agreed.

“Consider my situation, for instance. No assistance of any sort. And I’m unfortunate not to have come from the educationally disadvantaged states enjoying the Federal Government’s sympathy. Apology to Yunusa.”

“You can say what you like.”

They eventually left the room at intervals, with Imoni a few minutes behind the others, and with clothes meant for laundery.

At the tap downstairs, he saw the pompous, young man previously identified as a prince, doing the impossible; washing his own clothes. He wondered why the fellow could not push them over to Modibo’s, nearby. The young man stirred as Imoni let his bucket drop beside the tap. “Good evening,” Imoni greeted.

“Evening. Welcome.”

He instantly won Imoni’s admiration. The young man had a yoghurt drink companion. Imoni freed his clothes from the bucket, and fetched some water. He pressed the seal of the detergent packet, and allowed some flakes into the bucket, then stirred the solution. With adequate result, he dipped in a white shirt, and started trashing at it. The other fellow discharged some healthy, bristling solution, got some fresh water, and recklessly sent some scandalous overdose of detergent into it. Imoni was startled.

The young man abandoned work. He dispatched down his throat some yoghurt, then went inside a room nearby. He soon appeared with a portable tape, as a reel of cable uncoiled after him. He punched a switch, and Prince started with a loud tone. He started singing and swinging to the music, his hands busy inside the soapy water. Imoni exchanged tired-out soap water with fresh water, and at the conclusion of his task, he got set to go.

“Excuse me, please.” It was the fellow. Imoni turned. He had an immensely handsome face. “You stay upstairs?” That was right, Imoni said. “Can I keep my portmanteau in your room? For just one night.”

The young man didn’t leave him enough time to decide. Taking a stranger’s lugage into his care. It was a tricky request. “It depends.” He hesitated. “Okay.”

“It’s my portmanteau, and...”

There was a place for a portmanteau in the room, he told him. That wasn’t the question. It wasn’t easy to decide. He was split inside him. But he gave the nod. The fellow fetched the case and his identity card. “This is my name on the box. But you call me Mickey,” he said quickly, his eyes studying Imoni’s.

Imoni examined the names. ‘Michael Eto.’ Any prominent royal connection? “You can bring it along,” he said.

“Thank you. I’ll be up in less than no time.”

Imoni started climbing up. Moments later, the young man appeared and rolled up the heavy portmanteau. Imoni showed him the way into the room and the corner in which to haul up the case. “I shall come back later,” he said and fled away.

He kissed sleep and barely tasted its sweet, peaceful flavour, when it was severed. He staggered to the door, and threw it aside. The baggage siege was more interesting than the stranger before him. He responded to the young man’s greeting with an inquiry attitude, the way he felt in disturbance. Like he was going to throw back the door. He heard Aham’s name. He wasn’t Aham, he replied, now less puzzled, but Aham belonged to the room. Hall office. The room was full already, if he....

“No. I’ve just arrived,” the young man said. “I’m yet to get a place, so the chief porter directed me to one Aham; to put up with the guy till tomorrow, when I can get my own place.” He then stepped aside to let him in.

“I’m really grateful.”

“Small.”

They both shared the fifty kilogrammes average weight of the six suitcases, Imoni sometimes trying to keep his balance, as he struggled with the unruly cases. How a student could bring so much to school. The luggage filled the room. “Perch. Sorry, sit down.”

“Thank you.”

“Small. Don’t tell me you brought these things up here alone.”

“The taxi driver who brought me assisted me, so the porter didn’t come with me. He was busy, so he gave us directions.”

He was Imoni, he said. The young man was Modesty Okonkwo, and he took the 16.45 flight from Lagos. He had been admitted for History. Imoni smiled to that. “You’re a brother, then. I’m in part two of same department. You’re welcome.”

“Yea.”

Silence reigned briefly, then Modesty asked, “How do you guys stay in a town like this? I don’t think I can stay here. I was warned. My mum especially.... But, you see, adventure...”

Such preconception or prejudice wasn’t healthy, he told him. Against fact, it was so cheap. He would adapt, he told him. He would see. The place was at least a thousand kilometres from Lagos. So, the best method to survive there was to first, not to say‚ my mum. He wouldn’t like to, Modesty said. He was just scared. But, it wasn’t the first time he was leaving his mum. Was it? Imoni used a military academy term.

“Don’t you see me in that light,” Modesty responded. “I’m an adult. The weather. So hot a while ago, and it’s getting cold already. And getting colder. Exactly what a lady was saying in the aircraft.”

It was like that in January, Imoni said, that was why. The door was about closing on the cold season. Their discussion changed to general interests, then Modesty said, “Please, I would like to have some shower.” He could fetch him some water. Imoni picked up the bucket he had used earlier. “You mean I shall have to scoop water from the bucket?”

“Of course. The shower hasn’t functioned since we came back.”

He was disappointed. “And, one minute, please. Warm water, I suppose?”

“It has to be straight from the tap, and even steaming.”

“Alright.”

Imoni went downstairs. Back in the room, Modesty was wrapped in a large, colourful towel. The water was ready. He should just turn to his right, just by the world bank sign. He said he saw the place on his way up. The bucket of water was in the second bathroom.

“I’m really grateful.”

“Small.”

Moments later, he came back with an empty bucket, but with the absence of water evidence on him. Some surprise. What was it? Modesty was panting. “The bathroom! The place is hell! Very dirty, slimy. What an awful place.”

But, they all went in there for their bath, Imoni told him. It wasn’t unusual of a hostel bathroom.

He couldn’t bath there, he said. He said that like he could see the slime creep up to him. He would prefer to go about with an unwashed body. Could one even bend down there? he wondered. He said he felt like vomiting. He shook his head. They all had the same experience the first time, Imoni said. One would hit the water and it would be all over. His guest was exhibiting that first time attitude to the place, he was saying, amused. The disgust always decreased eventually. With him, it was different, Modesty replied. Even now he was going to recall the feeling and that place often. Actually, the feelings lingered on longer with some people, Imoni admitted.

He was in trouble if all the bathrooms were like that, Modesty said. “Not all. In halls A and B for instance, it’s different. But A’s the best. Quiet.”

“Where could that be?”

“Just a little distance away. Close to the sports centre. It’s supposed to be for post-graduate students. But they rarely stay there. They prefer to trade off their bed spaces at exorbitant rates, and to stay elsewhere.”

“How much do you pay here?”

“Well, we’re three, and each of us paid one-fifty. We’re not entitled to accommodation, that’s why. For you, it’s supposed to be ninety, the official fee. It keeps going up everyday. And I doubt if any jambite can get his legitimate space now because of lateness.”

“So, the extra is the premium.”

“Yes.”

“How is it in hall A?”

“You can’t get a bed space for less than two-fifty now.”

“The rooms are all like this?”

“All rooms in boy’s hostels are similar. Just bed-sitting rooms like this one. Barely enough to squeeze two students in.”

“I can see the rooms do not hold enough convenience.”

“Students provide much of the convenience. You could alter a lot, if you’re creative. But you don’t sink anything into the walls. Nothing can even penetrate them.”

“I think I’d better stay in that hall A if the place is so good.”

He would really like it, Imoni told him. There were still students holding on for the highest bidders. And, moreover, lots of people kept rejecting rooms allotted to them. What were the reasons? Modesty asked. The reasons varied, was the reply. Some social, some ethnic, and most religious.

Modesty soon changed into new clothes and shoes which told of good tending. He was unpretentious and unstudied.

“You plan going out?” Imoni asked.

“Where and whom do I know? Except this lecturer.” He produced his address book. “Dr. Osuagwu. Very tall, big. Bearded. You know him?”

“In the political Science department? With Marxist attitudes.”

“Yes.” He laughed.”

“I know him.”

“Please, I would like to see him today. Would it be possible?”

“Why not?”

Knocking came on the door. The door moved inwards, and Aham entered. “Hello, Aham,” Imoni greeted. Aham responded as his eyes strayed to the baggage and the stranger in the room. “This is the Aham you were directed to meet.” Imoni gestured to Aham.

“Modesty.” Modesty threw a hand, smiling to Aham’s puzzled expression.

“Modesty has just come,” Imoni continued the introduction. “These are his luggage.”

Aham winked.

Modesty’s presence was further clarified. “We want to take a stroll around,” Modesty said, when Imoni had finished talking.

“Right. I’m around.” He peered into his new time-table.

“Let’s go, Modesty.”

They left.

Imoni noticed more kiosks, in a commercial drive, still moved into the secretariat’s and a hostel’s partition. He wouldn’t be surprised if it witnessed more entries. The place could still receive more. The latest was a kiosk screwed right into the nose of the hostel. Focus shifted to a certain direction, and the activity continued.

The school was lively after all, Modesty pointed out, as they hit the trade fair complex. He was seeing many beautiful girls already. Were they all so free? he asked. Well, not all of them, Imoni replied. A female voice called just then, “Imoni!” Imoni returned the call with a wave and excitement. It was Fostina. She left her friends, and started coming.

Modesty remarked about how girls deliberately put things in men’s heads, referring to the uncovered part of Fostina’s thighs. The girl hitched up her skirt even with Modesty’s unfinished speech. The speech interval couldn’t anymore exclude the girl’s participation, so Imoni held his response. Smiling, she spread out her hands, and she and Imoni embraced. But they released each other quickly. Modesty relocated.

“Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year.”

“Fosty, what have I done to you?” Imoni asked her.

“Tell me,” she was looking at him and Modesty, “what have I done?”

Imoni feigned seriousness. “Look, If you don’t want a guy, you tell him. You want to wreck me?”

“It’s like, you’ve started again, Imo. I do love you, and you know it.”

Smiled to him now, but ran to some other fellow later. That was what he meant. And the last time she stepped into his room, she came with conditions. “Oh, Imo,” the girl said. Binta, one of the girl’s friends shouted her name impatiently, but the girl ignored her. “You mustn’t doubt me. Rufus is my cousin. Okay, I shall come to your nest. Still in room fifteen?” The address hadn’t changed, Imoni told her. “I’m not giving the time,” she said. “It’s like I want to catch you with that Gladys.” Her expression shifted dramatically. “I see you’re still going out with that girl.”

The girl’s friends wouldn’t relent. They put together an effective and funny call. Fostina shouted back for time. He and Gladys were parting, Imoni replied, and wondered who was telling her that. Well, the girl said she hoped he was telling the truth. They said farewell to each other and the girl left him to join her friends.

The girl was in part two and her father a professor in the university, Imoni said to Modesty’s question, as soon as they got together again. She was seventeen, but looked thirteen. Modesty assumed he noticed true love for Imoni revealed in the girl’s eyes and utterance.

“She keeps telling me how much she loves me. But I discover she has another boy in this school.” That wasn’t what Modesty hoped to hear. “I have another girl whom I cherish a lot,” Imoni continued. “But can you risk sticking to one girl in a place like this? What if she unexpectedly dumps you? The other girl likes politics a lot, which gets on my nerves. Earlier today, saw her coming from a male hostel, and she had a ready excuse when I confronted her. Since we came back, she’s only visited me once.”

If she was full of trouble, Modesty advised him, he should go for this Fostina. He should make efforts to keep her to himself. He counted him lucky.

“But, I don’t know what to do about the girl’s other guy. I don’t want to really confront her, so I don’t lose her.”

Modesty was pessimistic about his chances with the girls, in spite of Imoni’s assurances. He passed judgement on himself. It was inconceivable to him that a girl would eventually take his hand and smile to him. “I must have to confess to you. At my age, I’m a stranger about women. I think it’s the way we were brought up. I shake all over when I’m before a girl.”

“No. You should overcome it. There’s no big deal in yarning a girl. Just bear in mind they’re easily influenced.”

That was everybody’s position on the issue, Modesty said, but it was at variance with his impression. He couldn’t just get over it. The fright alone. But he had touched his first woman, Imoni wanted to know. Not at all, he replied. Imoni was surprised. He wasn’t kidding?. The truth, Modesty swore. And it was the truth.

“Don’t worry,” Imoni told him, “you will, as long as this school is concerned. You shouldn’t doubt me. I see it’s because of the way you were brought up, and the environment, too. The girls here will come for you, they’ll teach you. They will open your floor.” Open his floor? What did he mean? Modesty asked. “Just one of the slangs you’ll learn eventually. Like yarn.” He knew yarn, he said. “You know yawa?” Imoni tested him. “You don’t know? When yawa gaz?” He still shook his head. “Men, when yawa gaz, guy man will fold his legs.” He laughed and said he now understood. “And, then, you know lecturer?”

“How can I know? What does it mean?”

“A lecturer is a student who pretends to be perfect in his conducts.”

He laughed. Then, what of a true senior lecturer of similar characteristics? he asked. He meant a dean, Imoni told him. Great, he said. Sometimes a student could turn dean, Imoni informed him further.

“Really?”

“Can’t try. We had one last session. Everybody rose and declared him a dean because of how far he pushed it.”

“Wonderful!”

They soon got to the mount Sinai suya spot. It reminded him of a moon-lit African environment with a blazing barbecue spot, Modesty said of his impression of the place. It was the right circumstances to associate it with, Imoni agreed. It had a good complexion that appealed to the senses. Like a bridge between ages.

They sat down. In a subdued tone, Modesty said, “Whoever owns this place must have some brain.”

“Maybe, or not. May have been some coincidence.”

“It should be swarming with people.”

“A lot of people do come here usually. The night is still young. And the session is just at it’s infancy. Then, again, the weather.”

Imoni got up and walked over to the circular suya mound. “Mai suya,” he said, “give me ten naira suya. Two plate.” He surrendered a twenty naira note, and withdrew to his seat. Soon, the suya came in two portions. Imoni removed one of two out-stretched five naira notes, “Give us two can coke.” The man complied, then re-united with his office and other patronage. A girl in a fitting white scarf carried some suya and soft drink, and established herself nearby.

“How much is the suya?” Modesty asked Imoni, picking some of it.

“Ten naira.”

“You should have let me pay for it.”

“Forget it. It’s nothing.”

Suddenly, a sharp sound roused them. Imoni noticed four young men planted beside the suya mound. He discovered one of them, a can of soft drink in hand, was Mickey Eto, whom he had earlier encountered at the tap. Mickey suddenly sprang out, pursued by one of his colleagues, then the pursuer gave up, giggling. He pulled out a steak of suya from the mound, drank a little from the can in his hand, then violently disposed the can which hit the ground heavily. Imoni and Modesty’s attention returned to their drinks and suya. But only briefly. They were upset by sharp reports from the fire place. The quartet raised their cans, swallowed some of the contents, then launched them off. And, simultaneously, too, they pulled out steaks of suya, chewed a little, and transferred the remnant to the garbage. They reached for fresh drinks. “This isn’t normal,” Modesty observed. “What do these guys think they’re doing?”

“Don’t know, myself.”

Meanwhile, the meat seller tried with difficulty to right some girls’ stubborn ignorance. “Can’t he understand?” Imoni and Modesty heard one of the girls complain.” “Tickets. We have our tickets. It’s like, we’re paying.”

“It’s like, it’s you who hasn’t understood him,” another girl said. “Everything has been bought.”

“The lot?”

“That’s what he was telling you. By those guys.”

Imoni and Modesty shook their heads. The merriment continued, the other people’s feelings notwithstanding. The girls had started leaving, just as some others were arriving. “You won’t believe I know that plump one among them,” Imoni said casually. “His bag is even right now in our room.”

“He hasn’t spotted you, I guess.”

Two young men nestling their girlfriends, arrived in very light spirits. They spoke with the meat seller, but perhaps failed in their purpose, for they only bought biscuits and soft drinks. Disappointed, they set themselves beside Imoni and Modesty in their expired excitement. “This is simply crazy,” one of them was saying. “It’s like you feel you have tickets to throw around, you deny others something.”

“What did I tell you?” one of the two girls asked, her fingers spreading out. “I told you we should be here early enough, else we won’t get anything. They did the same thing yesterday, and the day before.”

“It’s like these guys are goaded by a mad impulse,” the girl’s boyfriend was saying. “If you want to oppress, Lake Tchad Hotel is there for you, or you fling the party of the year, not the disposition over a little portion of suya. Who can’t do it? I just feel like lacing somebody.”

“What’s wrong with you?” the second boy asked. “It’s like you’re too worried, kind of.”

A team of girls had just procured some snacks and soft drinks, and was collected in a corner, its discussion and focus aimed at the night’s enticing points.

The girl in white scarf was already hooked to it.

Some more girls were coming and going.

Imoni and Modesty left the place as there was nothing more left to eat.

“Wao,” Modesty exclaimed. “Look at that couple in that hidden corner.... What a place.”

That was the introductory side, Imoni told him. So were school affairs. The school was just opening out. They were conventions adopted away from home. And they were some of the things he had to grapple with initially, for instance, a girl going into a boy’s arms unashamedly in public glare. How then could he have accepted it if he knew this was happening, and had been refused admission? Modesty wondered.

After walking another distance, they saw another spectacle. Modesty grunted. “Hey, you,” Imoni shouted, “what do you think you’re doing? I’ll hand you over to the blue guys.” Funny. The couple responded with laughter. Both Modesty and Imoni couldn’t help laughing, too.

Imoni stopped suddenly, thoughtful. What was it? Modesty asked. He wasn’t sure he could locate Mr. Osuagwu’s home that night. Moreover, it wasn’t the friendliest place to go at that time, with stray dogs on patrol. His suggestion? Modesty asked. “I suggest you see him tomorrow. Since I know the department, why don’t we go there, instead of, maybe, searching for the house in vain?”

“That’s still alright. We can go back, then.” They therefore, turned and started walking to the hostel. Taking his gaze up, Modesty said, “This is a natural canopy, I can see.” It was, Imoni said, and natural walls, too, if that was what the trunks formed. It was called the OAU walk, he informed his guest.

Few students had the popular walk, boys cuddling girls, and the singles with hands across chests or hidden inside pockets, bowing to quivering cold wind currents. One could see some smoky film being penetrated by fluorescent light. “This place is getting cold again,” Modesty complained.

“You’ll get over it.”

They cut into the trade fair complex. Mshelia and his fiancée, Talatu, were coming towards them. Accompanying them were Iredia and a new student.

“Imo,” Mshelia exclaimed, stopping before Imoni. “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year, Talatu, Iredia,” Imoni said excitedly.

He jokingly rejected Mshelia’s outstretched hand, and instead encouraged Talatu to go for the first handshake. They all laughed off the joke. The girl said she saw Gladys the previous day but they were both in haste and merely waved. Soon, the talk was about school, the break and bad grades. Both Mshelia and Imoni had a course, English 101, to retake. Iredia wasn’t free, either. He had Ethics and Jurisprudence, a general studies course to tackle.

“We should all perch, then,” Mshelia advised. “It’s universal. Perch. All we’re asking for is let my people go.”

“Who’s talking of good grades?” Imoni asked. “Let my people go, and you forget the crazy course.”

Iredia had something to say about a last minute assistance he got from Imoni the previous year, in which Imoni never accepted anything in return. Imoni handled it like an obligation to a worthy friend.

Imoni never got used to Talatu’s physical make-up. The approach down to her waist, for instance, gave away an irony, the combination of sex and virtue. Her dignified petit frame gave one something to think about. She was an insight into the depth and imaginative prowess of her creator. That thing was simple sculptor. To find oneself beside such a girl must be a great feeling. Somebody got to get her, but probably not Mshelia. With that girl now it was more than an improvement from the Mshelia he had known before. They only shared an ethnic background, and Mshelia was merely a recipient of a conception somewhere. If one wanted to find out, of course everybody would like to, they were from an endangered ethnic group of two hundred people. It might then have occurred to them they had a mission, and to consider pulling resources together. Imoni could recall how they both started out, and what role Iredia had played in it. It was easy to see now how far they had gotten. He was actually happy for them. They had an exciting relationship. They were people deserving of very elaborate greeting.

He and Modesty were soon on their way again. They continued into trade fair complex, but had to visit a kiosk as Modesty needed to buy a few things. He indicated some biscuits, and four cans of coke, as they got to the place. The lady in the kiosk fetched the order. He wanted some butter added to it, and wanted other items, too, but Imoni had to interrupt the flow of the items into the shopping bag, and a slight adjustment was made to the purchase. There was now a sudden flank formation of people before the kiosk, waiting for their chance. One of the waiters turned just as Modesty’s change came.

“It’s like, what am I seeing?” he asked. “Modesty.”

Surprise steered Modesty. “Iyke. What?”

“Modesty, what are you doing here?” Iyke asked.

“When I should ask you?”

“He’s my cousin, Ime,” Iyke told his colleague. “We rarely meet since coming back to Nigeria.”

“All right.”

“So, you’re here, oh me,” Modesty said. “I thought it was Uni-jos. I thought Chiamaka knew.” If she knew, she never told him, Iyke said. “Meet Imoni, please,” Modesty indicated Imoni. “I’m presently in his room.”

They already knew each other. They shook hands warmly. Modesty and his cousin briefly went to a corner, then came back, with Modesty saying they wanted to briefly get to Iyke’s place. He wouldn’t be needing the items in the bag anymore, he said, despite Imoni’s protests. Imoni had to repeat their room number for their return trip.

Ego looked at her watch, wondering why Aham still held back. And it was so late and so cold outside. He probably decided to see Isah up to Isah’s door step, Yunusa said.

Aham did rather remained there, Imoni almost wished. He was enjoying a rare chance of observing Fostina and himself from a female perspective. One did even think the talk was about two victims, one of inexperience, the other of hesitancy. The girl needed somebody to fuse around her, Ego was telling him, getting back exactly where she had stopped. She was now at the what to do now stage of her talk. Things Imoni had to work on. Rufus and Tijani may be living in the same hostel as Isah, she continued. Isah may be seeing the girl in their company. She may not be Rufus’ cousin, after all. What the girl argued was, stepping back, then only steered Fostina to Rufus. Rufus then consolidated his position, while Imoni removed himself from it all. Now whom would the girl turn herself to? Wouldn’t it then be practical if Imoni quickly swung everything to his favour? Ego was saying the truth, Yunusa who never held any independent opinion said. Imoni’s approach was the problem, he said. And he had allowed himself to be down-graded in the fight for Fostina. But now was the time to go in and get back what had been probably taken away from him.

Imoni nodded, smiling.

“And might be the little girl’s scared,” Ego continued. “She could be scared of Gladys. Gladys isn’t the kind of girl such a little girl can compete with. It would just hurt Gladys’ pride.”

Yunusa wanted Imoni to recognise the level of commitment the girl argued. “Only fuse around,” he was shaking a fist, “and you obtain. Two generations. Competition! lmo! And subject of gossip at Golan. But, aren’t you guys practising bigamy?”

“I’ve heard you,” Imoni told the girl, but laughing at Yunusa’s joke.

Aham soon came back. “The earlier you make up your mind about that Gladys,” Ego continued again, “the better. Fostina...” Still trying to make Imoni and Fostina better lovers? Aham asked Ego, returning displaced chairs and Whot cards. He never knew those two were such an interesting topic to drag on, he said. To Imoni, he advised him not to build any attitude on Ego’s or any other girl’s pronouncements. Ego immediately rose to defend the women folk. “Yes, girls, what is wrong with girls?”

“A lot,” Aham snapped. The boys were worse, the girl said, if his thinking was on such premise. “Every girl,” Aham went on.

“That your Gladys,” Ego now ignored Aham. “I don’t know what the world she thinks she is. And I hear they’re not so rich. Poor, as myself. She’s so proud and so arrogant? Everybody complains about her. You better leave her before she soils your name.”

“Gladys’ alright,” Aham snapped. “Okay? My only grudge with her right now is, unlike the Gladys I know, she’s come here only once since we came back. I don’t know if she’s proud. If she is, isn’t it because she’s aware of her worth? Such opinion I find very funny.”

“If she’s come here only once, she isn’t then serious. Or is she?”

And, after all, Aham continued, Imoni and he had once seen Fostina raising something that resembled a cigarette to her lips. She put it away as soon as she noticed them.

That wasn’t smoking, Ego argued. “You know these little girls, once in a while, they try some of these acts. The senior girls even do it.” Aham didn’t appear to like that. “I’m leaving, please.” Ego took her bag. “Imoni, thank you for the refreshment.”

“Thank the guy who bought it.”

“But you gave it to me.”

Imoni promised to think over what the girl just told him, and bade her farewell. “Good night, Ego.” Yunusa waved.

“Night.”

Aham joined her.

“The girl has just told you the truth,” Yunusa said behind her.

He had just gone through a course on romance, he replied. Ego, being a girl must know how the female mind worked, he thought, but hoped he hadn’t wet the ground for a quarrel between her and Aham.

“Aham currents easily,” Yunusa said. “I was observing him. You could see he wanted the girl out and give her a piece of his tongue. But the girl didn’t seem to care.”

Knocking came on the door.

“Fall right in,” Yunusa barked.

The door was opened to Modesty and his companions. Imoni put aside a piece of paper and walked half the distance separating them, a journey that ended in the middle of the room, to welcome them. “Iyke,” Yunusa called, “what’s bringing you to my cuban?” That was his cousin. Iyke pointed at Modesty. Modesty and Imoni reclined on Aham’s bed, locked in discussion, with the other young man left to himself.

Yunusa and Iyke were still standing, discussing now departmental politics, how they perceived various lecturers, how grades reflected lecturers’ attitudes, expectations, what students did, and so on. Aham’s return, however, ended the division that was the dialogue in the room. “You’ve come back.” Aham shook Modesty’s hand, and then the other strangers.’ Introductions followed.

“Please,” Modesty told Aham, “we are deciding to take my belongings to lyke’s room in hall...” He looked over to Iyke for completion. “Hall A? A5/23. Iyke is the only person in his room. I might be staying with him. You see, I was directed initially to meet you, but we hardly sat down together to talk.”

“Small,” Aham assured him. “You met Imoni, and it’s as good as meeting me. And, if you will be staying with this your cousin, and especially as he’s the sole landlord of his room, you can’t ask for more. So, how do you carry all these things to that place?”

“It’s like Ime has a car,” Iyke said.

They all logged the cases to a blue Volkswagen Golf car. Modesty’s new address was repeated from inside the car, so were handshakes and a farewell. Yunusa wondered that such a little car had enough room for so much, as they went upstairs.

Aham began to straighten his bed sheet. The three young men had their feathers already plucked in the wet season, he observed. “Ah, Iyke is waddey, up to his neck,” Yunusa commented. “And that guy with the car, too. I guess he’s a new student.”

Aham sat at his reading table. “For sure. Very soon, he’ll discover his potential, and will start to oppress.”

Imoni remembered a related story he wanted to tell. About the owner of the portmanteau beside the wall. Yunusa hadn’t yet been told who owned it. Imoni took him back to the event he had talked about himself, the suya spot spectacle and the prince involved. Imoni said he confirmed what Yunusa had earlier related and said what a tireless person the fellow was. Again, it provoked both criticism and admiration at the same time. Yunusa saw it as absolute nonsense, but Aham still disagreed. Aham argued everybody had his own style, and that what the young men did was innovative and exciting, though indecent. As far as Yunusa was concerned, it was foolish, insane and indefensible. There was then a shuffle at the door.

“Who is that?” Yunusa called.

The door opened to introduce Mickey Eto. “Hey, guys.” He was nervous.

“Where have you been all the while?” Imoni asked him.

He said he had been out, being merry and had just had some whisky. He blew his cheeks. He simply had no inhibition. He asked if one of them owned a Golf car he saw downstairs.

“No,” Imoni said. “You saw the car?”

He saw the car and said it had the same colour as his and he was even wondering if it wasn’t his when he saw it. He smiled in his flighty manners.

Yunusa asked him if he had a car. Have a car? he reacted to that slip of tongue. He had two cars, a Golf, just that dead blue, and a Fiat Tipo. He regretted not bringing it to school. Already, he was tired, walking through the school. He complained about the inconvenience, and without taxis to lighten the burden. Aham agreed and said it was sad to have a car somewhere and to have to trek here, but added that trekking exercised the body. That was a wrong way to stay healthy, Mickey wanted him to know. Mickey’s logic was simple. One’s energy should be committed to better uses. Leaving a car behind to have the energy squeezed out of one, saved one nothing. It was so hard switching to pacing, and splitting everything between pedestrian and motorised means wasn’t his own kind of life.

His eyes ran critically through the room. The others observed their room pale in his estimation. He reduced himself on one of the beds. “This is a beautiful rug you have here,” he said to their relief, feeling the carpet. “My, I’m sated already from wining and dining, but could somebody volunteer to get us something?” Thirty naira dangled in his hand.

Yunusa raised a hand and volunteered. So wonderful of him, Mickey said. He let go of the money and told Yunusa to simply exhaust the money on anything he thought okay, but if the money wouldn’t be enough.... He recalled his wallet. But Aham restrained him. They were startled by such lavish.

Yunusa returned quickly and, everyone, except Mickey, helped himself. Mickey declined to join them. He said right from the day’s first whistle, up till a while ago, he had been dining and wining. At least one shouldn’t die by bread. He laughed, joined by the others. He fished out a packet of cigarettes from somewhere. “Can I smoke here, please?” Need he ask? He lit a stick, and flogged out fire from a match stick. “Does anybody care for one?”

Yunusa’s hand demanded for one. Mickey said it was his fourth packet that day. Could one consume so much quantity in one day? Imoni asked him. He must be some fume pipe. Their questions were all amusing. The previous day, Mickey told him, he smoked six. His fingers spread out the figures. And talking about he being a fume pipe, even his kid brother, Fid, only fifteen, consumed a packet daily. Yunusa wouldn’t believe that but Mickey told him why. Their family was so civilised that they were all allowed such freedom.

Yunusa had started now to smoke. He said Mickey’s family must be truly civilised. Civilised, to Mickey, was an understatement. It was a family where everybody had at least two cars.

“My God!” Aham lowered the can in his hand. “What a family.”

In the house, each person had a three bedroom apartment, fitted with every comfort possible, no matter one’s age. A central video system served everybody. But one could play one’s own film if one felt like it, like he and Joe, his elder brother, wanted to go off regular programmes to watch blue films.

Yunusa had his cigarette the way Imoni had never seen him before, with amazement never leaving his face. That house, he said, must be big, opulent and wonderful. Mickey sat down, raising an expensive shoe. He said Yunusa’s statement made him laugh, because the house was a family estate built with fifteen million naira, that was seven million Dollars. All the gadgets, even spoons, were imported. Imoni snapped his fingers, wanted to know where such a house could be situated. Where else, if not in Ikoyi, on Lagos Island? Mickey replied. The house was even declared open by the Central Bank Governor. One needed to be there to witness what happened. Mickey said he never before witnessed such grandeur. Imoni even dreamily admitted himself into the house, exploring it extensively.

Mickey freed the chain around his neck and rested it on Aham’s reading table. Aham requested to see it. Mickey passed it over. He said the chain was worth two thousand naira, and he had stolen it from his mother’s jewellery store. The store was supposed to be the largest and the richest in the country.

Aham gently redirected the focus of a table lamp. The pendant spoke for it, he said. It was gold-coated, about ten percent gold, but he could get him one for six hundred naira. Mickey wanted him to take a proper look at it. It was pure gold and couldn’t be less than two thousand. Aham said it was just as he had said.

“Aham’s old guy is a goldsmith,” Imoni said. “But it could be worth one T here and more elsewhere.”

Mickey laughed recklessly. How could Aham compare prices of trinkets desperate widows brought to his father to sell for them, with fine and completely Yemeni types sold in a jewellery shop along Allen Avenue in Ikeja? Everybody laughed.

“But my estimation isn’t wrong,” Aham said. It wasn’t at all, Mickey accepted; by what operated in Aham’s father’s shop. But he admitted Aham’s father must be rich, one who did gold business. It was patent fence-mending. He said his mother had some broken gold items. They were worth about fifty thousand naira, and he was going to give them to Aham to mend. The items were damaged in the course of their manual handling in the country. Those airport workers could be so careless. He unsheated a stick of cigarette, then another for Yunusa who could be smoking in arrears, to match Mickey’s record.

Mickey asked if Imoni and Aham didn’t smoke. They said they didn’t. He said he couldn’t stand people who didn’t. Imoni said he did before, but hadn’t touched it since two years. Two whole years, that was too bad, Mickey said. He honestly found the no-smoking attitude repellent, he continued. Smoking was a depression killer and soul lifter.

Riding on his triumph over Aham, Mickey plaited more sparkling tales about himself and his roots. He spoke of a father with forty percent shares in about twenty companies nation-wide, mostly multinationals and himself who seldom spent his vacations in Nigeria. Eventually, his disinterest in their compositions of the cold night’s withdrawal held obvious indications. He had their consent. His company was desirable. And he suggested a distinction from a squatter.

Finally, he asked, “Do you have something like a camp bed or foam?”

“We have just one extra foam.” Yunusa brought one out of the two on his bed, sliding into his bed.

“You can have this wrapper,” Imoni stretched out. “Oh, past two and past knock-off time.”