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Eye for Order First Published 2008 Copyright (c) Usman Balarabe Aliyu 2008 Reprinted 2009 ISBN 978-978-084-699-2 All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction in any medium of this book in whole or in part is prohibited without the prior permission of the copyright holder. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. All contacts on this book should be directed to: Usana Publishing Company Limited, Usana Complex, 39/41 Broadcasting Road, P.O. Box 1584 Minna -Nigeria E-mail: [email protected] Published by: Usana Books Venture, Usana Complex, 39/41 Broadcasting Road, Minna Printed by: Niger State Media Corporation (Newspaper Division) P.M.B 10, Paiko Road, Minna - Nigeria

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Eye for Order

Family Adventure Series - 2 Usana Complex Minna 1984

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Brief on the Series: This series consists of four books: 'gone missing, eye for order, a widow's dew and beyond guilt'. Each of these books looks at the activities of a family of five: Malam Yakubu, Safiya, Aminu, Umar and Kabir; in here, each grapple with their own world. In the first book, Kabir is to go 'missing' only to uncover, with the help of Umar and Aminu, a bunch of bad people, while their mother is heart-wrecked; even so, Malam Yakubu is rather too busy probing into the disabilities of a limply giant, Nigeria. In the second book, 'eye for order', the kids visit the picturesque Gurara Waterfalls where Kabir witnesses a nasty event. Later, he entices Umar, his senior, to snoop on the hardcore car-snatchers, while Aminu covers for them, as he is saddled by his own books. Safiya, though, is recuperating, while she awaits her next troubles. But, their father, 'the machine,' is entangled, struggling to save Rangana, a neglected enclave east of Minna. He is helped by experts who are proposing a radical revenue allocation formula for the rather 'poor government.' In 'a widow's dew', the third book, it is Safiya, the mother, who takes on the bait; 'nothing,' she tells herself 'will bar her from fighting for Zainab, a onetime friend who is 'not aware of any woman, widowed through accidents, who had any compensation advanced to her.' But, Safiya is adamant, as she assembles a formidable team of the tireless: Aminu, Umar and, of course, Kabir. She is up against tough adversaries and a not-soencouraging husband, Malam Yakubu. In the fourth book, Kabir, as always, is on holidays. That means a lot, for the danger in 'beyond guilt' is real. Individuals are dying. Everyone is scared. Why? There is a strange thing with some strange names; HIV/AIDS is a killer with no cure. Kabir and Umar learn that soon enough. They meet Atiku who is seriously ill. They swiftly get their parents involved. While Safiya goes bananas, Malam Yakubu is determined to help prevent this tiny virus visiting the next house in the next village! iv

What went before in 'Gone Missing:' 'Gone Missing' is the first book of the series. In that story, Kabir is seen as a boy of eight, very adventurous and quite a pleasant company. He has a day of outing through the streets of Minna only to go missing in the market. So, Kabir has gone missing; like Kabir, is Nigeria gone missing too? The country 'is not getting due attention. In fact, every thing is speedily falling apart; everywhere crumbling, everything decaying and everyone is suffering.' Kabir's family is disturbed because 'there had been insinuations of a new wave of child-snatchers roaming the alleys. Rumoured discoveries of dismembered body parts had become common gossips.' The family is searching, so is the police, but Kabir is nowhere to be found. His mother is sad, angry and afraid, yet his father, Malam Yakubu, is anxious to get an important assignment done; that is, thinking about Nigeria, 'he used to think that he had made the right decision to join the civil service, in the tradition of his parents; his father was born in it, and his grandfather matured in it, he himself had been nurtured through it. But soon, he had realized something was missing; he feared his own son would be abandoned by it.' What is Nigeria's family doing or thinking about? The brains are looking for solution! What is it? Where is it? 'Therefore, maintenance is the keyword,' Garba reasoned out, 'if we can maintain what' is left, 'we remain an owner, in terms of potentials and ability, if we cannot, we are just an inheritor,' of a country 'with a potential, of what we can't maintain, which we will lose, soon.' At the end, Kabir is back to get Aminu and Umar to accomplish an audacious feat - but what about Nigeria, is this much about building vocabularies or building a Nation?

Introducing 'Eye for Order': Kabir is on holidays again, therefore, one would expect the unusual in 'eye for order', the second book of the series. This time though, the chase starts at Gurara Falls. Kabir has 'a brief debate whether to run or to stay, but he was forced to a decision; a car came to view and he heard the screech of a sudden brake. He peeped and instantly saw a car' that is being grabbed! Later, Kabir decides he has to find the car, to prove 'that he wasn't lying...about the snatched car and the skinny man'. He involves Umar into this; no wonder, Umar is jittery; 'If only I had not come.' He mused. 'What's mum going to say now?' But, Safiya is always happy when the kids help the law, 'help the law and the law will help you.' The boys are taught to be watchful. Aminu, the smart fellow from Birnin Shehu, is left to cover for them as they finally bring the criminals down. 'I have been operating a gang for the last ten years, outrunning the smartest of the police, but here I am, locked in my own house...not by the police...but by a kid...just a small kid.' But, these are no ordinary kids, for 'they never stopped asking questions'. Malam Yakubu, their no nonsense stout father, is 'sure to be in the office', all this while, 'questioning or looking for certain disquieting proposal to cook for the rather 'poor' government.' It has 'become fashionable for officials to call their own government 'incapable', or 'insufficient' or anything but 'responsible.' Yakubu wants to change that! Coincidently, the moustached workaholic has an ominous task, readily curved out for him, of reviving a torn community of an abandoned outpost called Rangana. What will he do? Will he use the traditional lopsided colonial legacy or the equitable but radical module 'of his subordinates' to scale this one? Usman Aliyu 2008 vi

The author lived thus: Usman Aliyu was born of Aliyu Mu'azu, Sarkin Yakin Minna, and a fairly quiet lady, Amina Usa, on Wednesday June 17, 1953 in Minna, Niger State. His Academic quest ran thus: Elementary Education, Minna and Sokoto: 1960 - 66 Secondary Education, Birnin Kebbi: 1967-71 Higher School Certificate (HSC): 1972 -73, Sokoto Bachelor's Degree (BA), (ABU) Kano: 1974 -77 Post Graduate Diploma (PGD) in 1982, (STP) London. His other engagements were: Co-operatives, Abuja until June, 1972. National Youth Service (NYSC) 1977-78, Lagos. Employment with (NTA) from 1978-84, Minna. Film Production, Usana Complex Minna 1984-96. Bricks Manufacture, 1997-2006, Minna and Funtua. His authorial endeavour: Gone missing, ISBN 978-978-8200-14-7: Adventure 1 Eye for Order, ISBN 978-978-084-699-2 Adventure 2 A Widow's Dew, ISBN 978-978-085-658-8 Adventure 3 Beyond Guilt, ISBN 978-978-085-824-7 Adventure 4 Retailing Power, ISBN 978-978-087-272-4 Drama The Children of the Republic, ISBN 978-978-088-779-7 Loners' Flash, ISBN 978-978-088-990-6 Poetry Usman Aliyu was a family man with children.

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When death finally came, his epitaph was: Allow me cry, God, for those who can't cry Make me be heard for those who can't be Let me die free, Let me not live in chains, I thank you God for allowing me be All that I had wanted to be

Dedication: This piece was dedicated to her, a girl born with a certain disorder; one so cheerful and lovely, whose struggle for life made everyone sympathetic and concerned. She fought and endured, and lived to be above thirty. She struggled through with the frightening awareness of the decided fatality of her case. Nearing the end, looking at her own daughter, with tears running down her cheeks and with a grief of a mother being separated from her very own, she yearned and prayed that the pain she had to go through, the dreams she had to leave unfulfilled, should not be the lot of the one she was to leave behind. She finally died, one Friday night, in her prime. Certainly, everyone knew she had been a very fine young lady... Adieu -ma chre, Amina...replica!

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So yearned: man and his work Man is intended for work; is he not? What beauty, such handcraft, he is Curved fair with crowded faculties. Work, whatever, defines him much; Crazed for fading titles and regalia; Man is designed to work; is he not? Work to shame, blame or fame, he is Unmarked, by name, lost with time. Give man his work to suffer his pain, Make him live not dead still, without. Man is measured with work in mind; Waste him not in beggary with pain; By chance, honour he may curve by it Or be of some hassle to other souls; Then a certain destiny of his fulfilled? So acknowledged that, you may ...thank those who watered the blossoming tree Many among the living and the dead Some visible storms, most mere vanishing dew This measure they gave to its strength; ...acknowledge the hindering worms and pests ...add also the seasons of pollinations They chided the edgy sensitivity to commune; To all these...dedicate the bitter fruits Iiviiviiizingeriiooovii

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I It was Friday. That was announced here not by the clock at midnight but by the surreptitious brightening of the eastern horizon, the resounding cock crows, and the subsequent echoing prayer-calls that crept through the alleys of Minna, a northern Nigerian cosmopolitan railway town whose much pronounced peace bore a lot to Edward Arnetts signature, way back a century ago. The calls for Fajir prayers sieved through the ears of Malam Yakubus family in a light green coated bungalow, which was below the laps of Paida hills at the north-eastern suburb of the town. Yakubu woke up Safiya, his wife, a light complexioned woman of average feminine height at thirty six with very attractive model features. She briskly walked into the kids room to stir them up. Get up. Safiya tapped the sleeping bag! It was Umar inside. He turned over sleepily. He was the senior one, a kid of eleven and some few months, witty and amiable, with a round face, much after his fathers. He had a stoutish frame promising him some overweight; that was entirely deceptive though, because neither his father nor the mother was that obese. Wake your junior up. She told the stumbling Umar. The junior one wriggled, as his brother pulled back his bedspread. That was Kabir, a slender kid with prominent darkhair and dimpled cheeks, just like his mothers, pronounced mostly while smiling, which was a permanent state for him. He had just clocked eight. He was blessed with an armful reservoir of stamina and, one might add, a certain promise of being everyones adorable kitten. Go and get warm water from the kitchen. She directed. Yes mum, they responded. The boys hurriedly performed the ritual of hands-cleaning, mouth-gurgling, nose-sniffing, face-rubbing, arms-washing, headwiping, ear-wetting and feet-cleansing. They got wrapped up in 9

twisted long outer gowns under which were squeezy pants, and above which were tall headgears. Ready? their not-so-dark father asked. Yes, dad, they answered. They were marched out finally, in broken rank, into the chilly vanishing night to the mosque nearby by the father who walked with certain energetic gait. They lined themselves in a row behind the imam. Soon, there was the hands-raising to the ears, the standing while the imam did some audible reading from the Quran, the bowing with hands on the knees and the rising up, and a brief standing, then the prostration with the forehead on the ground, the sitting with legs drawn in before the second adulation, and the duplication of what was done before to the final supplication. At the end of the prayers, Umar notched at his brother, as he cast a stealthy glance at their father. They walked quietly out of the mosque for home; the bed before the sunrise was tempting. Their father stayed behind, as the imam delivered a short startof-the-day sermon. He was a tall slim person with a deep voice that rang stark warnings. Oh you people, worship your lord, the man faced the mosques attendees, fear him who created you and made the earth habitable for you, he who sends down rain to enliven the dead earth, to bring out multiple plants for your sustenance. Suddenly, the lights went out, but the man was not ruffled. His figure was silhouetted by the grey dawn light through the windows. Be truthful and be kind to the weak of the women, the orphans, the poor, the children and the elderly. He adjusted his kaftans and concluded with, how could you reject God, seeing that you were dead, he gave you life, and he will bring death to you, and will bring you back to life again? He left them with that creepy question as they shook hands wishing each other a lucky good day.

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II The young sun was just warming up; a golden disc patched high up above the cloudy September sky. The air was warm and humid making the neck of Malam Yakubu sweaty, despite the rapid fan blowing in his car. He was stoutish in frame as evident of his strong arms on the steering wheel of his Japanese red saloon car. He had deep-seated eyes between well cultivated sideburns which had some strains of grey hairs marking his advancing age of forty seven. He also wore a short moustache which by habit was trimmed mostly on Thursday nights or the following morning. He crossed the broad Bosso road, after waiting for speeding cars, and drove down west onto Yakubu Lame, a narrow street shaded by tall evergreen mahogany trees that were closely planted to form an impressive corridor; he loved this scenery as it always gave him a refreshing feeling. At the other intersection, he held awhile as motorcyclists with one or two kids on the tank, two or more on the pillion whizzed through at top speed; he then turned left onto Justice Street, which was a wider lane with much larger trees. He drove through the Administrative Complex gate, while exchanging the customary greetings with the welcoming gatemen. He went straight to the Department of Development buildings. He manoeuvred the car and parked it under the labelled plank Head of DOD. Who will give to God a rich loan? a blind woman being led by a girl of Kabirs age called out. Malam Yakubu fished out few coins from the coin-slot which he handed over to her. He got out of the car to reveal an average height in blue kaftans with light blue embroidered cap to match. His hard soled black shoes made crushing sound as they bore his weight. His office was up, the last floor of the three-storey complex. He went through the hard steps with some few brief hold-ups. No lifts were provided, and the stairs seemed endless. He wondered 11

why anyone bothered to design such a hardship in time and place where space was not a problem. He remembered mentioning it to an architect colleague of his who replied with, in the US, the World Trade Centre is over one hundred floors. May be thats what they needed. Yakubu said, puzzled at anyone yearning for such monstrous edifice here. He turned left. Good morning, sir. An elderly office messenger was at hand to receive his briefcase; morning, he acknowledged, as he headed to the already opened flush door. Soon after, a letter was brought in as he set to fix himself some tea. He was expecting nothing unusual, so, he had no hesitation attending to it; Yakubu was a career civil servant with a healthy record of lengthy service. With a small knife, he ripped open the envelope and pulled out the long white sheet. The letter-headed memo read, I am directed to inform you that you have been appointed, with immediate effect, to head an assessment team (AT) with a view to restore normalcy in Rangana Municipality; details of the assignment will be communicated to you, shortly. Yakubu felt a thud inside. He went to a chair by his table and sat down. He looked at the memo again and mused on the assignment. The area mentioned had just experienced a devastating inter-communal strive, which was widely rumoured still ongoing; everything, they said, had been burned down or destroyed. Yakubu read the tense memo again; the clause hinting on any coming details was just an administrative nicety, and he knew it; no one had any additional information on the issue to give him. He looked up the area on the map, and felt the mission was suicidal, a punishment, pure and simple. It was the like given to those earmarked for weeding out! III Umar. Safiya called out from the kitchen, as the boy sped in past her, did I not tell you not to run indoors? 12

You did, mum. Umar was subdued. Being her firstborn made him, almost always, the initial recipient of most restraining rules as exemplar. And, whatre you doing now? she asked. Im sorry, mum. Umar offered. The kids had come to know their mother rather well; say sorry, they whispered among themselves, mum will let be. They had no idea that their mother too knew much of that as their trick! If anything, it had earned them the leverage to be extraordinarily adventurous. Safiya was by no means a lax person; with a university degree, rare for women of this area to attain, she decided against taking employment in favour of raising up her children; thus, the kids excused adventures were controlled exercises, as it were, to make them responsible persons in later years. The younger one drove in imitating a cranky racing car. Shut up! Safiya throttled him down. Kabir applied the brakes. But mum, he grinned, Im just driving round. He was a lad with a stock of alternatives, scarcely cornered for lack of excuses. Then do it outside, not in my sitting room. Safiya was a good match for him. Alright, mum, he negotiated a turn towards the door. Kabir, come back here. Umar dashed after him. The two raced down to their room. Safiya shook her head in wonderment, as her words came back to her; look here smart fellows, what little sense you get, you just got a little of mine, she would humorously chide; she knew, though, Kabir, most especially, and Umar always had room to manoeuvre and, somehow, she secretly enjoyed it. The most noticeable feature of this family was its ceaseless activity; (everyone was engaged in one kind of activity or the other, at one time or the other, either here or there or everywhere), if there is anything constant around here, it must be change itself, that was Yakubus summation of his very own. 13

Soon, a young man of about thirty entered and leaned by the door, after greeting Safiya. He bore a very sharp resemblance to her. In fact, he was her second junior brother, and Bello was his name. Mum, mum. Suddenly Kabir bust in again, being chased by his senior brother. Oh mine, Kabir, Im not deaf. Safiya gave the insistent some attention. Why dont you speak softly? Sorry, mum. He was now damped. Alright, Safiya said, havent you seen your uncle? Hes blind. Bello put his hand on Kabirs head. Kabir went to his uncle, throwing his arms round him. Umar ran in, seeing his uncle, he went straight to him with a warm embrace. Take us out, uncle. Umar requested. Are you not just from the outside? Bello asked. Take us out in your car. Umar pleaded. Kabir raised his entreating face up to Bello, please. Where would you like to go? Uncle Bello yielded. Anywhere, the kids chorused. Alright, Ill take you to Gurara Falls. Bello proposed. The kids danced round, electrified with excitement. When are we going, uncle? Umar asked, to be sure. Tomorrow, Bello said, and make sure youre up early. Thank you, uncle. The two bopped around, as they dashed off. Kabir was visibly excited; what a day of treats, he thought; a promise of a journey to Gurara, oh boy, I like this holiday! To Kabir, every day was a holiday, and if it was not, he sure would make it one. His father had observed, the boy has a way of rotating time at will! IV Malam Yakubu sat behind his rather wide office table in a contemplative mood; his mind was tossing up possibilities, none of which was soothing: defiance, revolt, resigning or going up to 14

box someone! This whole affair was bad, real bad. He called in his two assistants: Malam Garba, the grinning tall man and Malam Isyaku, the animated short man, and then he confided in them. They all agreed, after little comments with intermittent prolonged pauses, this was not a good thing, except It could have a silver lining, sir. Garba dared to suggest. What do you mean? Yakubu challenged. Sir, Malam Isyaku lent his backing, it could give us the chance to implement our proposed module. That reeled Malam Yakubu some years back; there was nothing unusual about that May morning of that year. At six, his favourite radio station was signing on for news. He turned down the volume, thinking there was nothing worth any attention, as always. He took some strides towards the fridge when suddenly the phone beeped. Who could that be? He wondered. He had a temptation to skip the handset, yet, instinct forced him to it. Hello! He was trying to convey some disapproval. Have you heard? It was Salahi, a close friend of his. No. What's up? He shot out while sitting. There must be a bombshell for this early call, he guessed. Its the program, Salahi said, the army is going. I see. Yakubu said. He was a bit disappointed really. He was not sure whether the going out or coming in of the army meant anything different to him now. The army had staged the first coup way back in the sixties. Those were his school days. The killing of some civilian leaders shocked them all, but, it did not immediately change their college privileges: free meals, free boarding, free tuition and free medication; not even their weekly pocket money was affected. Besides, the army had, since then, developed a sneaky and squeaky way of coming in and going out as if the presidential suite was their grannys old bedroom. Campaign is to start now. Salahi jacked him back. I supposed thatll keep you busy, eh. He jeered back. Soon after that, there were so many visitations to his house that he lost count as to who said or did what. However, the 15

group that resolved his procrastination came in one Friday night. They did not in the least appear weighty enough to influence anyone on anything. You can see we have no money. Their leader confessed. He was a soft-spoken man, frail and resigned in rags. Yakubu listened; he wondered how anyone without money could ask someone else to enter a race for a costly elective political post. We have decided to come to you because we have no one else to turn to. The man declared, much as a prayer. Yakubu was beginning to think these people had come to beg, after all, that was what those without money do. Nor have we come to demand payment for what we are to do for you. The man nullified his assumptions. We have had a rough time before, and we can see a harder one ahead, unless we stood against them, our oppressors. He glanced at his colleagues, all tattered fellows, seeking confirmation that was undeniable. We will campaign for you in the markets. Our wives will comb the houses. We will get the farmers to tread the paths, all for you. The rustic man next to him laid out the rehearsed strategy. He sounded childishly honest; he had no idea that the bucolic votes actually meant nothing; the dice was almost always cast on the frantic desk of an oiled and soiled hungry returning officer. Please, stand and go for it. They urged him in unison. What his co-workers and trusted subordinates were now urging him to do was not novel; it had a historic ring to it. It brought out that nostalgic sentiment to want to make a positive difference in the lives of others. But this mission appeared much more daunting, if not worse. V Malam Yakubu was moody and saddened when he got home. Safiya came back from the neighbours to meet him sitting gloomily in the living room. That was unusual, she told herself. 16

They had been married now for the past sixteen years or so, and had had an amicable relationship, one commonly rumoured about as exceptional. She could certainly read his pulse. It was very uncharacteristic of him to come back early, and most atypical of him to sit melancholically with his chin in cupped palms. She asked him, but he was reluctant to tell her the source of his worries; he did not want to disturb her, besides, he figured, there was nothing she could possibly do. But, she was persistent. When finally he told her, she too accepted that the assignment was alarming. However, she asked, after a prolonged pause, can you remember that story you told me? Which one? he asked; in a family of adventure as this, it was hard to remember which stories were told whom. The one about a village with a woman in complicated labour, with no medical or transport facility? she recalled. Yes, what about it? He could not connect. Can you recall how disgusted you felt, seeing the baby dangling unable to come out, and how sympathetic you were that the woman was losing much blood? She asked. Yes, its still fresh in my mind. He evoked the episode. Well, its like youre being tried with this one. She said. How? He asked, wondering. To see what you can do for those people. She clarified. With what resources? He pondered. Youve to do with the little available. She reasoned. I still think the idea is spiteful. He insisted. It might not be Safiya was adamant. How is that? He asked, much at a loss. See it this way. Safiya saw the lining in the case. Yes, he was expectant. Someone will have to do it or its never done. Safiya tried to do what he usually did to get her persuaded. Yes, he was waiting. Then, if its difficult for you, itll be difficult for them. Yes, he agreed. 17

If they can do it, you too can do it. She cast the bait. Of course, I can do it. He took the bait. Then, whats the objection about? She trolled up. Its going to disrupt our life. He said, but quickly realised that was a very weak excuse. He now felt Safiya had somehow dissipated his basis of remonstration. So itll disrupt others. She struck the catch finally. How about you and the children? He asked. Instantaneously, an episode with his father came to mind; have you decided to run then? His father asked. Yakubu recalled having lowered his gaze. A surge of doubt swept through him. His heart was constricted. He had thought he would be courageous when it came to this. It seemed he was mistaken. He glanced up. The old man was waiting, as always, since he began to recognize him, patiently. Yakubu had a flash of the recent visitations on the issue; you have a responsibility, they all said to him. He shifted a little and glanced at his father. Yes. Yakubu said with a sense of incredible mission. Well then, his father seemed relieved. It is God's preserve to bestow power on his choice. Yakubu waited. Know that an office is a trust. Be it high or low, it is a trial. God will document all your actions, public and private alike. Nothing is hidden from Him. Each and everyone will have his records laid bare and weighed. He who does well finds recourse in God. But he, who is deceived to seek temporary pleasure as an end, will have a bottomless pit as home. His father paused. As Yakubu waited, he was tense and expectant. I wish you good luck, Gods protection and blessing. From then on, Yakubu felt his fate was sealed. He became more than ever consumed with a sense of grand undertaking. There would be anxiety and hard work, of course, but no anticipation of failure. Sure, itll affect us, Safiya philosophised, but that is the sacrifice were bound to make, is it not? She knew very well that any assignment that caused the prolonged absence of her 18

husband would profoundly affect her and the children, but being by nature mindful of other peoples well-being, she could find the wherewithal to endure the longings; her children would keep her company. Certainly, Yakubu was inclined to think that Safiya had already made a stand. He gave her a hug. He had just rediscovered this self-sacrificing angle of his dear mate. VI Umar and Kabir rushed in with their usual noise. Safiya intercepted them. Eh, come here, she called Umar. Whats it, mum? He asked, as he walked to her. I dont want noise in here today. She ordered, right? Alright, mum, Umar readily accepted her terms. Mum, Kabir called out. Come here, she called him. I dont want any noise. Why mum? Kabirs compliance would not be cheap. What do you mean why? Safiya was taken by surprise; she just seemed to forget what Kabir was. Um, mum, can we talk? He softened the resistance. Of course, you can talk but no noise, understand? Yes, mum, he took off. If he could talk, that was good enough. It did not take long, though, to call them back, get your bikes and be off to Bosso. But mum, Kabir protested again. I said off to Bosso. She almost shouted. Safiya did not want Malam Yakubu disturbed; she would provide him the calm he needed to rationalize his decision. The disquiet was not just on his absence, but much on the rumoured continual anarchy within the area; his personal safety could not be guaranteed, and that worried her too. Yes mum. With that, the kids left her, Umar in the front, while Kabir was grudgingly trailing behind. The two pedalled out, leaving the Paida monumental outcrop of granite formation behind them. They got to Bosso road, the 19

dual carriageway dissecting the town into two, with Nasarawa to the east and Limawa to the west; funny arrangement this was, as the east was locally considered the domain of the imams, while the west was consigned to the rich and the powerful; how this twist happened could be asked of captain Taylor, a colonial officer who nursed the baby town staunchly. Umar, whys dad home so early? Kabir wondered. I dont know. Umar said, disinterestedly. Whys mum sending us away to Bosso? I dont know. Umar shoved out. Then, why did she say she didnt like noise? Well, who likes noise? Umar asked, irritatedly. I said, why mum? Kabir was insistent. Look, leave off, Umar said, dad doesnt like noise, mum doesnt like noise, I dont like noise, alright? Umar too was not sure of what was happening, but he guessed their father was not in a good mood at all; may be mum will tell. They turned right; this was upslope and not quite a pleasure ride. To their left was the government reserved area, wooded, with well tarred roads and small houses in the midst of wide expanse of land. It was a very quiet place secluded for the brains and the nerves of the town. Ahead of them was the Unity Square, an engineering puzzle to an intersection of roads that appeared much displaced. Kabir looked at the eagle statue, fixed at a place mistaken for the centre, and wondered what such lonely figure was doing in the middle of an oval-about. Umar. Yes? Whats this birdie doing here? Thats not a birdie. Umar said. Well, whats it? Kabir asked. Thats an eagle. What kind of eagle? Kabir asked. Yah, Nigerian Eagle, or so, Umar said. Whats it for? Kabir asked. 20

Power or something, look leave me alone, I said I dont want noise. Umar shot out. Kabir was not enjoying this outing at all; it was as if everyone had conspired to deprive him of a nice time. VII Kabir was adequately compensated, though, when they got back home. Aminu had arrived by bus from Birnin Shehu, a jihadists camp turned city, via Jega, a small place with cash fraternity, through Yawuri, a fish town next to the Niger, and Zungeru a onetime maternity and nursery of the toddling colonial Nigerian state! Aminu was in senior secondary at a government school in Birnin Shehu. His mother was the immediate senior sister of Malam Yakubu; she had died during delivery about two years ago and Aminu had been asked to come and stay with the kids. The lad had slim Fula features which he grabbed from his father, but his mental acuteness came from a mother to whom he was the first and only child. At each arrival, Aminu ran sessions of narratives to his curious cousins; this way, they felt they lived in twin cities! This evening, he had captivated them with some briefs on his stay at a city that turns sourness into honey. He had also promised them a story of a famous man from a village close to that town. One unique man he was. Aminu started, he was dark and tall, and he was strongly built with heavy sideburns. Like daddys? Kabir asked. Yes, Aminu answered, big, much bigger. What did he do? Umar always wanted stories told bare and quickly, just the bones, sort of, and then his brain would fill in the flesh. He was a chap with photographic grey matter up the skull! The man was compassionate to all his people. Thats good, Umar passed a commendation. Their mother had said, always be kind to the old and the poor. He became very popular, Aminu said, well liked by the people, and they made him their chief. 21

I like to be a chief also. Kabir wished. He always imagined chiefs got cheap sweets at the confectioners! Come on, Umar said, let him tell us the story. The man took care of children. Aminu resumed. His children? Umar asked. Nope, he had only two children. Aminu said. Whose children then? Umar asked. The children of the village. Aminu said. All of them? Kabir was fascinated. Yes, all the children, including all those of the neighbouring villages, Aminu answered. What did he do to them, then? Umar asked. He put all of them into school. Aminu narrated. All of them? Kabir wondered; that must be a very, very large school. If he were in that school, sure he would be lost again! He remembered his last ordeal in the market. Leave off, Kabir, Umar cast a brake, lets hear him. He paid for their books, their food and their clothes. For all of them? Umar wondered, after making a flash calculation of the possible costs. You too shouldnt talk. Kabir brought back the rule. Whats wrong with you? Umar said. It was a question. I know. If he had to stop, everybody must stop too. Well, you didnt hear what mum said? Umar asked. What did she say? Aminu asked. Mum said you should never stop asking questions. Well, the answer to your question is yes, he did it for all the children. Aminu answered. That is very good of him. Umar appraised the effort. That is not all, Aminu said, when they finished school, he got good lasting jobs for all of them. He must be an angel then. Umar summed up. He also gave houses and cars to them. Aminu said. Cars? Kabir asked, I like that. He had been enacting a trip to the village already, wondering what brand the good man would give him, a tipper or a turntable! 22

He must have been very rich, then. Umar determined. Nope. Aminu said. No, from where did he get the money, then? Umar was puzzled. He remembered how long it took him to make a small saving for a toy gun he bought for himself. Well, he asked everyone to contribute. Aminu said. The people must be rich then? Umar asked. Nope. Aminu answered. Well, how come they had money? Umar queried. They worked and saved and they never wasted. That was smart of them, Umar appraised. He collected their contribution and took good care of it. How much did he take? Umar asked. You mean for his use? Aminu asked. Yah, Umar said. He made some rough estimation. Well, nothing for himself, really. Aminu said. Why not? Umar asked. He recalled how their class monitor had nearly finished their class contribution claiming that the lot had gone to settling bills, overhead, the boy called it. They discovered that it was his head he meant by that. When cornered, he just said, thats what the government does, of course, they thought he was right! Because, it was the peoples money: a trust. A trust, what kind of trust is that? Umar asked. Yes, the people trusted him not to waste it and not to steal it. That was why they worked harder for it. He said. Well, I told you, he was an angel, Umar restated, because our class monitor did steal ours! Yah, Kabir agreed. He said to the children, when you grow up, do to our people good, bear with them, as you see me do to you, stand together to make them proud. Aminu said. Well, did they do that? Umar asked. Um, somehow, Aminu was in a dilemma. Well, yes or no, which one? Umar was cornering him. Yah, they did, but not to the people, only to themselves and 23

to their own children! Aminu said, sadly. Thats selfish of them, is it not? Umar said with some measure of disappointment. He was thinking of that thieving class monitor; he must have come from those trust-abusing, promisebreaking, money-thieving people. Yah, Kabir agreed, theyre like the cheating ones. I think I like the man, though. Umar declared. Yah, Kabir said, Ill ask mum to take us there. Kabir was romanticizing a journey down to the famous man. But, hes not there any more. Aminu said, sadly. Why, Umar asked with surprise, where did he go? He is dead. Aminu declared. Oh no! Umar lamented. Oh yes, he was killed. Aminu declared. Killed, by whom? Umar was shocked. Some people killed him. Aminu said sorrowfully. Why? Umar was bewildered. Well, they just didnt like the way he was making his people proud, they wanted his people weak. They said if his people became rich they would be strong. Aminu said. Well, those killers must be very bad people then. Yes, very bad indeed. Aminu agreed. I still like to go to see the village. Kabir insisted; if there was no man to see, there would be a car cruise! Aminu went back to his room just next to theirs; being exhausted, he was soon asleep, but not these two or rather this one. Can we swim, Umar? Kabir asked doubtfully, as he turned round this many times on his bed; his mind had oscillated to Gurara waterfalls. I dont know. Umar said, sleepily. I want to swim. Kabir cried out. Shut up before mum hears that, Umar cautioned, she wont allow us go. Besides, youre too small. Kabir felt bruised, but, youre small too. Go to sleep, before I call mum in. Umar ordered. Alright, Kabir gave up and was soon in the fish world. 24

VIII The parents bedroom was equally animated, but, with issues related to the human world. Malam Yakubu had already taken up the Rangana challenge, and the couple had worked out a plan to get through the possible disruption in the family schedule. With baggage packed ready to go, the night seemed rather too short for this romantic pair. Still, Safiya had lots of questions of her own. As her man had said, this house is full of questions! Well, so, how can one eradicate poverty? she asked. What? He was taken by surprise. You heard me, she smiled, how to eliminate poverty? Wait a minute. He said. Thats a whole field, in itself. Well, reduce it for me. She requested, with a radiant smile. Safiya had for sometime been troubled by the stream of women calling on her with one problem or the other relating to medical, feeding or school expenses. The increasing destitution of her neighbours was getting on her nerves; she therefore would like to find solutions. Alright, let me try. He said. I thought thats what youre supposed to be doing. Yes, but its never put to you in such a stark way. But, thats what youve to do at Rangana, is it not? Somehow, he agreed. Anyway, lets understand the term first. Whats poverty: lack of money, lack of food, lack of housing or lack of whatever you desire? I never thought of it that way, actually. She said. Exactly, thats why when people use the term poverty, they cloth certain ignorance with ambiguity. He explained. I thought if you gave people money or some things, youre, well, helping to remove their poverty. Youre not removing their poverty, in any form. You may be alleviating a temporary pressure, but not poverty. Remember that famous saying, give man a fish? Teach him how to fish, yes, I know. Safiya filled in. 25

Right Well, what I want to know is how to make the people not poor, thats, not to turn them into beggars. She said. Thats straightforward enough. Eradication or elimination of poverty is a political term that actually means little. Poverty is the inability to fulfil obligations; while wealth is the wherewithal to fulfil ones obligations and to make others meet theirs also. But, people are inherently not poor; they are designed to fulfil their obligations. However, its a governments policy thats likely to make them poor. Yakubu said, authoritatively; after all, that area was his speciality. How is that? Safiya asked in disbelief. Its only the government that can, generally, restrict or expand peoples ability to meet their obligations. He said. Thats strange. She said. Why? he asked. I always thought it was the other way round. No, its not. If you use resources wrongly, wastefully or inappropriately, like spending whats for a thousand on a select few, say one hundred, youll deprive the nine hundred of their resources, which is their means, with which they can meet their obligations. As a result, youll make them, the excluded, poor, understand? Wait; is it like using the money meant to feed ten people for an expensive meal of one? Safiya allegorized. Exactly, thus, you force nine to go without. He agreed. Those obligations, Safiya asked, whatre they? Its the right of a householder to ensure for his or her family food, clothing, shelter, security, medication and education, and to safeguard against future loss of any attained status. Yakubu enumerated. These are all what weve got to do? She was amazed by her husbands easy summation of the human endeavours! Yes, the first three are attainable by the individual; therefore, they are their responsibility, while the next three are corporate, achievable only through collective effort. 26

I dont get it. Safiya confessed. Food, clothing and shelter are the duty of the householder. But, security, medication and education are public concern because they transcend the realm of a family. Yakubu explained. How? she asked. Ill give you an example; a criminal is born and reared in a particular family but his actions affect others most. So is health or education. Yakubu explained. How does health become public concern? In many ways; an infected person is a public risk. Alright, how about education? she asked. Tell me what a demolition engineer will do to his fisherman father! He asked. She laughed. Therefore, its the governments obligation to ensure that the atmosphere is conducive for everyone to accomplish their individual obligations so that they can collectively fulfil the corporate obligations. Will that be by dash out or something? she asked. Not at all, government does not have the resources for dash outs; its job is the management of the collective resources for the attainment of the aforementioned. What about the motorbikes or cars it gives out, then? If officials dashed out motorbikes or cars for kabu-kabu to university graduates, for example, people highly educated and trained for higher tasks, that government was wasting not only the money, which was to be used rightly to provide employment for services, but also the training, which had cost much to attain. Either way, it would make the chaps and the society poorer. At the end, both would not be able to meet their obligations. I see, like roasting up your seeds? she asked. Precisely, its wasting the resources meant for a permanent solution on an impromptu measure. A farmer, even though hungry, will not eat up the seeds reserved for planting; he knows hell be in a far worse situation later. Thats harmful, is it not? Safiya asked. Yes, it is. Therefore, the practical thing is not, I said not, to 27

make people poor. Doing that is possible, but you must have a good programme to do it. He said. Its interesting, I really want more details. She said. Tonight? he asked. Yes, if Alright, lets consider the things that make people poor, then, we see how we can remove or negate them, and then people will not be poor any more. Alright, thank you. She was very appreciative. There are three crucial elements in this: the first, people, the second, resources, and the third, work. He listed. Safiya was attentive. The former two are physical realities. The latter is the response of one on the other, people on resources; right reaction tilts to positivity: plus, surplus, wealth; wrong reaction drops everything to negativity: zero, minus, poverty. Work? she asked in surprise. Yes work, he affirmed. Plainly put, you mean its this simple, easy? Well, simple, yes, but not easy. He said. How is that? she was confused. It goes this way, if people do not work, most resources remain inert, some waste, either of which is a zero or a minus, loss; that will be detrimental to their ability to meet their obligations; therefore, they will be poor. Yes, Safiya was desperately trying not to get lost. Therefore, lack of work or right work is the trigger for poverty. Provide people work, youre certain to end poverty. Thats really amazing. She marvelled. I dont mean just employment, per se, no, provide the incentive for people to work, kick-start the economy with public works of direct benefit to the people, which will be done by the people themselves, so that as they work, they earn, and their purchasing power is boosted enough to enable them fulfil their obligations. You then tax them to retrieve what you had initially injected into the economy. 28

I think I nearly got it. Safiya said. Well, Ill give you an example, may be thatll help. Alright, she said gladly. If you initiate works that only outsiders can do, while your people remain idle, your people will earn nothing by it, theyll be poorer by the flight of their capital, and the result of that contracted work will be an unsustainable burden, totally useless. Its like constructing a banquet hall for a people who havent got even clothes to wear! Or a highway for those without even enough for shoes, etcetera. I see. Safiya smiled, imagining bare footers on tarmac! Equally, you must encourage and ensure the seventh. Whats the seventh? Safiya asked. Thats saving the output of work, in money and time; both are achieved through maintenance by the state and the individual, or else your efforts will degenerate into fraud. How is that? she asked. Wastage of time or money or both is extravagance, which is also the root of corruption, and corruption accelerates profligacy. Thats hard for me. Safiya confessed. Alright, Ill explain. The corrupt, like thieves, subsume unusual obligations which they insist must be met by them. While they waste time, they fail to earn normally, but they compensate that inadequacy by taking away the fruit of the work of others, which they waste again because they underrate its value. That could be students with exams, contract inflators or ghost-worker generators! I dont quite get it. Safiya confessed. You mean the corrupt and the thieves are, um, the same? she asked. The names may sound different, but their effects are the same, much worse from the former, really. He replied. Amazing, is it not? she said. Ill give you another example; a man is employed to collect a tax thats used to provide education and health services, which are corporate obligations, to the people, so that they can work 29

continuously to earn their livelihood, which is an individual obligation. Right, Safiya seemed pleased with her tracking. Well, assuming this tax-collector is extravagant or selfish, he doesnt go to work, or he does it unfairly, his earning is inadequate to meet his subsumed obligations. Aha, she was in tune. Subsequently, he starts to take bribes for the taxes. Right, Safiya was treading her thoughts through. The government revenue will drop, so, people will not get health facilities or education, right, he said, the government starts to fail in meeting its own obligations. Yes. Safiya caught this one. Consequently, the peoples level of work drops, they earn less and become less able to meet their obligations; so, both the government and the people become poor! Yes, I think I get it. Safiya said. Corruption is therefore the root of this malice and unless you remove it, people will always remain poor. Corruption, at the end, destroys all works, so does theft. Is it? she asked, wondering. Yes, the thief snatches the output of others. He wastes it, and steals again. He discourages others from work. Thieves are corrupt, and the corrupt are thieves, simple! Its really bad. Safiya said. Actually, their difference is just the magnitude. That is? she asked. The one involves material goods; the other, both the material and that which is ethical and ecstatic: glory, opportunity, and anything that induces humanity to strive harder to be above the commonality of animals. Therefore, a corrupt person is deadlier, the worst enemy any human society can have. Alright, so how do we eliminate this corruption thing? Dont you think Im tired? he asked. Are you? She joked. I must be, besides, Ive a journey ahead of me. 30

Its true, I nearly forgot. Can I get you something? Yes, just get me a glass of water, please. He requested. Safiya went out to the kitchen. On her way, she peeped briefly into the kids room. Everything was normal, that was, kid normal, sort of; so, she went on her way. IX A sharp prolonged cocks crow made Umar jump out of bed. He stumbled to the door and felt for the switch. He turned the lights on, looked at the wall clock and hissed. It was just past three Saturday morn. He ran back to bed, went under the blanket and soon was snoring again. Get up, you lazy bones. It was morning. Aminu walked into the kids room. He pulled off Umars bed sheet. Umar unveiled his eyes lazily. Arent you going to Gurara anymore? Aminu asked. Umar jumped out of bed. Of course, we are. Umar went to Kabir and attacked him. Kabir turned protestingly, while tugging the bedspread over his head. Get up, or well leave you behind. Umar teased. Coming, coming, Kabir came down, half dragging his sheet on the floor. He rushed to the toilet. The sky was bright and vacant but for some patches of lingering clouds over Paida ranges at the southeast. The air was cool, fanning gently against the assorted plants in Safiyas flowerbed. Bello was punctual. He brought his sky blue beetle car to a halt in front of the house. The well polished car spoke of the owners diligence. He got out and walked in. He greeted Safiya and asked of her husband, as was customary. He has already gone, she said, to Rangana. Rangana, I thought theyre still fighting there? Were told theyve stopped. Safiya said with some lingering apprehension. How are the kids? Bello asked. Youll find them eager. 31

Safiya sprinkled water on the plant near her; she was greenfingered, which gave the surrounding a green feel. Umar came out half-dragging a rather giant picnic box. Were ready, uncle. Put it in the car. Bello directed. Kabir came out, struggling to get into his shirt with his head hidden behind the mass of cloth. He nearly bumped into his mother. Watch out, Safiya helped him, you should dress in the room, not on the road. Yes mum, Kabir dipped into his reservoir of excuses, I dont want them to leave me behind, mum. Safiya eyed her kids contentedly, as they trooped into the car, with a soothing remembrance of their origination; Umar was conceived almost two years after her wedding night, she could recall the fright and the sensation of having a living being inside her, and how she yearned for its imperceptible growth and its final expulsion. Two years later, Kabir announced himself; he was a fidgety being even while in womb, kicking and turning as if fretful to be encased. That restlessness did not scare her, because, as they said, the first delivery was a coaching for its passage, but she was keen to see what that twitchy being would be. She had thought of a girl, of course, but wondered if those kicks could come from a tender feminine limb. However, when Kabir came out with his eyes wide opened and the tiny fingers groping for the nipples, she sensed she had just delivered a tireless busybody. Safiya smiled as her husband came to mind, Kabir surely got that restlessness from his dad, she concluded. X Kabirs father, secretly but admirably nicknamed the machine, was with his team on their way to Rangana. This was an outpost in the middle of nowhere, sitting in the midst of rugged terrain. It was walled by mountains at two sides, and at 32

the other two by a wide furious river and impenetrable woodland. It had very controversial cardinals; the people somehow knew where the sun came from and where it set, then where the river was and where the mountain was, thats all; the Muslim chose the suns direction, and the Christians decided to counterpoise; of course, the animist adored the jungles, while others honoured the aquatics. No one ever thought the town would last its military history, but it did, miraculously. It was started as a waiting post for the advancing British regiment on its way to another northern city marked out for bombardment. The collection of hurriedly formed unit was at lost when their captain suddenly succumbed to malaria and died. They waited for a relieving officer who never arrived, so they stayed; afraid to disband for fear of being charged for desertion or mutiny or for the killing of the white man, they held on, gradually venturing out for partners. With time, the place grew, somehow, more by baby booming than by new arrivals. Occasionally though, lost travellers ended up there, so were escaped slaves, or those in troubles with wicked chiefs. Without roads, the place was left much to itself. The population of Rangana became quite a mix: Muslims, Christians, animists and religion-less; Hausa, Fulani and Kanuri, Nupe, Gwagyi and Kamuku, Yoruba, Ibo and Tiv, think of any tribe, it was there. Somehow, they evolved a rather curious pattern of tolerance; with little interference in each others business, they managed to live in relative peace; thats until now. This was the town which recently went in flames: interreligious, inter-tribal, inter-neighbour and inter-anything strives; the huts were burnt, and deaths, for the first time, came from the hands of the neighbours and in-laws. No police reached them, because there had never been one before. Other than occasional electoral officials, hardly was the place disturbed; other than for votes, they counted for nothing! So, they fought until they got tired of it. That was. No one knew how or why, but the fighting stopped; every one had run into the bush, up the mountain or into the water; the burning stopped because apparently there was no 33

more houses to burn. This was Rangana where Malam Yakubu had now been detailed to go to assess the situation with the view to restore sanity and to bring some development; no wonder, he was given the power of a sole assessor, for whatever that meant, with no interference from the headquarters; of course, none of the bosses in the headquarters would ever dream of going there, now or ever! Yakubu sat pensively as their bus rattled through the bumpy road, thinking more of this quagmire than of his adventurous family! XI Wheres Aminu? Kabir asked. Hes not coming. Umar explained. Why? Kabir leaned forward from the back seat. Sit properly, Kabir. Bello entreated. Aminu has lots of schoolwork to do. Umar said, as he adjusted the seat belt across his chest. He can do that later. This trip without Aminu would be a minus excitement, Kabir figured. Besides, Aminu was one to counterbalance Umars domineering poses. Look, he has just come back yesterday. Umar said. Hes also tired of travelling. I wish I can travel till I get tired! Kabir said, while stretching out his small arms through his seat belt. Bello drove his car charily along the busy main street. They went southeast at a steady speed out of town on Paiko road, lined both sides by huge money houses with prohibitive signs against loiterers, hawkers, waiters and anybody who had got no money. They went through Tudun Wada, passing the jobless centre to the left next to the motionless hall where the fate of millions was in doubt, and the stockless centre given up to speculation, then the wares-less showplace at Shango. Kabir engaged himself in calling their names to prove he knew them; Tagwai Dam, he called out at Tungan Gwauro; Paggo, he enlisted at a famous reception spot that bore no gain from 34

transient dignitaries; he finally fixed his vision on the receding buildings on the Abuja highway. Umar, meanwhile, busied himself imitating the driver, intermittently shifting glances between the endless stretch of the road and the right hand of his uncle. Bello felt the fresh breeze caressing his face. He took a deeper breath, freeing himself from urban constriction. He glanced at Umar and smiled. Umar responded back with a glee, and glanced back at his junior brother who had got out of his seat belt and had already fallen asleep. He extended his hand to wake him up. Let him be. Bello commanded as he captured the napping lad in the rear-view mirror. They slowed down behind an oil tanker attempting to overtake another; it was a tussle as it forced the oncoming vehicles to steer much off the road. The low speed gave Umar the opportunity to take much of the view outside; farmers, pegged terminally to drudgery, were scattered in units tending their troubles. A yellow pickup full of women sitting dangerously on heaped yams overtook them; Bello marvelled at how femininity had become readily discardable. How about the -I think of- quiz? Umar proposed, lets do it, uncle. Whos to start? Bello asked. Ill start. Umar contested. Alright, think of something, Bello negotiated a bend. Write it down. Pick a pen from the pigeonhole. Umar got the pen and a piece of paper, and he scribbled for himself the word: WATER. Im ready, uncle. He announced. Bello thought a while and asked, is it a living thing? No. Umar smiled, thats one. Bello paused. Is it on earth? Yes. Umar gave in a little. Thats two. Is it ... he paused, is it edible? Yes. Umar conceded. Thats three. Bello accelerated to overtake a truck laden with firewood. The 35

people atop the wood at the back eyed them curiously as they zoomed out to the left past them. Where were we? Bello asked. On three, Umar sat upright. Alright, is it solid? Bello glanced at Umar. No, thats four. Umar jiggled. Bello lightly increased the pressure on the throttle. He thought a little. Is it common, found everywhere? Yes. Umar waggled, thats five. Are you specific about its location? Bello was trapped. No, thats six. Umar felt triumphant. You said its edible and not solid, yes? Bello glanced at Umar who nodded. Is it processed before its used? Umar paused a little, could be, thats seven. Is it water? Bello guessed, casually. Yes, thats eight. Umar showed up the scribed paper. They all felt delighted. Hows Kabir? Bello remembered his silent passenger. Umar peeped at Kabir at the back seat, as a log. Let him rest. Bello halted Umars stretched arm. XII Soon, the settlements of Paiko, Farin-doki and Kwakuti were left behind. They reached the seven bends, the snake-like twisty portion of this road. Umar looked on with admiration as his uncle manoeuvred the short car down and through the hilly, sloping and narrow road. They went through a small bridge as another car was dangerously speeding towards it. They did not go far before they met an unnerving sight of a recent ghastly accident; a red hatchback had rammed into a parked loader-trailer. Oh my God, Bello uttered, as he applied the brakes. The road was littered with pieces of broken windshield. The car door had been torn out and thrown to the opposite side of the road. People were frantically axing off the metal to get some passengers out of the contorted vehicle. Down by the edge 36

of the road was an outstretched body of someone covered with fresh green leaves. Umar could see the bared feet of the man erect. Bello glanced at Umar who was visible perturbed. They passed on cautiously, trailing the slowed down traffic in the front. They fell silent. At Bono, Bello indicated to the left and took a turn onto the earthen dusty road leading to Gurara waterfalls. Were close. Bello announced. Kabir, get up. Umar bent backward to stir him up. The car sloped down gently. Kabir woke up, as the car was riding up a slope; he looked ahead at the horizon and saw the tree-tops gradually appearing up as if by magic. Whoop, its beautiful, Kabir declared. Did I doze off? XIII Elsewhere, a patchy white saloon car, the make of which was hard to guess, was crossing the Gurara River at the long bridge connecting the twin cities of Izom and Lambata coming towards the latter. It was dented with patches of bodywork evidence of age, constant bashing and continual neglect. It was being driven by a man of about thirty five or so. By his side was a woman, of much younger age, dressed in a rather unusual skirt. One hand on the steering wheel and the other in fiddle-faddle, the man appeared the least concentrated of a driver; the car would swerve now and then to the edge of the road; lookout, his passenger would scream. They came to the Lambata-Lapai fork-junction with little regard or respect for the sharp bend; the traders by the roadside scuffled to safety, abandoning heaps of yams and bananas, and the exposed meat on fly infested tables. That was close. The carefree man summed up their narrow escape. His crowning moment had come with driving this car which belonged to his late elder brother. Wait till I finish total repairs on this car. He was telling his frightened companionate who had been praying inside. She had 37

also made up her mind, this was it, not only the last ride in this killer-car, but with this dangerous boy -she would not allow her mind add- friend. Zubairu was his name and he was the last born of their family; that implied being pampered and spoilt. With a lax father and an old grandfather in the house, the growing kid was cosseted and beyond reproach. He was therefore not a pleasing youngster in the neighbourhood; bruised toddlers and missing valuables were his insignia. Why are you silent? He inquired. Nothing to say, she managed to say. That was no surprise, for she was as shallow as he was; a dropout of some sorts raised in rented quarters, with a drunken father and a shuttle mother. The girl was nurtured by lawlessness and an equal measure of carefreeness. No one knew her real name or names; she had a new name for every newcomer. She was plain with over pronounced features, forced to maturity by indecent handling. As a result, she nursed a conceited notion of being beautiful and a self-induced assumption of being in demand, yet she was like a ball, kicked and passed over by contending players; in the excitement of the game, she never cared about the moment after the whistle. They got to the Bono junction in this unlicensed mood. To our den, now, Zubairu veered the car sharply to the right. The driver of a bus just behind them had a dangerous moment of indecision; to brake to somersault, to go left to collide or to hit the lousy car in the front being driven by a badperson. With a very audible curse delivered with the fingers spread, the lucky driver expressed his road rage. None of these was registered by Zubairu or his companion as they went down the Gurara dusty road. XIV Meanwhile, uncle Bello had brought his car to a halt. That was at a safe distance from the falls. A line of hard barked tall trees 38

faced them, beyond which was the rocky bed of the Gurara River. Just in front of them was a plastered mud hut roofed with some thatches; the circular walls bore the names of addicted visitors to the nooks; they scribbled their signatures for tributes and a certain yearning for immortality. Bello reflected upon the nature of time, and wondered whether these fellows, roamers of prehistoric sites, had not themselves become history! Umar eagerly opened his door and went out. He waited for Kabir to come out from the backseat. Bello led the way to the rough steps that led down to the falls. They looked to the left, the cascading torrent was overwhelming. They were griped by a sensation of being pulled to the large white sheet of water below. Its electrifying. Bello was hit by the anions. Oh my God, Umar was magnetized, this is beautiful! He had unexpectedly turned poetic. Kabir was too captivated to say a word; silence was his usual brush for painting such natural artistry. Bello was concerned with his care, though; he securely held the hands of the boys. He stopped after the first few steps and helped them down, one after another. Kabir seemed a little apprehensive, as they moved closer to the large pool below. Umar was anxious to get down to the waters, seeing the mighty spray as the water descended rapidly hitting the rocks below. The pool under the falls was large and turbulent. Far off, there was a ring of tall grass around the crystal waters of a small pool. Umar looked down stream and saw the clear water from the main pool meandering along the polished rocky bends, creating sparkly dancing flashes as it caught the sun rays from above. The trio descended the sharp uneven steps down to the main pool. The two boys discovered, somehow to their disquiet, other visitors to the falls. They were relieved though, as they saw lots of kids in the shallow part of the river splashing water about. Can we swim, uncle? Umar asked, pleadingly. No. I dont think its wise. Bello advised. It was not actually dangerous to do so near the banks; however, Bello was a particularly cautious young man. He was 39

Safiyas most favourite of her brothers. At his age, with a university degree and a prospective career in public relations, Bello had a look of a man shunning complicities. He had come to the waterfalls to commune with this expression of natures strength and agelessness, and also to shed off the accumulated stress from long exposure to city concrete and tight schedules; the least he wanted was anything resembling a crisis. Youve not come with your swimming gear, have you? He was looking for a dissuading excuse. But, these kids havent got any gears. Umar countered. Bello realised he had given the wrong excuse. He tipped his right foot into the water. Besides, the water is cold. Umar imitated his uncle. He proved him right. He withdrew his foot quickly. Yes, its cold. Bello somehow was relieved; a short smile betrayed his heart! Kabir was not concerned with swimming, now that he was here; he walked to the left a bit away from his brother and uncle; he was now more fixated on the water sprays, the excited people and the colourful butterflies, the dancing grasses and the humming of birds than taking a dip in any water. He stood there looking at some kids like him; some were in the water, some just idly beside it either too scared to get in or not interested in doing so. A girl of about his age and stature walked past him. Arent you going in? she read his mind. No. Kabir said, without hesitation, I cant swim. There was nothing shameful about that confession. He withdrew from the edge, and followed her up the steps. Bello sat on a clean rock with his trousers rolled up and his legs deep in the water, seeing the tiny hairs wave as they were caressed by the current. Umar squatted by a small pond with a stick in hand; he got intensely busy poking the tiny fish that swam past. Kabir and the small girl were at Bellos car. The girl heard her name called. She took off, leaving him with a bye. He tarried a while, then heard a strange cry of a bird. He looked at the direction of the cry. He saw nothing. Yet, he heard the cry again. 40

He started to go for it. As he walked into the low bush, the bird hopped away to another tree. It cheeped again as if inviting him to a game; hide and seek, eh; he was not one to give up such a request easily. Then, he saw it. It was black helmeted, red jacketed and yellow trousered. Kabir followed the hopping bird, most of the time looking up, trying to keep it in sight; it gradually lured him out into a thick bush, out of sight. It stopped calling. Kabir waited under the tree. He looked up. It was not there. He went round the large tree. It was not there. He sat, leaning against the tree, wondering. Then he heard voices; it was not a bird chat, but mummers of some men. He looked round curiously. XV At the other end of the falls, uncle Bello and brother Umar had harmonized their ears to the ageless, ceaseless rumbling music of the cascading copious waters. Bello glanced at his watch; it was just past noon. He looked down at the stream parquetry and captured the soloist image of Umar sitting by a pond on the rocky tapestry. Come on, lets go and have something to eat. He called out, his voice almost an inaudible note in this orchestral theatre. Umar heard no calling, but having instinctively turned, he saw his uncles conducting hand beckoning him; he unwillingly left his pitch. He came along hobbling between the little islands of rocks on the river bed. He synchronized his steps with the drum beatings of his heart and the chorusing falls. Wheres Kabir? Bello asked close to Umars ears. I dont know. Umar said, casually. Bello wore a stern look with drawn brows as he realised Kabir was not in the immediate vicinity. Where did he tell you he was going to? He took Umars hands, turning the lad to face him. He didnt say. Umar did not seem bothered at all. Kabirs mysterious disappearances or appearances had come to be taken 41

for granted, as far as Umar was concerned. Since the last time he had gone missing in the market, about six months ago, at the end of which he surfaced up a bunch of smugglers, his disappearance had not been taken seriously anymore. Their father had said Kabir was capable of looking after himself; he was weaned, sort of, from too much supervision. If he was not seen, it was assumed he would be somewhere digging out wrongdoers, troubles of his own or mysterious things which everyone would be eager to hear about when he returned. So Umar did not feel ruffled. They looked round. Kabir was no where around. Where has he gone to? Bello wondered; if Umar was used to these disappearing acts, Bello was not and could not possible be accustomed to them as long as Kabir was part of his care. He was beginning to think that sister Safiya was rather exceptionally liberal with her kids. He wondered if he got his own he could afford such, um, calm luxury. He would love the excitement, but certainly, without the anxiety! May be he went up to the car. Umar put in, just trying to be spared the worries; they were reared on a pedestal of optimism, not to be overtly timid or easily intimidated; they were expected to be responsible even in childhood. Lets check, Bello held Umars hand, as they climbed up the rugged pass way back to the park. Meanwhile, the voices Kabir had heard before were becoming distinct, though he could not make them up. Not very far from him was the un-tarred road, part of which he could see. Two men, with their faces partially screened, were busy blocking the road with a large log. Hurry up. He heard one of them say with a boom tone. Kabir was apprehensive. He turned to go back, then, he stepped on a dry twig which broke with a crack. The men paused to listen. Kabir stopped. His breathing was coming on fast. He remained still; his heartbeat was rising. What was that? Kabir heard the boomy voice ask. I dont know. The other replied, may be just a rat. 42

Find out, came the boom again. But, it has stopped. The other voice said. Alright, but be ready should in case. The booming voice advised, in a way of command. Kabir heard them resume work. He got curious. He gently and noiselessly went behind a tree and spied on. Uncle Bello was very disturbed, as they came to the car park and found no Kabir; I better go down to the other side of the falls to see, Bello told Umar, may be he has followed someone there. Bello was visibly uneasy; what he thought would be a nice outing to natures soothing sight was becoming nightmarish. He was beginning to realise that kids were a rather complicated puzzle to work at. He walked to the rails by the falls and took the delicate steps down again, asking Umar to remain behind. Umar too was beginning to be perturbed; his familiarity with Kabirs disappearing acts was gradually crumbling. KabirKabirKabir Umars voice was swallowed by the giant rumbling sound of the waterfalls. Bello was down at the weathered steps. He wore a very troubled expression now. He went to the side of the falls and took a look at the gush of white foaming waters as they descended from the top crushing into the pool below, creating a rising cloud of mist; there were many people both inside and at the edge of the pool. Bello walked up and down the edge looking and calling out for Kabir. His voice got no where. Nothing was audible but the booming voice of this mighty pump. Even in his desperation, Bello could not help being mesmerised by the beauty of the scenery. He looked up and saw the form of Umar, so tiny, patched against the backdrop of the rugged terrain. Umar looked down, shouting out if his brother was down there. His voice vanished with the mighty bang!

43

XVI

Kabir, however, was still behind his cover. The bird that drew him here had resumed its invitational cry, but Kabir was not enticed. The mens activity had stopped. There was the sound of an approaching vehicle. The ordering boomy voice asked the other thin voice to go to the other side of the road. Kabir peeped and saw one of them was exceptionally skinny. The man walked hastily and hid behind a tree. Kabir had a brief debate whether to run or to stay, but he was forced to a decision; a car came to view and he heard the screech of a sudden brake. He peeked and saw a patchy saloon car. He was curious to see who the driver was and what these men were up to. All this while, he had unwittingly moved closer to the scene. The driver looked sideways, cursed and stepped out, leaving someone behind in the car. The driver was Zubairu. He walked to the log and tried to lift it but failed. He cursed again and tried to drag it; he could not, or rather, did not bother to exert enough energy. Give me a hand, darling. He called out apathetically. The young woman grudgingly came out. She surveyed the place nonchalantly. Zubairu had a second thought; he decided now he needed to ease himself, or something. Lets go, well do it when we come back. That spelt the level of his concern. Kabir watched as the two vanished into the bush, oblivious of the waylayers. The two hideous figures appeared; Kabir blew his cover as he screamed out a warning. The commanding boomy voice turned round looking at Kabirs direction. Who was that? I dont know. The skinny man shrugged his shoulders. Well, dont just stand there, get him. It was the boom. Kabir heard that and he started running toward the falls. The skinny man strode after him. Kabir stumbled down. He hurriedly got up. He shot towards the car park, while the skinny man was 44

treading far behind him. Kabir raced on, crying all the way. The pursuing man hit a stump, his legs twisted, and he came crushing down. He got up bruised. He cursed and turned back. The big man had got behind the steering wheel fiddling with some wires. The skinny man limped back to the scene. What happened? the big man asked. He got away. You let him? It was just a small kid. The skinny man was fed up, anyway. They moved the log to the side of the road. Alright, get in, the big man commanded. The snatched car started, and sped away in the dust. XVII Bello was just coming up the railings when he saw Kabir running towards the car. There! He pointed out with a sigh of relief. Umar ran to his brother, feeling very comforted; despite anything, he still felt troubled after the search for his junior had begun. Kabir was his endeared pal. He always felt that without Kabir his life would be empty, somehow. He had realized, even though with initial jealousy but now totally squashed, that Kabir was his link to many things, including his parents; Kabir could approach them in a way he could not do; he could make them buys things for them. Kabir had a way of making everyone feel light, free and happy. It was like he had the key to many things. Kabir, what... wherere you..? Umar stammered. Kabir was panting and staring out vacantly. Why are you crying? Umar entreated. What happened? Bello was trying to calm him down. Kabir was trying desperately to get his breath back as they poured questions on him. They...they...two men...they got their... He was attempting to explain his ordeal. 45

They got whom? Bello got hold of Kabir trying to make sense out of his jabbering. At the end, Bello asked them to get into the car, he was determined they had had enough adventure already. Kabir jumped in gladly. Umar sat by him to console him. Bello started the car, reversed and drove out of the parking area, as eagerly as he could, as if to prevent Kabir from vanishing off again. It seems Kabir is just confused. Bello concluded. Umar embraced his brother who was now calm but quite upset. Bello manoeuvred the car along the rough road. Kabirs eyes were transfixed on the edge of the road. Here, its here. Kabir screamed, pointing at the log by the side of the road He appeared somehow traumatized. Calm down, Kabir, Bello ordered. Kabir kept quiet, sobbing inside, biting his lips, feeling very frustrated that no one understood him. Umar held him, trying to comfort him. Well soon get home to mum. XVIII At home though, Safiya was with Aminu. Get on with your work. She said. But, Aminu had wanted a break. May I leave it till tomorrow, aunty? He pleaded. I dont think thats wise. She ruled out. Alright, he gave up. He was beginning to think he should have followed those troubleshooters to the falls; this holiday was beginning to look like a school extension! Safiya heard a call from outside. That must be Kabir. She walked toward the door. Kabir had just bolted out of the car and raced in. Mum... mum ...they... the... Kabir was stammering. Calm down. Whats it? She got hold of him. Kabir busted into tears at his sheer inability to communicate. Bello and Umar walked in. She eyed them questioningly. Bello shook his head, dont ask me, I just dont know. Kabir broke away from his mother and dashed inside. Aminu 46

steadied himself as Kabir bumped into him with a clinch. Aminu knelt to Kabirs height. Hi, big boy, whats the matter with you today? Aminu was being tactful. Kabir started to murmur. Take your time. Aminu encouraged him. Lets hear your story, big boy. Kabir began to relax, Aminu was his favourite confidant; he would listen; he would understand; he doesnt laugh at you. Kabir reasoned. Did you enjoy the waterfalls? Aminu asked. He could see that Kabir had a big story to tell, but, only cuddlesome tack could get it out. Kabir shook his head vigorously. Alright, dont tear your head off. Aminu joked. Why didnt you enjoy it? Were you not allowed to swim? Kabir shook his head again. Well then, tell me, why? Aminu waited. Everyone was waiting. Kabir was regaining composure. They took their car. He announced pitifully. Aminu drew him closer. Whose car was taken? Kabir threw up his hands. I dont know him. Aminu looked at Kabir doubtfully. You dont want to tell me? Kabir wagged his head. I want to tell you. Alright, who did the taking? I dont know, Kabir saw the disbelief on Aminus face, he added, they covered their faces. Aminu got curious. Nonetheless, he knew the surrounding crowd was not likely to get much from Kabirs throbbing heart. Safiya nodded at Aminu, encouraging him to continue with the difficult extraction. They took away his car and... Kabir continued. Bello cut in laughing. Seems to me the kids have got mixed up with much television, Hajiya. Safiya was doubtful though, I dont suppose so. I think Ill be off. I have an appointment. Bello took his leave, as he walked to Kabir and rubbed his head. O.k. smart 47

fellow, see you tomorrow. Bye, Hajiya. She turned to him, till tomorrow. She got hold of Kabir, alright, go and change for your meals. The evening delicacy was boiled chopped yam with fresh fish stew; luckily, that was Kabirs favourite! XIX When Malam Yakubu and his team got to Rangana, they discovered that the place had no roads, no lights, no water, no schools, in other words, there was nothing! It was not that these things were burnt, but they were either never there or had totally disintegrated. There was nothing around but desolation. The team felt as if they had fallen into a deep dry well! Soon, they were swarmed by idling people curious at the arrival of a lost contingent from the city. They hurriedly set up a resemblance of an office and started work, in the most depressing mood imaginable. Malam Yakubu was soon approached by the chief, a fat short man with bulgy eyes, barely an hour after their formal introduction. The chief plodded into his makeshift office. Yakubu stood up to meet the gentleman with all due protocol; they greeted, then an odd pause. Um, I have a present for you. The chief broke it. Yakubu was thinking of a fowl or some fruits from the bush, certainly, he hoped it was not meat; for that most likely would be a cat, a monkey or any weird looking beast; he had already been briefed that the man had no prohibited items on his menu. But, Yakubu saw no parcel with the self-anointed chief or the girl trailing him. Yes chief, Yakubu prodded, whats it? Here, the chief pushed the nape of the girl forward. She appeared timorous, frightened and unsettled. What? Yakubu asked almost in disbelief. A wife, the chief proclaimed, take her. Take what? Yakubu was astonished. 48

The girl, the chief commanded. Take her just like that? He asked almost impishly. Yes, came the word, confidently, she is my daughter. Well chief, Im but I am notI dont want a wife. Every man wants a wife. The chief ruled. I have a wife, of course. Malam Yakubu shot out. Add, the chief ordered. Add what? Another wife, the chief explained. I dont want to add anything. Yakubu said with finality. Thank you. He slumped back into his seat. The chief fumed out hastily with the young girl at his heels. They left Yakubu puzzled, annoyed and wondering, which unearthed the memory of his first meeting with Safiya, his wife. He remembered what an aunt of his said, eh, as she cleared her throat, this house is yearning for people. She had just paid him a visit at his new quarters. What people? he asked, thinking she meant squatters. But, she smiled and said, a young wife running about. He smiled inside with certain pleasurable yearning mixed with apprehension. Since he finished school, he had thought of marriage but shoved it off; having come from a polygamous family, he was afraid of marriage, it always had an image of chaos and commotion for him. The next time he saw his aunt, she was knocking at his door, one Sunday morning. With her was a young woman. This is the girl I was talking about. What girl is that? He actually could not remember much about their previous discussion. The wife, of course, his aunt was unusually baffled. Yakubu looked at what turned out to be his wife; she was pretty, light in complexion, well sculptured, fully grown and very attractive, with an inviting shyness lingering on her dimpled cheeks. Instantly, he liked her. His fears vanished into thin air. He wanted her. He wanted the marriage almost there and then. However, what this self-appointed chief was trying to do was 49

madness. Yakubu did not want to leave any lingering doubts on this, even though he would not want to make enemy of a man he would need desperately to get his programs implemented. It did not take him long to realise that the chief was not his only potential enemy; the news had spread that Malam Yakubu, the sole authority from the city, was not only without a wife but in desperate desire for one; who started this rumours, within hours of their arrival, was difficult to say, but Yakubu suspected that monkey-eating chief. The way the man hustled out of his office spelt anger; it was like he was insulted deeply for his offer to be rejected. Not long after this incidence, the vicar, clergyman or father of the church met him. Malam Yakubu, I know your book very well. Thats very good, father. Yakubu was not sure what that was leading to. It says the good women of the book before you are allowed to you. Yes. Yakubu wondered whether that was a query or a compliment. Good, the father said and paused. Good? Yakubu asked and waited. Yes good, the clergyman affirmed, because my maid is a good maid. Yes. Yakubu was at lost. Well mannered, the clergyman said and paused, pretty too, he added. Yakubu was having a thought rush. She has seen you and she likes you. Now, Yakubu guessed right, the old man was trying to do a wedding-match; what was he to say to this man, thank youdamn you or what? Therefore, I intend to give her away to you. Well, well thats kind of you father but No butsplease, he said with a wave of hand, wait till you see her. 50

I dont have to see anything, father. Yakubu said, Im married already. How many? the clergyman asked eagerly. One, why? Yakubu was puzzled. No problem, the man felt relieved. Well, theres problem. Yakubu was trapped. I read your book very well. The man asserted. Yes. Yakubu was trying to guess his next angle. It says you can marry two, three or four women, he said. So? Yakubu asked. Take her and make a bigger number. I dont want a bigger number. Yakubu almost shouted. Then, you dont want my daughter? he felt slighted. Look father, I told you I have a wife. Yakubu was trying to be calm, and if you read my book well, you certainly saw after four there is one. Yesyes, the man calmly agreed. Then? Yakubu was sure this man was tricksy! But, that is for one who is afraid. The holy man said. Well, Im afraid and Im settled on that number. The man left, feeling dejected; it was like Yakubu was making enemies by rejecting their daughters. Later, he learnt that the man had just called out his wives, three or so of them, and asked them to clean one of the girls, any of them ripe enough, she is for Maalaam Yakubu. They scrubbed her clean, dressed her in an oversized skirt, the colour of which was hard to determine. They stuck a large ribbon that looked like a headscarf on her hair and patched a huge plastic flower that nearly covered her full chest. By the time Malam Yakubu came to escort the father out, he saw the helpless girl waiting eagerly by the doorstep. Her shoes were rather cumbersome making her drag her feet, as she gathered the overflowing skirt that was likely to trip her off with every step. Malam Yakubu soon started to hear, all within a day of their arrival, the rumour being circulated that the Malam doesnt like Christians; but, when they heard that he had also refused the chiefs offer, they consoled with the two gentlemen, and said, 51

may be the Malam is half a man. Yakubu could not believe the speed at which uncensored information could travel here! He was quite surprised to discover that he was homesick even before the end of his first day in this forsaken place! Safiya was a charming companion that helped ease his professional pressures; now, he realised how much he missed her and the kids. XX The night fell. The kids had had their meals. Kabir was sitting between Umar and Aminu; he now felt confident to talk. Im telling you the truth. Kabir sought recognition by lapping the tip of his index finger and raising it up pointing to the sky; that was his strongest oath. Aminu was silent for a moment, and then an idea cropped up. Alright, we believe you, but well listen to the news on the telly. If there was any thing like that, theyll mention it on the 7:30 news, agree? Yah, agreed. Kabir was more than willing. Umar, whats the time now? Aminu asked. Umar glanced at his wristwatch and announced. Well, lets go. Its twenty five after seven. Kabir rushed to the sitting room. The others followed. I think Kabirs telling the truth. Umar said. Well soon find out. Aminu ruled. Kabir had got to the telly and switched it on, but at the wrong channel. Umar walked in to his assistance. The famous Hajiya Lolo Nupe dance troupe was on as filler. The kids sat anxiously waiting. Then, the station clock came up. A polished female announcer appeared with a brimmed smile, followed by the news signature tune. The news had begun. No one talked. Eyes were fixed on the telly. Safiya, though, was busy doing her last task of the day: clearing and packing up. On the telly: the President was visiting, sometime. The Governor was commissioning something. The chairman had addressed somebody. 52

The police had arrested someone. The economy was doing well, somehow. The local football team was playing somewhere. Finally, the news came to an end. Kabir remained silent, overcome by frustration; the telly had failed to report the incident; everyone had failed to understand him. Umar put his hands round his junior. Thats not fair. Kabir declared, as he ran off. Dont remind him of it. Aminu said, hell soon forget. Alright, Umar had his doubts about that, though; he knew Kabir never forgot such things easily; he would have to dig further to prove them wrong, somehow. Good night mum. Umar excused himself to go to bed. See you tomorrow. Aminu said to Umar. XXI Rangana, at night, had the abundance of three things: darkness, parasites and restlessness! The team from the city could not sleep, no one expected them to, and they could not keep still either, that they discovered to their dismay. Each of them got preoccupied battling thirsty giant mosquitoes or huge hungry bedbugs, or both. Then, there were the crawling scorpions and occasional rattling snakes, or the lurking thieves attempting to grab their luggage! The stillness of the night was now and then rent by females screams for help, while the men got busy slapping the air with rising desperation. They just wished it was morning! Malam Yakubu, though, was mechanically at work: reading, writing and some reflections. He had a smoky lamp to work with, a blanket round his legs for shield, and intermittent slaps on his neck to keep him going. He had a war to fight, and he was drawing up his battle plans. He realised that, if he was to accomplish anything here, he must restore what was there before, and to do that, he must know why what was there failed to do what it was supposed to do. He equally knew his job must 53

include building human capacity, to make the people do things for themselves; they must have the know-how to be able to raise themselves from their current position; that was easier said than done, as he was soon to find out. He had met the Muslims of Rangana in total disarray; there were three imams none of which were on speaking terms; a Malam Zamadeen had recently arrived, Yakubu was told. He was young, energetic, and in the words of Malam Labbo, a tireless troublemaker. Of course, Malam Labbo had been in town for ages. Yakubu discovered that he was an elderly man, thin and slow, with a certain characteristic way of making the world wait for him. Then, there was Malam Nakore. He was born here, taught by one visiting cleric who stayed and felt this town has been cursed, it will never grow; he packed his books and his clothes and left in the middle of the night. No one could give any reasonable explanation for such erratic behaviour other than what the self-acclaimed chief had said, those kinds of people dont stay with people; of course, he meant Nakores mentor was a friend of a jinn. Malam Yakubu was told, everything was quiet until this fellow just landed. They meant Zamadeen. He came and started preaching. Initially, no one bothered, why, simply because nobody went to listen to him; of course, they were away hunting, fishing and farming, or idling on wine pots. Gradually, the kids started to attend in order to avoid some home chores. The men became suspicious, then alarmed, only when their women folk started talking. He is a charming Malam, that was the phrase that made the men kinky. So, they started to attend, and the young cleric went on the offensive, attacking the old clerics. There were attempts to reconcile until Zamadeen said, I am a Muslim because I love to be free. The panel just eyed him, bewildered. I want to be free from worshipping blind cultures, he almost shouted at them; to be free from worshipping money and selfishness. Nobody asked you to worship all those. Nakore almost 54

shouted back in annoyance. Zamadeen looked them in the eye and said, I worship God to be free; so, why do you want to chain me with your ignorant restrictions? That got Malam Labbo edgy, and the meeting broke. Of course, Malam Labbo was a specialist in fetish medicine and he was appreciative of its revenue. Before long, the town was fanatically charged and the people started to take sides; the young were with the young cleric, the old were with the old. Not long after that, insults started, then nasty fights leading to slaughter! Malam Yakubu was not surprised with this much, when he went through the reports of the other people in the enclave; they smelt near the same thing. The first church was built high up the foot of the mountain; it was made with the imported bricks brought in to build the quarters of the sergeant major, he was told. The initial priest was a European fervent, an old fellow who forced the officer against his better judgement to assign labour for it. Well, youve got to do it far off there, the regimental officer insisted, when the clergyman complained of the site, the lord certainly shouldve a much more befitting location. Sure, father, but Ill rather you dont mix her majestys mission with yours. The building started and before long the church bell was ringing. It was a curious drum construction tied to a rope and hung high up the tower. It attracted curious people who initially thought it was a festival invitation, but, before long, they got baptised, after much hustle as to whether it was a must or even desirable to be circumcised. The white priest was an understanding man who allowed the sheep to keep some few, but not the large jujus or magiros. That caused the laity no trouble, after all, they had very tiny cubicles for houses, with not enough space to keep anything else, let alone large gods and the attending spirits. The conversion went on smoothly until the demise of the 55

priest and the tussle over succession; the only white nun around went over to another location, some people said with a renegade British soldier, others said, she was chopped by a hyena, because some strange European items had been found at the middle of the forbidden jungle, and everyone knew that was where she used to go to relief herself. The first self-acclaimed chief decided he would also be the new black father; that caused a lot of uproar as the man had more than five wives. Whoever sees a father with such flesh taste? They wondered. He stuck his guns; after all, he was a corporal under the colonial military. His reign was short; he got stung by a black scorpion, some people said it was the devil that changed both colour and shape. If the devil had appeared the traditional serpent way, they said, the chief sure would have had him; because the chief was a professional snake catcher, and that was his most enticing delicacy! His son presided over the gospel, without trouble, so did the son after that. But, their grandson, the present father, did not have that much privilege. Before long, someone had invited somebody from somewhere to come to open a new church anywhere; there is much money in it. It started without a building, just a tent under the tree, but it had a young fellow for a minister, and a dynamic one for that matter. Before you knew it, the youth were having a lot of jolly rebirth; there were drums, there were miracles and there was much, much dancing; then, the troubles started, the donation to the old church started to dry out, and the traditional faithful resorted to sabotage. The young evangelist started to have problems with the old. It took little spark to have interdenominational fights and some devilish insults and squabbles; the sects drew their lines and the fiend made his debut. Yakubu was no stranger to these tricky intrigues. As he sat, in the midst of the attacking mosquitoes, weighing the complexities of the people of Rangana, he had a dip into his campaign experience some years back. Then, it did not take him long to 56

visualize the confused future looming ahead of him, if by destiny he became a chairman. The groups that helped him through were as diverse and irreconcilable in their interests as to make it humanly impossible to satisfy. There were the students leaders, idealistic and frank to the point of concealed rudeness. They would help, they promised. In return, they seemed to ask for the removal of all their teachers and anyone in the education department responsible for their education. Nothing bothered the Drivers Union but the police and the petrol dealers. They would provide his campaign team with free transport so long he sympathized and hemmed their opponents down. The traditional rulers were respected men with great charm. They fathered all. If and when they decided to show approval, it was fatherly natural to reach out for the favourite. Since they were the custodians of tradition, their main desire was the maintenance of the status quo. One mallam Audu was handy with countless children of varying ages under his care. They were from faraway places. Having left home almost never to return, they were used whimsically. Yakubu had been told, most certainly, there is the need to pray to God, and concurrently, the need to display certain capacity for utmost lawlessness in this kind of business. Such was a measure of strength. Food and some clothing was the immediate demand. The target was to leave the institution alone to flourish. Yakubu had started with no money. The urging enthusiasm of his close associates proved embarrassingly inadequate. Soon, he realized his folly in accepting the invitation to run without settling the issues of finance. No problem. Someone was sent to comfort him. It was not from the outgoing chairman, and certainly not from his senior sister who was married to a retired low earning civilservant turned trader at a far away place as Birnin Shehu. A pledge is given by the following gentlemen. The emissary began the roll-call; of course, they desire anonymity. 57

Certainly, Yakubu, then, eagerly agreed. He began to wonder what was staked. This was a generous group beyond imagination, beyond belief. These were the gentlemen who always got contracts, which never got executed, from any regime. Yakubu was too bare of resources that he lost his nudging sense for prudence. You need the women. Stellar hoarsened out. Though a woman, she was structured with masculine limbs. She had huge nose, large eyes and tight muscles, with an equal compensation of big backseat and packed busts. She was the scribe of the feminine group constricted to a fringe, as they were misconstrued to be lewdly. Woman Rights was their maxim. Freedom to mix, freedom to marry and freedom from childbirth, and well, free access to anything manly, except the roughness; all these were their recently advertised aspirations. There was another group quite unnerving. They trooped in without invitation or organization. Educated in colleges and universities, they were unemployed, bitter and rude. Though managing boarding in the houses of their fathers, they nursed dreamy huge ambitions. Many had resigned to a life of drugs, petty theft and romantic anarchy. Some had pasted themselves to recharge cards or motorbikes, while many had clung to measuring football scores or petrol, at any conceivable time and place; they would give their support whether Yakubu asked for it or not, whether he wanted it or not! You are our man. They said. We just like you. Yakubu mused. He had a temptation to dress them down and out. But, his campaign manager had earlier warned him against making reactions or comments that might be used against them by their venomous opponents. This disorganized crowd took their leave with childish handshaking that nearly wore him down. Thanks to God, it is all over now. He heard himself saying, as he drifted into slumber, mixing up his past campaign experience with his present nightmare. 58

XXII The successive days were used by the restoration team to assess what infrastructure was or were not available. They discovered that, throughout that tumult, no one torched the hospital, if what was there could be so honoured with such a noble term; the combatants reserved, as it were, this derelict institution in case of eventuality. There were wards, with half roofs or no roofs, with or without windows or doors. There were broken beds with or without torn mattresses. Its like somebody assumed these people never fell sick. Someone murmured. The drug cupboards were empty but for the resident spiders and visiting rats, which made them passable in different locations. The nurses, well, if they could be identified, were shabby, nonchalant and brooding on lack of one thing or the other, most especially their salaries which they claimed had not come for the last twenty months or so. The last one, they said, was before the arrival of a campaign trail which lost its way through. It is as if we are not on record, sir. One nurse said. Malam Yakubu glanced at Aisha the official assigned the health portfolio. She looked at the scene and felt not only a surge of anger but also of regret; she had left her loving husband and three children just to come to see this appalling scenario. He could see how outraged the quiet short lady was for the neglect, and he too was reproaching himself for being the head of the DOD, a department supposed to be directly responsible, yet made redundant by the prevailing ethical disarray. The last delivery of drugs was over two years ago, sir. He was told by the zealous nurse who loved the job but hated being forced to this squalor, which was her candid description of their dilapidated institution. You wouldnt say this is fair sir, would you? she asked as she stared at him, as if charging him with negligence. No, it isnt. he confessed, almost absent-mindedly. Then, why did you do it, sir? she charged him formally. He stood there dumbfounded. The nurse had learnt through 59

one of his subordinates that he was the boss, the one relied upon to make things better; later, Yakubu also learnt that the officer was making some advances to her; what a betraying little stinging insect he was, he thought. But he knew the young woman was right. Malam Haruna was a point-blank man with his nose turned up at his royal calling. He was now given water and housing charge. He conducted his mates around the water works. This was no better. What seemed like a pumping machine had its innards scattered all over the place under thick layers of mud covered by weeds. Every metal part looked like they came straight from the blacksmith, broken pieces with mutilated angles. The filtration units were equally weed grown with shrubs dominating the landscape. The holding tanks were broken with flanks of metal dangled by the breeze; where they still held, they were rusty and crumbling at a tender touch; no one could say for certain whether any pipes were or were not laid. Malam Yakubu and his team were told that the site engineer had abandoned the area long time ago; he had eloped with one of the chiefs daughters while going; the chief had contracted his capture with a reward of another daughter; no one bothered to go looking for the man because they said, you could have the chiefs daughters without even taking a step! Yakubu was beginning to think that if there was anything functioning in Rangana, it must be the baby making machine! No wonder, their population was growing fast like wild plant! There was what looked like roads, as far as the name was concerned, hurriedly laid and abandoned. They learnt that the job was given out, years back, at such a sum as to ensnare anyone, to a certain strange company which landed and took-off without a trace. The roads had turned bumpy, lumpy and full of ditches or had simply become gullies. Mohammed was not talkative by nature, but he became a grudger as he conducted the team through his care, with quite an air of being totally disgusted. Sani was the officer-in-charge of education; he was not 60

expecting to see anything better, considering the mess he had left back home: roofless, floorless, chair-less, table-less, and anything-less structures that stood shamelessly for classes and learning institutions. He was a person easily disillusioned, and what he saw had simply squashed him; no wonder they send their kids abroad. Who would ever think there would be salvation for any officials in heavens? Sani had quickly dissociated himself from the pack. They went to the agricultural department. In the first instance, the site was difficult to locate; all signs of it had been swallowed up by shrubs and giant trees. When finally they mowed their way through, they got shocked beyond expectation; there was nothing there but carcasses of rats and cats covered by cobwebs under broken benches, twisted chairs and legless tables. In other places, big anthills stood for cupboards and filing cabinets! John, the officer assigned to this mess, felt like crying. What would anyone do if these people seceded? he spat out without hesitation. Lydia, the not so beautiful and not so ugly either, plain but brainy woman, was given the employment portfolio. She had nothing to report to the team, other than to say there is no record of anyone employed. Yet, records found on the floor of one of the rooms partially torched had shown that vouchers had been raised, from somewhere, for hundreds of employees who never existed even in dream! She did not call them ghost-workers because they had never been there before, let alone be resurrected! She was near driven to insanity. Some people just sit there sucking the blood of their fellows. Beads of tears ran down her oily cheeks. The other officers had virtually nothing to report: Habibu was on industry, he could not locate even a single hammer, let alone a workshop; Makun for communication saw no wires, headphones or anything remote to being called a postage stamp; Ndaman on recreation was at lost as to what he was to look for, and Thomas for security was sure of the lack of his care even 61

before he set forth. So, ladies and gentlemen, I expect to see your proposals before we set out back to base tomorrow, God willing. Malam Yakubu directed; he was holding back his anger and deep indignation. Yes, sir, they all chorused eagerness for the departure.
XXIII The next day, Ndaman and Habibu were the only officers able to have a proposal somewhat worth looking at; the others said they would have to do some data fill-in when they reached the headquarters. Malam Yakubu accepted their excuses, considering the staffing and material inadequacies. Sir, can we discuss tourism now? Ndaman proposed. Yes Malam, what have you got? Yakubu asked. I think we should give it some priority, sir. Yes, what does that entail? Yakubu asked. We need only the related infrastructure, sir. What are they, Malam Ndaman? Yakubu asked. We just need hotels, water, electricity, roads, sanitation, postal services, tourist guides, and publicity, security, rescue teams, transport, sport arena, artefacts, communication and medical facilities. Ndaman listed. There was a pause. Ndaman felt it was endless. Malam Ndaman, Yakubu called out and paused. Yes sir. Ndaman responded and waited. You have gone round Rangana as we had, and you have seen what we saw; of this list of yours, tell me please, which of these has been provided here, the smallest of it? None sir, Ndaman said, with a growing expectation. Then, how do you expect us to be able to provide all the lot to a bunch of globetrotting pleasure seekers? Silence; Ndaman was not sure whether he was expected to supply an answer; but, he hoped not. 62

Tell me, since you arrived who did you see climbing mountains or watching sunset at leisure here? None sir, Ndaman grinned. He had seen people idling; none seemed to notice any beauty in their redundancies. Now, tell me, how many of our people, well-to-do or not, go on any non-wedding or non-towns-meeting to any a-Yankari, aKainji or a-Lagos-bar-beach, just like that? Few, sir, Ndaman answered; he was really at lost now. Well, does that mean our people dont like travelling? They do sir, Ndaman was not sure what the angle was. Where do they travel to, then? Yakubu asked. Abroad, sir, Ndaman was ill at ease, really. Do you know how much our rich ones spend annually on such trips to a-Europa Centre or an-Oxford Street? There was an awkward pause. It was also heavy. Well, tell me. Yakubu demanded. A lot us, Ndaman responded. He was beginning to regret not delaying this submission, as others did, until they got back to Minna. It was like the whole weight of this machine was on him alone! Then, why are they not travelling to Lake Chad, Mombila Hills, Bargu Reserves or some Kanta museum? Is it lack of interest, sir? He answered with a question. You tell me, its your job. Malam Yakubu threw him back the challenge. When our people travel abroad, do they go for sightseeing the classic architecture of the British Museum or the Alligator of the Grand Canyon or do they go a-shopping? Mostly shopping, sir, Ndaman felt trapped. This issue was the theme of his thesis which earned him his masters, and for that his current position. But, he never really quite understood why the rich here never got tempted by the natural beauty. He wondered how he could entice them away from their intense passion for stylish cars, lavish mansions, glittering clothes and excessive ceremonies! So, you think you will lure them here with this one? I honestly dont know, sir. Ndaman confessed; he could not 63

imagine an attitudinal revolution so soon in a people absorbed totally in the pursuit of extravagance and luxury as opposed to ethical or natural beauteousness. Then Malam, how do you justify spending our meagre resources for services we have failed to provide to our own people on your rich, who will not use them, or for those there who already have them back home but want to see us, as if we are caged animals in a zoo? Yakubu asked. Ndaman nearly laughed. There was silence. He could see that Malam Yakubu was very serious if not offended; but, he had been given the portfolio on recreation. As far as he could make up both the root and the derivative meaning of the word, it stood for leisure, enjoyable activity; certainly, only those with spare foodstuff in their cupboards could afford leisure, not the kind of people in Rangana, in fact, not even the majority of those in Nigeria. What have these people got to sell other than their calabashes, their bracelets and woven mats, which they use daily, but which the foreign tourists would like to display as trifle souvenirs? Malam Yakubu asked. The same discomfited silence prevailed. How much of calabashes will your tourists buy to recoup the expenditure on a single five-star hotel in Minna or here in Rangana, tell me? Yakubu threw a challenge. Impossible sir, there was no hesitation for the answer. Then, tell me why they ceaselessly urge us to open up? It is supposed to boost foreign exchange, sir. Whose? Malam Yakubu asked. Ours sir, he was regaining his shattered confidence. Are you sure about that? Yakubu contested. I think so, sir. Ndaman said, confidently. Well, lets see about that. Yakubu said. When our wealthy travel abroad to their places, do they go to their bushes or to their cities? To the cities, sir, Ndaman gladly answered. How much of television, gold, cars, videos or handsets do 64

they buy from their shopkeepers? Yakubu asked. A lot sir, his confidence was ebbing away again. There you are. When we go to them we buy cars, when they come to us they buy calabashes; whose foreign exchange is boosted then, theirs or ours? Yakubu asked. Theirs sir, Ndaman yielded, reluctantly. After seeing what Ive seen now, Im not sure, when you people talk of tourism, if you really care much about how these people, our own people, struggle by. Sir, can we just beautify the place then? Ndaman proposed. Why not, Yakubu queried, but how? We can remove the eyesore, sir. Ndaman offered. Whats that? Yakubu asked. These shades, shacks, shanties and slums, sir. What will you leave or put after that? Flowers and statues, and statuesque features, sir. Good idea, but whats the beauty of all these to an empty stomach? What will I do in this area, sir? Ndaman resigned. Have patience, Ndaman. With the money you want to spend to attract those batches of holidaymakers, some of whom are bent on experimental promiscuity, let us first provide work to our own people so that they too can earn to cater for the essentials: food, clothing, housing etcetera. If they have enough to spare, they can plant any wild nonsense they like or travel to any bush or city they want, but those shanties are now their necessities not pastime. That will be ages, sir. Ndaman observed. Whats the hurry? Yakubu asked. If you want it desperately soon, then empower them massively fast. I mean the revenue angle, sir. Ndaman asked. What revenue are you talking about, when you spend hard millions to end up with soft hundreds? I never thought of it like that before, sir. Exactly, you always look at Europe and fancy how you can duplicate it here, just like that. Yakubu charged. 65

Its the development, sir. Ndaman was at a loss; his boss was narrowing his expertise to zero. He had trained as a recreation specialist, but the whole field was being torn apart and made an impracticable proposition. Yes, but Europe did not leave its people behind. It will take ages, sir, if we do that. Ndaman stuck out. How long did it take the Europeans? Yakubu asked. Quite a while, sir. Ndaman said. Then, whos pushing you up to do it in such a short time as five years or ten or whatever year for that matter? No one, sir. Ndaman gave up. Well, our primary responsibility is to our people, it doesnt matter how long it takes. That was that. XXIV As Ndaman dispiritedly walked out of the makeshift office, Habibu enthusiastically walked in. He was a tan-skinned fellow with a rather large head on a slim frame. He was also the youngest in the group. He walked confidently to his boss with somewhat few scribbled notes in hand. Habibu, I thought you were among those delaying? Um, no sir, Habibu said, I had already gone through the briefs on the potentials of this area before coming. What I needed was just to see the place and the people. I see, Yakubu said, so what are you proposing? Suddenly, Habibu felt hesitant. He thought he would be a fervent presenter when he met his boss with his rather radical proposal, but now, he felt low; something inside was accusing him of being naive and unprofessional. Lets see what youve got. Yakubu had noticed the reluctance, thinking may be the chap isnt ready. Yes sir, Habibu mustered some courage. There had been three intense studies by some foreign mineralogists, environmentalists and industrialists sometime ago, sir. Yes, Yakubu prodded. 66

They all pointed to the abundance of minerals, raw materials, raw labour and raw resources whose exploitation would boost the local and export industrial base, of not only the state, but, of the whole country, sir. He said, somehow recovering his guts. Aha, Yakubu though was musing inside. They also advocated for foreign partners as advisors, instructors and investors, so as to attract World Bank participation, financing and sensitization. But sir he paused, searching for some right words. Yes, Malam Habibu, Yakubu was interested. Sir, what I am proposing is quite uncommon, unorthodox, Habibu stammered, II feel, I think Yes Habibu, Yakubu could see the tension building up in his junior, it almost reminded him of his past. Were here to work out a solution, so we must be free and liberal about it. He aimed to give out some encouragement. Well sir, I dont believe all this talk about foreign thing, participation or financing as the solution, sir. Why? Yakubu asked, as to say this certainly is odd. Because, we have done that before, sir, and we ended up only being in debt and in far worse situation than we were before it. Habibu was gaining control of his nerves. And, why was that? Yakubu queried. Those projects were inappropriately set up and inefficiently run. Habibu categorically stated. They all collapsed within a year or so after commissioning, sir. Yakubu could remember being in one of those scouting teams sent abroad; some went to the Soviet Union, others plodded the Americas, and theirs went to the European Union. They were lodged in expensive hotels, given all the lobbyist attentions. They were driven round from one site to another, one factory complex to another. They had one seminar after another. At the end, they felt hypnotized by the glossy brochures and the chattering machines. They really believed if only this noisy machinery were in their possession, their own landscape would be changed from mud-houses to skyscrapers, from brute-yokes to land-scrapers, 67

from weakness to strength and from poverty to affluence. Those certificated young scouts honestly thought transporting those machines would also mean transferring the knowledge base, the cultural attitudes and the value systems of the other peoples to their own corridors. What a pity; years after that, the donkeys were still around, the mud huts were still flourishing, while the imported machinery were silent and their once inflated reserves now depleted. Yes, Habibu was certainly right. So, what do you suggest we do now? Malam Yakubu had certainly gained comprehension. Habibu relaxed. He coughed to clear his throat. Sir, those three studies were on clay manufacture, paper mills and car assembly, Habibu said, they all advocated the importation of costly machines and expertise. I would suggest that we import none, sir. Then, how do you go about it? Yakubu asked. We already have the basic knowledge, which is far better than what those people had when they started, sir. Yes. Malam Yakubu was listening. I propose that we go for labour intensive projects, since we have the abundance of such resource now, sir, Habibu explained, with time, and much sooner than they did, we will evolve the right components to get us through. That is interesting, Yakubu said, give some little details. Yes sir, I will start with the clay. Habibu proposed. Alright, go ahead. Yakubu granted his blessing. The main elements of burnt bricks manufacture are four: clay, water, air and fire. He paused. Go ahead, Habibu, Yakubu said. The stages are the preparation, drying and burning. Yes, Malam Yakubu adjusted himself forward. Preparation involves clay stocking, grinding, mixing and compaction, and the shaping of the products. The next two areas are brick drying and burning. In each of these areas where imported machinery is employed, manual labour had been and 68

could be used again, now, sir. How is the capacity issue handled, then? Yakubu asked. Of course, the capacity is low initially, so is the market, sir, but that will be increased depending on the number of people employed; however, we need to create demand first sir, before we talk of large capacity. Habibu said confidently. Yakubu was impressed. He remembered a factory once acclaimed as the first, the largest and the only one in the vicinity, one with hundreds of millions of units per year; it ran for two months and stopped; the whole yard was filled up with the products and not a single order was received! Again, sir, all those machines demand large amount of electricity which, at the moment, we cannot generate. Yet again, the large factories are dependant on large quantity of oil the constant supply of which we cannot guarantee. Lastly, in a place like Rangana, with low level of education and expertise, with no suppliers of spare parts, setting up such factories here will make our efforts a mockery. It wont last the initial euphoria, sir. Habibu seemed to rest his case. He was not aware that he was scripting his bosss mind. I see, was all that Yakubu could say. If we go manual, sir, the people will be the initial users of the products, and with time, they will improve in their work. They will improve in knowledge and expertise which will guarantee quantity and quality, enough to sell to the surrounding areas. Then, if they need any machines, they would know which ones are essential and which to discard or to improve upon. Habibu had prepared for this presentation, but he was enjoying it much more than he thought he would, I hope the machine approves. I see. Malam Yakubu was bankrupted of words. Sir, we all know that industrialization is not just the importation of machines; it is the result of the basic human urge of man to get gradually better in doing what he does most, in an organized fashion. We also know that it is erroneous to assume you can transfer technological advancement by shipping in containers full of nuts and bolts, just as it is childish to assume 69

money is not the problem but knowing what to do with it; each of these assumptions depicts the depth of our foolery, sir. Habibu was an engineer who bathed himself in humanities and technical history; he was certainly having a field day of it. I am inclined to agree with your basic assumptions. Yakubu said. Work out the details when we get back to the headquarters. For sure, Yakubu was swept off his feet by the audacity of this encounter; certainly it was unorthodox, but it was the best he could hope for. Yes, sir, Habibu felt very pleased with himself. XXV The crestfallen team came back to the headquarters and had a hectic week to compile their briefs. Yakubu summoned them to a meeting at the conference room, a large hall with rather worn seats. His two immediate assistants, Malam Garba and Isyaku, were in attendance. The former observed, I can see that the chief is agitated. Sure sir, you know him, with an eye for order, what he saw there must probably be disheartening. Isyaku said. Ladies and Gentlemen: let me say that for the first time in the history of power, I have seen government made toothless and purposeless. Malam Yakubu paused, looking round to ensure himself of attentive audience. It has become fashionable these days for officials to call their own government incapable, or unable or anything but responsible. He was stern. Lydia shifted in her seat, instinctive concord with the stance of her boss. Now, government, they say, cannot shoulder education, alone; it is not responsible; it cannot provide health services, alone; it is not responsible; it cannot provide even security, alone; it is not responsible. There was a brief pause. The officers were exchanging glances. Yet, they said weve so much money, we just dont know 70

what to do with it! Habibu came to his mind. Government can give out millions in gifts; government can host festivals, and still look out for donations from anybody richer than government! This, they say, is the current responsibility. But, such thinking, I say, is not responsible. Haruna clapped, one, two, but remembered that was not the norm in this gathering, and stopped. Others looked on without reprove; they all would have done the same thing. They all felt their superior had spelt out their feelings rightly. As we draw out a salvage plan for those people down there, I want you to bear in mind that government is responsible and it should be able to bring happiness to its citizens, all of them, wherever they may be. This is what were supposed to do and this is what weve to do. Yes sir, was the chorused agreement. Malam Yakubu was a man with an ancestral tradition of public service; his grandparents had offers stamped centuries ago and his father was on payroll even at thirteen! It was easy to see why he was shaken by the chaos he had seen in Rangana. He now must find ways to make the decapitated system responsible. Now, Malam Isyaku, we expect some introductory briefing from you. Malam Yakubu said. Are you ready? Yes sir, Malam Isyaku stood up. He was also the departments statistician. Rangana municipality has a population of thirty thousand. He started to furnish the gathering with the bare facts of the area. It has four main satellites, each with about five thousand inhabitants. Each of these satellites has two sub-satellites nearby, each of which has a population of two thousand or so. Next to this, in this consternation are sixteen meteoroid villages with a thousand people each, and thirty two scattered adjuncts each with five hundred dwellers. He paused briefly. His listeners waited patiently. The total population involved in this area of operation is ninety eight thousand, he resumed, but the daily flux from 71

within and outside the zone is fixed at two thousand; therefore, we are dealing with a figure of one hundred thousand people, all together, sir. With that, he sat down awaiting response in form of queries or comments. Sir, can we start with education? Malam Sani proposed, remembering that a recently held workshop of expects on development had stressed the importance of education as the surest catalyst of progress. I would rather suggest we consider communication first, sir. Makun interjected, after all, another just held conference of expects on development had stressed the importance of the internet, the information super highways, computer literacy, broadband technology and G-anything, as the fastest vehicle in vogue to progress! Sir, those people are agricultural, it is better we start with that. John put in, recalling the submission of professors on development making agriculture the solution to urban migration and a viable alternative to crude oil as foreign exchange earner. Alright, lets see; Malam Garba, whats the financial situation? Yakubu asked; he was no stranger to these tussles for prominence when it came to drawing up budgets. Yes sir, Malam Garba took the stand; he was both the administrative and the financial secretary of the department. The total annual revenue for the state is ten billion, ninety percent of which is federal, sir. Federal charity, Sani joked. Malam Yakubu smiled; he always abhorred their states dependency status. Does that include allocation for all the administrative areas? he asked Malam Garba. No sir. Well, give us all. Yakubu requested. We will have to do some adding up, sir. Garba said. You do it, were waiting. Yakubu granted. Malam Garba confabbed with Malam Isyaku. Sani whispered to Haruna who was sitting next to him, we just have to evolve a different pattern with these people. 72

They wont understand it. Haruna whispered back. The total is about fifteen billion, sir. Garba resumed. Go on. Yakubu said. The allocation by ministries is Malam Garba started. I propose a departure, sir. Lydia cut in, unsolicitedly. Whats that, Lydia? Malam Yakubu asked, gently. This tradition, sir, Lydia said, almost remorsefully. What tradition? Yakubu asked. Garba quietly sat down. Sir, she stood up, the exiting method of allocating money to the ministries is not fair. Lydia said, confidently. She recalled being in the market the other day. There was this man of about sixty or so, sitting dejectedly behind his wares of needles and thread the value of which could not provide him even a days meal. She wondered how his children could cope; they were most likely malnourished and sickly, most certainly uneducated and unhappy. She was sure, unless the present budget trend was discarded, such people would have no hope. Yes. Yakubu was listening with growing interest. I suggest we consider allocation based on population; after all, what we get from the federal fund is not on ministries but mainly on population. Lydia explained. Well. Malam Yakubu was waiting. By allocating revenue to ministries, the people have always been sidelined, not taken care of, sir. Lydia said. How? Yakubu asked. It is true, Sani cut in, if you will excuse me, sir. Last year, for example, nearly a billion went to education. Yes. Yakubu said. But, we have not since any evidence of anything spent on the hundred thousand people of Rangana. Sani said. Yes. Yakubu agreed. I supposed, if the allocation was done on population, they would be entitled to Sani paused to calculate. Do you have a grasp of his argument? Yakubu asked. Noyes, it was a divergent chorus, leaning to assent. Sir, Rangana has ten percent of our total population. Lydia 73

seized the floor before Sani could resume. Yes. Yakubu agreed. Their revenue should have been hundreds of millions. You think it is a gift to be shared out like that? Malam Isyaku asked, uninvitedly, taking over from his immediate boss; he was quite astounded by this suggestion. No, but supposed we were collecting taxes, their figure would have counted, would it not? Lydia asked defiantly. Of course, it would count. Thomas lent his support. Sure, because that would be ten percent of the total tax revenue, which would be equal to what we now say they should have. So, how come, when you get federal subvention, you dont count their number as important? Lydia asked, bewildered by Isyakus antagonistic stance. Thats not normal, sir. Malam Isyaku said. Is it because you people dash out slashes which end up on certain plates of your choice? Haruna shot out. No personal attacks, please. Malam Yakubu cautioned; he could see the hostility building up. It is not personal, sir, Haruna said, I mean we should make it normal, if it is not. What I am trying to say is that each person in this area is entitled to the same privilege as to equal responsibility. Budget should be based on people, sir, not on remote ministerial concept. When billions are allocated to health ministry, much of it goes to certain big projects in the towns; the other citizens are deprived of their share. They too are entitled to services commiserative to their population, sir. Haruna glanced at Malam Garba. This line of reasoning triggered a recall for the latter who seemed much to welcome their new raison d'tre. A subordinate of his had once invited him to his wedding at a village some few kilometres away; you must come to our village, sir, the chap had entreated. Malam Garba conceded and went; what he saw there was something close to hell. They drove just two kilometres out of town and branched left, leaving the tarred road onto a path, a footpath or a-something. It 74

could be called anything but a road. When he looked at his watch, it indicated that they had been travelling for over two hours, but to his dismay, the odometer showed they had just covered three kilometres. He bit his lips; they had seven more kilometres to go. When at last they reached their destination, they were ruffled, tired and regretting; they had spent nearly five hours on a ten kilometre road! He looked eastwards and was amazed to see the dazzling carriageways of Minna just down below; the five hour circuitous route was just a few kilometres distance from Minna! Alright, lets take a break to come up with the two alternatives and see which is most feasible and beneficial to the people. Yakubu wanted to quell the rising tension due to certain miscomprehension. XXVI Sir, by convention, we allocate funds thus: government house, point five percent; cabinet office, twenty percent; finance, five percent; housing, fifteen percent; education, thirty percent; health, ten percent; sundry, five percent; industry, one percent; natural resources, nine percent. Malam Isyaku read out the well rehearsed details. On what basis are these allocations made? Sir, the allocation is based on governments indicated priority; that is, if the head of government leans towards health, for example, that ministry gets the lion share. I see. Now, in this percentile you have called out, where will Rangana be, say, this year? Malam Yakubu asked. It is within the lot sir, just like all the others. But Isyaku, weve been to Rangana, and we can assure you that, of this aggregate, none has reached them, and were now in October, so, what happened to their share? Isyaku was dumbfounded; he searched others for relief. He found none. He felt alien within this semi-rebellion. No project had been earmarked for that area, sir. When will there be one? Yakubu asked. 75

I have no idea, sir. That confession gave his opponents the opening to unleash their barrages of attack. That is why I said the traditional budgeting is wrong, sir. Haruna said. It is just colonial exploitation! He was an heir apparent with radical ironing, one to turn the tables upside down; they probably would bypass him for a more malleable opponent. Haruna might have no regrets! Exactly, Malam Haruna, all it does is to perpetuate the suffering of the people through neglect. Habibu sent out. Despite the annual allocations, sir, our people are still burdened to their necks. Mr. Makun shot in. He was remorseful of his peoples ageless practice of shouldering their loads like donkeys. Mr. John was forced to abandon his usual quietness. Sir, he glanced at his boss, the budget always concentrates resources on the urban areas, while the villages are neglected. As a result, the youth, like insects, are drawn to the glitter, leaving behind the sick and the elderly. The result has been the loss of agric production, sir, the overstretching of the city services, and the collapse of the whole value-system. He paused a little; others did not interrupt, for John enjoyed certain respect, being a quiet person. If you spread development widely among the rural areas, everyone would remain at their places to build them up, sir. John was a man economical with his words; this much he had to spare. Malam Yakubu registered those comments. Is it now possible to find out why this method is not reaching the people? Yakubu addressed Isyaku. Sir, the ministries are responsible for executing the policies of the government based on its leaning, and the appropriate material and human resources are allocated for the attainment of such objective. Isyaku explained. Good, but why are the people excluded? Lydia asked. That is what we want to know, really. Haruna added. They are not excluded, sir. Malam Isyaku directed his comments at Malam Yakubu. He was bewildered by the growing bad feelings 76

of his colleagues towards him. He wondered why they were hostile and anti-establishment. The whole thing is done for their benefit, sir. He said. Say, if you build a university, for example, under ministry of education, with the funds available, of what benefit is it to the people whose primary and secondary schools are not run properly to have their children enrolled into that university? Yakubu asked. There was silence. Malam Isyaku was beginning to see that even their boss had been infested with this Rangana bitterness. But, the question was pungent. Or, of what benefit is it to the people when you use the allocation of the ministry of health to build a single specialist hospital which only few can get to, while the majority cannot get basic health care? he asked again. None sir, Aisha said as she remembered a scarcely occupied four storied five-star-hotel where they had to wait for service from a man who was the clerk, the manager, the cook and the steward, all rolled in one! Yet, the people in the neighbourhood had not a drop of water to drink! Any alternative proposal, lets have it. Yakubu asked. There is, sir, and it goes like this. Lydia stood up, while adjusting her long skirt. Sir, this proposal is not from me alone. I will list the contributors later. She paused briefly. Continue, miss. Yakubu granted her permission. I have been honoured with the presentation, and we hope this will bring some changes for the better, sir. All the officers who visited Rangana, except Malam Yakubu, had met and decided to formulate an alternative revenue sharing module which they asked Lydia to present. Each of them was aware of the growing destitution within their own circle. Each, also, had relatives in their villages equally abandoned with no government care. The genesis of this must be those colonizing slave driving white monsters! That was Harunas comment; and, this was Makuns; we are the few out of thousands to escape such dreck, 77

but is that fair to those we left behind? These were some of the comments at that clandestine meeting. They had understood two things; one, that they, the formulators of policies had been hiding behind the impersonal concept of government to advance only their own interests; and two, that they had been enslaved by a system perpetuated by them; they could see no apparent alternative, thus, they too had become its victims. The conference room was now very receptive. Lydia resumed, the basis of this proposal is that every citizen is significant as outlined in our constitution, sir. Yes. Yakubu assented. Secondly, each citizen is equally entitled to all rights as they are bound by all responsibilities. She paused briefly. Aha. Yakubu indicated to her to continue. Thirdly, sir, the resources and the accrued revenues of the states are equal entitlement to all the citizens of the state. She turned to the next page. We have one million people in this state; they are members of the same family entitled to equal treatment, without discrimination or preferential treatment either, sir. Yesyes, this was a general response. What is happening now is very unholy, sir. Expenditure-wise, to the government, a Lydia in Minna has a value higher than one hundred Lydias in the county towns, and she is a thousand times costlier than any Lydia in any rural area! That is true. Haruna chipped in. Sir, this imbalance is much evident even within the cities. One Sani of a certain area is worth a thousand Sanis of another area of the same town! Lydia said. Malam Yakubu felt as if Lydia was reading his mind. Any revenue collected, whether from subventions, taxes or grants, from local, federal or foreign sources should be utilized equally on all the citizens, concurrently without delay. Lydia outlined. The traditional concept of drawing out budgets and allocating funds to ministries is totally flawed, sir, and it should be discarded forthwith. 78

Its a colonial legacy not worth retaining. Haruna said. There was a great murmur. Malam Isyaku glanced at Malam Garba to see if he too was puzzled by the rebellious atmosphere of the hall. Malam Garba just sat there not revealing anything. Isyaku could not comprehend this. Malam Garba, though, had got it. He had served various regimes, had drawn up countless budgets, yet, neither his lot had changed, he who was an officer in service, nor the lives of the millions they were supposed to be working for. By the time the salaries were paid, nothing remained in the treasury for anything else; neither the government nor the workers had attained any satisfaction in anything they had set themselves to do. If only change could come, from any quarter, he would welcome it. He was beginning to think that their unending dissatisfaction was a retribution for their continual injustice to the down trodden, the silent multitude supposedly under their care. We propose that henceforth all revenues be disbursed on population as basis, people not projects as the common denominator. To that effect, we propose that out of the total revenue, twenty five percent be allocated to general services, such that are central and of benefit to all. Lydia turned over another page. We also propose that sixty percent be allocated on the basis of population to all settlements, and ten percent to invest in international or national bonds or ventures, and the remaining five percent be saved or kept aside for contingencies. Isyaku stole a glance at Yakubu; he could see that their officer was absorbed, very happy with Lydias radical ruse. The general services will include such areas as inter-area highways, security and related expenditures which have bearing to all the citizens collectively, irrespective of their location. The hall was very receptive. The sixty percent allocation will be disbursed thus; any settlement and its satellites will have their share which will provide them basic services and any other uniquely required there. Lydia paused briefly, then resumed. Every settlement, village or city will have funds proportionate to its population 79

to expend in areas of its needs, sir. She rested her case and sat down. Thank you, well take a break and allow Malam Isyaku to come up with some pattern out of this. Is that possible? Yes sir, Malam Isyaku accepted the challenge; he had told himself that he had to go along with this revolution no matter what. XXVII Malam Isyaku was beginning to figure out what his mates were driving at, and he had no objection, only worrisome reservations. During the break, he had a brief chat with Malam Garba. I dont think the people up there will accept our submission. But, he hoped they did; he too had dear ones in their village and in Minna. He remembered his visit to one of them at Anguwan Daji, a place in a corner of Minna. It was chaotic with no roads, unhygienic with no drains, dark with no light, and with lots of empty earthen pots and plastic containers round a tap that had been dry for over two years; one of his close relatives was cheeky enough to say, you can see how we live. Yes, I can see that. Isyaku was uncomfortable. But what the man said after that was rather mean. I guess you people are busy working for yourselves. Why did you say that? Isyaku recovered to ask. All your policies are tilted to your comfort, arent they? Isyaku did not understand what the man meant then, but now he had; true, the system is tilted to carter for us. Lets be hopeful, Garba said, halting Isyakus recall. Everyone came back feeling refreshed and hopeful. Lets have the breakdown. Yakubu addressed Isyaku. Yes sir, Malam Isyaku took the centre stage, while the other officers waited anxiously. He was now much more enthusiastic. Based on what is being tabled, from our federal and local revenue of fifteen billion, three point seven five billion will go to general services. Nine billion will be assigned on the basis of 80

population. One and a half billion will be for investments and seven hundred and fifty million for contingency. Can you give us details on the population allotment? Yes sir, Isyaku readied himself. Since we have one million people in the state, each citizen will be allotted nine thousand. A village with one thousand people, for example, will be allotted nine million annually. Nine million, eh, Yakubu asked, what of Rangana? For a population of one hundred thousand at Rangana, they will have nine hundred million annually, sir. He said, and sat. Nine what? Thomas cried out on impulse. Nine hundred million, can you believe that? Aisha asked. She could not believe it, either. She could imagine what such money could do for those people; within a year their lives would certainly change for the better. It is amazing, really. Thomas said. They had never had such figure since Amalgamation. Makun easily historicized. There was no investment there worth anything. Thomas said. He had forgotten that there was none also in his own village, a place where they had to trek a whole day to get to the nearest clinic which most of the time had nothing but empty cupboards and a sleepy nurse with laughable ambition of becoming somebody! The man had a funny way of looking at you in the eye, and would say, keep walking, if you do not die before you get to those lights there, you could live for ever! Sir, with this allocation, each settlement in this area, no matter how small, can enjoy medical care, educational facilities, water and electricity supplies, motorable roads and much more, in the first year, which can equally be maintained. Lydia listed and paused. Everyone seemed busy making calculations, most on what their villages were likely to get. Sir, my colleagues and I are in agreement that the right module should be the aforementioned proposal. Lydia concluded. She knew what difference this could make to her own 81

beleaguered village, a forsaken place just like Rangana, with no hope of any good coming to them in her life time! She could visualize her people dancing out! Now Lydia, tell us how you intend to make this clock of yours work. Malam Yakubu asked. Lydia winked at her colleagues; they were sure their boss had been won already. Yes sir, she took the stand again. The way its supposed to work is this: each cluster of villages or satellites with one thousand people or so is to have a council of no less than, say, seven members; the council can be named whatever the ministry people want to call it, village council, peoples council or anything. Is there any comment on this? Yakubu asked. He was replied with silence, and some head wagging. Alright, continue. He invited Lydia. This cluster should have a general service department composed of seven units: agriculture, water, works, heath, education, accounts and security. She paused briefly, casting a sweeping glance at her mates. Each cluster should have the seven basics What are the seven basics, Lydia? Yakubu interjected. Sir, seven basics are such essential services as medical care, water supply, educational facilities, electric power, police post, market space, and a general purpose centre. I see. Yakubu said. He turned to others and asked, any question? The hall was mute. Continue, Miss, he addressed Lydia. Yes sir, the cluster should operate on an annual budget drawn on the basis of its income-expense expectations. It should also be linked with the adjacent clusters by all season motorable roads to facilitate the movement of goods and services. Anyone with a query is free to ask them. Yakubu announced. His assistants just looked on, with a feeling of were all in this to the end. So, as you can see, sir, there will be employment boom, health and educational lift, agric and economic expansion and a 82

general political transformation of the people through their full participation in development process. With that, Lydia sat down. Thank you, Lydia, Yakubu was very appreciative of the effort. Well, you have heard the proposal, any comments? No sir. Haruna volunteered. Are we then in agreement as to which module to use? Malam Yakubu asked, while imagining Safiyas delight. Once, she told him during those usual questioning session, Ive been to Pakungu, I think its shameful. Whats that? he asked. They are so many down there without your concern, and there are few up here with much of your care. She refused to explain; now he got what she meant! Yes sir, there was no dissent. Then, be it. I expect full details for submission before our next visit to Rangana. Once more, I thank you ladies and gentlemen. Malam Yakubu adjourned the meeting. XXVIII The days had passed, a fortnight or so, as quietly as they could possibly be for Malam Yakubus family. Yakubu had been coming and going to Rangana as regularly as his assignment demanded; his family had got used to his movements and his absence. Like Safiya said, once in a while, youve to let go for something. This Monday afternoon though, the indoors had become rather hot. The electric supply, despite the perpetual massive capital injection, had been, as Malam Isyaku would call the disintegrating colonial legacy, erratic; now on, now off, or the current was too low to be of any use to anybody or for anything. The kids, Umar and Kabir to be precise, had been noisy as usual. Safiya had finally put on her madcap and had sent them out, far and away, to their aunty, way down the Quliya Housing Estate. Aminu had buried himself in his homework; his uncle had glanced at his score sheet and decided that was not good enough. Malam Yakubu had therefore charged Safiya to increase the 83

youths daily doses: studies, assignments, and more studies. Sure enough, she was doing a good job of it, to Aminus dismay. Kabir was cycling homeward alone; he had decided to leave Umar at their aunties. He had had enough. He had complained of boredom; the lady was old and most of the time dozing off; and, whenever she was awake, she was full of complaints! This was Kabirs assessment though, and no one dared contradict it. She was actually not their aunty, but, their fathers aunt; they adamantly refused to address her as granny. They said that word would make the old woman older, therefore more boring! This twitting deduction was actually Umars, which Kabir had blessed. When Kabir called for a departure, Umar had refused to come along with him. Well, Im not going back now. Umar had declared. Well, Im not staying any longer. Kabir also declared. There was a stalemate; well, go then, if you want to go, Umar had suggested. Well, Im going. So Kabir had left. There was no danger of his getting lost, this time. He had been through this road several times before, enough for him to know its avoidable and unavoidable potholes! He stopped at Kasuwan-dare for a little rest. He watched the group of struggling youth as they chased cars with dangling gallons and dripping oil. He also wondered where they had taken the former hungry looking soldier sculpture to. That reminded him of his own stomach; he brought out a wrapt ball from his pocket. He undid the wrappers and expertly threw the yolky toffee into his mouth. He wore a pleased expression with watered gums. He glanced at the men chatting around a large table sipping tea with slices of bread being munched. Next to them was the meat man; his arc of stuck pieces of meat, coated with thick paste of ground groundnut cake, was barbecuing around heaped burning charcoal. Not far from them was another meat man; Kabir did not like this much, flaked raw meat spread on straw bed placed on a table for a dense flood of large black flies. 84

XXIX Kabir hit the pedals and circled round the traffic central island passing the disused police post, then Kuta Road and the current police station occupying the once native authority reading rooms, to the right. He edged further onto the road to clear off two parked cars. He momentarily cast a glance at the men standing by the cars. Flashing images rushed back to his head. He quickly moved to the edge, stood his bike by the pavement, overlooking the onetime earthen single roomed prison, and walked back to the parked cars. Instantly, he recognized one of the faces as one of those men at Gurara waterfalls. At that moment, the men got into their car. Kabir stood there undecided. The recognized man drove past him. Kabir ran to his bike, jumped on it and raced after the car. Umar must see this. He just wanted to get the man to show to Umar and Aminu so that they would know he was not lying about the snatched car and the skinny man. Just ahead of him, the car was stopped at the junction by the recently installed traffic lights. Kabir increased his speed and had another glimpse of the man as he got the green light to pass. The car turned right, taking the Stallion road. Kabir followed. The road was congested; animals and pedestrians added to the goslow, all to Kabirs advantage. He was able to keep the car in view. At a certain point, around the native police derelict barracks, Kabir rode past the car. Just after the Restrainers Camp to the left and the Competitors Zone to the right, the car overtook Kabir and turned left, so did Kabir. His heart was beating fast from excitement and exhaustion. The road at the two roomed canine hospital was sandy. Kabir found it hard to go faster. Luckily, the car too could not go far, it had come to a dead end. Kabir slowed down, disembarked and pushed his bike along. The car drove into an enclosure and the gate was pulled back. Kabir leaned his bike on a nearby tree and tiptoed to the concealed part of the fence, a six-footer corrugated sheet 85

arrangement. He snooped around with ears erect!

Inside, at the other side of the yard, he could see, through a pinhole in the fence, some men busy working on a car. Without difficulty, Kabir recognised the car as the one at the waterfalls; it was the patchy white saloon car. He saw a face he had come to know too well; the man walked to the other men and was harsh talking to them. I must call Umar. Kabir decided. He retraced his steps cautiously. He got to his bike and raced homeward. He was sure Umar must have gone back home by now. XXX Malam Yakubu had come back and was going through Aminus homework. Well, this looks alright. He glanced behind him, as he heard the sound of a bike. Kabir was shocked and deflated to find his father standing there at the entrance. Avoid dad, the mind said. Kabir, from where? his father asked. Kabir felt at lost. Say nothing, the mind advised. To Kabir, silence was the usual antidote to anxiety; everyone knew that and any inquiry would be dropped easily to spare the lad; if you press harder, Kabir will cry, and if Kabir cries, he will not eat my food that day! Safiya had warned everyone to back off. Get that bike into the garage. Yakubu instructed with a smile, I dont want that iron obstructing my way. Yes dad. Kabir pushed his bike and leaned it at the other side of the garage. He walked in casting a smiley glance at Aminu who replied with a wink. Kabir searched room after room, looking for Umar. Finally, he saw him sitting on a desk doing some homework. I saw the man and the car. Kabir whispered. Which man? Umar asked. Car snatcher, Kabir whispered. Where? Umar was animated. Stallion road, Kabir lowered his voice farther, lets go. 86

Where? Umar asked, doubtfully. There, Ill show you. Kabir urged. Now? Umar was alarmed. Yes, Kabir said in addition to a nod. Are you mad? Umar said, with some disbelief. Kabir nodded instead of a negation. I cant go now, Umar murmured, dads outside. We must go now, He was emphatic; theyll go away. He tugged Umars sleeve. Leave off, I dont want dad to get onto me. Umar protested. Kabir felt hurt. He grabbed the books in front of Umar. We must go, now! Alright, alright, but dont tear my books, Umar gave in, otherwise, Ill report you to mum. Kabir led the way, tiptoeing and glancing sideways to make sure they were not spotted. They edged out, avoiding the passage. Lets go on my bike; its here. Kabir got out his bike. Umar got on it and helped Kabir onto the bar. Aminu was released from the rather uncomfortable close inspection. He dropped his books and went searching for Umar and Kabir. He saw the abandoned books which he hid away in the drawers. He wondered where the two had gone to. He heard Safiya calling for Umar. Hes in the toilet. Aminu was not sure. He thought a small lie would not matter much, if it turned out to be one. Alright, you come, give me a hand. Aminu smiled as he went to her. XXXI Umar brought the bike to a halt, using his feet to supplement the brakes. Wheres it? He asked; now, he was a full participant. Kabir pointed to the entrance, in there. They kept a good distance from the compound. 87

Get down then, Umar wedged the bike with a leg while the other leg dangled. Kabir waited as the bike was taken care of, concealed. They moved cautiously to the gate. Umar signalled to Kabir to come along, but quietly. Have you seen it? Kabir asked. Whiz... Umar cautioned, putting his index finger against his lips. He stepped back and whispered. Ill have to go in first. Umar said. You wait here. Kabir nodded agreement. Umar took a step forward. Kabir drew him back. Whats it? Umar whispered. Youll be careful, wont you? Kabir was apprehensive. Umar nodded, Dont worry. Ill be back soon. Umar walked to the gate stealthily. Kabir eyed him with great concern. Umar placed his hand on the gate, glanced back at Kabir and smiled. Kabir managed a smile too. Umar opened the gate slowly and squeezed himself through. Kabir raised his palms to heavens, with a silent plea. Oh God, bring him back. Umar was in the yard. To his right was a smart building, not large, but well brick-worked, with a large polished wooden door. The windows were smokescreened. There was a vast space by the side of the building. There was a zinc-sheet fence joining a high wall that ran the length of the yard. Umar heard some murmurings. He quietly did a frog-jump to the edge of the building where an alley led to the inner part of the house. He looked round and assured himself of his concealment. The voices now became distinct. It will be difficult to sell it. Why? It is hot and it is battered, the voice spat out. Umar moved closer. Well find a way to cool it. Another voice said. There was a lull. Come on; lets get on to it. The second voice advised. There was some fidgety activity. 88

We should be able to clear it by this time tomorrow. Kabir had not moved from his hiding place. He was so anxious that he kept squeezing his tiny fingers. He had his eyes glued to the gate. He was expecting Umar to come out anytime. It was lasting eternity. Umar attempted to move but stopped, as he heard footsteps quite close. Someone stood by dusting off the foot-mat of the car. A cloud of dust blew to Umars direction. The kid tried to fight off the urge to sneeze, but he could not. And, achachy came out the sound, so loud and clear. The men at the car felt silent. Out came another sneeze. Umar cupped his mouth and nose. Two of the men rounded the corner and grabbed him. Kabirs ears were erect. His eyes were wide open and his heart was pounding. He became extremely edgy. Come out now, Umar. He was saying to himself. Kabir was tossing ideas; could he run home to dad, but what would dad say; it must be to mum, yes, mum would come and get Umar out; these mean people must be talked to by mum, no, by dad. Kabirs mind was a web of schemes to get Umar out, oh Umar come out now. But, Umar was held tightly by a pair of strong arms. He was almost being dragged to meet a big man waiting. What brought you here? The big man demanded. Umar said nothing. His eyes moved from one man to another; none of them appear nice, Umar assessed them; that was a frightful prospect, though. What was he to say to these mean people to let him go? I can runno, I cant; I can cryno, I cant; Im dumbno, Im not. Tell me before I tear you alive. The big man moved threateningly towards Umar. Wait. Wait. I just came to look. Umar said, hoping the man would believe him. You are lying, the big man was menacing, and if you dont tell me the truth, Ill order the man to beat you up. Umar looked up at the giant in front of him. 89

Look at him well. He has no mercy for children. The giant tightened his grip on Umar. Search him thoroughly. The big man left them. There was nothing to search for; Umar had no pockets in the vest he was in when Kabir enticed him out. The skinny man looked at his Oga and pleaded. Let us not waste time on the kid, Oga. Shut up, the Oga said, no small spies here. The Oga had a flashback of the incidence at Gurara falls when a kid nearly botched their operation; may be it was, may be it was not, the same kid; either way, he would not take chances with this one. But, you said there would be no violence. Did I say so? The Oga was sarcastic. Yes. Well, I have changed my mind. Umar started to cry. Please, let me go home. Please, Oga let him go. He is just a kid. Skinny said. The Oga thought a little. Alright, it wont be just now. Umar raised the volume. Lock him up in that room. Yes, thats better. Skinny said. The giant handed Umar over to the skinny man. Dont worry, Skinny, we will let him go. The giant said. Alright, I still dont want people to get hurt for this. XXXII Kabir was visibly disturbed. He heard the sound of a car coming to the gate. The gate opened and he saw the big man and two others drive through. One of them got down, went back to the gate and shut it, and rejoined the others. Kabir wondered what was happening. He waited. Umar was behind the door as a prisoner. He banged at it with all his might. He shouted and he cried to no avail. His fists ached. He stopped, and he went to a corner and sat, leaning on the wall 90

of the bare room. He mused. Whats mum going to say now? He tried to go through the episode all over again; what was the possibility of getting out of this? Somehow, the thought of Kabir out there gave him some dull consolation; Kabir might try to get him out oror go home to call dad; that was not a good proposition though, their escapade would be exposed and dad would be very angry, that would be bad. Anything was better though, Umar thought, than being locked up in this rat-hole. The worst prospect was for Kabir to sit there, waiting for him, doing nothing. It was getting a bit dark and he had no idea what these mean people were up to. He could not trust the parting words from that skinny fellow; theyre all bad people, he concluded. His mind wandered back to his junior brother. What if Kabir was daft enough to allow himself be caught? Kabir though was outside, impatient of waiting. Whats holding Umar so long? he wondered. He decided to snoop. He tiptoed to the gate. He pushed it a little and squeezed through. He walked into the yard cautiously, heading to where the stolen car was parked. He tiptoed to it. He peered into the car and saw some papers and also some shoes, ladys shoes. There were some papers also on the ground, by the car. He picked one and tried to read it. He had forgotten Umar, almost. Umar heard some movement. He walked to the door and listened. He decided to resume the door banging. Help me please. He shouted out. Kabir was jolted back to the moment. Umar, he called out, throwing caution overboard. He hurried into the building while stuffing his pocket with the paper. Umar heard the approaching footsteps. He waited. Kabir walked just by the door and called out. UmarUmar. Im here, here, open the door, Umar responded. What are doing in there? Kabir asked. Get me out quickly. Umar called out. 91

Kabir went to the handle and tried it. It wont open. Its locked, you daft, Umar was mad, use the key. No key, Kabir said and stood there feeling helpless. Well, do something. Umar urged. Kabir looked at the door and saw the bolt high up. What are you waiting for? Umar was desperate. Its bolted. Kabir declared calmly. Then unbolt it. Umar was getting annoyed with him. Kabir tried to reach the bolt, I cant. What do you mean, you cant? Its too high. Kabir seemed to give up. I cant reach it. For goodness sake, dont just hang there, do something. Umar urged. Alright, alright, Kabir looked at the bolt again, wait, he had got an idea. He ran outside. He walked round and round the car in the workshop, searching for Whats happening? He heard Umar shouting. Im coming. He shouted back. He saw a toolbox. He tried to lift it. It was too heavy. He looked at it for a moment, then opened it and started to throw out the content: set of spanners, hammers, screwdrivers, clamps, pliers, pincers, cutters and wrenches. He ran back to the door with the box. He placed it by the wall and got on top. He still could not reach the bolt. Whatre you doing? Umar was very anxious. Im trying. Kabir seemed lost and frustrated. Well, try harder. Umar gave him encouragement. Kabir got down the box and went back to the shed. He scouted. Umar, though, was experiencing time-stretch. Aha! Kabir saw a small bench. He dragged it noisily. Umar heard the commotion and became acutely fearful. The whole place was twilit. Hurry up, Umar shouted, his voice was drowned by the squeaking sound of the bench. The sun was just about gone. Kabir brought the bench to the door. He leaned it against the wall. He scrambled up on it. He nearly got to the bolt but he slid down. He got up again and laid 92

his hand on the bar. It was hard. There was the sound of an approaching car at a distance. Umar urged him to hurry up. Kabir tugged at the bolt and pulled. He pulled again. No use. He wiped off sweat from his eyes. He resumed twisting the bar again. It moved. Its moving, Umar, its moving. He cried out. Then, hurry up, the desperate plea came from inside. Darkness was now creeping in on them. The sound of the approaching car was much close. Then, the yard was filled with the beam of the cars headlight. Kabir managed to get the bolt off as the car drove into the yard. The car came to a halt at the side of the stolen car. And the men got out. XXXIII Umar opened the door of his confinement and got out. The kids dashed off to the other side. Wait, Umar remembered something. What again? Kabir was tense. Umar went back to the door. He closed it and pushed back the bolt. He came back to Kabir and giggled. Theyll think Im still in there. The kids heard the men coming their way. We better free the kid now. Skinny reminded the Oga. What are you so particular about the kid for? The Oga seemed angry. Is he your son? Look Oga, I didnt get into this to starve a small boy, thats all. Skinny was treading on a dangerous ground, and he knew it. There was something about Umar that made him quite sympathetic. The kid was clean and smart. He was not like those nasty thieving kids! Alright, go get him. The Oga condescended. Skinny walked to the door, and felt for the bolt. Hi, kid. Dont worry; you will soon go to your mother. He opened the door. Where are? 93

He saw no kid. Hi, Oga, where is the kid? The Oga came to the door, look in there, you idiot. There is no kid here, Skinny said, he has vanished. What do you mean he has vanished? the Oga stepped into the room, let me see. The Oga was flabbergasted too, how come... Umar tiptoed to the door left ajar, he banged it shut and bolted it. It was too late for Skinny and the Oga as they stood there staring at the closed door. Hi, who is that? they shouted, let us out. Umar and Kabir shook hands, pleased with themselves. Were calling the police for you. They shouted out. The boys dashed out of the building, hearing the men banging at the door and shouting at one another. The Oga felt bitter. Break that door, Skinny. I cannot do it barehanded, Oga. He was mischievous! See what you have caused us, you and your damned kid concern! He was full of disappointment. Umar and Kabir had reached the police station. They were quite a sight, as each tried to make a report. Let me talk, Kabir. Umar notched at his excited junior. I too! Kabir was very forward. But, it was I who was in there. Umar said. But, it was I who saw them do it. Kabir contested. The smartly dressed young inspector came round to reconcile them. Alright, you said they were thieves? The kids nodded. And that they had a car in the yard? They nodded again. Kabir remembered the paper in his pocket. Herehere, it was in the car. Kabir handed the paper to the inspector. Yes...yes, the inspector seemed stimulated. Yes, it was the car, alright. We have been searching for it this while. He directed his men, alright boys, lets go get them. 94

The two bad men had tried the bolted door to no avail. That was a hell of a kid, Skinny. The Oga guffawed. Yes, Oga, Skinny said, nervously. I have been operating a gang for the last ten years, outrunning the smartest of the police force, but here I am, see me, locked in my own house...in my own room, by whom not the police, not even by men with tough guts, but by a kid...just a small kid. He spat out bitterly. The sound of the police siren reached them. Oh God, we are in for it, Oga... Skinny sobbed. What is wrong with you, Skinny no guts? I wished I had taken the advice of my brother...I should not have associated with you. Skinny had a flashback of his elder warning him against going with bad company! He got up and walked to the Oga, you are mean. You are a devil. I hate you. He broke down in a remorseful sob. Calm down Skinny. Calm down old boy. The Oga was being contemptuously patronizing. You enjoyed it when it was smooth, so, you must have guts to face your fate now. They are in here. Umar led the police team to the room where Skinny and the Oga had been bolted in. He pointed at the door. Here! Um... very smart of you kids, the inspector unbolted the door. In front of him, looking quite miserable were the Oga and Skinny in full glare of the searchlight. Here you are today. God has delivered you to us. The inspector had been at the heels of this notorious gang for quite sometime now; they had been suspected of a string of nasty and not so nasty misdemeanours and some heinous felonies and many a-thing-cidal. He turned to Umar and Kabir. You kids are wonderful, with a very keen eye for order, thanks. The inspector said. The kids felt exhilarated. It was a worthwhile outing! Were grateful to you for your vigilance and courage. He addressed his men. Get these scamps handicapped. The officers eagerly descended on the Oga and Skinny. 95

The inspector walked out with Umar and Kabir. Well soon take you home to have your supper. He placed his hand on Kabirs head. Kabir felt motivated. Youre a great help to the police, boys. Ive seen the records of your effort for the capture of some smugglers months ago, that was good, very good indeed. Kabir looked up to the inspector, will you blow the siren then? He asked, hoping they would. Of course, well do that if you want us to do so. Yes, I love it. Kabir wanted to play a top class chief! Well rather go home on our own, sir. Umar had remembered his mother and decided to trim off their rank! Why, dont you want to be taken home? Well, you see, sir, we dont want our mum to know Umar tried to explain. The inspector was not aware of Umars unease at their mothers discovery of what they had done without her permission. Yet, she always said, help the law, the law will help you. Alright, if thats what you want. Its fine by me. But surely, well visit you to thank you for your bravery. Im sure your mother already knows your real worth, just as weve discovered. The inspector grudgingly acquiesced. The kids walked to their bike. Skinny and the Oga were led out of the building, and soon driven out to the nasty dark cells, the narrow home of bad characters. Zubairus patchy car was finally towed away to the police station where a thorough search was to be conducted for the retrieval of any material evidence. The kids, though, pedalled home, much excited. As they entered the house, their father was saying his night prayers. They got down the bike, stealthily lifted it and tiptoed past behind him, on their way to the garage. They could not escape the questioning look of their mother, though. She was just a little ahead watching them in amazement, as they walked in trying to avoid detection. Wherere you from, you two? She was out in the open. 96

Eh. Umar was caught off guard. Kabir went ahead freely feeling pleased with himself. We...we... he started. Umars voice rang to overshadow Kabirs, Well tell you later, mum. Umar was trying to prevent their fathers ears catching anything on this escapade. Mum, those men...they have... It was breaking news. Umar nudged at him, pointing at their father. Were hungry, mum. Umar declared. Mum, Kabir continued unrestrained, those men, the car have been caught! Kabir... Umar screamed at his talkative brother! Ah... How did it go? Safiya asked, while smiling. Kabir went to her side. It goes like this, Mum... He started, and soon, Aminu joined them to hear Kabir on his latest unusual escapade.

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Introducing the next encounter: A Widows Dew Now as always, Kabir is on holidays, therefore, we expect certain happenings; much will be in a widows dew, the third book in the series. In this, its Safiya, their mother, which takes the bait; nothing, she tells herself will bar her from fighting for Zainab. Zainab though, a onetime friend of Safiya, is not aware of any woman, widowed through accidents, who had any compensation advanced to her. Actually, Malam Yakubu, Safiyas husband, is beginning to see that Safiya's involvement in this case could have some negative repercussions Nonetheless, Safiya is adamant, as she assembles a team of assistants: Jamilu who was agonized to watch Zainab, his mother, cry, Falalu, Zainabs elderly half-brother who has little liking for any snob, Sagir, the killer-boy, and, of course, the famous trio: the articulate chap from Birnin Shehu, Aminu, the ever resourceful Umar and the indefatigable Kabir. The other combatants are: Amaale who had made up his mindhe wasnt going to do any paying back anything in heavens, Maigamu, a potential trouble maker, and Zubairu, the bug-eyed bugaboo, all Zainabs in-laws, and a heavy weight that can bring the lives of others down. Will it be the boys to bring about a resolution? What you get is not a shower;its just like dew. A widows dew? Zainab asked, jokingly. Yes, Safiya replied with a smile. Well Hajiya, I have been so parched this long, the dew is a torrent to me. She smiled.

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