Once Upon a Time in Lagos: Episode 11

When I reached the top of one of the hills in the forest, I sat down and studied my position. Even the village hunters in Sagamu seldom come to this side of the countryside. Behind me was the road climbing through a long V-shaped space in the hills, which was the upper valley of what I believe to be a part of the Ibu river. In front of me was a flat space of maybe a mile, all covered with different kinds of grasses and shrubs, and then beyond it the road fell steeply down another narrow valley to a plain which was also covered with some kind of vegetation. To left and right were round-shouldered, grass-covered hills, one of which I remembered from the map as a good hiding place for me. I was in the central part of a huge Yoruba countryside, and could see everything moving for miles. In the thick vegetation below the road about half a mile back I could see smoke coming from a few huts and houses. These were the only sign of human life. Otherwise, there was only the calling of African fish eagles and black kites, and the splashing of little streams.

It was now about seven o’clock, and as I waited I heard again a faint but steady sound in the air. Then I suddenly realized that my current location might be in reality a trap. This is because there was no good cover for me in this location. I sat quietly, feeling hopeless, while steady sound in the air grew louder. Soon enough I saw the Supermarine Spitfire airplane coming up from the eastern part of my location. At first it was flying high, but, as I watched it approach near my location,  it dropped several hundred feet and began to circle round one of the hills in narrowing circles, just the same way an African hawk wheels before it pounces on its prey.  Now that it was flying very low, I could see some of its occupants. There were two of them and one of them caught sight of me. I also saw him examining me through a pair of binoculars.

As I continued to watch it,  it began to rise in swift whorls. Within a few seconds it was speeding eastwards again. I kept looking at it until it became a speck early morning sunlight.

That made me do some quick thinking. Obviously, my enemies had found me, and the next thing would be to make a cordon around me. I don’t know how many of them would surround me, but I was sure it would be sufficient to catch me. The Supermarine Spitfire airplane had seen my bicycle, and would conclude that I would try to escape by the road. In that case my only chance of beating them would be to go through the forest on my left or my right side. Hurriedly, I wheeled the bicycle about a few yards from the pathway and plunged it into a nearby pond where it sank with the water plants and decaying tree leaves. I climbed to a small hill nearby and from there I had a good view of the valleys. I did not notice any suspicious  movement down there.

Like I said earlier, this place don’t have enough cover to hide me from my enemies. And, as the day advanced it was flooded with sunlight just like any typical West African village countryside. If I wasn’t in a hot soup, I would have liked this place. But, because of my current predicament, the place seemed to suffocate me. The entire place – the valleys, hills and waterbody – were like prison walls to me.

I told myself that I must act fast, even though I don’t know exactly what my next move will be. Putting my hands into my trouser pocket, I brought out a coin and tossed it. I would head north if it landed on its head, and south if it lands on its tail, I thought. It fell on its head so I turned to the north of my location. Soon I reached the top of another hill and from there I saw a dirt road a few miles down the hill. And far down this dirt road I saw something that looked like a moving car. On the other side of this hill is a pathway that led away into the valley covered with short trees, shrubs and grasses.

Now my current lifestyle these past few days had sharpened my eyesight to the extent that I can see things for which most men need a binoculars or a telescope. Soon I noticed that several men were advancing from a couple of miles down the hill so I dropped out of site behind the skyline, convinced that that direction is not the right one for me. So, a better option for me would be to try the bigger hills to the south beyond the dirt road. The car I had noticed, which I could now see very clearly, was a light-blue Peugeot 504 L. It was getting nearer, but it was still a long way off with some very steep slope before it. I was even surprised how they were able to drive it through the pathway up the hills. I ran very fast, crouching low and, as I ran, I kept scanning the sides of the hill and surrounding valley. I could swear that I saw some figures – about two or more – moving in one of the valleys beyond the stream.

If you are surrounded in all sides in a place like this there’s only once chance of escape. You must stay in your location, and let your enemies search it and not find you. That may be a good idea, but then how the hell was I to escape notice in this crazy place? I mean, I can hide inside one of the thick bushes and forests but remember: this is Africa and there could be dangerous animals lurking somewhere waiting to pounce on me. I mean, I could try and bury myself to the neck in mud or lay below one of the streams in the valleys, or even climb one of the tall trees. But I was afraid of snakes, wild animals and poisonous bugs.

Then as I approached a tiny pathway, besides a heap of stones, I found a construction worker who was working on a village dirt road. He had just arrived with his shovel , hammer and wheelbarrow to this section of the road to fix problems in the culvert of the dirt road. He looked at me with tired eyes and yawned.

“Sometimes I regret joining the local government’s Public Works Department,” he said, in Pidgin English.

“How’s that?” I asked.

“I used to be my own master – I used to have a store and a bar - and I was making money but for the fire that burnt down the building,” he replied, and then he cursed the whole world for their injustice. “Now I am a slave to this local government, tethered to the roadside, with a head and a back that hurt as hell.”

He took up the hammer, struck a stone and then dropped it with a big curse directed to a name that I believed to be the name of his local government. He put both hands to his ears and said, “Oturugbeke O! My head’s bursting!”

He looked rough in his work clothes, and he was about my size but much bent. He had about a week’s beard on his chin, and was wearing a pair of big horn eyeglasses.

“I just can’t do it today,” he cried again. “My supervisor should go ahead and report me to the director. I’m going back to bed.”

I asked him what the problem was, even though that was very clear enough.

“What my problem is?” he replied. “I’m just not up to it this morning. I’m still having a hangover from last night. My daughter Toyin got married last night. Me and my guests ate, drank and danced till midnight. And here I am this morning, with a head that’s about to split into two!”

I told him that he indeed needs some sleep.

“Easy for you to say,” he moaned.  “I saw the circular at the local government yesterday saying that the new road supervisor would be around this area today. You see why I’m concerned? I’m going back to bed and I’m going to tell him later that I was sick. I’m not sure if that would help my case, but I will do it anyway. You would do the same thing if it’s you, correct?”

“I guess,” I said, shrugging.

Then it hit me! Here’s my chance to escape my enemies! I told myself that I should either use it or I will lose it.

“Does the new road supervisor know who you are?” I asked.

“Not really,” he said. “He’s just been a week at the job. Why?”

“I may be able to help you,” I said.

He smiled, and said, “Common mister…”

“I mean it, seriously” I interrupted. “Where’s your house?”

He pointed a wavering finger to one house among a group of houses down the road.

“Well,” I said. “Go back to your bed and get a good sleep. I will take your job for now and cover your back. I will see your road supervisor too.”

He stared at me, looking very surprised.

“You don’t even know me,” he said.

“I know,” I replied. “But we still have good people in the world.”

“Are you sure about this?” he said.

“Of course,” I replied.

“Look, Mr…..,” he began to say, but I caught him off.

“What do you have to lose?” I said. “Just let me help you out.”

Again, he looked at me, this time very blankly. Then, as the idea dawned on his confused mind, his face broke into a smile.

“You are the main man!” he cried, shaking my hand. “I’m sure you can handle it. All you need to do is to use the hammer, shovel and wheelbarrow to get some soil and stones. You can get a mixture of fractured stone, sand and fine soil particles with a binding characteristics from a pond down there,” he said, pointing to a location down the street. “ Just use them to cover the this section of the road properly. It will become compacted as soon as people and cars walks over it.”

I told him he had nothing to worry about.

“My name is Emmanuel Obaseki,” he said. “My friends calls me ‘Googled Emma’, for I wear glasses. I’ve been doing this construction work for seven years now. I was a  store and a bar owner at Ewu-Oluwo for twenty years. Just be very polite to the road supervisor and don’t forget to call him ‘Sir’ when you talk to him. That will please him a lot. I will be back at evening.”

 

I borrowed his eye glasses and filthy old hat. I also borrowed his shirt and gave him mine to carry home. He showed me a few more things to do on that section of the road and then happily set off homeward. Though he was going home I was very sure he’s going to have more drinks as soon as he reaches home. I prayed that he might be in deep sleep before my enemies arrived on this scene.

Then I set to work to roughen my appearance to look like a local construction worker. I got my boots and trousers all brown  from the dust of the road. I also worked on my face, rubbing a good deal of dirt on  my cheeks.

I was lucky Mr. Emmanuel left his lunch on a small plastic bag he left beside his wheelbarrow. I ate with great relish a loaf of bread and a bottle of coke he had on the pack. He also had a small bottle filled with water. I drank it too. Under the plastic bag was a local paper, the Daily Times, which was obviously meant to solace Mr. Emmanuel’s mid-day leisure. I just looked at it and then packed it together with the empty bottle of Coke into the plastic bag.

I wasn’t satisfied by the way my boots looks. It must look dirty like a construction worker’s boots. I worked on them, rubbing them hard on the ground to make them look rough and dirty. I’m sure that the men who were looking for me would miss no detail. I broke one of the boot laces and retired it in a clumsy knot. I also loosened the other boot lace so that my thick black socks bulged over the uppers – you know, I did just about anything to make it look rough.  While doing all these, I was expecting that somebody – perhaps my enemies – to show up anytime. But there was no sign of anything on the road. The light-blue Peugeot 504 L I had seen half an hour ago must have gone home.

Having finished the meal, I took up the wheelbarrow  and began my journeys to and from the pond about a hundred yards off,  to get the mixture of fractured stone, sand and fine soil particles with a binding characteristics.

 

 

  

END OF EPISODE 11

P.S. Stay tuned for Episode 12, which  will be published here next Sunday.