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Eye for Order

First Published 2008Copyright (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, byway of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwisecirculated without the publisher's prior consent in any form ofbinding or cover other than that in which it is published andwithout a similar condition including this condition being imposedon 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 1584Minna -NigeriaE-mail: [email protected]

Published by: Usana Books Venture,Usana Complex, 39/41 Broadcasting Road, MinnaPrinted by:Niger State Media Corporation (Newspaper Division)P.M.B 10, Paiko Road, Minna - Nigeria



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Eye for OrderBy

Usman Balarabe Aliyu

Family Adventure Series - 2Usana 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, Umarand Kabir; in here, each grapple with their own world.

In the first book, Kabir is to go 'missing' only to uncover, withthe help of Umar and Aminu, a bunch of bad people, while theirmother is heart-wrecked; even so, Malam Yakubu is rather toobusy probing into the disabilities of a limply giant, Nigeria.

In the second book, 'eye for order', the kids visit thepicturesque Gurara Waterfalls where Kabir witnesses a nasty

event. Later, he entices Umar, his senior, to snoop on thehardcore car-snatchers, while Aminu covers for them, as he issaddled by his own books. Safiya, though, is recuperating, whileshe awaits her next troubles. But, their father, 'the machine,' isentangled, struggling to save Rangana, a neglected enclave eastof Minna. He is helped by experts who are proposing a radicalrevenue 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 herfrom fighting for Zainab, a onetime friend who is 'not aware ofany woman, widowed through accidents, who had anycompensation advanced to her.' But, Safiya is adamant, as sheassembles a formidable team of the tireless: Aminu, Umar and, ofcourse, Kabir. She is up against tough adversaries and a not-so-encouraging husband, Malam Yakubu.

In the fourth book, Kabir, as always, is on holidays. Thatmeans a lot, for the danger in 'beyond guilt' is real. Individuals aredying. Everyone is scared. Why?

There is a strange thing with some strange names; HIV/AIDS isa killer with no cure. Kabir and Umar learn that soon enough.They meet Atiku who is seriously ill. They swiftly get their parentsinvolved. While Safiya goes bananas, Malam Yakubu isdetermined to help prevent this tiny virus visiting the next

house in the next village!



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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 ofMinna only to go missing in the market.

So, Kabir has gone missing; like Kabir, is Nigeria gone missingtoo? The country 'is not getting due attention. In fact, every thingis speedily falling apart; everywhere crumbling, everythingdecaying and everyone is suffering.'

Kabir's family is disturbed because 'there had beeninsinuations of a new wave of child-snatchers roaming the alleys.

Rumoured discoveries of dismembered body parts had becomecommon gossips.'

The family is searching, so is the police, but Kabir isnowhere to be found. His mother is sad, angry and afraid, yet hisfather, Malam Yakubu, is anxious to get an important assignmentdone; that is, thinking about Nigeria, 'he used to think that he hadmade the right decision to join the civil service, in the traditionof his parents; his father was born in it, and his grandfathermatured in it, he himself had been nurtured through it. But soon,he had realized something was missing; he feared his own sonwould 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, 'ifwe can maintain what' is left, 'we remain an owner, in terms of

potentials and ability, if we cannot, we are just an inheritor,' of acountry 'with a potential, of what we can't maintain, which wewill lose, soon.'

At the end, Kabir is back to get Aminu and Umar toaccomplish an audacious feat - but what about Nigeria, is thismuch about building vocabularies or building a Nation?



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Introducing 'Eye for Order':

Kabir is on holidays again, therefore, one would expect theunusual 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 adecision; a car came to view and he heard the screech of asudden brake. He peeped and instantly saw a car' that is beinggrabbed! Later, Kabir decides he has to find the car, to prove'that he wasn't lying...about the snatched car and the skinnyman'. He involves Umar into this; no wonder, Umar is jittery; 'Ifonly I had not come.' He mused. 'What's mum going to say now?'

But, Safiya is always happy when the kids help the law, 'helpthe law and the law will help you.'

The boys are taught to be watchful. Aminu, the smart fellowfrom Birnin Shehu, is left to cover for them as they finally bringthe criminals down.

'I have been operating a gang for the last ten years,outrunning the smartest of the police, but here I am, locked inmy own house...not by the police...but by a kid...just a smallkid.' But, these are no ordinary kids, for 'they never stoppedasking questions'.

Malam Yakubu, their no nonsense stout father, is 'sure to bein the office', all this while, 'questioning or looking for certaindisquieting proposal to cook for the rather 'poor' government.' Ithas '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 ominoustask, readily curved out for him, of reviving a torn community ofan abandoned outpost called Rangana.

What will he do? Will he use the traditional lopsided coloniallegacy or the equitable but radical module 'of his subordinates' toscale this one?

Usman Aliyu 2008



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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 - 66Secondary Education, Birnin Kebbi: 1967-71Higher School Certificate (HSC): 1972 -73, SokotoBachelor's Degree (BA), (ABU) Kano: 1974 -77Post 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 1Eye for Order, ISBN 978-978-084-699-2 Adventure 2A Widow's Dew, ISBN 978-978-085-658-8 Adventure 3Beyond Guilt, ISBN 978-978-085-824-7 Adventure 4Retailing Power, ISBN 978-978-087-272-4 DramaThe 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 cryMake 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 beAll that I had wanted to be

Dedication:

This piece was dedicated to her, a girl born with a certaindisorder; one so cheerful and lovely, whose struggle for life madeeveryone sympathetic and concerned.

She fought and endured, and lived to be above thirty. Shestruggled through with the frightening awareness of the decidedfatality of her case.

Nearing the end, looking at her own daughter, with tearsrunning down her cheeks and with a grief of a mother beingseparated from her very own, she yearned and prayed that the painshe 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 chère, 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 isUnmarked, 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 itOr 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 treeMany among the living and the deadSome visible storms, most mere vanishing dewThis measure they gave to its strength;

...acknowledge the hindering worms and pests

...add also the seasons of pollinationsThey 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 atmidnight but by the surreptitious brightening of the eastern

horizon, the resounding cock crows, and the subsequent echoingprayer-calls that crept through the alleys of Minna, a northernNigerian cosmopolitan railway town whose much pronouncedpeace bore a lot to Edward Arnett’s signature, way back acentury ago.

The calls for Fajir prayers sieved through the ears of MalamYakubu’s family in a light green coated bungalow, which wasbelow the laps of Paida hills at the north-eastern suburb of the

town. Yakubu woke up Safiya, his wife, a light complexionedwoman of average feminine height at thirty six with veryattractive 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 andamiable, with a round face, much after his father’s. He had astoutish frame promising him some overweight; that was entirelydeceptive though, because neither his father nor the motherwas 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 dark-hair and dimpled cheeks, just like his mother’s, pronounced

mostly while smiling, which was a permanent state for him. Hehad just clocked eight. He was blessed with an armful reservoir ofstamina and, one might add, a certain promise of beingeveryone’s 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, head-

wiping, ear-wetting and feet-cleansing. They got wrapped up in



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twisted long outer gowns under which were squeezy pants, andabove 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 chillyvanishing night to the mosque nearby by the father who walkedwith certain energetic gait. They lined themselves in a rowbehind the imam. Soon, there was the hands-raising to the ears,the standing while the imam did some audible reading from theQur’an, the bowing with hands on the knees and the rising up,and a brief standing, then the prostration with the forehead onthe ground, the sitting with legs drawn in before the second

adulation, and the duplication of what was done before to thefinal supplication.

At the end of the prayers, Umar notched at his brother, as hecast a stealthy glance at their father. They walked quietly out ofthe mosque for home; the bed before the sunrise was tempting.Their father stayed behind, as the imam delivered a short start-of-the-day sermon. He was a tall slim person with a deep voicethat rang stark warnings.

‘Oh you people, worship your lord,’ the man faced themosque’s attendees, ‘fear him who created you and made theearth habitable for you, he who sends down rain to enliven thedead 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 thewindows. ‘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 youreject God, seeing that you were dead, he gave you life, and hewill bring death to you, and will bring you back to life again?’

He left them with that creepy question as they shook handswishing each other a lucky good day.



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II

The young sun was just warming up; a golden disc patchedhigh up above the cloudy September sky. The air was warm and

humid making the neck of Malam Yakubu sweaty, despite therapid fan blowing in his car. He was stoutish in frame as evidentof his strong arms on the steering wheel of his Japanese redsaloon car. He had deep-seated eyes between well cultivatedsideburns which had some strains of grey hairs marking hisadvancing age of forty seven. He also wore a short moustachewhich by habit was trimmed mostly on Thursday nights or thefollowing morning.

He crossed the broad Bosso road, after waiting for speedingcars, and drove down west onto Yakubu Lame, a narrow streetshaded by tall evergreen mahogany trees that were closelyplanted to form an impressive corridor; he loved this scenery asit always gave him a refreshing feeling. At the other intersection,he held awhile as motorcyclists with one or two kids on thetank, two or more on the pillion whizzed through at top speed;he then turned left onto Justice Street, which was a wider lanewith much larger trees.

He drove through the Administrative Complex gate, whileexchanging the customary greetings with the welcoming gatemen.He went straight to the Department of Development buildings. Hemanoeuvred the car and parked it under the labelled plank ‘Headof DOD’.

‘Who will give to God a rich loan?’ a blind woman being led by a

girl of Kabir’s age called out. Malam Yakubu fished out few coins from the coin-slot whichhe handed over to her. He got out of the car to reveal anaverage height in blue kaftans with light blue embroidered capto match. His hard soled black shoes made crushing sound asthey 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



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why anyone bothered to design such a hardship in time and placewhere space was not a problem. He remembered mentioning it toan architect colleague of his who replied with, ‘in the US, theWorld Trade Centre is over one hundred floors.’

‘May be that’s what they needed.’ Yakubu said, puzzled atanyone 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 heheaded to the already opened flush door.

Soon after, a letter was brought in as he set to fix himselfsome tea. He was expecting nothing unusual, so, he had no

hesitation attending to it; Yakubu was a career civil servant witha healthy record of lengthy service. With a small knife, he rippedopen the envelope and pulled out the long white sheet. Theletter-headed memo read, ‘I am directed to inform you that youhave been appointed, with immediate effect, to head anassessment team (AT) with a view to restore normalcy in RanganaMunicipality; details of the assignment will be communicated toyou, shortly.’

Yakubu felt a thud inside. He went to a chair by his table andsat down. He looked at the memo again and mused on theassignment. The area mentioned had just experienced adevastating inter-communal strive, which was widely rumouredstill ongoing; everything, they said, had been burned down ordestroyed. Yakubu read the tense memo again; the clause hintingon any coming details was just an administrative nicety, and he

knew it; no one had any additional information on the issue togive him. He looked up the area on the map, and felt the missionwas suicidal, a punishment, pure and simple. It was the like givento 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?’



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‘You did, mum.’ Umar was subdued. Being her firstborn madehim, almost always, the initial recipient of most restraining rulesas exemplar.

‘And, what’re you doing now?’ she asked.

‘I’m 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 astheir trick! If anything, it had earned them the leverage to beextraordinarily 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 controlledexercises, as it were, to make them responsible persons in lateryears.

The younger one drove in imitating a cranky racing car.‘Shut up!’ Safiya throttled him down. Kabir applied the brakes.‘But mum,’ he grinned, ‘I’m 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 justgot a little of mine,’ she would humorously chide; she knew,though, Kabir, most especially, and Umar always had room tomanoeuvre and, somehow, she secretly enjoyed it. The mostnoticeable feature of this family was its ceaseless activity;(everyone was engaged in one kind of activity or the other, at onetime or the other, either here or there or everywhere), ‘if thereis anything constant around here, it must be change itself’, that

was Yakubu’s summation of his very own.



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Soon, a young man of about thirty entered and leaned by thedoor, after greeting Safiya. He bore a very sharp resemblance toher. In fact, he was her second junior brother, and Bello washis name.

‘Mum, mum.’ Suddenly Kabir bust in again, being chased by hissenior brother.

‘Oh mine, Kabir, I’m not deaf .’ Safiya gave the insistent someattention. ‘Why don’t you speak softly?’

‘Sorry, mum.’ He was now damped. ‘Alright,’ Safiya said, ‘haven’t you seen your uncle?’ ‘He’s blind.’ Bello put his hand on Kabir’s head. Kabir went to his uncle, throwing his arms round him.

Umar ran in, seeing his uncle, he went straight to him with awarm 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, I’ll 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 you’re 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 wouldmake 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 acontemplative mood; his mind was tossing up possibilities, none

of which was soothing: defiance, revolt, resigning or going up to



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box someone! This whole affair was bad, real bad. He called inhis two assistants: Malam Garba, the grinning tall man and MalamIsyaku, 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 favouriteradio station was signing on for news. He turned down the

volume, thinking there was nothing worth any attention, asalways. He took some strides towards the fridge when suddenlythe phone beeped.

‘Who could that be?’ He wondered. He had a temptation toskip 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.‘It’s 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 meantanything different to him now. The army had staged the first coupway back in the sixties. Those were his school days. The killing ofsome civilian leaders shocked them all, but, it did not

immediately change their college privileges: free meals, freeboarding, free tuition and free medication; not even their weeklypocket money was affected. Besides, the army had, since then,developed a sneaky and squeaky way of coming in and going outas if the presidential suite was their granny’s old bedroom.

‘Campaign is to start now.’ Salahi jacked him back.‘I supposed that’ll 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



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group that resolved his procrastination came in one Friday night.They did not in the least appear weighty enough to influenceanyone on anything.

‘You can see we have no money.’ Their leader confessed. He

was a soft-spoken man, frail and resigned in rags. Yakubulistened; he wondered how anyone without money could asksomeone else to enter a race for a costly elective political post.

‘We have decided to come to you because we have no one elseto 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.’ Heglanced at his colleagues, all tattered fellows, seekingconfirmation that was undeniable.

‘We will campaign for you in the markets. Our wives will combthe houses. We will get the farmers to tread the paths, all foryou.’ The rustic man next to him laid out the rehearsed strategy.He sounded childishly honest; he had no idea that the bucolicvotes actually meant nothing; the dice was almost always cast onthe 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 outthat nostalgic sentiment to want to make a positive difference in

the lives of others. But this mission appeared much moredaunting, if not worse.

V

Malam Yakubu was moody and saddened when he got home.Safiya came back from the neighbours to meet him sittinggloomily in the living room. That was unusual, she told herself.



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They had been married now for the past sixteen years or so,and had had an amicable relationship, one commonly rumouredabout as exceptional. She could certainly read his pulse. It wasvery uncharacteristic of him to come back early, and most

atypical of him to sit melancholically with his chin in cuppedpalms. She asked him, but he was reluctant to tell her the sourceof 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 assignmentwas alarming.

However, she asked, after a prolonged pause, ‘can youremember that story you told me?’

‘Which one?’ he asked; in a family of adventure as this, it washard 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 thatthe woman was losing much blood?’ She asked.

‘Yes, it’s still fresh in my mind.’ He evoked the episode.‘Well, it’s like you’re 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.‘You’ve 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 it’s never done.’ Safiya tried to

do what he usually did to get her persuaded.‘Yes,’ he was waiting.‘Then, if it’s difficult for you, it’ll be difficult for them.’

‘Yes,’ he agreed.



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‘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, what’s the objection about?’ She trolled up.‘It’s going to disrupt our life.’ He said, but quickly realised

that was a very weak excuse. He now felt Safiya had somehowdissipated his basis of remonstration.

‘So it’ll 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 wasmistaken. He glanced up. The old man was waiting, as always,since he began to recognize him, patiently. Yakubu had a flash ofthe 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 hisrecords laid bare and weighed. He who does well finds recourse inGod. But he, who is deceived to seek temporary pleasure as anend, will have a bottomless pit as home.’ His father paused.

As Yakubu waited, he was tense and expectant.‘I wish you good luck, God’s 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 noanticipation of failure.

‘Sure, it’ll affect us,’ Safiya philosophised, ‘but that is thesacrifice we’re bound to make, is it not?’ She knew very well

that any assignment that caused the prolonged absence of her



19

husband would profoundly affect her and the children, but beingby nature mindful of other people’s well-being, she could findthe wherewithal to endure the longings; her children would keepher company.

‘Certainly,’ Yakubu was inclined to think that Safiya hadalready made a stand. He gave her a hug. He had justrediscovered this self-sacrificing angle of his dear mate.

VI

Umar and Kabir rushed in with their usual noise. Safiyaintercepted them. ‘Eh, come here’, she called Umar.

‘What’s it, mum?’ He asked, as he walked to her.‘I don’t 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 don’t want any noise.’ ‘Why mum?’ Kabir’s 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 yourbikes 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. Thedisquiet was not just on his absence, but much on the rumouredcontinual anarchy within the area; his personal safety could notbe 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



20

dual carriageway dissecting the town into two, with Nasarawa tothe east and Limawa to the west; funny arrangement this was, asthe east was locally considered the domain of the imams, whilethe west was consigned to the rich and the powerful; how this

twist happened could be asked of captain Taylor, a colonialofficer who nursed the baby town staunchly.

‘Umar, why’s dad home so early?’ Kabir wondered.‘I don’t know.’ Umar said, disinterestedly.‘Why’s mum sending us away to Bosso?’ ‘I don’t know.’ Umar shoved out.‘Then, why did she say she didn’t like noise?’ ‘Well, who likes noise?’ Umar asked, irritatedly.

‘I said, why mum?’ Kabir was insistent.‘Look, leave off,’ Umar said, ‘dad doesn’t like noise, mum

doesn’t like noise, I don’t like noise, alright?’ Umar too was notsure of what was happening, but he guessed their father was notin a good mood at all; ‘may be mum will tell.’

They turned right; this was upslope and not quite a pleasureride. To their left was the government reserved area, wooded,with well tarred roads and small houses in the midst of wideexpanse of land. It was a very quiet place secluded for the brainsand the nerves of the town.

Ahead of them was the Unity Square, an engineering puzzle toan intersection of roads that appeared much displaced. Kabirlooked at the eagle statue, fixed at a place mistaken for thecentre, and wondered what such lonely figure was doing in themiddle of an oval-about.

‘Umar.’ ‘Yes?’ ‘What’s this birdie doing here?’ ‘That’s not a birdie.’ Umar said.‘Well, what’s it?’ Kabir asked.‘That’s an eagle.’ ‘What kind of eagle?’ Kabir asked.‘Yah, Nigerian Eagle, or so,’ Umar said.

‘What’s it for?’ Kabir asked.



21

‘Power or something, look leave me alone, I said I don’t wantnoise.’ Umar shot out.

Kabir was not enjoying this outing at all; it was as if everyonehad conspired to deprive him of a nice time.

VII

Kabir was adequately compensated, though, when they gotback home. Aminu had arrived by bus from Birnin Shehu, ajihadist’s camp turned city, via Jega, a small place with cashfraternity, through Yawuri, a fish town next to the Niger, andZungeru –a onetime maternity and nursery of the toddling colonial

Nigerian state! Aminu was in senior secondary at a governmentschool in Birnin Shehu. His mother was the immediate seniorsister of Malam Yakubu; she had died during delivery about twoyears ago and Aminu had been asked to come and stay with thekids. The lad had slim Fula features which he grabbed from hisfather, but his mental acuteness came from a mother to whom hewas 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 citythat turns sourness into honey’. He had also promised them astory of a famous man from a village close to that town.

‘One unique man he was.’ Aminu started, ‘he was dark andtall, and he was strongly built with heavy sideburns.’

‘Like daddy’s?’ 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 theflesh. He was a chap with photographic grey matter up the skull!

‘The man was compassionate to all his people.’ ‘That’s 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.’



22

‘I like to be a chief also.’ Kabir wished. He always imaginedchiefs got cheap sweets at the confectioner’s!

‘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! Heremembered his last ordeal in the market.

‘Leave off, Kabir,’ Umar cast a brake, ‘let’s 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 shouldn’t talk.’ Kabir brought back the rule. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ Umar said. ‘It was a question.’ ‘I know.’ If he had to stop, everybody must stop too. ‘Well, you didn’t 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!’



23

‘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 lothad gone to settling bills, overhead, the boy called it. Theydiscovered that it was his head he meant by that. When cornered,he just said, ‘that’s what the government does’, of course, theythought he was right!

‘Because, it was the people’s 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 tomake 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



24

to their own children!’ Aminu said, sadly.‘That’s selfish of them, is it not?’ Umar said with some

measure of disappointment. He was thinking of that thieving classmonitor; ‘he must have come from those trust-abusing, promise-

breaking, money-thieving people’. ‘Yah,’ Kabir agreed, ‘they’re like the cheating ones.’ ‘I think I like the man, though.’ Umar declared. ‘Yah,’ Kabir said, ‘I’ll ask mum to take us there.’ Kabir was

romanticizing a journey down to the famous man.‘But, he’s 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 didn’t like the way he was making his people

proud, they wanted his people weak. They said if his peoplebecame 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 thisone. ‘Can we swim, Umar?’ Kabir asked doubtfully, as he turned

round this many times on his bed; his mind had oscillated toGurara waterfalls.‘I don’t know.’ Umar said, sleepily.‘I want to swim.’ Kabir cried out. ‘Shut up before mum hears that,’ Umar cautioned, ‘she won’t

allow us go. Besides, you’re too small.’ Kabir felt bruised, ‘but, you’re small too.’ ‘Go to sleep, before I call mum in.’ Umar ordered.

‘Alright,’ Kabir gave up and was soon in the fish world.



25

VIII

The parents’ bedroom was equally animated, but, with issues

related to the human world. Malam Yakubu had already taken upthe Rangana challenge, and the couple had worked out a plan toget through the possible disruption in the family schedule. Withbaggage packed ready to go, the night seemed rather too shortfor this romantic pair. Still, Safiya had lots of questions of herown. 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. ‘That’s 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 tomedical, feeding or school expenses. The increasing destitution ofher neighbours was getting on her nerves; she therefore wouldlike to find solutions.

‘Alright, let me try.’ He said. ‘I thought that’s what you’re supposed to be doing.’ ‘Yes, but it’s never put to you in such a stark way.’ ‘But, that’s what you’ve to do at Rangana, is it not?’ ‘Somehow,’ he agreed. ‘Anyway, let’s understand the term

first. What’s poverty: lack of money, lack of food, lack of housingor lack of whatever you desire?’

‘I never thought of it that way, actually.’ She said. ‘Exactly, that’s why when people use the term poverty, theycloth certain ignorance with ambiguity.’ He explained.

‘I thought if you gave people money or some things, you’re,well, helping to remove their poverty.’

‘You’re not removing their poverty, in any form. You may bealleviating a temporary pressure, but not poverty. Remember thatfamous saying, give man a fish?’

‘Teach him how to fish, yes, I know.’ Safiya filled in.



26

‘Right…’ ‘Well, what I want to know is how to make the people not

poor, that’s, not to turn them into beggars.’ She said.‘That’s straightforward enough. Eradication or elimination of

poverty is a political term that actually means little. Poverty isthe inability to fulfil obligations; while wealth is the wherewithalto fulfil one’s obligations and to make others meet theirs also.But, people are inherently not poor; they are designed to fulfiltheir obligations. However, it’s a government’spolicy that’s likelyto make them poor.’ Yakubu said, authoritatively; after all, thatarea was his speciality.

‘How is that?’ Safiya asked in disbelief.

‘It’s only the government that can, generally, restrict orexpand people’s ability to meet their obligations.’ He said.

‘That’s strange.’ She said.‘Why?’ he asked.‘I always thought it was the other way round.’ ‘No, it’s not. If you use resources wrongly, wastefully or

inappropriately, like spending what’s for a thousand on a selectfew, say one hundred, you’ll deprive the nine hundred of theirresources, which is their means, with which they can meet theirobligations. As a result, you’ll make them, the excluded, poor,understand?’

‘Wait; is it like using the money meant to feed ten people foran expensive meal of one?’ Safiya allegorized.

‘Exactly, thus, you force nine to go without.’ He agreed.‘Those obligations,’ Safiya asked, ‘what’re they?’

‘It’s the right of a householder to ensure for his or her familyfood, clothing, shelter, security, medication and education, andto safeguard against future loss of any attained status.’ Yakubuenumerated.

‘These are all what we’ve got to do?’ She was amazed by herhusband’s 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.’



27

‘I don’t get it.’ Safiya confessed.‘Food, clothing and shelter are the duty of the householder.

But, security, medication and education are public concernbecause they transcend the realm of a family.’ Yakubu explained.

‘How?’ she asked. ‘I’ll give you an example; a criminal is born and reared in a

particular family but his actions affect others most. So is healthor 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, it’s the government’s obligation to ensure that the

atmosphere is conducive for everyone to accomplish theirindividual obligations so that they can collectively fulfil thecorporate 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 theattainment 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 andtrained for higher tasks, that government was wasting not onlythe money, which was to be used rightly to provide employmentfor services, but also the training, which had cost much to attain.

Either way, it would make the chaps and the society poorer. Atthe end, both would not be able to meet their obligations.’ ‘I see, like roasting up your seeds?’ she asked.‘Precisely, it’s wasting the resources meant for a permanent

solution on an impromptu measure. A farmer, even thoughhungry, will not eat up the seeds reserved for planting; he knowshe’ll be in a far worse situation later.’

‘That’s harmful, is it not?’ Safiya asked.

‘Yes, it is. Therefore, the practical thing is not, I said not, to



28

make people poor. Doing that is possible, but you must have agood programme to do it.’ He said.

‘It’s interesting, I really want more details.’ She said.‘Tonight?’ he asked.

‘Yes, if…’ ‘Alright, let’s consider the things that make people poor, then,

we see how we can remove or negate them, and then people willnot 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 theresponse of one on the other, people on resources; right reactiontilts to positivity: plus, surplus, wealth; wrong reaction dropseverything to negativity: zero, minus, poverty.’

‘Work?’ she asked in surprise.‘Yes work,’ he affirmed. ‘Plainly put, you mean it’s 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; thatwill 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, you’re certain to end poverty.’ ‘That’s really amazing.’ She marvelled.‘I don’t mean just employment, per se, no, provide the

incentive for people to work, kick-start the economy with publicworks of direct benefit to the people, which will be done by thepeople themselves, so that as they work, they earn, and theirpurchasing power is boosted enough to enable them fulfil theirobligations. You then tax them to retrieve what you had initially

injected into the economy.’



29

‘I think I nearly got it.’ Safiya said. ‘Well, I’ll give you an example, may be that’ll 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, they’ll bepoorer by the flight of their capital, and the result of thatcontracted work will be an unsustainable burden, totally useless.It’s like constructing a banquet hall for a people who haven’t goteven clothes to wear! Or a highway for those without even enoughfor shoes, etcetera.’

‘I see.’ Safiya smiled, imagining bare footers on tarmac!‘Equally, you must encourage and ensure the seventh.’

‘What’s the seventh…?’ Safiya asked.‘That’s saving the output of work, in money and time; both

are achieved through maintenance by the state and theindividual, 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 acceleratesprofligacy.’

‘That’s hard for me.’ Safiya confessed.‘Alright, I’ll explain. The corrupt, like thieves, subsume

unusual obligations which they insist must be met by them. Whilethey waste time, they fail to earn normally, but they compensatethat inadequacy by taking away the fruit of the work of others,which they waste again because they underrate its value. Thatcould be students with exams, contract inflators or ghost-worker

generators!’ ‘I don’t quite get it.’ Safiya confessed. ‘You mean the corruptand the thieves are, um, the same?’ she asked.

‘The names may sound different, but their effects are thesame, much worse from the former, really.’ He replied.

‘Amazing, is it not?’ she said. ‘I’ll give you another example; a man is employed to collect a

tax that’s used to provide education and health services, which

are corporate obligations, to the people, so that they can work



30

continuously to earn their livelihood, which is an individualobligation.’

‘Right,’ Safiya seemed pleased with her tracking.‘Well, assuming this tax-collector is extravagant or selfish, he

doesn’t go to work, or he does it unfairly, his earning isinadequate 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 governmentstarts to fail in meeting its own obligations.’

‘Yes.’ Safiya caught this one.‘Consequently, the people’s level of work drops, they earn

less and become less able to meet their obligations; so, both thegovernment 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 theend, 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 arecorrupt, and the corrupt are thieves, simple!’

‘It’s really bad.’ Safiya said.‘Actually, their difference is just the magnitude.’ ‘That is…?’ she asked.

‘The one involves material goods; the other, both the materialand that which is ethical and ecstatic: glory, opportunity, andanything that induces humanity to strive harder to be above thecommonality 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?’ ‘Don’t you think I’m tired?’ he asked. ‘Are you?’ She joked.

‘I must be, besides, I’ve a journey ahead of me.’



31

‘It’s 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 cock’s crow made Umar jump out of bed.He stumbled to the door and felt for the switch. He turned thelights on, looked at the wall clock and hissed. It was just pastthree 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 Umar’s bed sheet. Umar unveiled his eyes lazily.‘Aren’t 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 we’ll 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 wascool, fanning gently against the assorted plants in Safiya’sflowerbed. Bello was punctual. He brought his sky blue beetle car

to a halt in front of the house. The well polished car spoke of theowner’s diligence. He got out and walked in. He greeted Safiyaand asked of her husband, as was customary.

‘He has already gone,’ she said, ‘to Rangana.’ ‘Rangana, I thought they’re still fighting there?’ ‘We’re told they’ve stopped.’ Safiya said with some lingering

apprehension.‘How are the kids?’ Bello asked.

‘You’ll find them eager.’



32

Safiya sprinkled water on the plant near her; she was green-fingered, which gave the surrounding a green feel.

Umar came out half-dragging a rather giant picnic box.‘We’re 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 hismother.

‘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 don’twant 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 wasconceived almost two years after her wedding night, she couldrecall the fright and the sensation of having a living being insideher, and how she yearned for its imperceptible growth and itsfinal expulsion.

Two years later, Kabir announced himself; he was a fidgetybeing even while in womb, kicking and turning as if fretful to beencased. That restlessness did not scare her, because, as theysaid, ‘the first delivery was a coaching for its passage’, but shewas keen to see what that twitchy being would be. She hadthought of a girl, of course, but wondered if those kicks couldcome from a tender feminine limb. However, when Kabir cameout with his eyes wide opened and the tiny fingers groping for thenipples, she sensed she had just delivered a tireless busybody.

Safiya smiled as her husband came to mind, ‘Kabir surely got thatrestlessness from his dad’, she concluded.

X

Kabir’s f ather, secretly but admirably nicknamed ‘themachine’, was with his team on their way to Rangana. This wasan outpost in the middle of nowhere, sitting in the midst of

rugged terrain. It was walled by mountains at two sides, and at



33

the other two by a wide furious river and impenetrable woodland.It had very controversial cardinals; the people somehow knewwhere the sun came from and where it set, then where the riverwas and where the mountain was, that’s all; the Muslim chose the

sun’s direction, and the Christians decided to counterpoise; ofcourse, the animist adored the jungles, while others honoured theaquatics. No one ever thought the town would last its militaryhistory, but it did, miraculously.

It was started as a waiting post for the advancing Britishregiment on its way to another northern city marked out forbombardment. The collection of hurriedly formed unit was at lostwhen 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 mutinyor for the killing of the white man, they held on, graduallyventuring 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 introubles with wicked chiefs. Without roads, the place was leftmuch 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 anytribe, it was there. Somehow, they evolved a rather curiouspattern of tolerance; with little interference in each other’sbusiness, they managed to live in relative peace; that’s until now.

This was the town which recently went in flames: inter-

religious, inter-tribal, inter-neighbour and inter-anything strives;the huts were burnt, and deaths, for the first time, came fromthe hands of the neighbours and in-laws. No police reached them,because there had never been one before. Other than occasionalelectoral officials, hardly was the place disturbed; other than forvotes, they counted for nothing! So, they fought until they gottired of it. That was. No one knew how or why, but the fightingstopped; every one had run into the bush, up the mountain or into

the water; the burning stopped because apparently there was no



34

more houses to burn.This was Rangana where Malam Yakubu had now been

detailed to go to assess the situation with the view to restoresanity and to bring some development; no wonder, he was given

the power of a sole assessor, for whatever that meant, with nointerference from the headquarters; of course, none of the bossesin the headquarters would ever dream of going there, now orever! Yakubu sat pensively as their bus rattled through the bumpyroad, thinking more of this quagmire than of his adventurous family!

XI

‘Where’s Aminu?’ Kabir asked. ‘He’s 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 Umar’s domineering poses. ‘Look, he has just come back yesterday.’ Umar said. ‘He’s 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, linedboth sides by huge money houses with prohibitive signs againstloiterers, hawkers, waiters and anybody who had got no money.They went through Tudun Wada, passing the jobless centre to theleft next to the motionless hall where the fate of millions was indoubt, and the stockless centre given up to speculation, then thewares-less showplace at Shango.

Kabir engaged himself in calling their names to prove he knewthem; ‘Tagwai Dam’, he called out at Tungan Gwauro; ‘Paggo’,

he enlisted at a famous reception spot that bore no gain from



37

of the road was an outstretched body of someone covered withfresh green leaves. Umar could see the bared feet of the manerect. Bello glanced at Umar who was visible perturbed. Theypassed 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.‘We’re 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 thetree-tops gradually appearing up as if by magic.

‘Whoop, it’s beautiful,’ Kabir declared. ‘Did I doze off?’

XIII

Elsewhere, a patchy white saloon car, the make of which washard to guess, was crossing the Gurara River at the long bridgeconnecting the twin cities of Izom and Lambata coming towardsthe latter. It was dented with patches of bodywork evidence ofage, constant bashing and continual neglect. It was being drivenby a man of about thirty five or so. By his side was a woman, ofmuch younger age, dressed in a rather unusual skirt. One hand onthe steering wheel and the other in fiddle-faddle, the manappeared the least concentrated of a driver; the car wouldswerve now and then to the edge of the road; ‘lookout,’ hispassenger would scream.

They came to the Lambata-Lapai fork-junction with littleregard or respect for the sharp bend; the traders by the roadsidescuffled to safety, abandoning heaps of yams and bananas, andthe exposed meat on fly infested tables.

‘That was close.’ The carefree man summed up their narrowescape. His crowning moment had come with driving this carwhich 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



38

also made up her mind, this was it, not only the last ride in thiskiller-car, but with this dangerous boy -she would not allow hermind add- friend.

Zubairu was his name and he was the last born of their

family; that implied being pampered and spoilt. With a laxfather and an old grandfather in the house, the growing kid wascosseted and beyond reproach. He was therefore not a pleasingyoungster in the neighbourhood; bruised toddlers and missingvaluables 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 ofcarefreeness. No one knew her real name or names; she had anew name for every newcomer. She was plain with overpronounced features, forced to maturity by indecent handling.As a result, she nursed a conceited notion of being beautiful anda self-induced assumption of being in demand, yet she was like aball, kicked and passed over by contending players; in theexcitement of the game, she never cared about the momentafter 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 dangerousmoment of indecision; to brake to somersault, to go left tocollide or to hit the lousy car in the front being driven by a

badperson. With a very audible curse delivered with the fingersspread, the lucky driver expressed his road rage. None of thesewas registered by Zubairu or his companion as they went downthe 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



39

faced them, beyond which was the rocky bed of the Gurara River.Just in front of them was a plastered mud hut roofed with somethatches; the circular walls bore the names of addicted visitors tothe nooks; they scribbled their signatures for tributes and a

certain yearning for immortality. Bello reflected upon the natureof time, and wondered whether these fellows, roamers ofprehistoric sites, had not themselves become history!

Umar eagerly opened his door and went out. He waited forKabir to come out from the backseat. Bello led the way to therough steps that led down to the falls. They looked to the left, thecascading torrent was overwhelming. They were griped by asensation of being pulled to the large white sheet of water below.

‘It’s 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 andhelped them down, one after another. Kabir seemed a littleapprehensive, as they moved closer to the large pool below. Umarwas anxious to get down to the waters, seeing the mighty spray asthe water descended rapidly hitting the rocks below. The poolunder the falls was large and turbulent. Far off, there was a ringof tall grass around the crystal waters of a small pool. Umarlooked down stream and saw the clear water from the main poolmeandering along the polished rocky bends, creating sparkly

dancing flashes as it caught the sun rays from above. The triodescended 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 lotsof kids in the shallow part of the river splashing water about.

‘Can we swim, uncle?’ Umar asked, pleadingly.‘No. I don’t think it’s wise.’ Bello advised.It was not actually dangerous to do so near the banks;

however, Bello was a particularly cautious young man. He was



40

Safiya’s most favourite of her brothers. At his age, with auniversity degree and a prospective career in public relations,Bello had a look of a man shunning complicities. He had come tothe waterfalls to commune with this expression of nature’s

strength and agelessness, and also to shed off the accumulatedstress from long exposure to city concrete and tight schedules;the least he wanted was anything resembling a crisis.

‘You’ve not come with your swimming gear, have you?’ He waslooking for a dissuading excuse.

‘But, these kids haven’t 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 hisfoot quickly. ‘Yes, it’s cold.’ Bello somehow was relieved; a shortsmile betrayed his heart!

Kabir was not concerned with swimming, now that he washere; he walked to the left a bit away from his brother and uncle;he was now more fixated on the water sprays, the excited peopleand the colourful butterflies, the dancing grasses and thehumming of birds than taking a dip in any water. He stood therelooking at some kids like him; some were in the water, some justidly beside it either too scared to get in or not interested in doingso. A girl of about his age and stature walked past him.

‘Aren’t you going in?’ she read his mind.‘No.’ Kabir said, without hesitation, ‘I can’t 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 hislegs deep in the water, seeing the tiny hairs wave as they werecaressed by the current. Umar squatted by a small pond with astick in hand; he got intensely busy poking the tiny fish thatswam past.

Kabir and the small girl were at Bello’s car. The girl heard hername called. She took off, leaving him with a ‘bye’. He tarried awhile, 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.



42

for granted, as far as Umar was concerned. Since the last time hehad ‘gone missing’ in the market, about six months ago, at theend of which he surfaced up a bunch of smugglers, hisdisappearance had not been taken seriously anymore. Their

father had said Kabir was capable of looking after himself; he wasweaned, sort of, from too much supervision. If he was not seen,it was assumed he would be somewhere digging outwrongdoers, troubles of his own or mysterious things whicheveryone would be eager to hear about when he returned. SoUmar 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 beaccustomed to them as long as Kabir was part of his care. He wasbeginning to think that sister Safiya was rather exceptionallyliberal with her kids. He wondered if he got his own he couldafford such, um, calm luxury. He would love the excitement, butcertainly, 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 expectedto be responsible even in childhood.

‘Let’s check,’ Bello held Umar’s hand, as they climbed up therugged pass way back to the park.

Meanwhile, the voices Kabir had heard before were becomingdistinct, though he could not make them up. Not very far fromhim was the un-tarred road, part of which he could see. Two

men, with their faces partially screened, were busy blocking theroad 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 pausedto listen. Kabir stopped. His breathing was coming on fast. Heremained still; his heartbeat was rising.

‘What was that?’ Kabir heard the boomy voice ask.

‘I don’t know.’ The other replied, ‘may be just a rat.’



43

‘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 andnoiselessly went behind a tree and spied on.

Uncle Bello was very disturbed, as they came to the car parkand found no Kabir; ‘I better go down to the other side of thefalls to see,’ Bello told Umar, ‘may be he has followed someonethere.’

Bello was visibly uneasy; what he thought would be a niceouting to nature’s soothing sight was becoming nightmarish. He

was beginning to realise that kids were a rather complicatedpuzzle to work at. He walked to the rails by the falls and took thedelicate steps down again, asking Umar to remain behind. Umartoo was beginning to be perturbed; his familiarity with Kabir’sdisappearing acts was gradually crumbling.

‘Kabir…Kabir…Kabir’ Umar’s voice was swallowed by the giantrumbling sound of the waterfalls.

Bello was down at the weathered steps. He wore a verytroubled expression now. He went to the side of the falls and tooka look at the gush of white foaming waters as they descendedfrom the top crushing into the pool below, creating a rising cloudof mist; there were many people both inside and at the edge ofthe pool. Bello walked up and down the edge looking and callingout for Kabir. His voice got no where. Nothing was audible but thebooming voice of this mighty pump. Even in his desperation,

Bello could not help being mesmerised by the beauty of thescenery. He looked up and saw the form of Umar, so tiny,patched against the backdrop of the rugged terrain. Umarlooked down, shouting out if his brother was down there. Hisvoice vanished with the mighty bang!



46

‘They got whom?’ Bello got hold of Kabir trying to makesense out of his jabbering. At the end, Bello asked them to getinto the car, he was determined they had had enough adventurealready. Kabir jumped in gladly. Umar sat by him to console

him. Bello started the car, reversed and drove out of the parkingarea, as eagerly as he could, as if to prevent Kabir fromvanishing 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. Kabir’seyes were transfixed on the edge of the road.

‘Here, it’s 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 tocomfort him. ‘We’ll soon get home to mum.’

XVIII

At home though, Safiya was with Aminu. ‘Get on with yourwork.’ She said. But, Aminu had wanted a break.

‘May I leave it till tomorrow, aunty?’ He pleaded.‘I don’t think that’s wise.’ She ruled out.‘Alright,’ he gave up. He was beginning to think he should

have followed those troubleshooters to the falls; this holiday wasbeginning 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. What’s it?’ She got hold of him. Kabir busted into

tears at his sheer inability to communicate. Bello and Umarwalked in. She eyed them questioningly.

Bello shook his head, ‘don’t ask me, I just don’t know.’

Kabir broke away from his mother and dashed inside. Aminu



47

steadied himself as Kabir bumped into him with a clinch. Aminuknelt to Kabir’s height.

‘Hi, big boy, what’s the matter with you today?’ Aminu wasbeing tactful. Kabir started to murmur.

‘Take your time.’ Aminu encouraged him. ‘Let’s hearyour story, big boy.’

Kabir began to relax, Aminu was his favourite confidant; hewould listen; he would understand; ‘he doesn’t laugh at you.’Kabir reasoned.

‘Did you enjoy the waterfalls?’ Aminu asked. He could see thatKabir had a big story to tell, but, only cuddlesome tack could getit out. Kabir shook his head vigorously.

‘Alright, don’t tear your head off.’ Aminu joked. ‘Why didn’tyou 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 don’t know him.’ Aminu looked at Kabir doubtfully.‘You don’t want to tell me?’ Kabir wagged his head. ‘I want to tell you.’ ‘Alright, who did the taking?’ ‘I don’t know,’ Kabir saw the disbelief on Aminu’s face, he

added, ‘they covered their faces.’ Aminu got curious. Nonetheless, he knew the surrounding

crowd was not likely to get much from Kabir’s throbbing heart.Safiya nodded at Aminu, encouraging him to continue with thedifficult 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 don’t suppose so.’ ‘I think I’ll be off. I have an appointment.’ Bello took his

leave, as he walked to Kabir and rubbed his head. ‘O.k. smart



48

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 Kabir’s favourite!

XIX

When Malam Yakubu and his team got to Rangana, theydiscovered that the place had no roads, no lights, no water, noschools, in other words, there was nothing! It was not that thesethings were burnt, but they were either never there or had totally

disintegrated. There was nothing around but desolation. The teamfelt as if they had fallen into a deep dry well!

Soon, they were swarmed by idling people curious at thearrival of a lost contingent from the city. They hurriedly set up aresemblance of an office and started work, in the most depressingmood imaginable.

Malam Yakubu was soon approached by the chief, a fat shortman with bulgy eyes, barely an hour after their formalintroduction. The chief plodded into his makeshift office. Yakubustood up to meet the ‘gentleman’ with all due protocol; theygreeted, 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 bea 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 girltrailing him.

‘Yes chief,’ Yakubu prodded, ‘what’s 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.



49

‘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, I’m… but I am not…I don’t 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 don’t 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, whichunearthed the memory of his first meeting with Safiya, his wife.He remembered what an aunt of his said, ‘eh,’ as she cleared herthroat, ‘this house is yearning for people.’ She had just paid hima 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 ofmarriage but shoved it off; having come from a polygamousfamily, he was afraid of marriage, it always had an image ofchaos and commotion for him. The next time he saw his aunt, shewas knocking at his door, one Sunday morning. With her was ayoung woman.

‘This is the girl I was talking about.’

‘What girl is that?’ He actually could not remember muchabout 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 veryattractive, with an inviting shyness lingering on her dimpledcheeks. Instantly, he liked her. His fears vanished into thin air. Hewanted her. He wanted the marriage almost there and then.

However, what this self-appointed chief was trying to do was



50

madness. Yakubu did not want to leave any lingering doubts onthis, even though he would not want to make enemy of a man hewould 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 butin desperate desire for one; who started this rumours, withinhours of their arrival, was difficult to say, but Yakubu suspectedthat monkey-eating chief. The way the man hustled out of his‘office’ spelt anger; it was like he was insulted deeply for hisoffer 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.’ ‘That’s 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, thankyou…damn you or what?’

‘Therefore, I intend to give her away to you.’ ‘Well, well that’s kind of you father but…’ ‘No buts…please,’ he said with a wave of hand, ‘wait till you

see her.’



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‘I don’t have to see anything, father.’ Yakubu said, ‘I’mmarried already.’

‘How many?’ the clergyman asked eagerly.‘One, why?’ Yakubu was puzzled.

‘No problem,’ the man felt relieved. ‘Well, there’s 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 don’t want a bigger number.’ Yakubu almost shouted.

‘Then, you don’t 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 fourthere is one.’

‘Yes…yes,’ 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, I’m afraid and I’m settled on that number.’ The man left, feeling dejected; it was like Yakubu was making

enemies by rejecting their daughters. Later, he learnt that theman had just called out his wives, three or so of them, and askedthem to clean one of the girls, any of them ripe enough, ‘she isfor Maalaam Yakubu’. They scrubbed her clean, dressed her in anoversized skirt, the colour of which was hard to determine. Theystuck 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 sawthe helpless girl waiting eagerly by the doorstep. Her shoes wererather cumbersome making her drag her feet, as she gathered theoverflowing skirt that was likely to trip her off with every step.

Malam Yakubu soon started to hear, all within a day of theirarrival, the rumour being circulated that ‘the Malam doesn’t likeChristians’; but, when they heard that he had also refused the

chief’s offer, they consoled with the two ‘gentlemen’, and said,



52

‘may be the Malam is half a man’. Yakubu could not believe thespeed at which uncensored information could travel here! He wasquite surprised to discover that he was homesick even before theend of his first day in this forsaken place! Safiya was a charming

companion that helped ease his professional pressures; now, herealised how much he missed her and the kids.

XX

The night fell. The kids had had their meals. Kabir was sittingbetween Umar and Aminu; he now felt confident to talk. ‘I’mtelling you the truth.’ Kabir sought recognition by lapping the tip

of his index finger and raising it up pointing to the sky; that washis strongest oath. Aminu was silent for a moment, and then anidea cropped up.

‘Alright, we believe you, but we’ll listen to the news on thetelly. If there was any thing like that, they’ll mention it on the7:30 news, agree?’

‘Yah, agreed.’ Kabir was more than willing. ‘Umar, what’s the time now?’ Aminu asked. Umar glanced at his wristwatch and announced. ‘Well, let’s

go. It’s twenty five after seven.’ Kabir rushed to the sitting room. The others followed.‘I think Kabir’s telling the truth.’ Umar said. ‘We’ll 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 cameup. A polished female announcer appeared with a brimmed smile,followed by the news signature tune. The news had begun. No onetalked. Eyes were fixed on the telly. Safiya, though, was busydoing 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.



53

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 theincident; everyone had failed to understand him. Umar put hishands round his junior.

‘That’s not fair.’ Kabir declared, as he ran off. ‘Don’t remind him of it.’ Aminu said, ‘he’ll soon forget.’ ‘Alright,’ Umar had his doubts about that, though; he knew

Kabir never forgot such things easily; he would have to dig furtherto 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 citycould not sleep, no one expected them to, and they could not

keep still either, that they discovered to their dismay. Each ofthem got preoccupied battling thirsty giant mosquitoes or hugehungry bedbugs, or both. Then, there were the crawling scorpionsand occasional rattling snakes, or the lurking thieves attemptingto grab their luggage! The stillness of the night was now and thenrent by female’s screams for help, while the men got busyslapping the air with rising desperation. They just wished it wasmorning!

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 hisneck to keep him going. He had a war to fight, and he wasdrawing up his battle plans. He realised that, if he was toaccomplish anything here, he must restore what was therebefore, 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



54

include building human capacity, to make the people do thingsfor themselves; they must have the know-how to be able to raisethemselves from their current position; that was easier said thandone, as he was soon to find out.

He had met the Muslims of Rangana in total disarray; therewere three imams none of which were on speaking terms; aMalam Zamadeen had recently arrived, Yakubu was told. He wasyoung, energetic, and in the words of Malam Labbo, a ‘tirelesstroublemaker’. Of course, Malam Labbo had been in town forages. Yakubu discovered that he was an elderly man, thin andslow, with a certain characteristic way of making the world waitfor him. Then, there was Malam Nakore. He was born here, taught

by one visiting cleric who stayed and felt ‘this town has beencursed, it will never grow’; he packed his books and his clothesand left in the middle of the night. No one could give anyreasonable explanation for such erratic behaviour other than whatthe self-acclaimed chief had said, ‘those kinds of people don’tstay with people’; of course, he meant Nakore’s mentor was afriend of a jinn.

Malam Yakubu was told, ‘everything was quiet until this fellowjust landed.’ They meant Zamadeen. He came and startedpreaching. Initially, no one bothered, why, simply becausenobody went to listen to him; of course, they were away hunting,fishing and farming, or idling on wine pots. Gradually, the kidsstarted to attend in order to avoid some home chores. The menbecame suspicious, then alarmed, only when their women folkstarted talking. ‘He is a charming Malam’, that was the phrase

that made the men kinky. So, they started to attend, and theyoung 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 moneyand selfishness.’

‘Nobody asked you to worship all those.’ Nakore almost



55

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 ignorantrestrictions?’

That got Malam Labbo edgy, and the meeting broke. Ofcourse, Malam Labbo was a specialist in fetish medicine and hewas appreciative of its revenue.

Before long, the town was fanatically charged and the peoplestarted to take sides; the young were with the young cleric, theold were with the old. Not long after that, insults started, thennasty 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 smeltnear the same thing.

The first church was built high up the foot of the mountain; itwas made with the imported bricks brought in to build thequarters of the sergeant major, he was told. The initial priest wasa European fervent, an old fellow who forced the officer againsthis better judgement to assign labour for it.

‘Well, you’ve got to do it far off there’, the regimental officerinsisted, when the clergyman complained of the site, ‘the lordcertainly should’ve a much more befitting location’.

‘Sure, father, but I’ll rather you don’t mix her majesty’smission with yours’.

The building started and before long the church bell wasringing. It was a curious drum construction tied to a rope andhung high up the tower. It attracted curious people who initially

thought it was a festival invitation, but, before long, they gotbaptised, after much hustle as to whether it was a must or evendesirable to be circumcised.

The white priest was an understanding man who allowed thesheep to keep some few, ‘but not the large’ jujus or magiros.That caused the laity no trouble, after all, they had very tinycubicles 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



56

priest and the tussle over succession; the only white nun aroundwent over to another location, some people said with a renegadeBritish 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 waswhere she used to go to relief herself’. The first self-acclaimedchief decided he would also be the new black ‘father’; thatcaused 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 blackscorpion, 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 wasa professional snake catcher, and that was his most enticingdelicacy!

His son presided over the gospel, without trouble, so did theson after that. But, their grandson, the present father, did nothave that much privilege. Before long, someone had invitedsomebody from somewhere to come to open a new churchanywhere; ‘there is much money in it’. It started without abuilding, just a tent under the tree, but it had a young fellow fora minister, and a dynamic one for that matter. Before you knewit, 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. Ittook little spark to have interdenominational fights and somedevilish insults and squabbles; the sects drew their lines and thefiend made his debut.

Yakubu was no stranger to these tricky intrigues. As he sat, inthe midst of the attacking mosquitoes, weighing the complexitiesof the people of Rangana, he had a dip into his campaign

experience some years back. Then, it did not take him long to



57

visualize the confused future looming ahead of him, if by destinyhe became a chairman. The groups that helped him through wereas diverse and irreconcilable in their interests as to make ithumanly impossible to satisfy.

There were the students’ leaders, idealistic and frank to thepoint of concealed rudeness. They would help, they promised.In return, they seemed to ask for the removal of all theirteachers and anyone in the education department responsiblefor their education.

Nothing bothered the Drivers’ Union but the police and thepetrol dealers. They would provide his campaign team withfree 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, itwas fatherly natural to reach out for the favourite. Since theywere the custodians of tradition, their main desire was themaintenance of the status quo.

One mallam Audu was handy with countless children of varyingages under his care. They were from faraway places. Having lefthome almost never to return, they were used whimsically. Yakubuhad been told, ‘most certainly, there is the need to pray to God,and concurrently, the need to display certain capacity’ for utmostlawlessness in this kind of business. Such was a measure ofstrength. 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, herealized his folly in accepting the invitation to run withoutsettling 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 civil-servant 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.’



58

‘Certainly,’ Yakubu, then, eagerly agreed. He began to wonderwhat was staked. This was a generous group beyond imagination,beyond belief. These were the gentlemen who always gotcontracts, which never got executed, from any regime. Yakubu

was too bare of resources that he lost his nudging sense forprudence.

‘You need the women.’ Stellar hoarsened out. Though awoman, she was structured with masculine limbs. She had hugenose, large eyes and tight muscles, with an equal compensationof big backseat and packed busts. She was the scribe of thefeminine group constricted to a fringe, as they were misconstruedto be lewdly. ‘Woman Rights’ was their maxim. Freedom to mix,

freedom to marry and freedom from childbirth, and well, freeaccess to anything manly, except the roughness; all these weretheir recently advertised aspirations.

There was another group quite unnerving. They trooped inwithout invitation or organization. Educated in colleges anduniversities, they were unemployed, bitter and rude. Thoughmanaging boarding in the houses of their fathers, they nurseddreamy huge ambitions. Many had resigned to a life of drugs,petty theft and romantic anarchy. Some had pasted themselves torecharge cards or motorbikes, while many had clung to measuringfootball scores or petrol, at any conceivable time and place; theywould 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 againstmaking reactions or comments that might be used against themby their venomous opponents.

This disorganized crowd took their leave with childishhandshaking that nearly wore him down.

‘Thanks to God, it is all over now.’ He heard himself saying, ashe drifted into slumber, mixing up his past campaign experiencewith his present nightmare.



59

XXII

The successive days were used by the restoration team toassess what infrastructure was or were not available. They

discovered that, throughout that tumult, no one torched thehospital, if what was there could be so honoured with such anoble term; the combatants reserved, as it were, this derelictinstitution in case of eventuality. There were wards, with halfroofs or no roofs, with or without windows or doors. There werebroken beds with or without torn mattresses. ‘It’s like somebodyassumed 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. Thenurses, well, if they could be identified, were shabby, nonchalantand brooding on lack of one thing or the other, most especiallytheir salaries which they claimed had not come for the last twentymonths or so. The last one, they said, was before the arrival of acampaign 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 ofanger but also of regret; she had left her loving husband andthree children just to come to see this appalling scenario. Hecould see how outraged the quiet short lady was for the neglect,and he too was reproaching himself for being the head of theDOD, a department supposed to be directly responsible, yet maderedundant by the prevailing ethical disarray.

‘The last delivery of drugs was over two years ago, sir.’ He wastold by the zealous nurse who loved the job but hated beingforced to this squalor, which was her candid description of theirdilapidated institution.

‘You wouldn’t say this is fair sir, would you?’ she asked as shestared at him, as if charging him with negligence.

‘No, it isn’t.’ 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



60

one of his subordinates that he was the ‘boss’, the one reliedupon to make things better; later, Yakubu also learnt that theofficer was making some advances to her; ‘what a betraying littlestinging 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 nobetter. What seemed like a pumping machine had its innardsscattered all over the place under thick layers of mud covered byweeds. Every metal part looked like they came straight from theblacksmith, broken pieces with mutilated angles. The filtration

units were equally weed grown with shrubs dominating thelandscape. The holding tanks were broken with flanks of metaldangled by the breeze; where they still held, they were rusty andcrumbling at a tender touch; no one could say for certain whetherany 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 ofthe chief’s daughters while going; the chief had contracted hiscapture with a reward of another daughter; no one bothered togo looking for the man because they said, ‘you could have thechief’s daughters without even taking a step!’

Yakubu was beginning to think that if there was anythingfunctioning in Rangana, it must be the baby making machine! Nowonder, 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 thejob was given out, years back, at such a sum as to ensnareanyone, to a certain strange company which landed and took-offwithout a trace. The ‘roads’ had turned bumpy, lumpy and full ofditches or had simply become gullies. Mohammed was nottalkative by nature, but he became a grudger as he conducted theteam through his care, with quite an air of being totallydisgusted.

Sani was the officer-in-charge of education; he was not



61

expecting to see anything better, considering the mess he hadleft back home: roofless, floorless, chair-less, table-less, andanything-less structures that stood shamelessly for classes andlearning institutions. He was a person easily disillusioned, and

what he saw had simply squashed him; ‘no wonder they send theirkids abroad.’

‘Who would ever think there would be salvation for anyofficials in heavens?’ Sani had quickly dissociated himself fromthe pack.

They went to the agricultural department. In the firstinstance, the site was difficult to locate; all signs of it had beenswallowed up by shrubs and giant trees. When finally they mowed

their way through, they got shocked beyond expectation; therewas nothing there but carcasses of rats and cats covered bycobwebs under broken benches, twisted chairs and legless tables.In other places, big anthills stood for cupboards and filingcabinets! John, the officer assigned to this mess, felt like crying.

‘What would anyone do if these people seceded?’ he spat outwithout hesitation.

Lydia, the not so beautiful and not so ugly either, plain butbrainy woman, was given the employment portfolio. She hadnothing to report to the team, other than to say ‘there is norecord of anyone employed.’ Yet, records found on the floor ofone of the rooms partially torched had shown that vouchers hadbeen raised, from somewhere, for hundreds of employees whonever existed even in dream! She did not call them ghost-workersbecause they had never been there before, let alone be

resurrected! She was near driven to insanity. ‘Some people justsit there sucking the blood of their fellows.’ Beads of tears randown her oily cheeks.

The other officers had virtually nothing to report: Habibu wason industry, he could not locate even a single hammer, let alonea workshop; Makun for communication saw no wires, headphonesor anything remote to being called a postage stamp; Ndaman onrecreation was at lost as to what he was to look for, and

Thomas for security was sure of the lack of his care even



64

imagine an attitudinal revolution so soon in a people absorbedtotally in the pursuit of extravagance and luxury as opposed toethical or natural beauteousness.

‘Then Malam, how do you justify spending our meagre

resources for services we have failed to provide to our ownpeople on your rich, who will not use them, or for those therewho already have them back home but want to see us, as if weare caged animals in a zoo?’ Yakubu asked.

Ndaman nearly laughed. There was silence. He could seethat Malam Yakubu was very serious if not offended; but, he hadbeen given the portfolio on recreation. As far as he could makeup both the root and the derivative meaning of the word, it

stood for leisure, enjoyable activity; certainly, only those withspare foodstuff in their cupboards could afford leisure, not thekind of people in Rangana, in fact, not even the majority ofthose in Nigeria.

‘What have these people got to sell other than their calabashes,their bracelets and woven mats, which they use daily, but whichthe 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 inRangana, 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, let’s see about that.’ Yakubu said. ‘When our wealthy

travel abroad to their places, do they go to their bushes or totheir cities?’

‘To the cities, sir,’ Ndaman gladly answered.

‘How much of television, gold, cars, videos or handsets do



65

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 I’ve seen now, I’m not sure, when you

people talk of tourism, if you really care much about how thesepeople, 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.

‘What’s 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 what’s 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 arebent on experimental promiscuity, let us first provide work to ourown 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 anybush or city they want, but those shanties are now theirnecessities not pastime.’

‘That will be ages, sir.’ Ndaman observed.‘What’s 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.



66

‘It’s the development, sir.’ Ndaman was at a loss; his boss wasnarrowing his expertise to zero. He had trained as a recreationspecialist, but the whole field was being torn apart and made animpracticable 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, who’s 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 doesn’t

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 fellowwith a rather large head on a slim frame. He was also theyoungest 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 neededwas 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 radicalproposal, but now, he felt low; something inside was accusing himof being naive and unprofessional.

‘Let’s see what you’ve got.’ Yakubu had noticed thereluctance, thinking ‘may be the chap isn’t ready.’

‘Yes sir,’ Habibu mustered some courage. ‘There had been threeintense studies by some foreign mineralogists, environmentalistsand industrialists sometime ago, sir.’

‘Yes,’ Yakubu prodded.



67

‘They all pointed to the abundance of minerals, raw materials,raw labour and raw resources whose exploitation would boost thelocal and export industrial base, of not only the state, but, of thewhole 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 forsome right words.

‘Yes, Malam Habibu,’ Yakubu was interested. ‘Sir, what I am proposing is quite uncommon, unorthodox,’

Habibu stammered, ‘I…I feel, I think…’

‘Yes Habibu,’ Yakubu could see the tension building up in hisjunior, it almost reminded him of his past. ‘We’re here to workout a solution, so we must be free and liberal about it.’ He aimedto give out some encouragement.

‘Well sir, I don’t 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 beforeit.’ 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 ayear 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 theAmericas, and theirs went to the European Union. They werelodged in expensive hotels, given all the lobbyist attentions. Theywere driven round from one site to another, one factory complexto another. They had one seminar after another. At the end, theyfelt hypnotized by the glossy brochures and the chatteringmachines. They really believed if only this noisy machinery werein their possession, their own landscape would be changed from

mud-houses to skyscrapers, from brute-yokes to land-scrapers,



68

from weakness to strength and from poverty to affluence. Thosecertificated young scouts honestly thought transporting thosemachines would also mean transferring the knowledge base, thecultural 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 machinerywere silent and their once inflated reserves now depleted. Yes,Habibu was certainly right.

‘So, what do you suggest we do now?’ Malam Yakubu hadcertainly gained comprehension.

Habibu relaxed. He coughed to clear his throat.

‘Sir, those three studies were on clay manufacture, paper millsand car assembly,’ Habibu said, ‘they all advocated the importationof costly machines and expertise. I would suggest that we importnone, 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 theright 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 areasare brick drying and burning. In each of these areas where

imported machinery is employed, manual labour had been and



71

what to do with it!’ Habibu came to his mind. ‘Government cangive 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 withoutreprove; they all would have done the same thing. They all felttheir superior had spelt out their feelings rightly.

‘As we draw out a salvage plan for those people down there, Iwant you to bear in mind that government is responsible and itshould be able to bring happiness to its citizens, all of them,

wherever they may be. This is what we’re supposed to do and thisis what we’ve 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 centuriesago and his father was on payroll even at thirteen! It was easyto 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 briefingfrom you.’ Malam Yakubu said. ‘Are you ready?’

‘Yes sir,’ Malam Isyaku stood up. He was also thedepartment’s statistician. ‘Rangana municipality has apopulation of thirty thousand.’ He started to furnish thegathering with the bare facts of the area. ‘It has four main

satellites, each with about five thousand inhabitants. Each ofthese satellites has two sub-satellites nearby, each of which hasa population of two thousand or so. Next to this, in thisconsternation are sixteen meteoroid villages with a thousandpeople each, and thirty two scattered adjuncts each with fivehundred 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



72

within and outside the zone is fixed at two thousand; therefore,we are dealing with a figure of one hundred thousand people, alltogether, sir.’ With that, he sat down awaiting response in formof queries or comments.

‘Sir, can we start with education?’ Malam Sani proposed,remembering that a recently held workshop of expects ondevelopment had stressed the importance of education as thesurest catalyst of progress.

‘I would rather suggest we consider communication first, sir.’ Makun interjected, after all, another just held conference ofexpects on development had stressed the importance of theinternet, the information super highways, computer literacy,

broadband technology and G-anything, as the fastest vehicle invogue to progress!

‘Sir, those people are agricultural, it is better we start withthat.’ John put in, recalling the submission of professors ondevelopment making agriculture the solution to urban migrationand a viable alternative to crude oil as foreign exchange earner.

‘Alright, let’s see; Malam Garba, what’s the financialsituation?’ Yakubu asked; he was no stranger to these tussles forprominence when it came to drawing up budgets.

‘Yes sir,’ Malam Garba took the stand; he was both theadministrative and the financial secretary of the department. ‘Thetotal annual revenue for the state is ten billion, ninety percent ofwhich is federal, sir.’

‘Federal charity,’ Sani joked. Malam Yakubu smiled; he always abhorred their state’s

dependency status. ‘Does that include allocation for all theadministrative 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, we’re 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.’



73

‘They won’t 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.‘What’s 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 recalledbeing in the market the other day. There was this man of aboutsixty or so, sitting dejectedly behind his wares of needles and

thread the value of which could not provide him even a day’smeal. She wondered how his children could cope; they were mostlikely malnourished and sickly, most certainly uneducated andunhappy. She was sure, unless the present budget trend wasdiscarded, 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 butmainly 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 thehundred 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.‘No…yes,’ it was a divergent chorus, leaning to assent.

‘Sir, Rangana has ten percent of our total population.’ Lydia



74

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 wasquite astounded by this suggestion.

‘No, but supposed we were collecting taxes, their figure wouldhave 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 shouldhave. So, how come, when you get federal subvention, you don’t

count their number as important?’ Lydia asked, bewildered byIsyaku’s antagonistic stance.

‘That’s 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 personin this area is entitled to the same privilege as to equalresponsibility. Budget should be based on people, sir, not onremote ministerial concept. When billions are allocated to healthministry, much of it goes to certain big projects in the towns; theother citizens are deprived of their share. They too are entitledto services commiserative to their population, sir.’ Haruna

glanced at Malam Garba.This line of reasoning triggered a recall for the latter whoseemed much to welcome their new raison d'être. A subordinateof his had once invited him to his wedding at a village some fewkilometres away; ‘you must come to our village, sir,’ the chaphad entreated. Malam Garba conceded and went; what he sawthere 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



75

could be called anything but a road. When he looked at his watch,it indicated that they had been travelling for over two hours, butto his dismay, the odometer showed they had just covered threekilometres. 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 tenkilometre road! He looked eastwards and was amazed to see thedazzling carriageways of Minna just down below; the five hourcircuitous route was just a few kilometres distance from Minna!

‘Alright, let’s take a break to come up with the two alternativesand 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: governmenthouse, point five percent; cabinet office, twenty percent;finance, five percent; housing, fifteen percent; education, thirtypercent; health, ten percent; sundry, five percent; industry, one

percent; natural resources, nine percent.’ Malam Isyaku read outthe well rehearsed details.

‘On what basis are these allocations made?’ ‘Sir, the allocation is based on government’s 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 willRangana be, say, this year?’ Malam Yakubu asked.

‘It is within the lot sir, just like all the others.’ ‘But Isyaku, we’ve been to Rangana, and we can assure you

that, of this aggregate, none has reached them, and we’re now inOctober, so, what happened to their share?’

Isyaku was dumbfounded; he searched others for relief. Hefound none. He felt alien within this semi-rebellion.

‘No project had been earmarked for that area, sir.’

‘When will there be one?’ Yakubu asked.



76

‘I have no idea, sir.’ That confession gave his opponents theopening 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 thesuffering of the people through neglect.’ Habibu sent out.

‘Despite the annual allocations, sir, our people are stillburdened to their necks.’ Mr. Makun shot in. He wasremorseful 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 resourceson the urban areas, while the villages are neglected. As a result,the youth, like insects, are drawn to the glitter, leaving behindthe sick and the elderly. The result has been the loss of agricproduction, sir, the overstretching of the city services, and thecollapse of the whole value-system.’ He paused a little; othersdid not interrupt, for John enjoyed certain respect, being aquiet person. ‘If you spread development widely among therural areas, everyone would remain at their places to build themup, sir.’ John was a man economical with his words; this muchhe had to spare.

Malam Yakubu registered those comments. ‘Is it now possibleto find out why this method is not reaching the people?’ Yakubu

addressed Isyaku.‘Sir, the ministries are responsible for executing the policies ofthe government based on its leaning, and the appropriatematerial and human resources are allocated for the attainment ofsuch 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



78

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, theformulators of policies had been hiding behind the impersonal

concept of government to advance only their own interests; andtwo, that they had been enslaved by a system perpetuated bythem; they could see no apparent alternative, thus, they too hadbecome 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 theyare 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.’ Sheturned 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.’

‘Yes…yes,’ 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 onehundred ‘Lydias’ in the county towns, and she is a thousand timescostlier 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 Sani‘s’ of anotherarea 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 utilizedequally on all the citizens, concurrently without delay.’ Lydiaoutlined. ‘The traditional concept of drawing out budgets andallocating funds to ministries is totally flawed, sir, and it should

be discarded forthwith.’



80

to expend in areas of its needs, sir.’ She rested her case andsat down.

‘Thank you, we’ll take a break and allow Malam Isyaku tocome up with some pattern out of this. Is that possible?’

‘Yes sir,’ Malam Isyaku accepted the challenge; he hadtold himself that he had to go along with this revolution nomatter what.

XXVII

Malam Isyaku was beginning to figure out what his mates weredriving at, and he had no objection, only worrisome reservations.

During the break, he had a brief chat with Malam Garba.‘I don’t 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 AnguwanDaji, a place in a corner of Minna. It was chaotic with no roads,unhygienic with no drains, dark with no light, and with lots ofempty earthen pots and plastic containers round a tap that hadbeen dry for over two years; one of his close relatives was cheekyenough to say, ‘you can see how we live.’

‘Yes, I can see that.’ Isyaku was uncomf ortable. But what theman 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, aren’t they?’ Isyaku did not understand what the man meant then, but now

he had; ‘true, the system is tilted to carter for us.’ ‘Let’s be hopeful,’ Garba said, halting Isyaku’s recall.’ Everyone came back feeling refreshed and hopeful.‘Let’s 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



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population. One and a half billion will be for investments andseven 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. Avillage with one thousand people, for example, will be allottednine 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 suchmoney could do for those people; ‘within a year their lives wouldcertainly 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, aplace where they had to trek a whole day to get to the nearestclinic which most of the time had nothing but empty cupboardsand a sleepy nurse with laughable ambition of becomingsomebody! 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 tothose 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 listedand paused.

Everyone seemed busy making calculations, most on what theirvillages were likely to get.

‘Sir, my colleagues and I are in agreement that the rightmodule should be the aforementioned proposal.’ Lydia concluded.

She knew what difference this could make to her own



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beleaguered village, a forsaken place just like Rangana, with nohope of any good coming to them in her life time! She couldvisualize 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 it’s supposed to work is this: each cluster of villages

or satellites with one thousand people or so is to have a council ofno less than, say, seven members; the council can be namedwhatever the ministry people want to call it, village council,people’s 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 asweeping 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, ‘anyquestion?’ The hall was mute.

‘Continue, Miss,’ he addressed Lydia.

‘Yes sir, the cluster should operate on an annual budget drawnon the basis of its income-expense expectations. It should also belinked with the adjacent clusters by all season motorable roads tofacilitate 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 ‘we’re 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



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general political transformation of the people through their fullparticipation in development process.’ With that, Lydia sat down.

‘Thank you, Lydia,’ Yakubu was very appreciative of theeffort. ‘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 Safiya’s delight. Once,

she told him during those usual questioning session, ‘I’ve been to Pakungu, I think it’s shameful.’

‘What’s 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 andgentlemen.’ Malam Yakubu adjourned the meeting.

XXVIII

The days had passed, a fortnight or so, as quietly as they couldpossibly be for Malam Yakubu’s family. Yakubu had been comingand going to Rangana as regularly as his assignment demanded;his family had got used to his movements and his absence. LikeSafiya said, ‘once in a while, you’ve to let go for something’.

This Monday afternoon though, the indoors had become ratherhot. The electric supply, despite the perpetual massive capitalinjection, had been, as Malam Isyaku would call the disintegratingcolonial legacy, erratic; now on, now off, or the current was toolow to be of any use to anybody or for anything.

The kids, Umar and Kabir to be precise, had been noisy asusual. Safiya had finally put on her madcap and had sent themout, far and away, to their ‘aunty’, way down the Quliya HousingEstate. Aminu had buried himself in his homework; his uncle hadglanced at his score sheet and decided that was not good enough.

Malam Yakubu had therefore charged Safiya to increase the



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youth’s daily doses: studies, assignments, and more studies. Sureenough, she was doing a good job of it, to Aminu’s dismay.

Kabir was cycling homeward alone; he had decided to leaveUmar at their auntie’s. 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! Thiswas Kabir’s assessment though, and no one dared contradict it. She was actually not their aunty, but, their father’s aunt;they adamantly refused to address her as ‘granny’. They saidthat word would make the old woman older, therefore moreboring! This twitting deduction was actually Umar’s, whichKabir had blessed.

When Kabir called for a departure, Umar had refused to comealong with him.

‘Well, I’m not going back now.’ Umar had declared.‘Well, I’m not staying any longer.’ Kabir also declared.There was a stalemate; ‘well, go then, if you want to go,’

Umar had suggested.‘Well, I’m 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 itsavoidable and unavoidable potholes! He stopped at Kasuwan-darefor a little rest. He watched the group of struggling youth as theychased cars with dangling gallons and dripping oil. He alsowondered where they had taken the former hungry looking soldiersculpture to. That reminded him of his own stomach; he broughtout a wrapt ball from his pocket. He undid the wrappers and

expertly threw the yolky toffee into his mouth. He wore a pleasedexpression 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 themeat man; his arc of stuck pieces of meat, coated with thickpaste of ground groundnut cake, was barbecuing around heapedburning charcoal. Not far from them was another meat man; Kabirdid not like this much, flaked raw meat spread on straw bed

placed on a table for a dense flood of large black flies.



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XXIX

Kabir hit the pedals and circled round the traffic central island

passing the disused police post, then Kuta Road and the currentpolice station occupying the once native authority reading rooms,to the right. He edged further onto the road to clear off twoparked cars. He momentarily cast a glance at the men standing bythe cars. Flashing images rushed back to his head. He quicklymoved to the edge, stood his bike by the pavement, overlookingthe onetime earthen single roomed prison, and walked back tothe parked cars. Instantly, he recognized one of the faces as one

of those men at Gurara waterfalls. At that moment, the men gotinto 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 justwanted to get the man to show to Umar and Aminu so that theywould know he was not lying about the snatched car and theskinny man.

Just ahead of him, the car was stopped at the junction by therecently installed traffic lights. Kabir increased his speed and hadanother glimpse of the man as he got the green light to pass. Thecar turned right, taking the Stallion road. Kabir followed. Theroad was congested; animals and pedestrians added to the go-slow, all to Kabir’s advantage. He was able to keep the car inview. At a certain point, around the native police derelictbarracks, Kabir rode past the car. Just after the Restrainers Camp

to the left and the Competitors Zone to the right, the carovertook Kabir and turned left, so did Kabir. His heart wasbeating fast from excitement and exhaustion.

The road at the two roomed canine hospital was sandy. Kabirfound it hard to go faster. Luckily, the car too could not go far, ithad come to a dead end. Kabir slowed down, disembarked andpushed his bike along. The car drove into an enclosure and the gatewas pulled back. Kabir leaned his bike on a nearby tree and tiptoed

to the concealed part of the fence, a six-footer corrugated sheet



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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. Withoutdifficulty, Kabir recognised the car as the one at the waterfalls; it

was the patchy white saloon car. He saw a face he had come toknow too well; the man walked to the other men and was harshtalking to them.

‘I must call Umar.’ Kabir decided. He retraced his stepscautiously. He got to his bike and raced homeward. He was sureUmar must have gone back home by now.

XXX

Malam Yakubu had come back and was going through Aminu’shomework. ‘Well, this looks alright.’ He glanced behind him, ashe heard the sound of a bike.

Kabir was shocked and deflated to find his father standingthere 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; everyoneknew that and any inquiry would be dropped easily to spare thelad; ‘if you press harder, Kabir will cry, and if Kabir cries, he willnot eat my food that day!’ Safiya had warned everyone to back off.

‘Get that bike into the garage.’ Yakubu instructed with asmile, ‘I don’t want that iron obstructing my way.’

‘Yes dad.’ Kabir pushed his bike and leaned it at the other sideof the garage. He walked in casting a smiley glance at Aminu whoreplied with a wink. Kabir searched room after room, looking forUmar. Finally, he saw him sitting on a desk doing somehomework.

‘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, ‘let’s go.’



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‘Where?’ Umar asked, doubtfully.‘There, I’ll 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 can’t go now,’ Umar murmured, ‘dad’s outside.’ ‘We must go now,’ He was emphatic; ‘they’ll go away.’ He tugged Umar’s sleeve. ‘Leave off, I don’t 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 don’t tear my books,’ Umar gave in,‘otherwise, I’ll report you to mum.’

Kabir led the way, tiptoeing and glancing sideways to makesure they were not spotted. They edged out, avoiding thepassage.

‘Let’s go on my bike; it’s here.’ Kabir got out his bike. Umargot on it and helped Kabir onto the bar.

Aminu was released from the rather uncomfortable closeinspection. He dropped his books and went searching for Umarand Kabir. He saw the abandoned books which he hid away in thedrawers. He wondered where the two had gone to. He heardSafiya calling for Umar.

‘He’s in the toilet.’ Aminu was not sure. He thought a small liewould 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 supplementthe brakes.

‘Where’s it?’ He asked; now, he was a full participant.Kabir pointed to the entrance, ‘in there.’

They kept a good distance from the compound.



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‘Get down then,’ Umar wedged the bike with a leg while theother 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.‘I’ll have to go in first.’ Umar said. ‘You wait here.’ Kabir nodded agreement.Umar took a step forward. Kabir drew him back.‘What’s it?’ Umar whispered. ‘You’ll be careful, won’t you?’ Kabir was apprehensive.

Umar nodded, ‘Don’t worry. I’ll 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 asmile too. Umar opened the gate slowly and squeezed himselfthrough. 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 theside of the building. There was a zinc-sheet fence joining a highwall that ran the length of the yard. Umar heard somemurmurings. He quietly did a frog-jump to the edge of thebuilding where an alley led to the inner part of the house. Helooked 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.‘We’ll find a way to cool it.’ Another voice said.There was a lull.‘Come on; let’s get on to it.’ The second voice advised.

There was some fidgety activity.



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‘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 tothe 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 Umar’s direction. The kid tried to fight offthe urge to sneeze, but he could not. And, ‘ach…achy’ came outthe sound, so loud and clear. The men at the car felt silent. Outcame another sneeze. Umar cupped his mouth and nose. Two ofthe men rounded the corner and grabbed him.

Kabir’s ears were erect. His eyes were wide open and his heartwas 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 getUmar out; these mean people must be talked to by mum, no, bydad. Kabir’s mind was a web of schemes to get Umar out, ‘ohUmar come out now.’

But, Umar was held tightly by a pair of strong arms. He wasalmost 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 afrightful prospect, though. What was he to say to these meanpeople to let him go?

‘I can run…no, I can’t; I can cry…no, I can’t; I’m dumb…no, I’mnot.’ ‘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 don’t

tell me the truth, I’ll order the man to beat you up.’

Umar looked up at the giant in front of him.



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‘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 itwas not, the same kid’; either way, he would not take chanceswith 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 won’t be just now.’ Umar raised the volume.‘Lock him up in that room.’ ‘Yes, that’s better.’ Skinny said.The giant handed Umar over to the skinny man.‘Don’t worry, Skinny, we will let him go.’ The giant said.‘Alright, I still don’t want people to get hurt for this.’

XXXII

Kabir was visibly disturbed. He heard the sound of a carcoming to the gate. The gate opened and he saw the big man andtwo others drive through. One of them got down, went back tothe gate and shut it, and rejoined the others. Kabir wonderedwhat was happening. He waited.

Umar was behind the door as a prisoner. He banged at it withall 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



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of the bare room.He mused. ‘What’s 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 toget him out or…or go home to call dad; that was not a goodproposition though, their escapade would be exposed and dadwould be very angry, that would be bad. Anything was betterthough, Umar thought, than being locked up in this rat-hole. Theworst prospect was for Kabir to sit there, waiting for him, doingnothing. It was getting a bit dark and he had no idea what thesemean people were up to. He could not trust the parting words

from that skinny fellow; ‘they’re 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.‘What’s 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 someshoes, lady’s shoes. There were some papers also on theground, by the car. He picked one and tried to read it. Hehad forgotten Umar, almost.

Umar heard some movement. He walked to the door andlistened. 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. Kabirwalked just by the door and called out.

‘Umar…Umar.’ ‘I’m here, here, open the door,’ Umar responded.‘What are doing in there? Kabir asked.

‘Get me out quickly.’ Umar called out.



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Kabir went to the handle and tried it. ‘It won’t open.’ ‘It’s 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.‘It’s bolted.’ Kabir declared calmly.‘Then unbolt it.’ Umar was getting annoyed with him.Kabir tried to reach the bolt, ‘I can’t.’ ‘What do you mean, you can’t?’ ‘It’s too high.’ Kabir seemed to give up. ‘I can’t reach it.’ ‘For goodness sake, don’t 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 inthe workshop, searching for…

‘What’s happening?’ He heard Umar shouting.‘I’m coming.’ He shouted back. He saw a toolbox. He tried to

lift it. It was too heavy. He looked at it for a moment, thenopened it and started to throw out the content: set of spanners,hammers, screwdrivers, clamps, pliers, pincers, cutters andwrenches. He ran back to the door with the box. He placed it bythe wall and got on top. He still could not reach the bolt.

‘What’re you doing?’ Umar was very anxious.‘I’m 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



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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.‘It’s moving, Umar, it’s 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 car’s 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. Thekids 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 thebolt. He came back to Kabir and giggled.

‘They’ll think I’m 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 didn’t get into this to starve a small boy, that’s

all’. Skinny was treading on a dangerous ground, and he knew it.There was something about Umar that made him quitesympathetic. The kid was clean and smart. He was not like thosenasty thieving kids!

‘Alright, go get him.’ The Oga condescended.Skinny walked to the door, and felt for the bolt. ‘Hi, kid. Don’t

worry; you will soon go to your mother.’

He opened the door. ‘Where are…?’



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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 theroom, ‘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 stoodthere staring at the closed door.

‘Hi, who is that?’ they shouted, ‘let us out.’ Umar and Kabir shook hands, pleased with themselves. ‘We’re

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.‘Here…here, 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, let’s go get them’.



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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 inmy own house...in my own room, by whom… not the police, noteven 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 elderwarning him against going with bad company! He got up andwalked 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 beingcontemptuously 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 andSkinny 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 nastyand not so nasty misdemeanours and some heinous felonies andmany a-thing-cidal.

He turned to Umar and Kabir. ‘You kids are wonderful, with avery keen eye for order, thanks.’ The inspector said.

The kids felt exhilarated. It was a worthwhile outing!‘We’re 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.



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The inspector walked out with Umar and Kabir.‘We’ll soon take you home to have your supper.’ He placed his

hand on Kabir’s head. Kabir felt motivated.‘You’re a great help to the police, boys. I’ve seen the records

of your effort for the capture of some smugglers months ago, thatwas good, very good indeed.’

Kabir looked up to the inspector, ‘will you b low the sirenthen?’ He asked, hoping they would.

‘Of course, we’ll do that if you want us to do so.’ ‘Yes, I love it.’ Kabir wanted to play a top class chief!‘We’ll rather go home on our own, sir.’ Umar had remembered

his mother and decided to trim off their rank!

‘Why, don’t you want to be taken home?’ ‘Well, you see, sir, we don’t want our mum to know…’ Umar

tried to explain. The inspector was not aware of Umar’s uneaseat their mother’s discovery of what they had done without herpermission. Yet, she always said, ‘help the law, the law willhelp you.’

‘Alright, if that’s what you want. It’s fine by me. But surely,we’ll visit you to thank you for your bravery. I’m sure your motheralready knows your real worth, just as we’ve discovered.’ Theinspector grudgingly acquiesced.

The kids walked to their bike. Skinny and the Oga were led outof the building, and soon driven out to the nasty dark cells, thenarrow home of bad characters.

Zubairu’s patchy car was finally towed away to the policestation where a thorough search was to be conducted for the

retrieval of any material evidence.The kids, though, pedalled home, much excited. As theyentered the house, their father was saying his night prayers. Theygot down the bike, stealthily lifted it and tiptoed past behindhim, on their way to the garage. They could not escape thequestioning look of their mother, though. She was just a littleahead watching them in amazement, as they walked in trying toavoid detection.

‘Where’re you from, you two?’ She was out in the open.



Introducing the next encounter: ‘A Widow’s Dew’

Now as always, Kabir is on holidays, therefore, we expectcertain happenings; much will be in ‘a widow’s dew’, the third

book in the series.In this, it’s 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 awareof any woman, widowed through accidents, who had any compensation advanced to her.’

Actually, Malam Yakubu, Safiya’s husband, is ‘beginning tosee 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, hismother, cry’, Falalu, Zainab’s elderly half -brother who haslittle 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 hismind…he wasn’t going to do any paying back anything inheavens’, Maigamu, a potential trouble maker, and Zubairu, thebug-eyed bugaboo, all Zainab’s in-laws, and a heavy weight thatcan bring the lives of others down.

Will it be the boys to bring about a resolution? ‘What you get is not a shower;’…‘it’s just like dew.’ ‘A widow’s dew?’ Zainab asked , jokingly.

02 eye for order

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