Ajie laughed.
“Yes, tell me,” Mr. Ifenwa said, his eyes still on him. Then he looked at Bibi and at Paul in a way that made it obvious the question would be coming to them, too. Ajie didn’t know what to say first. He wanted constant power supply, but saying that would make him sound self-serving. Okay, he would give jobs to the jobless; he would try to make poor people not poor, and to pay lecturers so they wouldn’t go on strikes anymore. He definitely wouldn’t send a letter bomb to kill any journalist who wrote things about him he didn’t like. He would not make people disappear, as the current head of state was known to do. But he didn’t say any of these to Mr. Ifenwa.
“I’d make sure the roads were well maintained so they didn’t cause accidents,” Ajie blurted, and regretted the words immediately because he’d just remembered that Mr. Ifenwa’s wife had died in a car accident.
The parlor went quiet. Ma’s hand floated midair with the paper she was about to put aside; Mr. Ifenwa blinked behind his oval lenses, and Bendic cleared his throat, and the air in the parlor lurched back into gear.
“I’d send the military back to the barracks and return the country to democratic rule,” Bibi said.
Bendic hummed as if unsatisfied with the answer. Ma circled a number for Mr. Ifenwa’s attention and then passed the paper to him. “I would sack all the ministers and military administrators. They are all corrupt,” Paul said.
“Just that?” Bendic asked.
“And throw them in jail.”
“Without a fair trial first?” Bendic asked. “Sounds authoritarian.”
“Sounds like the kind of revolution we need, if you ask me,” Mr. Ifenwa said without looking up from his work. “How much evidence do we need that our leaders are corrupt?”
“I mean,” Bendic continued, “the problem is obviously systemic, and resolving it will require more than the actions of one good man or removing people from positions. It’s about developing processes, checks and balances, and organizing ourselves in a good way.”
Mr. Ifenwa’s nostrils flared and he gave out a sigh of frustration. “It makes me a little crazy when you keep saying systems. You have that maniac in power, murdering ordinary citizens, people are disappearing every day. Someone should first make him disappear, and then we can talk of moving this country forward!”
Bibi was bristling on her seat; Bendic and Mr. Ifenwa had hijacked the conversation instead of letting her expound on how she would make Nigeria better, so she began to flip the channels but kept the volume low. Ma asked Paul to bring her handbag from her bedroom.
When Paul came back to the parlor, Ma had brought up the case of the mysterious disappearance of a journalist who was a colleague’s relative, and Bendic said that perhaps it was high time everyone took to the streets, or else they ran the risk of being plucked off in isolation one by one.
Bendic and Mr. Ifenwa talked into the night, long after Ma had done most of the marking and teased that Mr. Ifenwa had just brought the work for her while he spent the time arguing with Bendic. Bibi had fallen asleep on the couch, and Ma shook her gently and asked her to go to bed. She sat up quickly with her back straight and said she wasn’t sleeping. Paul was sitting beside her. His eyes were on Bendic saying something about “street politics.”
They stood up to escort Mr. Ifenwa to the gate, except for Bibi, who had fallen asleep again. Mr. Ifenwa kept saying, “Nne, thank you,” to Ma, and said he should hurry home now, as it was late. “Friday,” he said.
“We are here,” Bendic replied.
After they had said good night and Mr. Ifenwa had walked down the road, Ismaila came and locked the gate for the night with a heavy iron chain and a big padlock.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Bibi saw the crowd first and then leaned out of the car to get a better look. A slow line of traffic was building up in the other lane. Ma didn’t tell Bibi to get back into the car and not waste the coolness from the air conditioner. She was way too tired from all the haggling and trekking about the market and was in no mood for talk, so she switched off the air conditioner so they could all feel the heat, and maybe Bibi would behave herself and shut that window.
Bibi was still looking outside. “It’s like the riot is happening in front,” she said, and Ajie put his head out the window to get a look. “I won’t be surprised,” Ma responded, looking up as the lights turned orange. “Let us pick up your skirt and get home, then they can riot all they like.” The family had just left Mile One Market after half a day of trudging stalls and bargaining for school supplies. “I hope you are both settled for school now. Anything you haven’t mentioned will have to wait till when you come home on your midterm break. No more buying. I think we’ve done just enough.”
The students swamped the lane as they marched so that cars couldn’t go through. Some had placards held up high with sticks, while others pinned them on their bodies. Hawkers solicited from the sidelines with trays of mangoes, baskets of oranges, and soft drinks. A small group of students gathered around a hawker who had set down his basin for the students to take water tied up in clear freezer bags about the size of a big fist. The line of cars held up by the protesters stretched the entire length of Aggrey Road. A young man jogged ahead of the crowd. He waved his hands like a traffic warden and shouted something to those nearest to him. Then they all started moving to the right and formed a dense pack on one side of the road, giving way for the traffic to flow.
“It’s a peaceful demonstration,” Ma said to Bibi, “not a riot.”
“I hope they burn some government cars,” Ajie said.
Ma turned her head to face him. “What do you mean by that?”
“They should burn some government cars, destroy a few things, then they’ll get some attention.”
“Have you seen the mobile police waiting to pounce?” Bibi offered.
“Let him sit there and talk nonsense.”
“It’s not nonsense. If my school were in town, I would join.”
“You will not join in anything like that.”
“They are university students, anyway. Can you see your age mates there?” Bibi said.
“Paul is entering university soon.”
“You are not Paul.”
“Doesn’t matter. If he joins, I can follow.”
“Yaya yaya ya, talk talk talk.”
“Quiet, the two of you!” Ma shouted. “Let me hear something, please.”
Green leaves were stuck onto car fenders to show solidarity with the students. Some drivers shouted support from their windows. A bus driver held out a clenched fist. His bus had not just green leaves but a young tree branch. It tilted forward each time the bus slowed, as if bowing down to the road. A loud Oliver De Coque tune blared from his windows as he drove past, leaving behind an air of jubilation.
They got to Borokiri, and it was time for Ma to wonder aloud if the tailor had finished making Bibi’s skirt. Twice she had failed to have the skirt ready on the agreed date. With only a few days remaining before their return to school, Bibi’s wraparound sport skirt was the only item left to tick off on their list.
“What is it with tailors?” Ma parked the car a block away from the shop. “Bibi, pass me my handbag.” She opened the door and climbed out of the car.
They walked down the block and crossed the concrete slab over the smelly gutter and stepped into the tailor’s shop. A young woman was working the sewing machine with her hands and feet. “Welcome, madam.” She stopped pedaling when she saw them. “My madam no dey, but she keep something for you,” then she went into a back room.