“For me, all you royal faders dey exaggerate your powers!” she said, and shrugged.
“Don’t mind her,” the chief told Jubril.
“Yes, Chief,” he said.
“You see, the emirs never suffer this type of humiliation from their subjects,” the chief continued. “I knew this when we used to visit General Abacha to plan his life presidency. God bless his soul. He understood the importance of royal fathers. After him, soldiers chickened out and handed power over to civilians, and look at our country now . . .”
Jubril felt so comfortable with the chief that he fell asleep in spite of the commotion and his aching body. He had not slept for two days, but now, with the chief keeping guard over him, as it were, he drifted off.
BY THE TIME THE driver finally came back with a drum of fuel, it was completely dark outside. With the help of the police officers and bus conductors, he refueled the bus. There was no moon, no stars. The light from the bus, framed by large windows and blinds, poured out into the darkness like long stakes. An eerie silence had descended on the land, and it seemed that the will of those outside the bus to murmur was swallowed by it. They moved about quietly, not knowing what their fate would be once the bus left. Occasionally, a gunshot rang out and drew a collective gasp from the crowd, and occasionally, the pained dog barked weakly.
When the door opened the passengers thought the driver was ready to begin the journey, but the darkness spat a lanky newcomer onto the bus. He began to pick his way forward, staggering over people sitting on the floor, searching for a space. His hair was rotten, dreadlocks, and an army beret sat like a crown of disgrace over it. A rope gathered his ragged camouflage garb at his tiny waist. He was carrying a dog. He held it gently, as if it were a two-day-old baby.
“Are you the driver?” Emeka asked.
“No.”
“Then get out immediately.”
“By the way,” the newcomer said, “the police say the driver is too tired to begin the yourney now. He needs to eat and sleep for a while.”
The passengers became uneasy and rose as one to eject him, Emeka leading the charge. They dragged him toward the door. Monica had given her child to somebody again so she could give Emeka the backing he needed. Tega and Ijeoma joined her, cussing the man in Urobho and Ibo.
But, flailing in Emeka’s grip, the man managed to produce a ticket.
“The police gave me this ticket and opened the door for me. How do jou think I got onto the bus?” the man said, when Emeka dropped him. He moved on, as if the people had just finished singing a welcome song for him, searching for his place. “So why are jou harassing me?”
“Because you dey craze!” Tega said.
“Me?”
“Of course,” Tega said.
“My name is Colonel Silas Usenetok.”
“Colonel? You?” Madam Aniema said.
“Who admitted you into the army?” Emeka asked.
Colonel Usenetok halted in front of Jubril. “Get up!” he said, poking the sleeping Jubril with his dirty boot. “I say, get up!”
Jubril turned and said sleepily, “I dey my place.”
People warned the colonel against hitting Jubril. The sympathy of the whole bus was with him. Besides, nobody wanted to travel with the colonel, for he looked like a madman. They berated the police for letting him in, and some suggested he should sit at the space allotted to the two policemen for the journey.
“Jou better wake up before I flush jou from this bus,” the soldier warned Jubril again.
“Nosa.”
Everyone looked at Chief Ukongo, but the old man did not say anything or even look in the direction of Jubril. His attention was fixed on his beads, which he was stroking. He clacked them against each other with measured alacrity.
“With immediate effect . . . jour ticket?” the soldier commanded Jubril. “Who are jou? We must see jour ticket now. I need to sit down because the driver is so tired. It will take a long time before we move from here.”
“My newly arrived son,” the chief intervened, still playing with his beads, “we shall not look at any tickets!”
“What?” the soldier exclaimed. The whole bus became quiet when the chief spoke. The soldier looked around, as if trying to understand the silence.
“Obey the wishes of the people,” the chief said, still looking down. “They don’t want you on this bus. . . . This is a democratic country.”
“Democracy my foot,” Colonel Usenetok said. “Show me the asshole’s ticket . . . period!”
The chief rose up, took off his Resource Control hat to reveal a head of white hair, then put it back on. He cleared his throat and looked around. “Soldier, do you know I’m not even supposed to be on this bus? Do you know I’m supposed to be helping the government solve this national crisis . . . not being insulted by a madman!”
“Excuse me. Jou’re insulting me? After all I’ve done for this country?” The soldier started searching in his rags for his ID. Finding the ID appeared to be so important to him that he dropped the dog and his fingers trembled. His camouflage had so many holes and slits that even he was confused about where to find things. Then he flashed his ID and announced, “Colonel Silas Usenetok . . . ECOMOG Special Forces!”
Jubril looked at the chief, then returned his gaze to the soldier. Admiration for the soldier spread on his face immediately, on the strength of what Chief Ukongo had told him about ECOMOG soldiers’ self-sacrifice. Jubril stood and offered up his place, though many in the bus said he should not.
Colonel Usenetok picked up his dog.
“Gabriel, you are not giving him your place,” the chief said calmly, and the other passengers concurred. Monica held Jubril down with both hands, as if she were planting a tree.
“He has insulted my chieftaincy,” the chief declared, and then, turning to the soldier, said: “We don’t accept IDs on this bus . . . ask anybody.”
“Yeah . . . ole . . . no ID!” someone said.
“No mad soldierman ID!”
“Your generals done steal our money finish in de name of ECOMOG!”
“Kai, kai, kai, my people, forget about what the generals did!” the chief said, calling them to order, and turned to the soldier. “Let me tell you something, because you’re too young to understand the history of this conflict in our country . . .”
“Which conflict, which history?” the soldier said. “Jou’re talking as if jou were a living witness when God created the world.”
“Very good then. Even if you were there when Britain arbitrarily joined the north and south together to found this country, you couldn’t travel with us! Even if you were there when the British forged the Muslim-majority north and the Christian-majority south into a country, we couldn’t allow you. Whether you have a ticket or not is beside the point now. . . . As a royal father, the safety of my people is paramount. Too many of them are already dead, and now I don’t want them to be bitten by this mad dog!”
“We no want dis dog for dis bus o!”
“Human right before animal right!”
“Police is public enemy number one!”
Colonel Usenetok laughed at them. He held the dog closer to his heart and pecked it on the nose. Without warning, the dog jolted and convulsed in that deathly bark that the refugees had heard periodically outside. Its body was cramped, and its jaws wide open, with nothing more to vomit except a few drops of blood. While those around him squirmed and tried to push away, the colonel used his clothes to collect the blood. A foul smell filled the bus, and people tongue-lashed the ECOMOG man. Having this dog in their midst did not sit well with the bus refugees.