Anthills of the Savannah

'Na you! You no know who this man be? But how you go know? When you no de read newspaper. You pass standard six self?'

'Yes sir.'

'Na lie! Unless na free primary you pass. This man is Mr. Osodi, the Editor of the National Gazette. Everybody in the country knows him except you. So you carry your stupid nonsense and go and contravene a man of such calibre. Tomorrow now if he takes up his pen to lambast the Police you all go begin complain like monkey wey im mother die… Go and bring his particulars here one time, stupid yam-head.'

The poor fellow scampered out of the room.

'Now all of you listen well. You see this man here, make una look im face well well. If any of you go out tomorrow and begin to fool around his car I go give the person proper gbali-gbali. You understand?'

'Yes sir.'

'Nonsense police. You think na so we do am come reach superintendent. Tomorrow make you go contravene His Excellency for road and if they ask you you say you no know am before. Scallywags. Fall out!'

Because of his visit to the Police Traffic Department at the other end of town Ikem had had to conduct his daily Editorial Conference two hours late. In making his apologies he naturally recounted his recent brushes with the police the details of which added considerable entertainment to the proceedings of a routine conference. The only person who did not seem to find any of it in the least amusing was Ikem's second-in-command, an earnest but previously obsequious fellow who in the last several months had struck Ikem as becoming suddenly a lot more aloof and inclined to disagree openly with whatever he said.

Back in his room Ikem's officious stenographer gave him two messages, one from John Kent, the Mad Medico, who asked Ikem to call him back and the other from Elewa who said she would call again.

MM picked up the phone at the first ring and went straight into his business. He was wondering whether Ikem would be free to drop by for a quick drink this afternoon to meet a friend of his, a poet and editor from England. Ikem accepted most enthusiastically.

'Sure! I haven't seen you in a long time. What have you been doing with yourself? And as for meeting a live poet and editor I just can't believe the luck. Can I bring my girlfriend?'

'But of course. Which one by the way? Never mind bring whoever you like… Fivish. See you then. Cheerio.'

It was amazing, Ikem thought, how brief and businesslike MM could be at work. No sign of his madness once he climbed into that chair as the Hospital Administrator. Except the one near-fatal relapse — the Strange Case of the Graffiti, as Ikem called it in a famous editorial.

TEN

Impetuous Son

David Diop — 'Africa'

Africa tell me Africa
Is this you this back that is bent
This back that breaks under the weight of humiliation
This back trembling with red scars
And saying yes to the whip under the midday sun
But a grave voice answers me
Impetuous son, that tree young and strong
That tree there
In splendid loneliness amidst white and faded flowers
That is Africa your Africa
That grows again patiently obstinately
And its fruit gradually acquire
The bitter taste of liberty

They were just about leaving his flat for MM's place when the doorbell rang and two strange men smiling from ear to ear faced him at the landing. Ikem stood his ground at the doorway the apprehension that would certainly have been in order relieved only by those vast smiles.

'Can I help you?'

'We just come salute you.'

'Me? Who are you? I don't seem to remember.'

'We be taxi-drivers.'

'I see.'

Elewa had now joined him at the door. The visitors were still smiling bravely in spite of the cold welcome. As soon as Elewa came into view one of the visitors said:

'Ah, madam, you de here.'

'Ah, no be you carry me go home from here that night?'

'Na me, madam. You remember me. Very good. I no think say you fit remember.'

'So wetin you come do here again? Abi, you just discover I no pay you complete? Or perhaps na counterfeit I give you.'

'No madam. We just come salute this oga.'

At this point the normal courtesies which the prevalence of armed robberies had virtually banished from Bassa could no longer be denied. Ikem and Elewa moved back into the room and the visitors followed them in.

'Ah, madam I no know say I go find you here, self.'

'Why you no go find me here? This man na your sister husband?'

'No madam I no mean am like that.'

'Don't worry. Na joke I de joke. Make una sidon. We de go out before but you fit sidon small.'

By this time Ikem had realized who one of the visitors was — the taxi driver who had taken Elewa home late one evening about a week ago. But why he should be back now with another man and smiling profusely like an Air Kangan passenger who has achieved a boarding pass, was still a mystery. Elewa put it a little differently.

'When I see you smiling like person wey win raffle I say: who be this again? Then my brain just make krim and I remember… Who your friend be?'

'My friend de drive taxi like myself and he be member for Central Committee of Taxi Driver Union.'

'Welcome.'

'Thank you madam. Thank you oga.'

'Even na this my friend tell me that day say na oga be Editor of Gazette. Wonderful! And me I no know that.'

'How you go know? You de read paper?'

'Ah, Madam I de try read small. The thing we this oga de write na waa. We like am plenty.'

'Tell me one thing you done read.'

'Ah. How I go begin count. The thing oga write too plenty. But na for we small people he de write every time. I no sabi book but I sabi say na for we this oga de fight, not for himself. He na big man. Nobody fit do fuckall to him. So he fit stay for him house, chop him oyibo chop, drink him cold beer, put him air conditioner and forget we. But he no do like that. So we come salute am.'

'Thank you very much,' said Ikem deeply touched. 'Can I offer you a drink of something?'

'Don't worry sir,' they said. They knew he was going out and must not delay him too much. It was then the real story of the visit came out. This man was not only the driver who drove Elewa home from here that evening over a week ago. He was by the strangest of coincidences the driver Ikem got into a bizarre contest with for a tiny space of road in a dreadful traffic jam. And now he had come, and brought a friend along, to make an apology!

'Oh my God. You don't owe me any apology. None whatsoever. I should apologize to you, my friend.'

Ikem walked up to him to shake his hand but he offered not one but both his hands as a mark of respect. The trade unionist did the same.

Ikem felt awkward, but also in a strange way, somehow elated. It was uncomfortable to be reminded that with his education and all that he could so easily get embroiled in a completely ridiculous fight with a taxi-driver. The elation came perhaps from this rare human contact across station and class with these two who had every cause to feel hatred but came instead with friendship, acting out spontaneously and without self-righteousness what their betters preach so often but so seldom practise.

Apparently it was the trade unionist who was in the car behind the car behind Ikem in the traffic and it was he who recognized Ikem as he turned into the Presidential Palace and promptly told the other; and the two decided on a visit of apology immediately. But it had taken them all this time to track down Ikem's address, only to discover that one of them had been there so recently. Na God him work, was the way he summed up the string of coincidences.