Anthills of the Savannah

“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.

The trade unionist who had so far played only a supporting role to his friend now spoke up:

“I want answer that question which Madam ask my friend: to call one thing we done read for Gazette. Me self I fit call hundred things but time no dey. So I go talk about the one every taxi-driver know well well. Before before, the place where we get Central Taxi Park for Slaughterhouse Road de smell pass nyarsh. Na there every cattle them want kill come pass him last shit, since time dem born my grandfather. Na him this oga take him pen write, write, write sotay City Council wey de sleep come wake up and bring bulldozer and throway every rubbish and clean the place well well. So that if you park your taxi there you no fit get bellyache like before, or cover your nose with cloth. Even the place so clean now that if the akara wey you de chop fall down for road you fit pick am up and throw for mouth. Na this oga we sidon quiet so na him do am. Na him make I follow my friend come salute am. Madam, I beg you, make you de look am well. Na important personality for this country.”

“Make you no worry for that,” said his friend, “Madam de look am well well. That day I come pick madam from here I think say them make small quarrel…”

“Shut your mouth. Who tell you say we de make small quarrel?”

“Madam, I no need for somebody to tell me when man and woman make small quarrel. When you see the woman eye begin de flash like ambulance you go know. But that day when I de vex because oga shine torch for my eye the same madam wey de grumble come tell me not to worry because the oga can talk sharp but na very kind man. No be so you tell me as we drive for night?” Elewa nodded.

“But why you no tell me at the same time say na Editor of Gazette?”

“Why I go tell you? And if I tell you wetin you go do with am? Illiteracy de read paper for your country?”

“Wonderful! You no see say because you no tell me, I come make another big mistake. If I for know na such big oga de for my front for that go-slow how I go come make such wahala for am? I de craze? But the thing wey confuse me properly well be that kind old car wey he come de drive. I never see such! Number one, the car too old; number two, you come again de drive am yourself. Wonderful! So how I fit know na such big man de for my front? I just think this I-go-drive-myself na some jagajaga person wey no fit bring out money to pay driver, and come block road for everybody. To God, na so I think.”

“Never mind,” said Ikem. “That wahala for road no be such bad thing as he come make us friends now for house.”

“That na true, oga. Wonderful!”