a

Gone Missing First Published 2007 Copyright Usman Balarabe Aliyu 2007 Reprinted 2008, 2009 ISBN 978-978-8200-14-7 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, except for use in any review, without the prior written permission of the Copyright owner. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publishers prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Published by: Usana Publishing Company Limited, Usana Complex, 39/41 Broadcasting Road, P.O. Box 1584 Minna Nigeria E-mail: usana.minna@yahoo.com Printed by: Usana Prints, Usana Complex, 39/41 Broadcasting Road, Minna Nigeria

GONE MISSING
By Usman Balarabe Aliyu

Family Adventure Series - 1 Usana Complex Minna: 7 June 1984

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Brief on the Series: This series consists of four books: gone missing, eye for order, a widows dew and beyond guilt. Each of these books looks at the activities of a family of five: Malam Yakubu, the father; Safiya, the mother; Umar and Kabir, the sons, and Aminu, the kids first cousin; in here, each grapple with their own world. In the first book, Kabir is to go missing only to uncover, with the help of Umar and Aminu, a bunch of bad people, while their mother is rendered heart-wrecked; even so, Yakubu is rather too busy probing into the disabilities of a limp giant, Nigeria. In the second book, eye for order, the kids visit the picturesque Gurara Waterfalls where Kabir witnesses a nasty event. Later, he entices Umar, his senior, to snoop on the hardcore car-snatchers; Aminu, though, is left to cover for them, even as he is saddled by his own books. Safiya, nonetheless, is recuperating, as she awaits her next entanglement. But, their father, the machine, is now engrossed, struggling to save Rangana, a neglected enclave east of Minna. He is being helped by zealous experts who come up with a radical revenue allocation formula for the rather poor government. In a widows dew, the third book, it is Safiya, the mother, who takes on the bait; nothing, she tells herself, will bar her from fighting for Zainab, a onetime friend who is not aware of any woman, widowed through accidents, who had any compensation advanced to her. But, Safiya is adamant, as she assembles a formidable team of the tireless: Aminu, Umar and, of course, Kabir. She is up against some tough adversaries and a not-so-encouraging husband, Malam Yakubu. In the fourth book, Kabir, as always, is on holidays. That means a lot, for the danger in beyond guilt is real. Individuals are dying. Everyone is scared. Why? There is a strange thing with some strange names around; HIV/AIDS is a killer with no cure. Kabir and Umar learn that soon enough. They meet Atiku who is seriously ill. They swiftly get their parents involved. Whilst Safiya goes bananas, Malam Yakubu is set to prevent the tiny virus visiting any next village! iii

Gone Missing, so introduced: Kabir is a boy of eight, very adventurous and a pleasant company. He has a day of outing through the streets of Minna only to go missing in the market. So, Kabir has gone missing; like Kabir, is Nigeria missing too? The country is not getting due attention. In fact, everything is speedily falling apart; everywhere crumbling, everything decaying, and everyone is suffering. Kabirs family is much disturbed because there had been insinuations of a new wave of child snatchers roaming the alleys. Rumoured discoveries of dismembered body parts had become common gossips. The family is searching, so is the police, but Kabir is no where to be found. His mother is sad, angry and afraid. Yet, his father, Malam Yakubu, is anxious to get an important assignment done, that is, thinking about Nigeria; he used to think that he had made the right decision to join the civil service, in the tradition of his parents; his father was born in it, and his grandfather matured in it, he himself had been nurtured through it. But soon, he had realized something was missing. He feared his own son would be abandoned by it. What is Nigerias family doing or thinking about? The brains are looking for a solution! What is it? Where is it? Therefore, maintenance is the keyword, Garba reasoned out, if we can maintain what is left, we remain an owner, in terms of potentials and ability; if we cannot, we are just an inheritor, of a country with a potential, of what we cant maintain, which we will lose, soon. At the end, Kabir is back to get Aminu and Umar to accomplish an audacious feat- but what about Nigeria, is this much about building vocabularies or building a Nation? Usman Aliyu 2007 iv

So pondered thus: envy being human? not lonely, dying alone, being of those thinking working machines? or missing not being human? no sharing craze, now, not sharing in pain, being called to joy: snared honour, rights trapped, anti-human belief? enjoy not being human? not giving more for less, scattering in waste; coined terms defining human nature anew?

Books from the same author: Gone missing, ISBN 978-978-8200-14-7: Adventure 1 Eye for Order, ISBN 978-978-084-699-2 Adventure 2 A Widows Dew, ISBN 978-978-085-658-8 Adventure 3 Beyond Guilt, ISBN 978-978-085-824-7 Adventure 4 Retailing Power, ISBN 978-978-087-272-4 Drama The Children of the Republic, ISBN 978-978-088-779-7 Loners Flash, ISBN 978-978-088-990-6 Poetry

The author lived thus; Usman Aliyu was born in 1953 of Aliyu Muazu, Sarkin Yaki, and Amina Usa, in Minna, Nigeria. He came from a large family with old and extended connections to Sokoto. In 1963 he was at Alkanci, Sokoto, with his grand-uncle Maliki, and his uncle Muhammad Nataala Usman. In 1966, he finished his Quranic and primary education at Malam Murtala Madrasat and Uban Doma Sultan Ward Primary School, respectively. He attended Government Secondary School Birnin Kebbi from 1967 to 1971; and he worked briefly as Cooperative Inspector until June, 1972 at Abuja, now Suleija town. He obtained his Higher School Certificate (HSC) at Government College Sokoto, and now Nagarta College, in 1973. He went to Ahmadu Bello University, Kano Campus, the old Abdullahi Bayero College, and now, Bayero University, where in 1976 he was the Students Union President. He graduated in 1977 in English Special Honours. He did his national youth service (NYSC) at Ikeja Grammar School Oshodi, Lagos, where he taught English Language and Literature. He joined the Nigerian Television Authority in 1978 as a Script-writer\Producer-director. He obtained a post graduate diploma in Television Direction in London School of Television in 1982. He resigned his appointment with NTA in 1984 to set up his own film production company, Usana Pictures Limited at Usana Complex, Minna Niger State. From 1997 to 2001, he helped revive a brick factory of his brother, Ibrahim Aliyu, at Shelter Clay Minna. He was in Funtua, Katsina State, in 2006 reviving another brick factory at Jabiri. Usman Aliyu was a family man with seven pairs of children; seven daughters and seven sons, including a double set of twins!

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At death, his epitaph was; Allow me cry, God, for those who cant cry Make me be heard for those who cant be Let me die free, Let me not live in chains. I thank you, God, for allowing me be All that I had wanted to be

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Dedicated thus; I thank them, those who I must, whose naming robs away their glory; they know themselves, being few; each by competing annoying doubt, nursed a faith in a growing rebel there is whose names I must call, a group with no recognisable glory, silent deprived nameless multitude, for each doubtless disabling disregard, the might of a budding rebel is propped sweet inconformity though has its price, inconsistency is never part of it, will it be me to say thank you, pride, no, not anger, not hatred, no annoyance though without just cause I, being what I am, thats all; but, they, who must be thanked, know, exposed they shall be much less; by not exposing them I am much to them indebted of being thankful

iiozingerovii

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I Minna was a savannah town south of the Sahara. It was a place spread between the wide laps of Paida, the rugged edge of the vast northern Nigerian plateau. Founded over a century ago by the labour of the coming railways, it was a cosmopolitan place cocooned with interesting perspectives. It had well laid out streets radiating from the railway station north-westward. Today, the sky over this Taylors Valley was empty, but for the grey feathery clouds patched up high. They appeared miserably drawn like aged eyelashes with slashes of faint gold from the ascending young sun. The air was abnormally still at this time of the day; the tree branches, dressed in yellowy leaves, drooped pitifully motionless. With every step up of the sun, the air got hotter, until even before noon, the heat was just endurable. There was someone, though, who had decided to bear out both the maturing sun and the heat. From the far end of one of the houses of the western suburb came the sound of metal beating. The house was a four bedroom bungalow, sitting on a rocky crop by a streamlet not far from the sprawling hills. The metallic chatter went on ceaselessly for awhile. There was a brief silence, then, a shrieking call. Umar, Umar. It came from a boy of about eight. He was bright-eyed with dimpled cheeks, light in complexion, with a rather prominent dark-haired head placed on a slender frame. He had multi-coloured shorts for pants, and a onetime white singlet for back-cover. He bolted out from the backyard. Behind him, tied to a string, was a concatenated metal box, which he dragged. He shot through at top speed, going round the house. UmarUmar, Ive made it. I made it! Umar was deceptively stout. Though eleven, he appeared older than his age. He was dark, with an amicable smile permanently patched on his thin lips. He was in the kids room, a brush in hand on a white cardboard, trying hard to paint a picture of a horse. He had been at this artistry since morning. 9

He heard his name called. He knew it was Kabir. That spelt trouble. He hissed, got up, and headed for the door. Kabir ran in, applying brakes just in time to avoid a collision. Ive made it. Youve made what? Umar was rather impatient. I made a car. Kabir was thrilled. He got hold of Umars hand and dragged him along. Come and see it. Im painting, leave me alone. Umar made to go back to his canvas. Please come, please, Kabir pleaded, the car is good. He sounded desperate. All right, Umar condescended. Ive only a minute for you. I want to finish my painting, before mum gets in. Kabir raced back to the hideout, while Umar grudgingly trod behind. He had parked the car behind a flowerpot by the side of the house to surprise his elder brother. He picked the metal concoction and thrust it to Umar. Here, see it. Kabir was proud of his mechanics. What! Umar was shocked. Its the car. Kabir misjudged the reaction. Thats that was my school box! Umar grabbed the box-car. Kabir was at the defensive. I found it in the garage. Kabir went to Umars side, extending his hand. Please, give me my car. He pleaded, stretching out both arms. Umar put the box behind him, barricading his brother with his free hand. Its not your car. It was my school box until you saw it, and now, youve utterly destroyed it. Kabirs eyes went moist. Im going to report you to mum. Umar declared. Kabir succumbed to a sob as a plea. You know she told you not to spoil anything in this house. Umar was playing the bully. Kabir nodded agreement. 10

Please. Please, dont tell her. Ill pay you. Kabir bargained. Umar relaxed; he cast a glance at his mutilated box and then at his brother. He handed over the twisted metal to the pleader. Kabir hurriedly embraced Umar. A wave of warm emotion ran through the two. Umar had a special liking for his brother ever since his birth. He had a surprise when his mother came back from somewhere with something new, a tiny thing like himself. He looked at the small thing. Its eyes were shut. He wanted to touch it, to play with it. Its tiny clenched fists were soft and tender. When it slept, it appeared lonely and vulnerable. When at night he discovered they were to share the bed, he was happy. He would watch his mother wash it. If it cried, it pained him. Thus, Umar had a long cultivated attachment to his junior. They swaggered, in embrace, round to the house. Come here, you two. Mum! they chorused in surprise. Kabir dropped the car by the wall; it did not warrant his attention any more. Safiya, a pretty thirty-five year old woman of average stature, called out from the kitchen. She had briskly walked in and was amazed by the absence of the usual commotions in the sitting room. Umar responded by rushing in ahead of Kabir. I told you to stop racing within the house. Sorry mum, Umar stopped. Kabir came in. Wheres my present, mum? Kabir propped out his dusty right hand. She dipped her hand into the shopping bag. She brought out a disc of peeled pineapple wrapped in a transparent nylon bag. Here. You impatient cat, she noticed his hands, what have you been doing? Nothing, mum! Kabir cast a restraining glance at Umar. Umar got the cue. I want that too. He extended his hand towards his mother. Safiya gave him a lightish tap. Get off, dont rush me. Kabir giggled. Umar gave him a slightish stroke on the head, 11

by flinging his index finger off the thumb. Mum, you see him beating me? Shut up, you two. Safiya emptied the shopping bag on the table. She seemed to notice something was missing. Get me Aminu. I think Ive forgotten my handbag at the market. Where is mine, mum? Umar reminded her. Its in the other bag. Umar ran for Aminu. Safiya turned to Kabir. I hope you have not spoilt anything in my absence? Kabir shook his head shyly, but he was apprehensive. II Whats it? Aminu was idly in bed as he responded to Umars call. He was a fifteen year swanky lad. With light skin and rounded eyes in deep sockets in a long face, Aminu had a semblance of a Fula extraction. He was the kids cousin whose mother had died sometime last year during childbirth. I think its to the market. Market? Aminu was animated. Yes, mum has forgotten something. Umar affirmed. Aminu rubbed his eyes. Good and Ill get myself some paper from there. Umar led the way out of the room but held back briefly at the door. I too will like to go for a school box. What do you want another school box for? Kabir has just destroyed mine. Umar gave Aminu way to lead, as they walked into the kitchen. Safiya surveyed Aminu briefly. Dont tell me you have been sleeping since I left? I just dozed off, aunty. Aminu knew how strict Safiya could be. 12

You know your uncle does not like you to be last in your class. Safiya warned. Im trying, aunty. He wished she was not hurt. Could you go to the market? Yes, Aminu edged closer. You know where I usually do my hair, dont you? He nodded acquiescence. Ask the woman to look round for a brown bag. I am sure I forgot it by the refrigerator. My handset is in it, so please, take care. Alright. Aminu responded. Mum, I want to go with him. Umar requested. Ah, she considered briefly, alright, but make it snappy! I too, I too, Kabir got ahead of them. No, you wont. Safiya declared. But mum... Umar pleaded on Kabirs behalf. He knew it would not be fun going someplace without Kabir. All right, dont make such a face. Thanks mum. Kabir was grateful. He had not been out of the compound the whole day. His time was spent in his workshop. Now, his legs itched for some stretching. Besides, he was not going to miss what these lots were to experience. He dashed off to their room, and was back in a flash with his head struggling through the vest. Aminu, make sure they cause no trouble there. Yes aunty. Aminu placed his palm on Kabirs head and the latter looked up, feeling secure. Dont play on the road. Safiya added another commandment, and get back before your father gets back. As the kids trooped out, she realised she had given a wrong time check; their father was never prompt home but always punctual to work. She resumed work of cutting the greens for the familys usual lunch; a dietary of moulded mount of rice and tomato stew mixed with green slimy okra. 13

III Meanwhile, their father, Malam Yakubu was in office. He was a managerial staff in the DOD, the Department of Development. He stood at the window looking out not at anything in particular, not the traffic manoeuvring the potholes below, not the army of beggars at the gate of the complex, not the drying flower beds lining their block or of any other blocks, for that matter. Even the dry grass covered hill range far away did not catch his attention; rather, he was preoccupied with a knotty thought. As he turned away from the window, he revealed a feature of a man of normal height, stoutish frame, light tan complexion and salient agility. He was about attaining his forty fifth birthday. He wore a well trimmed moustache with some few strands of grey interrupting the black hairscape. His neatly cultivated sideburns accentuated the broad curvature of a thoughtful face. He walked back to his impressive large table and sat down. There were three file trays spread across the vast edge; the labelled in had a file or two, the one in the middle, inscribed pending, had a voluminous folder in it. At the extreme end, tagged out, was the tray yearning for attention. On impulse, he picked a pencil which he soon was tapping lightly on the table; there was something urgent in his mind, he was much in a state of waiting. He pressed the button on the intercom and spoke to someone at the other end. Could you come over, please? It was not a deniable request. The voice answered, right away, sir. Soon, there was a light knock on the door. Come in, Malam Yakubu eyed the tall man enter. The man had an ordinary face wearing a perpetual grin. He moved with certain meekness as if afraid of the ground. But, his eyes seemed precisely focused as if piercing their target; that was the out tray, at the moment. He was one of Yakubus assistants. Good morning, sir, we will carry them along when we finish. 14

He meant the files. Thats alright, Garba, have a seat. Yakubu pulled out a jotter. We are making that submission today, you know. How far have you gone? A lot sir, Garba laid out a sheet on the table, almost finished. Isyaku is presently bringing in the drafts. Good! There was a registered relief on his face. Then, there was a tap on the door. Come in, their eyes followed the sound. Excuse me, sir, Isyaku entered. He was rather a short man with an appearance of being in constant motion; he was carrying both his papers and the loose ends of his gown. He placed his folders and some files on the table. Here is the module, sir. Isyaku was eager for ears. Malam Yakubu inclined both his position and his will. O.K., lets have it. Yakubu had been anxious for this moment. It was crucial to him. His department had been working on a new policy module for sometime. It was a radical departure from the past; but, they believed it was doable. This would be a breakthrough not only
for them, but for the whole system, if they could get it accepted.

Sir, we need the demographic statistics to fill in some few details. Isyaku was on his way to a side cabinet, I left it in here last week. Yakubu suddenly realised he had left something back at home, it wont be there, he said quickly, I went home with it, and I think I left it there. He pushed back his chair, and stood up. Sorry, you have to wait for me. He felt sad for this break, especially, that he was instrumental to it. No problem, sir, Garba accepted on their behalf, well go and come back. Not necessarily, continue with the discussion. He picked up his car keys and went round the table on his way out. Ill be back, soon. 15

IV The while, the children had deliberated and cast their lot against taking a taxi; they would rather give their mouths a taste of something with the fare. They chattered as they walked, forming a gradient of tall grey-shirted and pink-panted Kabir, a taller blue-trousered and white-shirted Umar, and the tallest green-jacketed and blue-jeaned Aminu. They pranced under the trees lining Bosso Road. Occasionally, a bird or two would take a flight at their approach, hastily landing as if regretting the attempt. At this time of the day, the streets were the least busy. The goats that usually roamed about had gone an early resting in the sheds of the trees to ruminate. They came to a cluster of student factories, one primary school merging into the next: a college here, a secondary school there with little or no discernible boundaries. Oh boy, its good to be on holidays. That was from Kabir, who looked at the empty classrooms and the silent playgrounds and the absence of the whip-wagging prefects and menacing teachers. Whats good about a holiday? Umar challenged, teasingly. Oh yah, well, you dont have to go to school, thats what is good! Kabir savoured the freedom. Is that all? Umar wanted more. Nope, dad doesnt have to wake you up! Kabir sent back. Then appeared the row of churches; one facing the other, and each with a school of some sort, and the facade elaborately decorated. They reached the famous red bridge which crossed River Green, a treacherous stream with wide untamed banks. Many a family had been saddened by the trap of this child-killer. To their right was the fire brigade, a one room establishment with few men in black waiting for a disaster. Not far off was Gwari Road to the left, at the far end of which were the palace, the prison and 16

the stadium. Umar tabled a little diversion. He wanted to visit the horse stable of the warrior Lord on the street paralleling Bosso Road. The suggestion was overwhelmingly defeated. I wanted to see the horses for my painting. He protested. Aunty has asked us to hurry up, Aminu explained, if we start diverting, I wonder when well be home? We can go there tomorrow. Kabir offered, always looking for an opening in expedition. It took a little walk to get to the native courts, a forbidding area with small groups of litigants engaged in worrisome discussions. Kabir was trailing behind, as they walked under the canopies of giant mahogany trees. The tree trunks and the pavement had smears of whitish excretion from the colonizing local and migrant birds: the egrets, swans, pigeons, robins and herons. At the background was the imposing, twin-minareted, golden domed, white-painted central mosque. Im following dad to the mosque tomorrow. Kabir declared, as he imagined himself in the family car. Tomorrow is not Friday, you mickle conk. Umar jabbed. In the foreground was the Filin-Sharo, an infamous square for the odd meetings of some sorts: affectionate pairs, warring parties and the annual Fulani stick bouts. Ahead of them was the beggars bay, a commandeered portion of the pavement populated by all sorts of the handicapped: the blind, the lame, the deaf and the forsaken. The kids halted. Aminu had moved a motion, without hesitation, there was unanimity, to give something to a woman nursing twin babies. She sat quietly, sweating profusely, while shading her small babies from the sun. Kabir won the mandate to deliver the aid; he was elated. He rushed to her and placed the coin in her outstretched palm. He looked at the twins and smiled, wishing they had something like that at home. May God accept this from the giver, the woman prayed, may 17

you be blessed to your old age. The defence square was just in the front. This was the unofficial edge of the city centre. Kabir stalled behind, looking at the solitary figure mounted in the middle. He thought the soldier statue was peculiar; it looked lost, very alone, fixed in the hub of the circumambulatory traffic. Come on Kabir, if you dont want us to leave you behind. Aminu waited as Kabir ran to them. Umar got hold of him. Here, no more bush behaviour. What? Kabir asked, his voice drowned by a moving truck. Lets go, you lagging lot. Umar shouted into Kabirs ears as the latter leaned towards him. They crossed the potholed Kuta Road, holding in brief at the fork island. They hurried to the other side and walked along the pavement of the octagonal Obasonjo Complex whose basement was the Kasuwan Dare, the first stop for any newcomer to town; the bewildered new arrivals were forced to it for late food and directions. Kabir got busy walking his mirrored self on the shop glass windows! The trio reached the inner-city intersection where Lagos Street sloped down across Bosso Road to become a narrower Ogbomosho Street. They turned left along the latter. Here too, Aminu and Umar had to wait for Kabir who had remained behind, watching the busy warden on the traffic island. The man was a shortie in surging trousers, squeezy shirt and an oversized beret, very cartoonish. He was totally overwhelmed by the traffic: blaring cars, wheezing motorbikes, rattling fumy trucks and racy wheelbarrows. Kabir felt sympathy for the frantic man as his hands wheeled half round up and down like disorganized clock arms! V Safiya heard some movement in the sitting room. That wouldnt be the boys, so soon, she thought, is that you? 18

She called out. With that, she meant her husband. In this area, the easiest way to lose a name and make it unmentionable was to be one of four: a husband, a first born, a husbands daddy or his mum. Yes, the answer came from Malam Yakubu. Safiya walked into the sitting room to meet him. He was bent at the chest, pulling out drawers and lifting out files. Are you back? She was surprised. Her husband hardly came for his lunch on time. Yes, but for some papers. He was not facing her. Where on earth have I kept them? he asked himself. Lunch will soon be ready, will you wait? No, actually, I am being awaited back in the office. I hope youll be back early, though. You mean for lunch? he was not enjoying this scene. Well, that, and the visit to our aunties, you forgot? Ah really, I am sorry. Ill try to squeeze time for it. I hope so. She was not being sarcastic. Yakubu hoped they would get through the presentation soon enough. He would not count on that, though; he equally would not like to disappoint Safiya. Having made his profession a faith, it had become his time muncher. There just isnt time enough. He would muse. Safiya was beginning to realise her presence was not really needed, yet she offered, can I help you locate what youre looking for? It was a courtesy; if she knew her man well, he would decline. No, thanks, you probably wouldnt know it, if you saw it. He sniffed out, beside, I can smell your soup burning. So, it was. Smoke was trailing the smell of burning palm oil from the kitchen. Safiya dashed away, oh my God! Her husband felt relieved, and was soon prying through the drawers for the purpose of his coming. 19

VI Who cares for a drink? Aminu asked. I. Umar and Kabir shouted in unison. Kabir rushed to the kiosk, ahead of the pack. The attendant, a fully chest-blossomed dark girl with a broad forehead on a Chinese face, peeped out. While twisting her waist, she served Kabir first saying he was a fine boy and that she would marry him. Kabir felt bashful and went hiding behind Umar who kept pushing him forward. Umar gulped his drink and urged Kabir to get on with his. The latter was savouring the sweet, lapping his tongue round his tiny lips. Soon, they paid the girl her money; she expertly tossed it into the cash can. They walked on the asphalted pavement lining the wide dry gutter, and entered the Kasuwan Rana through a crowded sloping narrow passage. They reached the clothing section. A riot of colourful shapes and sizes of wares assailed them; trousers hanging on ropes, others held by tugs, jammed with shirts spread as on washing lines. I wished dad were here. Kabir was fascinated by the colourful rowdiness. Why? Umar was marvelled. To buy for us all these shirts. He could imagine their wardrobes brimming. Are you mad? Umar charged. Why? Kabir was astonished. First, when did you ever see dad coming to the market? Well? Kabir needed all the answers. And, what do you need all these clothes for, with this your tiny body? Umar fixed Kabir to size. Kabir sent his gaze at the row of singlets, jumpers and coats heaped to form precarious columns. Caps, hats and berets stuck one on top of the other to become large budded twigs of headgears. The tiny stalls were packed and overflowing onto the passage20

way. It was not an easy walkthrough, as people kept bumping at each other. They zigzagged through to the fruit vendors. It was rather spacious here, but badly drained and unkempt: a pool of water here, a damp of decaying rubbish there. It was an expanse of laden tables spread across the immensity. Kabir surveyed the mouth-watering assembly: the juicy oranges neighboured succulent mangoes and clustery banana. The aromatic pineapple, the husky coconut and the fatty avocados occupied the front rows. The pulpy melon, pungently pears and the plumpish apples were tantalizingly inviting. They voted after a strong contention, but , influenced by finance, they reconciled on citrus. Aminu bought three oranges which he shared out. A full grown girl in flowing hijab, carrying large covered bowl on her head, passed them; flavouring smell of bean cake trailed her, so was a pack of shabby young boys in sleeveless decaying blue shirts; each had a bowl with a short thread handle tucked under his armpit. The trio waited for the swarm of beggary students to pass. Is your towns market like this? Umar asked Aminu, as they inched their way through the footwear corridor; the place was huddled with shoes dangling on strings. Umar wondered if there was any place as important as a market and yet so hinderingly disorganized. Yes. Its bigger, actually. Itll take you the whole afternoon to go through it. Aminu explained. Aminu had come from Birnin Shehu, an older, larger and much drier town than Minna, far up north. Do they have sections for everything? Umar inquired. Yes, there are sectors for meat, animals and birds. What sort of birds? Umar was baffled, he looked at Aminu, and he nearly fell into a womans bowl of rice. Watch your steps, you silly boy. The woman shouted. Sorry madam, Aminu apologized on Umars behalf. 21

VII Malam Yakubu had come back to the office. His subordinates had had time to steady their nerves; their superior was a strict man, demanding certain impossible excellence. The machine was his secret nickname among them. He knew what name they gave him, and sometimes, he wondered whether that was not an adapt tag. He used to think that he had made the right decision to join the civil service, in the tradition of his parents; his father was born in it, and his grandfather matured in it, he himself had been nurtured through it. But soon, he had realized something was missing. It had become so sluggish, uninventive and unenterprising; he feared his own son would be abandoned by it. His father used to think that the British tradition was the best. He too, then, believed it. Of recent, things had turned upside down. Why, he could not say, but he was determined to do something about that. Subsequently, he set himself a target, to change the system, to make it an efficient machine; a one to plan and execute programmes for better governance. That dream had culminated into the current meeting, preparing a new modus operandi for the wise-men above to approve. His team had to prove the need for change. Most challenging for them was to provide a promising alternative. That wont be easy, Yakubu had told his assistants, knowing human tendency to shun changes, as if there is permanence in anything beside change itself. The task of making the physical presentation rested on these two; he did not have to be there, and certainly, he would not rest until it was all over. It had also been a routine with him to hold this kind of meetings, in a way of rehearsals. Malam Isyaku, give us the openings. Yakubu leaned back, waiting. Sir, we have inherited a development module quite unsuitable for us. Isyaku was saying. My father thought otherwise. Yakubu put in, as if 22

protesting, but he was actually simulating the approving panel; most of the members would be of his fathers age. Yes sir, they all did, thats, the old colonial servants. Isyaku was not sure whether what he said was appeasing or disparaging. Then, whats the problem? Yakubu asked. It served the colonial occupiers well, sir. Then, why wont it serve us? Yakubu probed in. Its objective was different. Garba rescued Isyaku. Whats the difference? Theirs was meant to facilitate the maximum exploitation of the colonies for the growth of their own country, sir. Garba explained, ours should be for the steady and sustained growth of our own people. That is obvious. Yakubu agreed. Subsequently, their investment in the colonial economy, in all facets of it, was for the attainment of that goal, their goal, sir, with no regards to our yearnings, we the governed. Isyaku spun his module. In essence, our economy was an extension, an appendix to theirs; we were just a supply depot, sir. Garba added. Go on, Yakubu was listening, but his mind was loading in something else. It was his first sight of the cotton pyramids at Funtua. It was a depressing scene of hefty men, dressed only in short triangular loincloths with exposed buttocks, carrying bales of cotton up the steepening sacks of growing pyramids. This is our pride, his father was saying, agriculture is the root of wealth. He learned later, that, these almost naked men came from all over northern Nigeria, leaving their families behind; they sent them little money out of the meagre overtaxed stipends they were paid. He remembered asking his father, when they were on their way back, dont these people eat anything other than cotton? His father laughed and said, nobody eats cotton. But, he said, I have not seen any other plants but cotton. 23

His father replied, cotton is what brings in money. He wondered how the absence of such foods as maize, rice, beans and so forth, would have made life monotonous for those people. He then could understand how someones life could be made an appendix of someone elses. The service, then, didnt envisage us as able initiators, but as compliant servants; our ignorance of their principal objectives was guaranteed. Yakubu was jerked back from memory lane. I see. Yakubu simulated, hoping he missed nothing. Sir, to make the concept plain for everyones comprehension, I will allegorize. Isyaku said. No objection, as long as it does not confuse or over entertain. Yakubu censored. Our connection with the Europeans is like a tenant and a landlord relationship. Isyaku scribbled as he talked. They were the tenants and we, the landlords. They came briefly and they had gone, permanently...We hope. We are still here, and we will be here, because this is our home. I think that will be a fitting opening, sir, Garba opined. Yakubu considered awhile, All right, continue. Sir, consider this, a prospective shop owner comes to your house and rents a room. He alters and renovates it to fit his trade, before putting in his wares. He must have allocated a specific sum for that; he must have set out his own targets; youll be a casual observer. Your tenant wont use his money or his time to do anything superfluous to the rented room, talk much less of the rest of the house, your house. That is obvious, unless he is daft. Isyaku was pleased. Exactly sir, and that was what the Europeans did, selective development. They laid down rail lines, made roads, built quarters and administrative outposts with communication facilities that were essential only to the attainment of their goals. No one commented, in fact they wanted him to continue, and they did not want to lose the hub of the argument. 24

Sir, your tenant conducts his business, makes money and pays his rent, only the rent due to you. He settles other bills for water or electricity, as long as he is using those. At the end, the most important thing for him is to make profits with which he maintains his family, expands his trade and trains his children, to secure his and their future. Isyaku paused, anticipating a countering. That is natural, sir, is it not? Garba solicited. Of course, what else would he do? Yakubu agreed. Well, sir, that was what our European tenants did; they rented our place, educated us for their usage as shop attendants, and invested only in areas of their benefit, elsewhere they left neglected. Isyaku opened another file and peeped in. That is why, for you the landlord only one room, a room, in your house is renovated, and the rest, no matter how many, are left as they were. Sure, unless the house has become his, Yakubu felt satisfied with the logic, its a catch, he told himself. In that case, well be South Africans! Garba put in. Even in South Africa, the only developed areas are where the Afrikaners occupy. Yakubu observed. He remembered his visit there, being in a chauffer driven embassy car along the beautified wide streets of Pretoria and the contrasting images of pronounced chaos he saw at Soweto; he had wanted to share fraternity, but was soon to scuffle out of the life-threatening disorders. Isyaku was warming up. Sir, now, we come back to you, the native landlord. The rent you get is meagre, not enough to feed your family, let alone to do anything else, such as pay school fees, medical care, or to renovate any other room in the house or to save for the rainy day. That is out of the question; normally, how much is he charged, in the first instance? Garba was absorbed; he recalled his attempt to boost his incomes. He jammed his children into 25

his wives rooms, hoping to spare a room to let out. He bought a sack of maize with the rentals and suffered a years inconvenience in the process. Go on, Isyaku, Yakubu wanted to minimize interruptions. Now, sir, when the tenant goes, your trouble is manifold; first, you lose the rentals. Second, you have an additional room to look after. The guy has left you a huge liability; you have no capital to set up a shop, because the rental was low to build one. You have not got the know-how to run a shop, because you had trained to serve as landlord not to initiate. Unless you have another tenant, equal or similar to the last one, the former shop or now just a room stays empty. Worst still, that room, with all the alterations done to it, will be the most expensive, amongst all the rooms in your house, to maintain. Isyaku paused. So? Yakubu shifted. Garba took over. Sir, we are trying to show that our country, with all its resources, can be only one of two things at a time, not both. Slow down, make it plain, please. Yes sir, a country is a heritage. Yes, Now, that inheritance can be either an asset or a liability. How? It is an asset, if you can sustain it and improve upon it. Yes, But it is a liability, if it is unsustainable or indispensable. Ah ha, Yakubu mumbled. Our country is not dispensable; that is all we have got, therefore we have to sustain it, or Or what, Garba? Yakubu straightened up. Or it remains a liability, sir. Garba finalised. Well, I hope not, you sound like it is a liability already. Yakubu wondered. Isyaku picked over the resume. Yes sir, because at the moment, the infrastructures we have inherited have become a burden. 26

Is that not hyperbolic, Isyaku? Yakubu asked. No sir, these infrastructures are massive, they are now obsolete or near it, and they are too expensive, beyond our available funds and our know-how to keep them functional. He paused. Take the railways for example, a hundred years after their arrival, we cant run them let alone improve upon them, and we cant sell them either. Isyaku said. Why not? Yakubu asked. They were not designed to serve our current requirements; they run south to north, nothing east to west, as if we run a parallel country! Garba volunteered an answer with a recalling bitterness; some years past, he was in Lagos with a scheduled meeting next in Enugu. His train ticket forced him back to Minna, and round to Kaduna, on his way to the East. It took him a week for what he could have done in a day. Why were they designed like that, then? Yakubu asked. Sir, they were never for communal interaction, but for the evacuation of the then sought-after products: cotton, groundnuts, tin ore and the rest; the two southern ports testified to that, and most of these raw materials are now either not available or not in demand. Garba paused. Isyaku resumed. Therefore, sir, all we muster is a crowded catalogue of what we have, and of what we can do; thats all, our potentials, potential without ability; rooms, rooms every where, perpetually waiting for permanent tenants! VIII In the market, Kabir was dwarfed by the grown ups, as he trailed behind his companions. He kept colliding into others, now and then. A man carrying a sack of something brushed him roughly and the orange in his hand dropped. He stooped, trying to pick it. A passer-by unknowingly kicked it. The orange rolled sideways towards the gutter. Kabir had a glimpse of it going. 27

He followed. Someone gave it another jolt and it sped right into the trough. Kabir came to the trench. He looked in. The sewer was dry and his orange was there stilly waiting. What other sections are there? Umar was asking Aminu, as they came to the fishmongers. The tables were heaped with tired catfishes, emaciated tilapias, and snaky lungfish. There were the large mouthed trout, lobefins and the marine redfish. Some tattered baskets housed predator tuna, conical clams, and the hardcover crabs. The long whiskered lobsters, spidery shrimps and many others were stuck in any available space. Um, what a place! Umar put his fingers up squeezing his nostrils. This was a smelly area, congested with wide buttocked elderly grannies carrying huge shopping bags. We have the provisions area with tea, sugar, milk, and many other beverages. Aminu listed. Is that all? Umar asked. Kabir was far behind. He bent down, kneeling by the gutter, stretching down his arm. His hand could not reach the bottom. He stood up, looked at the direction he thought his brothers had gone. He called out loud. He could not see them, nor did they hear him. He looked down and saw his orange again. I can get in, get it, get out and get them. The brain idealized. He lowered himself with ease into the gutter, though narrowly slipping off due to slime. We have sugarcane area... Aminu stopped. An absence of something hit him. Where is Kabir? He turned. Umar turned round also. Suddenly, everything was still. O. O. KabirKabir, Umar called out. IX Malam Yakubu and his assistants had had their short tea break; that name had stuck, so was the recess, even though the tea had stopped; now, it was just water, when the taps ran, and a 28

little gossip under the shade for most staff. They were back onset. They had pulled the curtains back and had put the ceiling fan high. The blades sped like overturned helicopter rotors. The air was hot, the fan was noisy, and their papers were a-flight. Reduce that whizzy thing, please. As Isyaku was about to comply, the power went off, the blades rattled to a stop. That is it; lets get on before we roast. Yakubu advised. Despite the annoying heat, Yakubu was somehow pleased with the progress they had made. Now, how do we nail this argument home? Isyaku shifted a little. Well, sir, we will consider the attitudinal issue first. We know it is not rosy for our landlord now. The tenant has left, and with that the income from rentals. Thats obvious. Yakubu said. But, instead of accepting your actual status, that of being the owner of a house, without a tenant, you have attitudinized yourself to be both a tenant and a permanent landlord. How is that? Yakubu genuinely felt left out. Sir, your policy remained the same, selective and discriminatory. Garba chipped in. I dont quite get it. Yakubu was not simulating. Sir, dont forget that the best room in your house is the vacated shop; it was the only one renovated and maintained before. Being the top man in the house, you are likely to move your bed there, or turn it into your sitting room; you certainly will not leave it empty. I can let it out. Yakubu suggested. Then you are back to square one, being just a landlord. Isyaku ruled. Garba put in. And you are permanently tenanted; but he knew he acted differently; at the end of the tenancy of his room, he decided it was not worth it; the children had their room back and, somehow, his sanity was restored. That is a lousy situation; when you win, then you lose. 29

Yakubu said, wittingly. Yes, sir, I wish I can include that phrase in here. No, you will not, Isyaku, Yakubu said, but go on, please. Yes sir, Isyaku resumed, now, because you are using facilities not meant for your position, the totality of your income will be used in trying to maintain such infrastructure. Isyaku paused, then resumed, I said trying, because you can never actually maintain it, you are only prolonging its final collapse. Isyaku paused; excuse me, sir, he walked to the refrigerator for a glass of water. Is it cold? Yakubu asked. Manageable, sir, beside, I have been advised against a drink too cold, he was saying, as he walked back. Continue, Isyaku. Yakubu urged. From the outside, Isyaku was concluding this section of his presentation, people think you have something, sir, because the faade of the house is impressive. They give you landlord respect, which is not convertible to cash. You are now neither a landlord nor a tenant, sir. Garba was contributing, we are neither colonised nor free. What is that? Yakubu asked. Garba explained, our land is not physically occupied, but our economy is dominated! I see, Yakubu admitted with a tint of bitterness. Isyaku continued. All the while sir, the rest of the house is not getting due attention. In fact, every thing is speedily falling apart: everywhere crumbling, everything decaying, and everyone under you is suffering. Isyaku hammered in, as he slid his files a little off to indicate that was it. Thanks to you both, I think we are beginning to find a way out of our predicament. Yakubu checked his time, and ruled, we will break now for lunch and prayers, we will resume later to put in the final touch, God willing. X 30

Kabir was in the market gutter, orange in hand, attempting to come out. He was maddened each time his hands slipped off the concrete edge. Shoppers passed by unaware of the agonised kid in the ditch. He tried again. The grasped orange unleashed itself. Aminu was aghast. Umars eyes were watery. They looked around in desperation. They could not even trace the precise way they came. Lets go looking, Aminu led the way back. Kabir, his orange secured, cried out finally. A woman stopped and called out for someone to help. People now noticed the trapped boy. They helped him out. Kabir wore a lost face. He tore off madly into the market without the slightest idea where he was going. Umar Aminu...Umar...Aminu. He kept calling, causing a casual stare from the shoppers and the sellers alike. Oh my God, Aminu was terribly perturbed. Why didnt I hold him? He was self reproaching. Umar was trailing behind, careless of what he bumped into. He sent a table of fruits tumbling down. The owner cried out, rounded his other table, and got hold of Umar. Cant you see where you are going? The man yelled. Aminu stepped back, apologizing for Umar, as he helped pick some of the fruits from the ground. Umar walked ahead, heedless of what happened. Aminu raised his head and saw Umar way off. He ran after him, calling. He got hold of him. Oh no, not you again. Aminu felt mortified. Where is Kabir? What happened to him? How was he to explain to Safiya what happened to Kabir? How could he...what would he? He just did not know what to do. XI 31

Yakubu drained in the water in his glass, and placed it down. Expressing gratitude to God, with Alhamdullah, he brushed down his face with his loose cupped palms. He had just had his meal. As usual, he was late to it, to Safiyas irritation. She had not sat by his side, as was customary, because there was something insidiously creeping in her mind. The boys had been gone for sometime, she thought. They ought to have been back by now. She had moved between rooms tossing up possibilities. She deliberately avoided her husband because she was vacant of any explanation; she did not want to be asked anything! This house is quiet. He noticed. Where are the kids? He asked. Safiya, who had just packed the plates for washing up, halted. She felt a thud on her heart. They have gone to the market. She tried to sound casual. You sent them to the market at this time? Yakubu was reproaching. Oh, no, the probing was choking her. No, Safiya quickly put in, its been quite sometime now. She scuffled to the kitchen. There was a constriction in her chest. She was not used to being defenceless, but now, she felt flattened. They should have been back long time ago. She was trying to be normal. In the kitchen though, alone and staring at the irresponsive utensils, she mused, I hope nothing wrong happened, saying to her self. She shoved off any sinister irking and trod into the sitting room to meet her husband. Yakubu had picked up his brown leather briefcase and was on his way out. His enquiry was just a matter of curiosity, bordering on pleasure; for once, he was home, at peace with the surrounding, without the maddening commotions of the kids. It was not that he did not like them, but, he was a very busy piece of equipment, the thought of the 32

phrase nearly made him laugh. Are you going out again? Safiya queried. Yes. Yakubu stopped. He never felt at ease leaving, especially if it was close to the end of or after normal working hours. Safiya would reproach him. But there was nothing, he figured, that required his presence now, or is there? He wondered. I have got a lot to do today, most crucial of all days. It was meant as a comment. He took a step forward. Is it not closing time already? She probed. No. Not yet, but nearly, besides, we have got a lot of work to do. He said, innocently. You always got work to do. She charged; it was not complimentary. He said nothing; he was contemplating. Why must it always be you...you and only you? Safiya was beginning to boil. She was transferring her irritation for the kids on him. Yakubu halted. He was surprised, almost taken aback. He was ignorant of any motive for the current jumpiness; but that question had been one he could not find an answer to, ever since he decided to build a career. He had always considered his work a personal challenge. It was difficult to sit idle when much depended on him. I lead others, Safiya. I must put up the most. One would think you lead the country. Safiya said, sarcastically. The absence of the children, especially the delay, had stirred much consternation in this normally accommodating woman. She felt alone, abandoned, sort of. Yakubu kept calm; maintaining ease was a discovered asset. He knew he had been rather inadequate to her, not for lack of affection or concern. He had realised of late that constant display of affection was needed more from him than the solid financial buttress he had been trying to erect. He had also realised that 33

each time he offered an excuse, in this kind of dialogue, it inflamed the situation further. Today though, he would make a conciliatory move. He was not going to wreck any nerve; he would acquiesce, even if he had to feign it. He needed calm for what awaited him at his office. Each of us, Safiya, in whatever we do, is no less than a, he nearly said a landlord, but remembered how shoddy Isyaku had made that word appear, ruler of this country, he substituted. He realised it was leader he really wanted to say. That would do, however. He moved close to her. Please keep patience. Ill make it up to you, somehow. He placed his hand on her head, sliding down to her neck, giving a caressing stroke. It was a good sign she had not jerked her head away. Safiya was silent. That was probably the most prudent thing to do, she reasoned. She never questioned his love or faithfulness, but she felt robbed of that endeared companionship on which their marriage was conceived. She accepted him against all her other suitors because he was honest. He was meticulously neat and modern, giving her a promise of unfailing security. She visualised a life full of adventure, trips to places she had not been to, meeting interesting people, and doing all those things she conceptualized married couples ought to do together to be happy. Yet, being with him for nearly fifteen years, it appeared strange to her that, though her husband had not taken a second wife, as all his peers were keen to do, she still had not had all of him as she had vowed to do. Still, she felt grateful; she knew how far worse her mothers was. See you soon. He gave her a hug, I will try to get back earlier for that visit to the aunties. She was certain, if he could, he would fulfil. She could not smile, though. Her fears on the kids were still real. Yakubu walked out feeling grateful for having such a loving wife. Safiya was the companion of his dreams, light skinned, 34

broad chested and attractively sculptured. She was pretty to the extreme, intelligent and caring. After their wedding, he discovered that she was much worth than an idealised beauty. She was an economic tactician with a natural urge to preserve and maintain. Recalling Isyakus citation with a glee, he could brand her the owner. He had nursed the urge to do more for her, not to let her life go drained, unfulfilled. That was part of his fathers admonishment and his own resolve, to work hard, to earn more to secure a sustainable future. Now, he could see why his staff quickly grasped the idea he presented to them; it was a natural dream of all. Back to Safiya, he somehow discovered, to his dismay, that a calm marriage and an ambitious career were seemingly bad bedfellows. Or am I being one of Isyakus landlords? He shook his head as he drove off along Justice Street. XII Kabir had tired himself running. He held his orange in one hand and was rubbing his eyes with the other. He did not know where to go. He kept walking through the maze of stalls, going round and round, getting more confused and burning out. Hunger started to creep in. He had his glassy eyes wide opened but was seeing little. He had lost both the courage and the energy to cry. Yet, he stoically trod on. Soon, he was too tired to move straight. His vision was distorted. He was feeling dizzy, as he stumbled to a nearby tree. He felt a swoon and the scenery turned into smeared tableau-vivant. Aminu and Umar were home bound. They had abandoned, in fact, forgotten the objective of their mission. Now and then, Aminu would halt, look around and murmur to himself. Umar was like a zombie. He walked as if programmed, reminiscent of sleepwalk. I hope Kabir is at home Aminu wished. God let him be at home. He prayed. 35

Safiya stood by the wall in the living room feeling totally sapped. She heard a cry. It was Umar. Hastily, she went out to see. Aminu was trying to comfort Umar, as the latter gave bent to his emotion. What is wrong with him? Safiya queried Aminu, as she held Umars hands. Aminu could not answer. Why are you crying? She lowered herself to his height. Umar did not answer. Why is he crying? She addressed Aminu. Aminu stood there, debating within himself of what to say. Safiya then realised something was missing. Where is Kabir? She rose up, facing Aminu who withdrew back a little. Umar broke up. Aminu faced down, attempting to avoid the fiery eyes of his aunt. Where is Kabir? She was a tigress about to pounce. Aminu, where is he? Thoughts rushed into her mind. Where is he? She reached out for Aminus hand and was quick to grab it, as the poor youth tried to dodge. Tell me what happened. Wewe Aminu was trying to say as tears rushed down his face. His heart was as tight as his mouth. Tell me. Sadness was overtaking her. Tell me, she was shaking the boy vigorously. Kabir is gone. Umar was mouthing between sobs. She was choking, she was mad! Gone where? Safiya was shaking Aminu, gone where? Gone missing, Umar dropped the bombshell. XIII Malam Garba and Malam Isyaku were already at the door of Malam Yakubu as the latter mounted the stairs. They all knew, and had got used to, his timetable; he was a man strict with 36

his time.

Welcome sir, they saluted, as he inserted the key into the lock.

Afternoon, gentlemen, lets get on with it. Yakubu led the way straight to his table. With as little as a short ceremonial prayer, Garba opened the session. Well sir, for a start, let me say that four keywords form the crust of our module: potentials and ability, maintenance and capacity. Garba paused momentarily. Safiya immediately came to Yakubus mind, but to his assistant he said, rationalise them. Yes sir, these words or concepts are sequential; potential is an inscription, ability is its translator, Garba was saying, but, it is maintenance that defines the scope of capacity. Meaning what, in simple terms? Yakubu queried. Sir, I will use the case of manufacturing. Garba said. Go on, please. Yakubu licensed. A raw material, metal, mineral or any other, is a potential; a piece of equipment, machinery or tool, is also a potential. Yes Yakubu and Isyaku were waiting. The machinery provides ability to extract, convert or transform, in any form, the raw material, to make it saleable, useable or to whatever form desirable, as a finished product. Garba said. Right. The ability to operate such equipment determines the capacity of the plant or the equipment, sir. How? Yakubu asked. Well, if you have a huge any machine and no one is able to run it, then, that huge machine is just a potential with zero capacity. A car without a drive equals zero distance, sir. That is well put, Garba, go on. Yakubu observed. But, an achieved capacity is dependant on maintenance of operation. Right, Yakubu agreed. Therefore, continuous operation is dependent on the ability 37

to maintain whatever equipment is in use, in terms of servicing or and replacement of parts. Garba said. That is right. Yakubu acknowledged. Therefore, maintenance is the keyword, Garba reasoned out, if we can maintain what the tenant left, we remain an owner, in terms of potentials and ability, if we cannot, we are just an inheritor, with a potential, of what we cant maintain, which we will lose, soon. All right, Yakubu was waiting for more. Therefore, we have to show that unless we change our conception of development, from having more and more, to maintaining more and more, Garba was concluding his case, we can never be able to develop and we will lose whatever we have inherited, as colonial legacy. The colonial legacies, I thought we dont need them. Yakubu challenged. Yes sir, but that is all we have got. Dont forget the vacant room of the landlord. Garba said. The landlord again, Yakubu was beginning to hate the name! Garba nearly laughed; he too was beginning to dislike this landlord imagery, considering his own history. I am sorry sir, but a short catalogue of this legacy will give you an idea of their centrality: transportation, education, health, agriculture, industry, utilities and even recreation. Whatever is functioning now, in these inherited areas, indicates the depth of our commitment to its maintenance. At the end, they are collapsing, one after another, including our pensions, sir. Isyaku was preparing to take over; he opened a file and had a brief look and said, as he stood up, I am going to use that map, sir. He walked to the pasted map on the wall. Though you cannot see the names, I will call them, sir, as I get to them. Thats all right. Yakubu conceded. 38

We have twenty administrative areas. Isyaku called out. Yes, Yakubu affirmed. The smallest has an area of five thousand square kilometres. Isyaku said. Yes, The largest has fifty thousand square kilometres. Ah ha, Yakubu agreed. In terms of population, the smallest in land mass ranks second. Yes, But, the largest in area is the least populated; it is a mountainous terrain. Yes, Yakubu acceded. Sir, how can you explain spending seventy times more in such areas of housing, medication, water and electricity for an area with the least people? Landlordism, is it? Garba put in. Or, is it because fifteen percent of your servants originate from there? Selective and discriminative development, thats what it is. Garba categorized. Sir, the mainstay of our economy is agriculture. Isyaku continued. Yes, The bulk of our population is rural. Yes, Yakubu assented to that. Sir, how come, we spend the least for the agricultural rural community? It is difficulty to understand why, really. Garba added. Now sir, looking at our budgetary policy, you will find much anomaly bordering insanity. What do you mean? We generate less than five percent of what we spend. Isyaku answered. Yes, Yakubu conceded. 39

We spend sixty percent, of what we get as grant, on salaries and wages of less than ten percent of our population. Yes, Why? Isyaku challenged. That portion is what you need, those trained to speak English, is it not, sir? Garba asked. Isyaku resumed, sir, out of the remaining forty percent, we spend three quarters of that on urban centres which rank less than twenty percent of our total population. Is that so? Yakubu simulated surprise. Yes, sir, that is our current situation. Isyaku acted on the simulation. We are in more trouble than I thought. Yakubu said. That is not all, sir; of the money we spend on urban areas, half of it goes to roads; put together, all these urban roads form only a mere one thousandth of the total roads we have or are supposed to have. Isyaku added. It is not fair, is it? Garba asked. Isyaku added, with regards to portable water supply, sir, for every hundred litres we filter, ninety eight is for those in the urban areas; out of that, sixty five go to those who pay only two percent of the collectable charges. Garba put in, You can see now, sir, how impossible it is for us to develop, unless we have a rethink. Sir, I have just given you figures on roads. The health situation is gloomier, education is worst than that, so is housing, commerce and industries, and so on. Now, let us see how we reduce this chaos to an understandable concept. Yakubu ruled. XIV Kabir, meanwhile, was fast asleep under the large canopied mango tree, somewhere in the north-eastern part of the market, where he had fallen. His soiled orange was nested in his hand. 40

By his side were sacks and wooden boxes of some sort, packed awaiting evacuation by trucks. His grey and pink dress camouflaged him with the surrounding items; he laid there like a tiny bundle. The market was thinning out within the centre. Soon, there would be few people around. Those left behind would be the last minute shoppers, being hurried up by the market marshals, or the merchants in a rush to pack up the last bits of their wares. There would be so much plastic-sheet, and cut-opened-sack pulling and spreading over tables, stall windows and display cupboards. No one would likely notice the lonely child. Kabir turned a little on his side. His eyes were tightly shut and he was breathing silently. He rubbed his free hand against his thigh. His orange slipped off and rolled to a nearby sack. Drink it, Kabir. He heard his mother say. His lips parted. He saw his mother smile. He smiled in return. The clouds drifted down to him. He wanted to run but his legs were heavy. He closed his eyes and he could feel his body being lifted and gradually dissolving into the clouds. XV We know now something is wrong. Weve also identified whats wrong. What is the solution then? Yakubu queried. They had just finished a snack grub as a way of refreshment; even this much had to come from their pockets. To show you how bad things have become, it was Isyakus comment when they were making a contribution for it. One day, it might be different; lets assure that, Yakubu was cheering them up then. He suspected that might outlast them; but, it was not him to do anything just for the currency. Isyaku glanced at his papers, sir, the solution starts with an appraisal of your role; be an owner, not a landlord, of your own house. Dont behave like an occupying European; be a native within your own people. 41

I can see that. Yakubu agreed. Isyaku remembered a neighbour he had; the man was a trader of some sorts, selling anything anyone would buy. One day, Isyaku heard some commotion from the other side of the wall. Soon, his wife dashed in. I think you better go over to our neighbours. She said. What for, Isyaku asked in surprise, whats wrong with them? They are fighting, she said. Where do I come in? He wondered. One of the wives has a gallon of petrol. She said. Isyaku did not wait for more details. He went over and met the family at war. The whole place was in chaos, broken pots and spilt soup mingled with smashed plates. The place resembled a battlefield. He could see the tigress woman with a gallon of fuel in one hand and a box of matches in the other. He tried to locate the husband. He could not see him; someone pointed at a bundled form far off, close to the wall; it was the husband under the buttocks of a large fuming woman. Do something, please people, do something; it was coming under the woman. The poor man was suffocating. Isyaku stood there not knowing where to start; the petrol was ready and the man was dying. Few days later, Isyaku had a chat with the man. She was a mad woman, the man was saying, I nearly divorced her. Isyaku was not sure who the mad woman was; the thin one threatening to burn down the neighbourhood or the large one trying to kill her husband. At the end, it was Isyakus wife who filled him in. He was buying chicken for the lean one. His wife said, accusingly. Isyaku was puzzled, so whats wrong with that? What do you mean whats wrong with that? his wife was not joking. Well, the way I see it, we dont have to lose our house for 42

that. Isyaku tried to nix the jealousy gist. The man was lying, claiming that she was sick, his wife narrated, each time the fat one asked him about the smell of chicken in the house. Then, why was the woman being fed chicken eager to burn us all? Isyaku asked his wife. Well, his wife said, she was complaining that the fat one had more clothes bought for her. That squares it, then. Isyaku remembered terminating the gossip before it got him snared. So, when Isyaku said we must proportionately maintain everyone at the same time, irrespective of any differentials, that emphasis is on equity sir, not equality, he knew what he was talking about. Garba added, sir, if Europe had conducted their module on their people as selective and discriminately as we do, they couldnt have developed at all. Therefore, the cities and the villages must have the same essential services; we must spread them widely and maintain them constantly. Which is precisely the purpose of this module, Yakubu said, so how do we explain it to make it approvable? Sir, this treatment is to show how the entire house can be developed, at all corners, at all times; the way our body develops naturally. In our body, no one organ is made to wait till the next day; no one member of our family is made to go hungry till the next day, either. Whatever is available is shared, no matter the quantity or the taste. Go on, we will only put in questions where we envisage doubts or frictions. Yakubu made a ruling. Isyaku was glad; this would allow him conduct a smooth presentation. He knew it would not be that easy with the real team; those cantankerous oldies was his secret name for the review panel. He had coined this tag years back; now, he had accumulated years of his own and wondered whether those under him had not given him a worse tag. 43

What are the priority areas, then? Yakubu asked. Presently sir, Isyaku said, as he walked to the map on the wall, we envisage a five year development arrangement based on a concentric timed-event schedule, radiating out from each administrative headquarters. Yes, Yakubu responded. We are to set realistically achievable targets. Isyaku said. Thats obvious. Given the totals of what we expect as grant, we must aim to boost our internal generation to a self sufficient level. Isyaku added. How can we do that without capital? Yakubu asked. I will come to it, sir, in a moment. Isyaku made an excuse. All right, Yakubu accepted. First, we start with accessibility, Isyaku brought out a marker from his pocket; the master plan is to make all areas reachable by road or river in the first year. That is a lot, is it not? Yakubu calculated. Yes sir, but without that, there is no way we can facilitate any development. The road construction is coupled with the establishment of health centres, educational institutions, agricultural extension services and industries. I still cant see how you can raise the funds for all these. Yakubu simulated. Isyaku took up the challenge. Sir, all these works will be segmented within a time frame; they will provide the population jobs which will empower them, boosting trade to increase the revenue base of the authorities. Will it be enough? Yakubu asked. Yes sir, and if you permit me I will narrate an anecdote to prove it. Go ahead, lets hear it. Yakubu permitted. There was this trader with some children of varying ages. Most of the time, they hung around his shop doing nothing; he considered them too small for any assignment. Occasionally, he had to 44

transport a drum of palm oil to the road, to get it on to the market. There was a strong man in the village that was considered indispensable for such jobs. But, this man was the least reliable. One day, this trader had a sour argument with him; and that day, the drum had to go to the main road. The strongman teased the trader, telling him to shove his drum into his conk. The trader thought awhile. He gathered his children and got small containers that each could carry. He drained the content of the drum and gave each his load, and they all trod to the road. When finally the oil was at the road, it was transferred into the drum. He gave them some token fares. From that day on, he never needed the boastful bluffing man or his energy, and the children proudly acquired more ability and strength. The family increased its income internally by work, savings and confidence. His senior officers appeared agreeable. He felt fulfilled. Yakubu looked at his watch and said, It is past the Asar prayer time. I think we have made an impressive progress. Lets hope for the best reception later, he was gathering his papers, gentlemen, and thank you for your efforts. Thank you, sir, Garba answered on their behalf. Ill see the whole team later. They walked their way out of the office. Yakubu remembered that he had promised Safiya. He decided to phone her instead. Its not possible, really. Once more, he had curled her toes. He could not make much sense out of what she was saying about the boys, or something. Ill make it up, he told himself, though. That phrase was becoming too frequent; I hope Im not becoming an epitome of Isyakus landlord. XVI Safiya had exhausted herself. She sat gloomily on the floor rug, leaning against the wall. Umar had a vacant expression. Aminu wore a sad face, with a feeling of loss mixed with fear and guilt. 45

Go to your aunt, Safiya managed to say, ask her if Kabir had been there. Aminu stood up solemnly and edged out without a word. He was not quite sure if that was hopeful; Kabir would not go there, knowing Umar would not be there. But in this instance, any thread of hope, any chance of finding Kabir would be welcomed. Oh God, Safiya sighed, Oh God, send to me my boy. She got up with much difficulty, realising how much rough she had been on Aminu. She felt sorry for the abuses she had railed at the boy. Aminu was a bright promising boy, very respectful. It definitely was not intentional that Kabir had slipped off from them. That boy is stupid. She thought, turning her attention to the missing kid. Why cant he stay in one place, that, Ill want to know. Of course, she knew Kabir just could not stay in one place. He was a boy full of beans. The house was never the same without him. Even her husband had noticed it; Kabir was a dazzle, a charm bordering the unusual. XVII It was now dark in the market. Kabir woke up. He opened his eyes and was shocked by the darkness. He was about to cry out when he heard a sound of a truck reversing towards him. He got up, frightened. He hid by one of those wooden boxes among the sacks piled under the tree. Get them loaded quickly. Kabir heard someone say. Soon, some hectic hefty men descended from the truck and started throwing in the sacks. Kabir wanted to slip away, but one of them was walking towards his hideaway. Kabir had a flick debate and he spontaneously jumped into a nearby huge wooden box that was partly covered. His heart was thumping. His chest was heaving. His fists were clenched. There was a lapse of activity outside, so was it in his 46

mind. The box was half empty. It contained something soft. He was trying to figure out what it was. He could also hear the men mumble. Hurry up. That came from an enormous man, wielding his arms about. He was anxiously parading up and down. Kabir could make out the outline of the man through a crack in the planks. He stayed hidden and frightened, hoping for a way out of this debacle. XVIII What did the police say? Safiya asked anxiously as Yakubu walked in. She was surrounded by sympathizers who got the word of mouth news that Safiyas darling son had gone missing. Everyone wanted to come, curious, yes, but genuinely concerned. There had been insinuations of a new wave of child snatchers roaming the alleys. Rumoured discoveries of dismembered body parts had become common gossips. They have heard no report yet. Yakubu explained. Safiya jumped up. No report. What Calm down, they are trying to do their job the best way possible. He did not want another scene in front of this crowd. This gathering was making matters worse; they had their ears glued for anecdotes to broadcast. They have been to the Radio and Television stations. We should expect them anytime they heard of him. Yakubu went to a chair and sat. He had been shuttling since he walked into the house to meet an accusing wife handling a crisis. She had gone mad at him for not staying at home. It was futile telling her that he was there making an important presentation. She had made him go to the police again and again; he was beginning to lose both the count and the control. He had wanted to takeover but he was scarcely informed; she was scanty and incomprehensible. What a terrible mess this is, Yakubu eyed his wife at a 47

corner of his eyes. She was under a great stress; he could now see the mark of time on her structure. He is just a kid. No one helps kids anymore? Safiyas soliloquy jogged him out of his own recollections. He remained silent. Why cant they bring him home? Why. Yakubu eyed down someone who was about to comment. He knew what his wife would do with a supporting remark. The room was hushed; eyes were on to the telephone. Only the tinkling wall clock was breaking the agonizing silence. XIX The truck was nearly loaded. Kabir could make out the silhouetted figures of the loaders against the distant lights. The driver fired the engine a little. Ready. He announced. Is the lace box in? The huge man asked. No, one of the men responded. Why was it not loaded in? The huge man was angry, I thought I told you to get it in first. Two men responded to go for the box. In a minute. They walked to the box where Kabir was hiding. A cold shiver ran through his spine. Before he knew it, the men were at his box. They bent down and lifted it up, commenting on its weight. Kabir felt the rocking movement. He thought of crying out. But, he was too frightened. His lips parted, but nothing issued. The men got the box into the truck, giving it a push in. They raised the back flap door, bolted it and dropped down the tarpaulin cover. They gave the metal-frame a tap, to say they were done. Oya, the driver pulled the truck, as the loaders stood back, watching its tail lights fade into the distance. Kabir received a jolt. Ooh. He cried out. The driver mistook it to be from the huge man. Sorry, he apologized. The huge man turned to face him. What? 48

I said sorry, the driver said. What are you sorry for, just drive on; lets get this load to the warehouse. The driver shrugged his shoulders and cruised on. The truck rattled along the worn out Sabon Gari Road, giving Kabir a rough ride, being rolled and banged that way, this way, forward and backward. He was half frightened, half curious, wondering what was happening. Strange shapes were emerging from the light beams of the vehicles tailing them as they pierced through holes of the tarpaulin. He closed his eyes tight. He remembered his mother. He remembered his brother. He remembered his cousin. Of course, he remembered his father also. His stomach growled with a tightening sensation inside. He was hungry. He remembered his orange. XX The neighbours had gone. Malam Yakubus family, minus Kabir, was left to itself. The kids were in their room, while the parents were in the living room. Umar pushed his food aside. He had refused to eat. A certain encumbrance weighed on his heart. Aminu was looking at his own food untouched, and his mind was rattling with unpleasant pulsation. Restless Safiya was pacing up and down in the sitting room. Yakubu had his head in his forked palms, his face full of mixed expression. He had done a lot of work today, which was consoling. But, awaiting the response to their submission was beginning to weigh on him. He had staked his reputation for that project; he believed in it, he could visualise the fruition of that module in the near future; the image was gratifying. Why did the boy go missing today? He wondered. He had not been too ruffled, when told of Kabir missing. They would find him, safe and well. He was confident of that without any supporting evidence. Its just a matter of time, he told 49

himself. That kid was too energetic, too smart to be lost just like that. There was nothing in all this to suggest permanence. He stole a glance at Safiya measuring the ground. The telephone rang. Safiya rushed to it. Yes, her heart was racing. Hand shivering, she tried to hold the receiver the right way. What? Her lips were trembling. Be calm and answer the phone. Yakubu made the mistake of saying. Be calm. I am calm. You are telling me to be calm? Alright I am calm. Give me my boy. I want my boy. Tears started to ooze down from her tired eyes. Well continue to search, the phone was saying. Search? What do you mean search? Safiya was threatening the receiver. Give me my boy, please. She broke down and let the receiver off, as she slumped into a chair. Yakubu got up and walked to the phone. Sorry, what is the report, please? We are trying all we can. Its getting late. But we will keep on trying. All right officer, Yakubu made up for his wifes inappropriateness, thank you, we do appreciate. Yakubu replaced the receiver and dared to touch Safiya. You better go to bed. You need some rest. He was the commanding officer now. I think you need it. He added to soften the coming temper. But, it did not come. Safiya did not say anything. That was a good sign. Yakubu thought. She had spent herself out. He got hold of her hand and stood her up, leading her to the bedroom. The kids room was equally as tense. Umar remained silent at the door. His unmade bed remained waiting. Aminu got down from his own bed, went to Umar and laid his arms round him. Come on, go to sleep. Umar shrugged away. I cant. Try. Aminu held him, leading him in. It will be alright. It 50

was a shallow, though hopeful, assurance. Umar went into bed. Aminu sat by the bed to see him sleep. Umar turned. He closed his eyes and soon he was in an animated slumber. Kabirs voice filled his ears. Umar...Umar...Umar... he could see Kabir floating in the clouds. Kabirs voice was booming, becoming uncomfortably louder. Umar placed his hands against his ears, pressing them hard to stop the voices. This was all a dream. Aminu looked at Umar, but it was Kabir that was in his mind. Beads of tears rolled down his cheeks. He liked Kabir very much. Everyone liked Kabir. He was a delightful kid, full of laughter and vigour. Troublous yes, but he was always a pleasant company. Why did we let him loose? Aminu wondered. He moved back to his own bed and sat. He went over the incident again and again, trying to picture it as it occurred. But, like the rest of his attempts, he came up with nothing. The images got blurred. He knew of the cold drink they had: then the oranges, then, thennothing. Aminu, will Kabir come back? Aminu heard from a distance like in a dream. Tell me, please. Will I play with him again? Umar had woken up and moved close to Aminu. He stretched his hands out to Aminu. Aminu did not know what to say, he had no answer for this awkward interrogation. It had crossed his mind once. It was not a very good thought. He hurriedly forced it out, blocked it, sort of. Aminu, has Kabir gone totohas he followed your mother? Umar faced Aminu, scooping hard into the deeper recess of Aminus mind. Tears were rolling down the cheeks of the boys freely now. Aminu shook his head. No, he will come back, God willing. Aminus mother was she had gone somewhere, not returning, they were told when Aminu was first brought in; Umar was recollecting. 51

It was no where they knew. No one would ever see her again; some boys said that at school. How could Kabir go there? No, Kabir should not follow her there, wherever that was. Without Kabir, whom would he call his brother? Umar had long realised that Kabir was his link to his mother, even to their father from whom only Kabir could grab out total attention. Though he was the first born, Umar could not remember his life without Kabir. It was as if Kabir had always been around. He was connecting everyone in the family as a thread through a rosary. It was the same at school; Kabir joined two years later but was soon a favoured friend of his mates and of many in the classes ahead of him. Coincidently, Aminu too was remembering his arrival into the family, after the death of his mother. Malam Yakubu, the deceaseds junior brother, invited him to stay with his cousins. When he arrived, Kabir was the most welcoming of all, uninhibited. The thought of not seeing Kabir again was hurting the boys. Aminu embraced Umar as they cried, their hearts throbbing. XXI It was midnight. The truck, with Kabir, had been parked within the enclosing tall walls of a large mansion. It was securely covered with the tarpaulin. The driver and the huge man were standing by it. Kabir was still inside his box. Exhaustion had overcome fear, he had fallen back to sleep. The two men heard the sound of a door opening and they walked to it; someone asked them in. The man inside searched for the switch on the wall with his torchlight and turned on the lights. Is everything loaded, Tanko? the man asked. Yes, Alhaji. Tanko was the huge man. The driver edged forward. But, we did not load the sugar. Why didnt you? Alhaji Maikudi demanded. He was a fat man with quite a fleshy neck and a badly scarred face pronounced by a gap of two missing front teeth. He was also squint-eyed, giving an impression of his being spun half round. 52

He appeared frighteningly bionic! Tanko stammered. Wewethought Dont think Alhaji Maikudi cut in, I am the planner around here, he got hold of Tankos gown. I pay you to carry orders not to think. You hear me? He let go of him. Yes ranka-ya-dade. Tanko withdrew a bit, casting an accusing eye at the driver. Alright, Alhaji Maikudi went to a soft chair and dropped in. He took a little time to do some figuring out, and then said, come close. Tanko lowered himself a little. I dont want you to mess up my operation any more. The driver went next to Tanko and squatted on the floor at Alhajis feet. I want this consignment unloaded tonight. But, we have a problem, Alhaji. What is the problem again, driver? Maikudi twisted toward the complainant. The driver shifted backward, wishing he had kept his mouth shut. He was not comfortable facing this man, the loaders had already gone... Gone where, and why? They will come back tomorrow. The driver was uneasy. An awkward pause, alright, Maikudi gave in. Then, make sure the truck is secure at the warehouse. Alhaji Maikudi did not like this, either. He had been in this business long enough to know that small hitches like this could cause trouble; little he could do now but wait. Yes Alhaji. The driver responded. Alhaji Maikudi turned to Tanko. Ask that old mai-gadi of yours to be extra vigilant; the police are busy now. We will take care of that, ranka-ya-dade. Tanko had regained his composure. Kabir had shifted in his sleep. He had made himself comfortable. In fact, he was snoring lightly. The driver, followed by Tanko, came out of the house. What were you trying to do in there, gain attention or more 53

wages? he chided the driver who said nothing. They got into the drivers cabin, and the truck started moving. They turned right onto the bypass road, raising a lot of dust. The dark shape of Paida Hills loomed across the black horizon like a monstrous dragon asleep. They drove for about five minutes with lights turned off. They joined Wushishi Road, going by the hills, using the parking lights. Then, they turned right into the bush. For some minutes, they bumped their way through the rocky terrain. Ahead of them was a dome-like structure in front of which they stopped. An erratic figure appeared; he aimed his bow and arrow much towards rather than at them. Its Tanko, Umar. Tanko introduced himself. Umar, the mai-gadi, identified the name and the voice. He lowered down his weaponry. He was a sixty year old fellow, with a back hunched more by hardship than by kyphosis. Welcome Malam Tanko. He paddled to them, eyes searching downward as if walking in a pond. He led the way to the warehouse and opened the duplex door. The driver manoeuvred the truck in, bringing it to a halt. He got down as Tanko was telling the mai-gadi to be attentive to his duties. Nothing should be allowed in or out. You know me, Malam Tanko, he wagged his fist, even jinni is afraid of my presence. I am counting on you, Umar. Tanko was doubtful. They walked back to the door which Umar, the mai-gadi, closed and locked after them. He gave them the key and wished them goodnight, as he sat with his bow and quiver by his side. Kabir was inside his newfound home, which was under lock and key in the warehouse. He was fast asleep, going through fairylike episodes. XXII Umar, the mai-gadi, was desperately trying to wave off sleep. His weapons had rolled off once. The hooting of a passing owl had awakened him to collect them. Now, he was snoring freely. 54

Kabir, inside the truck, stirred. He felt uneasy. Cramped and hot, he woke up, opening his eyes to a pitching darkness. He was frightened. He wanted to go and ease himself. He tried to get up. His head hit something. Oh, it pained. He raised his hand up and met the cover of the box. That was odd. Whats on top of my bed? He tried again. He knocked his forehead against the box. He cried out. UmarUmar The mai-gadi heard his name called in the depth of his sleep. UmarUmar came the tiny voice from inside the warehouse. The mai-gadi was puzzled. He grabbed his weapon and stared at the locked door. UmarUmaropen the door, open the door, the voice sounded desperate. The mai-gadi felt his heart beat faster. He hesitated a while. He could not be in a dream, with him standing up there by the door. Could this be an apparition? He waited. UmarUmar came the echoing voice again. That is it, the mai-gadi was in no doubt now. He decided for his safety. He grabbed his shredded gown and hurried to the main road, leaving behind the desperate eerie call. It is jinniit is jinni, he kept saying, this is a jinx. Kabir did not get any response. He struggled out of the box, feeling his way among the boxes and sacks. It began to dawn on him that he was not at home. Recollection was fast. He was in the market. He was in the box. He was in a truck. Mum oh mummy, where are you? XXIII Yakubus family had been intermittently awake the whole night. Umar had been shifting between sobs and nightmares. Aminu had intervals of slumber, consoling and reflections. Safiya did not wink; the weight on her eyelids testified to that. Yakubu had dozed off a bit, now and then shifting and turning on the 55

bed. He had double weight on him; Kabirs was the least, actually. He would cast a glance at Safiya and at the ceiling above, and he would yawn. Safiya sat on the edge of the bed with a glass of water in hand. How could you sleep? That was her response to Yakubus urging her to sleep. He got up finally, at the distant prayer calls of the approaching dawn. He walked to the refrigerator at the sitting room for a glass of water. The wall clock indicated four. Yakubu had not even had time to think much of Kabir. The boy was a bright kid, all right. But, there was something odd about him; he wasis he unduly inquisitive, or what? Does he need some taming or channelling or something? Yakubu was beginning a soul search, could I have been so busy as not to notice the kids changing, becoming aimless, or something? Their school records did not indicate any deficiency in attendance, tidiness, academics, aptitude or any of those observable fields. Then, whats wrong with them? Could it be that we are over shadowing them? He recalled his own childhood. It certainly was not rosy; in fact, as with all his peers, they were hauled into manhood while they were babies! His father was working for the colonial administration all right, but there was not much money to do anything; it was like they were the tenants errand boys, worked hard, paid little and taxed much, he remembered Isyakus words. The kids too worked mens work, long tedious hours, barely fed and inadequately clothed. For them, time was not structured; they were free somehow, not pampered, unattended and unhampered by prying parents. They roamed around, played about, swam a lot, and developed at their own pace. May be times have changed. They well have changed, Yakubu knew it; his mother would not dare question his father as his wife was now interrogating him. He had a gulp at his glass and dived into another recall; 56

Isyakus imagery was beginning to have some permanence in his mind. The head of the family must be encompassing, Yakubu considered if he had been such all-rounder. XXIV The mai-gadi had reached Tankos place and was telling him of the jinni in the warehouse. They kept calling my name, he was narrating. I had been warned of impeding doom, the mai-gadi continued. I have been warned. This one is the night creeping jinx. Shut up. Tanko was both angry and hateful. Deep inside though, he nursed a little tinkling fear of those unseen inhabitants of the earth. They called me, I swear, Umar, mai-gadi was shaking his
weapon, man, I can handle. But jinni, no, they are beyond man.

Tanko put on his gown and kicked at someone sleeping on the floor. Get up, you log, we have trouble. It was the driver who, on hearing this strange tale, was apprehensive on account of his truck. Alright, lets go see this jinni of yours. Tanko led the way out, hoping for once that this stupid mai-gadi was just being lazy or foolish. Tanko knew how to avoid the watchful eyes of the police. But, no one taught him the secrets of fighting something apparitional. They gathered sticks, knives and extra bows and arrows, and headed for the warehouse. XXV Kabir was at the rear door of the truck. He tried to lift the heavy tarpaulin to make way; it was tough. He squeezed through between the latchets, and struggled down, feeling the ladder steps with his tiny feet. His shoes slipped and he nearly lost grip. His face hit the iron body panels. He cried out, reaching out for something to hold. His foot got a place and he steadied himself. He managed to dangle down with one foot 57

touching the hard floor. He let go off the bodyshell and slipped down with a thud. It was dark. He tried to figure out an exit. From a slit in the door came some luminosity. He quickly strode there. Kabir leaned his cheek by the iron door and peeped through. He could not see much. He tried the door. It was locked. He shook it to no avail. He tried to locate a switch but could not find any. He sat down, tired and frightened. His eyes gradually became acclimatised to the darkness. He could decipher the shapes of the truck and, not far beyond it, some mounts of something, dark and huge. Far ahead, Kabir discerned something glittering. He got up and worked his way to it. He bent down and peeped through the pinhole. He could now see a little bit of outside. He put his tiny hands against the opening. It was nailed with a wooden board that had partially gone rotten. He pushed, and then kicked, then pulled, and the board started to crumble. He wore a very relieved look, seeing the small window opening in front of him. He widened it and put his head in. He realised he could get out by it. The cold early dawn breeze fanned him on the face. It refreshed him, relieving him of some portion of exhaustion. He wrung through and crawled out, lizard like. He stretched his crammed figure up. Outside was quite something else. The veil of darkness was imperceptibly being drawn westward as it towed up the sheet of grey light from below. The east had a picturesque appearance with silhouetted trees on the nearby hills standing like opened dark umbrellas against the brightening horizon. Far to his left was the road. He could see the headlights of few cars zooming off. Intuitively, he started walking thither. Tanko, mai-gadi and the driver were hurrying up to the warehouse, with their weapons in hand. Now that the darkness was nearly gone, it was not the jinni that occupied their minds. The questions they nursed were two; they thought of thieves 58

and they thought of police. Neither of which they welcomed. Tanko had just one wish. He hoped that this stupid mai-gadi had not caused their downfall. How did we ever come to pick on this imbecile to guide the place? He pondered. XXVI Kabir had walked to the main road. The traffic was increasing. No one seemed to notice the small odd figure trotting and singing along the side of the road. DarknessNight go away Light and Day come a bay Homing Birdsing a song Hopping dogcome along Mom oh mommy sweet ray Dad oh daddysweet day Mom oh mom let me come God oh God take me home Not far from the Unity Square, Kabir could make up a squatted shape by the side of the road. It was someone busy scratching an overrun oily spark plug of his motorbike. Kabir had gained both his composure and his usual gait. He headed for the man. The man was slightly startled, as he raised his head to spot a tiny figure coming his way. He eyed the boy at his approach; he recognised Kabir. Where are you from? The man was cleaning off his hands. Kabir pointed at the direction of the warehouse. There, what took you there early this morning? The man mounted his bike. Your parents had combed the whole town looking for you. He lifted Kabir to the top of the fuel tank, oh boy, you are cold, he kicked the starter, let me take you home. The motorbike coughed and the man reversed back, riding 59

homeward with Kabir atop the tank. Kabir was thrilled somehow, enjoying the early morning view along the now busy Bosso Road. XXVII Tanko and his contingent were inside the warehouse. Evidently nothing to indicate a break-in; nothing was removed. In fact, it was when they were about to move out when the driver noticed a small opening. He called their attention to it and they investigated, wondering what made it. A rat, the driver opined; no one disputed that. They resolved not to tell Alhaji Maikudi, since nothing was damaged or missing. None of them wanted to be mowed for suspected negligence. They all knew how ruthless Alhaji Maikudi could be. Tanko sighed, thinking of his stakes. The mai-gadi had been sweating till now. He leaned his weaponry by the door, raised his palms to his face saying a little supplication. He was very thankfulness for his narrow escape from the maddening unseen. From today, he resolved, Ill never to be on duty this far. He was not hearing the new string of rules being issued to him by Tanko. After all, how much am I getting for all this trouble? he wondered. Tanko gave up. He resolved to have a change of guard. No more, Umar mai-gadi declared aloud, no matter what they give me. XXVIII Well. What did they say? Safiya was standing by Yakubu, as he replaced the receiver yet another time this morning. Nothing yet, he gave her a blank look. His eyes were heavy. His heart was heavier. Considering what was ahead of him today in the office, going through the deliberation of the review panel and acting on it, Yakubu had 60

decided to be resolute. Ill have to go now. I knew it, she eyed him. I knew that was what you would say. Look, dont be stroppy. She stared at him. Theres a time to draw a line, and this is it, he told himself. To Safiya, he said, everyone had tried and is trying. You must let others do their bit, at their own pace. Dont lecture me, Safiya was defiant, I wont let my son be lost, just like that. No one wants that, either. Yakubu stood his ground. She walked off from him, trying to bottle in the rising annoyance. She was trying to avoid a confrontation, so soon, a collision so early in the morning. It was not that Yakubu was less concerned for Kabir. She knew that. But, he had a way of being too technical, too preoccupied with his work. She wished she could change that. It wont be easy, she reckoned. Even while he was courting her, he was most of the time doing one thing or another. What was more, their wedding had to be delayed, because the man had a workshop or something to attend! He was a loving husband though, affectionate in his own way, and very providing. Why cant he be homely, at least, just for now? Safiya wished, knowing fully well that Yakubu was a breathing machine. She never told him that, but she thought of him as such. She was about to sit when a hesitant knock made her jump to the door. Heart beating fast, thought rushing in her mind, Safiya hoped it was...it was ...and of course, it was Kabir that flung the door open to rush in to embrace the astounded woman.

She just eyed the boy, robbed of speech. She was not hearing the voice of the good neighbour that brought her jewel back to her. Yakubu

came out to meet the man. As they shook hands, Safiya was lifting Kabir to her bosom, as if he had been away for years. The boy was less overcome. He was busy looking beyond her 61

at the rushing figure of his brother. He scampered to Umar with a real embrace. The kids looked into each others eyes; there it was written the solid bond of love and friendship. The questions were rushing in and the answers dashing out. Safiya had merged into the background. Yakubu cast a glance at the embracing kids and the onlooking mother who had become another outsider in the great scheme. He shook his head, feeling relieved; now, he could have peace of mind and the chance to go to work unmolested. Without as much as a word, he withdrew, briefcase in hand, forging ahead for the task of managing the impersonal resources of a larger family. Aminu was in the bath when he heard the commotion. He hurried to dry himself off and bolted out to meet the cheerful Kabir at his tricks. Kabir was telling Umar and Safiya what he had done. As usual, Umar was challenging him. Kabir jumped at Aminu and the two crumbled on to the floor. Safiya shouted, full of concern, ordering Kabir to behave himself. Aminu got up, picking Kabir and rubbing the kids head. You darer, what have you been up to? Kabir, Safiya called. Yes, mum. The kid was very excited. Come here. He went over to her, a bit subdued. She held him by her side, and then turned him round to face her. Now, listen to me, young man. Kabir avoided her stare. He sensed what was coming. You have put a lot of people into trouble. Kabir looked at her questioningly. Yes, trouble. Safiya continued. You shouldnt slip away from anyone like you did yesterday. Yes mum. Kabir was touched; he was trying to figure out, what was it he did, that was wrong. Secondly, if you got missing, make sure you cry out for help. She was determined to give him a dressing. But I did, mum. Well, if no one stood by to ask you, make sure you get a 62

police officer to ask for the way home. She advised. You know the police, dont you? Yes I do, mum. I dont want to keep awake all night again waiting for you, do you hear me? Yes, mum. All right, she let go of him. I am sorry, mum. Kabir stood, feeling some remorse. He actually never thought he did wrong before. Now, it dawned on him that people could get hurt by whatever happened to someone else. His mother rubbed his head. Its all right. She went to the kitchen leaving Kabir to his brothers. Where did you say youve been to? Aminu asked Kabir for the missing piece. Inside a truck, I dont believe you. Umar, as usual, was challenging. I swear, and it was in the bush. What bush? Aminu was puzzled. Yes, lets go, I will show you. Go where? I am not going anywhere with you again. Aminu announced. Why not? Kabir challenged that ruling. Because the last time we went out together, you put us in the soup. Aminu declared emphatically. Tell us where it is, we will go and investigate. Umar started moving; an urge for adventure was tickling. I am going with you. Kabir too was emphatic. Oh no, you are not. Aminu said. Please. Kabir pleaded. No, Aminu said finally and held Umars hand. Or well tell Aunt Safiya. No, please. Kabir got scared. Lets go, Aminu called on to Umar, you said off Wushishi road? he asked Kabir. 63

Kabir nodded. And that they have many items? Kabir nodded again. Alright, Umar, lets go see it. Aminu started moving. Well be back soon, Umar whispered in his ears. Im coming too. Kabir declared. And well tell mum, Umar declared. The two bigger boys walked out. Kabir felt unease. He eyed his mother who was in the kitchen. Thats not fair, he thought, its my find! XXIX Malam Yakubu was in the conference room, a wide room with a large bruised oval table flanked by an array of chairs in varying state of disrepair. Some of these chairs were warmed by his departmental senior staff: the policy evolving team, the project monitoring group, the accounts and the general resource unit. They were having a meeting, as was customary. Their famous submission had been made. The receiving panel had shown interest, in fact, too much interest; the module was considered too radical. That was the last nail in. Too radical, eh, they are rotting conservatives! Someone shouted. Yakubu could not make out who it was. Why was it rejected, sir. Someone asked. Yakubu was raising his chin out peeping. Those people are jackasses! A senior policy officer, one of the architects of the module, shot out. Mind your language, Sani. Malam Yakubu cautioned. He suspected this gathering would be anything but normal. It was his tradition to hold a reviewing brief with the general staff each time they proposed a major policy shift and it went through the approving panel. Sorry, sir, but I feel let-down. Sani offered. He looked as bitter as he felt. 64

We all feel the same, but we should react maturely. Yakubu was consoling. Was it not feasible, or what, sir? A lady officer asked. They must be blind not to see its prospects! That came from another firebrand officer. They did see what we saw, Haruna. Yakubu was trying containment. Then, they must have visual aphasia, sir. Haruna was bent on taking it out, he was utterly resentful; he had put on countless man-hour to this project. It was not rejected for any technical deficiency, though. Malam Yakubu explained. Then, why was it not accepted, sir? Was it because they didnt want anyones good? That was Sani. Everyone was puzzled by the panels reaction; this department had expected much from their long worked out proposal. Now, let me remind you, ladies and gentlemen, that as civil servants, our task is to propose, if accepted, we implement and monitor, if rejected, we continue doing what we have been doing before, no more, no less. So, dont be too personal about this particular module. It is not the only one, nor will it be the last. Sir, we still want to know what happened. Lydia was curious. She was a specialist on resource distribution. She was also a strong advocate for ensuring fairness in its allocation. She had given up her annual leave just to get this proposal formulated and submitted. She thought they had it. She now felt cheated. It brought back some unpleasant memories. When she was young, their village was visited by some men. She still retained the images of that day. Her parents dressed her up, together with her sisters; they were expecting dignitaries from the town; she was told. She was very excited; everyone was expectant. Later in the day, she saw a convoy of hammocks with plumpish men inside. They were dressed in large white attires. They were carried shoulder-high by the village young men including her brother. Suddenly, she became 65

shameful, then distasteful. She ran in and removed her only neat dress which cost her mother a fortune to acquire. She hid behind the reed door until her mother discovered her and dragged her back to the village centre. We will tar this road for you, she heard one of them say, we will bring light here, electricity. She saw her people applauding. She hated that. Another one stood on the piles of wood provided for that purpose. A primary school will be built here, the man was pointing at the chiefs mud hut, and a secondary school there, he pointed at their house. People clapped and shouted in jubilation. She felt insulted that their house was to go. At the end, the men were back into the hammocks, being carried away by elated youth. The whole village remained awake that night talking about those great men from the town. They will give us water. Someone was saying. You dont have to go outside your room to get it. Another one added. There will be a market. There will be a hospital. No more walking till afternoon before we reach school. Her classmate was saying. It was later she learnt that the visitors had parked their impressive massive cars far away, at the other side of their stream, where they were collecting their drinking water. She also learnt that some five years ago, or so, a similar set of colourful men had been around, saying similar things, as they were being received by a similar group! The more she thought of that day the deeper her distrust of the men in high places, promising much, doing little or nothing. So, when she heard her boss saying a group of lobbyists from the political, traditional and business establishments have made their presentation, she knew what that meant. Yakubu was struggling to be calm. He too was shocked when 66

he received the disapproval memo. But, he would be the last to stir up a mutiny; yet, he could sniff it in here. Who would attack such a noble idea? That was Haruna. Well, they had made great investment to get their men in power. Yakubu was trying to avoid ambiguity. Is it not the power to help people? That was Garba; in normal circumstance, he would pass no comment. He was next to the boss! But today, nothing was normal. All calm had gone missing. With two fertile wives, Garba had raised rather a large family too soon, he used to muse. Constrained by a religious father, this officer had grown up to shun whatever appeared prickly to his conscience. With a mind set not to beg and not to take bribe, Garba had pitted himself for a rough time. All his children were attending local schools, where there were no chairs and no teachers. Each time the children set to go to school, especially during rainy season, their mothers would hold a solemn prayer session for their safe return; the classrooms had walls full of cracks on all corners, large enough not only to house large snakes but also to use as shortcut by the pupils; in all the classes you could see the sky wide open above you, and when it rained, you soaked! Garba had hoped that their module would be a relief from the burden of small salary, large expenditure and growing hopelessness. What about the traditionalists, sir? Lydia was keen to know who said what, as if she would pay them a visit. The traditionalists fear being sidelined also. Yakubu answered. Why is every body afraid of being sidelined, what have they got to lose? It was Lydia again. She was not particularly beautiful, but not ugly either, just plain and brainy. They want things to come through them because they know the cultural sensitivities of their people. Yakubu explained. Do they want to re-establish slavery, or what? Haruna said with a bit of irony; he was a close cousin of a chief, and most likely to succeed him if he died. 67

Please, be polite in your utterances. We are not holding a students union meeting here. Yakubu cautioned; it was painful all right, but he would not allow extremity, besides some of you are title holders. Sorry, sir. Haruna succumbed. Where do the businesses come in, sir? Ndaman asked quickly to ease the bluntness on Haruna. I wonder! It was Sani this time. What do they know besides making money? That was Peter, the accountant. They are complaining of lack of patronage. Yakubu overlooked the side comments. Try as he would, these people were bent on revenge. What do you know? I think these people make money whatever happens. Peter had a dislike for some of these companies; no one knew why, though. Peter knew, though. He came fresh from youth service and was employed by a large firm; they got a huge contract and he was made a coordinator, on financial matters, of course. They made a lot of money and they vanished overnight. Open up, he woke up with the sound of the police at his doorstep. They handicapped him and pushed him into cell. Up until now, he had neither seen any of them nor received his first and last salary! All they want is huge mobilisation fees, sir. It was Peter again, and he knew exactly what he was talking about. You should add without doing the job on time. Then, Sani did his addition. If it is the adding game, add getting constant reviews in order to make more money for nothing. Lydia was not going to be outdone, either. Ladies and gentlemen, our proposal has not gone unnoticed, though. Yakubu felt the need to trim down the bitterness. The hall was dangerously charged. Sir, if it was rejected, who noticed it? Haruna had regained 68

his valour; he came back with a punch. XXX Meanwhile, Umar and Aminu were hurrying along the road going east. Ahead of them was the range of Paida hills, spanning like a high wall with broken passes across the eastern horizon. Do you think hes telling the truth? Umar asked. I think so. Aminu testified. Kabir is not used to lies. At home, Kabir eyed his mother again. Something in his mind clicked. Mum is busy, the mind reasoned, it wanted to deceive. I can get there and come back, the voice inside was saying, mum wouldnt mind. Kabir made up his mind to follow his brother and cousin. It was his find, this adventure. Is it not? If anyone was to go there, it must be with him. He would not let them enjoy the find alone. He tiptoed, much leaning to the wall; as he neared the door, Safiya came out. Kabir, she called out. He stopped. Where do you think you are going? He wanted to say something, an excuse, or so. But something inside, a reason or so was saying that would be telling a lie. He retraced his steps shyly, not uttering a word. He walked past her to their room. Aminu and Umar had got to the vicinity of the warehouse, a discrete outpost, as described by Kabir. They could see discreet people loading some trucks. The boys edged stealthily close and saw some of what was being loaded: boxes, cartons, bags and sacks. They tried to discern the contents through some of the labels: milk, sugar and perfumes. Some trucks had already been loaded with sacks resembling those of rice, beans and the like. The place was forebodingly hideous. This must be it. Aminu declared. What do we do now? Umar asked, realising how stupid they were jumping into this, heedlessly. 69

Stop them. Aminu decided. Stop them? Umar held Aminus hand to debunk. Yes. Aminu thought a little. How can we stop them? Umar squared Aminu. Yap! Aminu said with excitement. An idea had just crept in. Can you run? Run? Umar was taken by surprise. Of course, I can run, Umar said indignantly, where to? To the police. Aminu was threading up his thoughts. Police? Yes, tell them to come here, the idea was building up, we have caught some people hiding foodstuff, contrabands and the like, or something. Umar made to run. Wait. Aminu halted him. Umar turned to face him. Why, whats it? Make sure you get them here quickly. Aminu surveyed the area. I will try to delay them till you come back. How? Umar asked with a glance at the landscape. You will see, just run like a dog. A dog, Umar visualized a dog running, I cant do that. Well, just try, Aminu whistled out to the spearing figure of Umar. XXXI In contrast to the groups already discussed, the proposal has been welcomed by virtually all the unions: labour, traders and students, farmers, transporters, and even the law enforcement agencies. Yakubu listed. I guess even thieves liked it! They busted into tumultuous laughter and giggles. Who said that? Yakubu asked; it was not a threatening inquiry, though. Lydia raised her hand up. Miss, no such jokes here, please. 70

He was suppressing a tickle inside. Sorry, sir. Lydia cooed. Yakubu wanted to finish this meeting, but he was grateful for Lydias apt comment. It served to release some tensity. The labour wants it because it makes their entitlement payable. It also ensures stable employment for their members. Yakubu continued. The hall was receptive; after all, the comments were to their favour. That did not mean there were no misgivings. The gloomy prospect of non-payment of pending allowances and withheld promotions was a source of discontent. Yakubu was as if in a hurry. This review after presentation could sometimes be spleenful. The marketers believe that it will empower people to buy, as opposed to money drained out by big companies from outside. Yakubu continued. Sir, its like the toothless dog yapping to me. It was Ndaman. Not quite, Ndaman, these people may become a pressure group someday. Yakubu answered. The way they are in disarray that will be after our retirement, sir. Ndaman had a right to be worried; at fifty nine, he was at the edge, also afraid of receiving an official letter; it could be the final whistle. Yakubu overlooked that and continued. The students and the youths see in it what will ensure their continual education and make them employable afterwards. Yakubu noticed the silence. It was as if no one cared anymore. Any question? he was trying to encourage participation; after all, that was the aim of this review. No one said anything; they just stared at him. The farmers and the transporters will benefit; villages will become accessible and their products easily transport able. Yakubu was determined to rush through now, irrespective of their response; he too was nearing that station where disappointment became permanent despair. 71

Sir, all these people you are listing cant change a thing; its like being supported by nothing, leaning on a broken post, is it not? Wrong, Lydia, as servants of state we should know better; the nothing of today could be the boss of the morrow; likewise, the boss today could be the nothing tomorrow. It is the state that is permanent, the civil order, the civil society; it is the system not the individuals that we work for; the system guarantees the survival of the individuals. Yes sir, but, it is like we are denied a better tomorrow by a blind today! Lydia felt empty. Take heart, Lydia and the rest of you, Yakubu was touched. If it had not been his own institutionalised practice, he would have closed this session, but he went on, the manufacturers look forward to an expandable market. Equally, the health workers envisage a service reachable to all. The law enforcement agencies hope to have less unemployed troublemakers with no fixed addresses, if nothing else. Yakubu put a break. Now, all this is squashed. That was Sani again. What do we do next, sir? It was Lydia in an utter sense of defeat. Well keep trying, may be one day, well get someone who can see something in our vision. Yakubu finally nailed it. XXXII The warehouse was now under Aminus surveillance. Alhaji Maikudi was also there. He was striding nervously to and fro, his potbellied front protruding awkwardly. He looked much like a pumpkin spun. He was urging the labourers to hurry up to get the goods loaded onto the trucks. The men were sweating and cursing under their breath. Tanko was inside the warehouse counting the sacks being loaded. Aminu surveyed the area once more. He could hear the engines of the trucks run idly. Then, he heard one of them being hard throttled. He scratched his forehead trying to fish out an idea. A moment ago, Aminu thought he had everything figured 72

out. Now, he seemed hollow. How can one stop grown ups, hard men for that matter? He cast an anxious glance at the road hoping to see the police materialize. Nothing was coming on the stretched tape of tar. He dropped into a nearby ditch. He squatted on his knees and kept peeping at the warehouse, hoping they would continue loading until the police arrived. Himma. That made him jump to action. He propped his head and saw the men covering one of the trucks with tarpaulin. Some men were getting into the other trucks. He looked at the earthen road they were to come through. He now saw an opening. Just some way ahead of him was a wooden structure serving as a bridge over the ditch he was in. He moved towards the wooden bridge as cautious as possible, yet he was pricked by a thorn or two. The men had securely covered the trucks now. I do not want any stupid mistakes. Alhaji Maikudi was giving his men the last briefing. Truck one, Niger, truck two, Benin, trucks three and four to Cameroon and Chad respectively. Alhaji Maikudi surveyed his men. Is that understood? Yes, Alhaji, they responded. Aminu was now under the wooden bridge shaking the pillars with all his might. Nothing happened. He pulled. Nothing moved but the dust which nearly got into his eyes. He secured his buttocks within a small groove of a rocky bed of the ditch. He was soon pushing and kicking the pillars with his legs. He slipped. Yet, nothing happened. How I wish they are here. Aminu tried again. One of the pillars made a slight movement. Aha, Aminu got hopeful. He concentrated on this one, pushing and pulling, bending to bulldoze it. His clothes got soiled and his mind reeled back home. Surely, he would be in trouble, he thought. But, aunty Safiya would understand. This was one thing she expected them not to avoid. She had said it many times. 73

Help the law and the law will protect you. He smiled. He recalled how angry she was the other day when she priced a measure of Gari. The market woman was asking for thrice the price for it. He remembered how aunty Safiya told the woman off, saying the police ought to lock up the strutting woman. He pushed the wooden prop harder. He pulled and jarred. He dragged and heaved. He made a desperate attempt, knowing well that aunty Safiya would be proud of them if they prevented these people from smuggling out these goods. The wooden pillars were cracking. The trucks had warmed up and one of them had started moving. Aminu heard the sound of the truck getting closer. He peeped. It was just at the bridge. He stopped pushing and remained apprehensively under it as it went pass the bridge. Its weight buckled one of the pillars. He peeped out again. The next one was a distance away. He glanced at the direction of the main road, hoping to see the police. Nothing was coming. He went back to work. One of the pillars gave way. God, youre God, he cried excitedly, God, youre good. He started on the next one and he could hear the second truck nearing. He pulled. The truck was getting closer. The pillar was giving way. Aminu was pulling and pushing harder. The truck was some meters away. He was desperate. The truck was just at the bridge. The wooden structure suddenly gave way, collapsing inward. The driver saw the ditch; he applied the brakes and swerved the truck off. The wind conveyed the blaring sirens. A police car was approaching. The men heard it too. They scrambled out of the trucks and started running back to the warehouse. Aminu stood up in the ditch. He saw Umar in the police vehicle. He was seated on the laps of an officer in the front, next to the driver. He was busy pointing at the warehouse, directing the police officers. Alhaji Maikudi also heard the siren. There was no mistaken familiarity with this sound, and it was hateful. He 74

went helter-skelter ordering the fleeing men back to the trucks. No one heeded him. The police car stopped at the ditch. The police officers got out of the car in the fashion of the force, fast, cautious and ready. They saw Aminu as dirty as anything, from head to toe, covered in red laterite dust. Thats my cousin. Umar was telling the police inspector. He is a brave lad. All of you are brave lads. The inspector commanded his men. Get them. Dont allow them escape. The smartly dressed young officers rushed on to the hoarders and smugglers. Umar went to the edge of the ditch and looked in, whoop He exclaimed. Aminu climbed up, out of the ditch. Come on lets go home, before aunty looks for us. Aminu was saying to Umar. The inspector was a cool calculating man, dressed in expertly cut black shirt and trousers. He marched to sweaty Aminu, offering a hand for a shake. Aminu was bashfully hesitant as he took the offered hand. You have been very brave, Aminu. They could have got away. Thank you, both. Thank you sir, Aminu said. He had gained his composure. But, it was our small brother that found them. The inspector turned round wondering where the small brother was. He looked at them, puzzled. He is at home sir, Kabir is his name. Aminu explained. I see. The inspector was impressed. We lost him yesterday, and he found himself in one of the boxes in the market. Umar said with pride. Was he the kid we have been searching for? Yes sir, Umar answered with glee. And he told us this morning. Aminu filled in the details. That is good. The inspector seemed very pleased. I shall definitely come to your house to see him and your parents. Umar held Aminus hand feeling proud. 75

good kids like you. The inspector was gently tapping Umars head.

I must say, police work will be much easier if we have daring

Thank you, sir, the kids responded. I must introduce you to my son so that he can see how brave and vigilant kids can be. An additional police vehicle drove in. It was a dark blue pickup truck with twin long seats mounted at the rear. Alhaji Maikudi and his men had been rounded up. They were marched to the inspector who just pointed at the van. Without any fuss, the police were in their vehicles. Alhaji Maikudi and his men sat flanked by police offices in the pickup van. They drove off, waving to the kids. The kids waved back. I like them. Umar was saying. Who? Aminu asked. He was busy thinking of aunty Safiyas reaction. He knew Kabir would be happy for the capture of these men. But, he would certainly be mad at them for not bringing him along to this little escapade. The police, Umar was saying, thinking of what to tell Kabir when they reached home. Ah, the police, Aminu said without concentration, he had something else in mind, I like them too. To himself he murmured, God save my skin for being in another mess, again. They walked home cheerfully.

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Introducing the next encounter: Eye for Order In Eye for order, the second book of this series, the chase starts at Gurara Falls. Kabir has a brief debate whether to run or to stay, but he was forced to a decision; a car came to view and he heard the screech of a sudden brake. He peeped and instantly saw a car that is being grabbed! Later, Kabir decides he has to find the car, to prove that he wasnt lyingabout the snatched car and the skinny man. He involves Umar into this; no wonder, Umar is jittery; If only I had not come. He mused. Whats mum going to say now? But Safiya is always happy when the kids help the law, help the law and the law will help you. The boys are taught to be watchful. Aminu, the smart fellow from Birnin Shehu, is left to cover for them as they finally bring the criminals down; I have been operating a gang for the last ten years, outrunning the smartest of the police, but here I am, locked in my own house ... not by the policebut by a kid...just a small kid. But these are no ordinary kids, for they never stopped asking questions. Malam Yakubu, their no nonsense stout father, is sure to be in the office, all this while, questioning or looking for certain disquieting proposal to cook for the rather poor government. It has become fashionable for officials to call their own government incapable, or insufficient, or anything but responsible. Yakubu wants to change that! The moustached workaholic has been given an ominous task of reviving a torn community of an abandoned outpost called Rangana. What will he dowill he use the traditional lopsided colonial legacy or the equitable but radical module of his subordinates to scale this one? Usman Aliyu 2007 77