FINDING HELP

I crossed the expressway and entered the tomato market with my cheek still numb as if a Dentist just finished a tooth extraction on me. I walked through the market, avoiding the potholes filled with muddy water and the people entering and leaving the market even at this time of the night. I reached the tomato truck garage, where the trucks transporting vegetables from the Northern part of the country park. The ground here was muddier, and the smell of rotten tomatoes and cabbages filled the air. I stopped in the middle of the park, looking around, trying to decide who to meet and ask my questions. My eyes eventually rested on the three men sitting on a bench, conversing in Hausa.

I took a deep breath and walked toward them, sidestepping the muddy patches on the ground. I reached the men and by this time my shoes were heavier, and their color had turned to brown. I hid my mutilated hand by the side of my leg.

'Good evening,' I said in Hausa.

'Good evening,' two of them replied in unison. The third one stared at me.

'Please,' I said, 'is there a truck going to Jos tonight?'

'Are you from Jos?' the man sitting in the middle—the one who did not reply to my greetings—asked.

'Yes.'

'Which part of Jos?' the one to the left asked.

'Abattoir,' I replied.

'Okay,' said the one seated to my right-hand side. 'I hope you have the fare. When we see people of your class and type coming to take our kind of transportation it's a sign, they don't have the fare. Do you have the fare?'

'I don't,' I said, 'but I can pay once I get to Jos. My mom will meet us at the park and pay.'

'Okay,' the same man said. 'I am going to Jos. But you have to see our leader first and explain to him. If he agrees with your story, you can come with us; if he doesn't, hard luck.'

'Thank you,' I said. 'I will pay you when we get to Jos. I promise.'

'He is over there,' the man seated in the middle said, pointing to my back. 'The man sitting in front of the mosque. Tell him who you are and say Sani from Jos sent you.'

'Okay, thank you very much.'

I walked toward the man, seeing his grey and long beard before I saw his other features. I got close to him and saw a praying bead in hand. His lips moved soundlessly.

'Good evening, sir,' I said in Hausa, stopping slightly. 

'Good evening,' he replied, raising his eyes to look into my face. 'How are you?'

'I am fine, sir,' I replied. 'I just spoke with Sani the driver from Jos, and he said I should see you. I want to follow him to Jos.'

'Are you from Jos?' His voice was coarse but gentle.

'Yes, sir. I stay in Abattoir.'

'You are not an armed robber, are you?'

'No sir.'

'What do you do for a living?'

'I have no job presently, sir. I am seeking for one.'

The old man chuckled. 'That's the problem with the youths of this generation. You are always seeking for a job that is not there.' He shook his head. 'Well, if you can't find one, create one. Look at me; I didn't go to school for a day, but I sold tomatoes, pepper and onions for over forty years and today I am the leader of this market. I sell vegetables; that's all I do, and I have fed my family, accommodated them and send them to good schools.' He shook his head again. 'But the youths of this generation are seeking for jobs. You want an office job so you will not stay under the sun and if that doesn't come, you won't do anything else. You need to start buying and selling goods or wash peoples clothes so they can pay you no matter how little it is. Do you understand?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Oil has made our brains lazy in this country, Wallahi,' he said. 'Everybody wants an office job where one will do little or nothing but be paid huge sums of money at the end of the month. That's why we are not making progress in this country. Everybody waits for the oil money to come into our opened mouths without the effort to even lift our hands up to receive it.'

He cleared his throat and spat out the phlegm. It flew through the air and landed in a puddle with a little splash sound. 

'Let your brain work,' he said, adjusting his buttocks on the chair. 'If we use half of our brains the way the white men who colonized us do, our people will be prosperous, and this country will be a beautiful place to live in. But we use our brains only for merriment and to fight each other and that's why we are still living in the Dark Ages.' He coughed and threw out another mouthful of phlegm. 'Look at this place; before I became the head of this market, the Hausa and Yoruba fought and killed each other like animals. But since I took over, no one has fought here because I ensure all the idle boys always find something to do and therefore have no time to see the Yoruba idle boys to engage them in a fight. I ensure that every morning, all the youths here must find one thing or the other to keep them busy otherwise I send them back to the north.' 

He coughed again, tried to bring out the product, and when it failed to come out, he swallowed it back. 

'Don't seek for a job that is not there, young man,' he said. 'Use your brain to create a job and stick to it until it feeds you and your family. Do you understand?'

'Yes sir,' I said.

He looked at me for a couple of seconds, still counting the beads in his hand.

'Call Sani for me,' he said at last.

I went back to the three men and found them talking and laughing as if they had no care in the world. Their attention turned to me when I reached them.

'Sani,' I said, 'Baba wants you to come.'

Sani stood up. 'I hope he did not bore you with the story of how this market started. That's why he is always alone; most people here are tired of hearing the same story told over and over again.'

His friends laughed and we went back to meet the old man.

'Sani, has this man spoken to you?' The old man said when we reached him.

Sani nodded. 'Yes, he did.'

'Can you go with him?'

'He can come with us,' Sani said. 'But he will stay at the back. There is no more place to accommodate him in the front.'

The old man turned to me. 'Do you mind staying in the back? In the cargo space?'

'I don't mind staying there, sir,' I said.

 'Alright,' the old man said. 'You can go with them. Be prepared for the cold though; It will be extremely cold especially when you get close to Jos.'

'Thank you, sir,' I said. I turned to Sani. 'Thank you very much.'

'No problem,' Sani said. 'Come and seat with us. We will leave in an hour's time when most of the police will be off the road. We should be in Jos by tomorrow afternoon if Allah wills it.' 

'Okay,' I said. 

I turned to the old man. 'I am grateful sir.'

'Have a pleasant journey,' he said, adjusting his body on the seat again. 'And remember what I said about creating a job instead of wasting time seeking for what is not there.'

'Yes, sir. Goodbye, sir.'

'Goodbye.'

I turned and we walked back to where Sani's friends sat. 

'Have you eaten?' Sani asked, his eyes on the floor, watching out for the puddles.

I shook my head. I couldn't remember the last time I eat, and now that he mentioned food, I felt the hunger pangs biting in my stomach. 

We reached Sani's friends. 

'Take my seat,' Sani said, walking away. 'Let me get tea and noodles for you. We will leave in an hour's time.'

'Okay,' I said. 'Thank you so much.'

'No problem,' he said. 

I sat with the two men, keeping my hand away from their view. They continued chatting as if I wasn't there.

Where have they taken Mr. Potter? I thought. What happened to Tolu? Did they follow him to his house? Did they find him?

A man brought a bowl of hot noodles and a cup of tea about twenty minutes later and handed them to me. 

'I will bring a sachet of pure water for you,' he said. 'Just start eating.'

'Okay,' I said. 'Thank you.'

I ate with my left hand and pushed the food with the water. I was in the back of the truck half an hour later and we left the park in another ten minutes or so and the truck thundered toward Ibadan, heading for Jos, heading home.