That Saturday morning, Papa had dressed in his Sunday best; a grey suit which had witnessed better days and had aged gracefully with time. He added a carefully starched white shirt, black tie, and picked out the pair of brogues he had received as a birthday present some years back. He completed the ensemble with his walking stick; the one with the eagle crested head. I sure knew we were in for some drama.
We alighted at Alakija bus stop en route Mile 2 and spent a few minutes meandering through streets and corners. We happened upon Slessor street and Papa broke into a whistle and it seemed there was an extra spring in his steps despite the sweltering heat.
‘Papa, you seem happy this day. May I ask why we are here?’
He pointed with his walking stick at an approaching object and my breath caught. The object glittered in the sun as it made its way towards us. A beauty on wheels with a monster for an engine. This was the latest edition of the Jaguar S-type automobile.
That was vintage Papa. He desired the good things of life even when it was apparent that the fates had destined him to be a man of meagre means. He lived on his flights of fancy; one scheme seeming to birth another with lightning speed. Despite the fact that he had fallen on hard times, he relived, with gusto, the ‘good old days’ when he had ‘made it’ and was literarily the ‘king of the world’.
I remember those days when he conveyed us to primary school in his vintage Volvo 244DL. He was forever stroking his ‘Samanja-styled’ mustache and enjoying singing along to Bob Marley’s songs; his favourite was ‘Redemption song’. For every time he came out of a Mobil gas station, he came bearing edible gifts. Those were the days.
‘That is going to be my new car…’ He said with a smile that was a mix between a wide-toothed grin and a stifled chuckle. I could feel the hairs on my back stand on end and the sweat pooled around my palms. Then he dropped the bombshell. ‘…and you are going to buy it for me’. He didn’t seem to mind that I had just gotten probational employment as I was on a salary of seventy-five thousand naira per month.
I watched as he swapped car stories with the vendor. Gauging the measure of camaraderie between them, it was apparent that Papa was no stranger to this automobile shop. I went after them as they made their way into the office, coughing intermittently to announce my presence amidst their raucous laughter.
‘How much is the car sir?’
I figured there was no need to beat around the bush. The earlier, the better for us all.
‘Your Papa is my very good friend’, the dealer grinned at me; presumably sizing me up as the upwardly mobile banker that I seemed to look.
‘Hence I will sell the car to him at Obere-ego’ (small money). Just bring four million naira’.
If that sum startled Papa, he did a good job of hiding it. I must have reacted visibly in contrast to what he was expecting because he scowled at me. I let out a deep breath and knew I had to play this right.
‘That one is small money. As long as the car is in good condition and the owner-to-be likes it.’ Papa’s eyes lit up at this title. ‘Can we take it for a test drive?’
Minutes later, we were on the freeway headed towards Mile 2.
It’s hard to describe the change in Papa’s demeanor. You could see him battling a plethora of emotions: Wild joy; Sheer ecstasy; a kind of pain that comes with being in denial, from knowing you could wake up and it would all be a dream. Hell the man even let a tear or two escape his eyes. At that moment, he was king of the world again.
I looked out of the window as we sped past objects. I wasn’t keeping tabs. Just bracing myself for the blowout that this chain of events would unleash in the days ahead.
I knew he wasn’t perfect. Had never been. I felt a bit of revulsion (although I was ashamed that it was a sense of entitlement to which I realized he didn’t owe me anything), anger that he was inconsiderate to my plight; our plight as we could barely feed properly on what I earned. Yet a part of me loved him. He had come through on occasions when hope was lost. I would give an arm and a leg to give him a glimpse of the life he yearned for.
But not today. I made him drop me off at Maza-Maza bus stop and took a bike back to the office. I extracted a promise from him that he would return the car safely. I prayed he would. I could afford to be a four million naira-in-waiting customer but definitely not the four million naira-in-wreckage kind.
4tunesmiles 