The cool, morning breeze caressed his buttocks as he undid his trousers and squatted at the location he thought best suited his purpose, well out of sight from prying eyes but a vantage position where he could keep an eye on his truck, ‘AIR FORCE ONE’, his co-workers had nicknamed it. A parody of the real thing. It suited him though and catered to his many needs.
Osaze took the time out for major bowel activity to gather his thoughts. The time was 4.30am. A restless night he had experienced. He suspected it was the vegetable soup he had eaten that had upset his stomach coupled with his two-month old daughter’s bawling and the renewed hostilities between occupants of House 15, Adeyemi close. He had not been able to identify the combatants involved. Indeed, sleep had scoffed at him.
He grimaced at the stench of the material his stomach had disgorged. Thankfully, the part of the dumpsite he had chosen was deserted, facing the prestigious HOTEL ROYALE; a popular three-star hotel in Igando. It was a study in irony. He grinned sickly. On one side you had money being spent wantonly and on the other you had the dregs of society battling it out at the bottom of the food chain.
He shifted his weight to ease the blood flow to his legs and also to dislodge mosquitoes that seemed to have developed an affinity for his behind. He silently prayed that the stomach upheaval would not be a harbinger of worse things to come for the day. Somewhere afar off came the rumbling sound of thunder.
*********
‘Papa Adesuwa, This child is running temperature o!’ His wife called out to him as he made for the only chair in the room. He paused and mumbled incoherently, twiddling the buttons of his coverall and sat down.
‘I want to take her to the local government clinic tomorrow. Also…’ She continued, oblivious to the fact that he had barely responded. ‘…Baba landlord called for his rent. He says we are three months due. Not to mention that NEPA people and neighborhood security watch have been here to see you…’ Monica reeled on and on. Osaze closed his eyes, fatigued from a hard day’s work and let out a stream of air. It came out as a sigh.
‘No problem. God will provide. We shall take these issues one by one’.
He knew it was no use trying to be spiritual with her. She dreamt of the good life…always had. Yet he could afford none. They lived in a one-room apartment, sharing basic facilities with twelve other tenants. He had met Monica at her mother’s bukateria. It had been for sexual pleasures until she missed her period. Her mother had promptly bundled her bags and dropped her at his doorstep.
He told his parents back at the village that he was into iron business, which was not entirely untrue. He worked as a scavenger at the TI OLUWA NI ILE dumpsite in Igando, collecting scrap metal which was then sold to processing companies for recycling. The pay was not much but it guaranteed him food and shelter; better than the nights he had spent in Lagos when he first arrived from his village, Igbuzor, in Delta state. After so many menial jobs, he had settled for this one.
Mr. Sanjay, the production supervisor of AG manufacturing, the major buyers of his scrap metal had promised to facilitate work for him as a factory hand and had explained how the recycling process worked. He hoped he would be able to save enough to fend for his family and folks in the village and also realize his dream of becoming a technologist by enrolling at the Institute of Science and Technology, Yaba.
He sighed. If only wishes were horses. It was hard enough to dream but even crueler to wake up to the stark reality of seeming hopelessness.
*********
Life at the dumpsite was without a dull moment. Osaze had been an instant hit due to his truck, AIR FORCE ONE, which he had designed specially for the purpose. Whenever he was asked about the truck he always said that a man’s work tool should be his passport to the good life. Various graffiti adorned parts of the truck namely; ‘Who knows tomorrow?’ ‘No food for lazy man’ but the one he loved most was the one his friend, Kevwe, had painted on the front panel, ‘If you see me drive by…Holler at your boy!’. It was a catch phrase from a popular hip-hop song and it endeared him to fellow scavengers who milled around the site, searching for the elusive pot of gold.
*********
The thunder rumbled again, closer this time. He hoped it would not rain. It was always bad for business when it did. He cleaned himself, covering the mess he had made. He was about to rise when he heard a loud bang. Someone had crashed into his truck. The man was up in an instant, out of breath. Apparently he had not seen the truck in his rush. He looked around, presumably saw no one and dumped a polythene bag into the truck. He ran off.
Osaze could see that the man had come from the direction of the hotel and barely had time to think when a motorcycle zoomed past in pursuit of the man. He made out two occupants and ducked as almost immediately, he heard the sound of gunshots. He flattened himself to the ground as he realised seconds later, to his horror that the motorcycle was coming back in the direction of his truck. He heard one of the men say…
‘The package was not on him. He must have left it in the car or thrown it away as he ran. Pity he won’t be able to tell any more tales.’
The men spent some minutes around the site, searching frantically for the ‘package’. It must have been desperation that caused them to abandon their search as they knew that every minute spent would increase the risk of being caught.
‘Let’s go. You can drive the car and I’ll follow behind. The car’s still worth something’
They sped off in the direction of the hotel. Osaze was thoroughly bathed in sweat when he emerged minutes later. He checked his watch. 5a.m. The episode had taken a few minutes. He knew he had to leave the scene before the police arrived lest it become a case of mistaken identity. He wheeled his truck around and made for the general parking lot.
*******
The rain was pouring in torrents later. Thankfully the parking lot had been deserted as he retrieved the mysterious package from his truck and opened it. It was wrapped in black polythene nylon and his heart raced as he tore it. His eyes adjusted to the dim light and he made out dollar bills. Apparently, the man had hoped to escape his assailants and retrieve it later.
‘Twenty thousand dollars….Osanobua!’ He exclaimed as he stuffed the contents into his coverall….looking around to be sure he was still alone; his emotion a mixture of excitement and dread. It was a pity the man was dead. He shivered as a million thoughts raced through his head. He thought of the Police, ghosts, robbers, retribution, the Good Samaritan, the good life, honesty, poverty, Eldorado. The thoughts would not stop.
Minutes later, he stepped into the rain and was immediately soaked. He didn’t mind at all as the contents of his coverall gave him all the warmth he needed. As he splashed through the muddy waters, he unconsciously began to whistle a tune.
‘If you see me drive by…’