Books, Short Stories and Satire

The dog emerges from behind the bins and heads to the top of Aribo Hill. It is a popular haunt for hasty lovers and those so desperate to get high they’d smoke, snort or shoot dope cut with Ajax.

             It is quiet. There are no lovers, losers, or dealers at three o’clock on a Wednesday morning, just an old Toyota pickup parked on the edge of a precipitous drop. In daylight, one can see that the steep hill is littered with rubbish – broken appliances, cardboard and paper, plastic bags, faeces, bits of metal, even dead and decaying animals. At the top, the hill is sixty metres wide, and the precise section the car is parked on, which backs onto a line of trees, is known as Condom Car Park. Even the dog knows that Aribo Hill is a dump, but at three am in the dark, none of the detritus of human infestation is visible, and so long as one doesn’t look too closely at the ground, it is a place as beautiful as any on earth.

            The car squeaks as it shifts on its suspension. The dog tucks its tail between its scrawny legs and runs off to hide behind the trees. There are people here after all. Two men are sitting in the front, doing nothing, and the dog’s instincts tell it these are bad people, and it must stay away from them.

 

            From the hilltop above the shanty town, the city spreads out like a glittering black tapestry, knit seamlessly at the horizon into the dark heavens, challenging the stars on a cloudy night for a man’s attention. Olu thought the city looked lovely and considered Aribo Hill a fine place because it afforded such a view. He kept his thoughts to himself. Akin wasn’t into beauty, art, music, or the wonder of the world. Akin thought the world was shit, and he wasn’t shy about saying so. If you argued with him and he thought he could get away with it, he’d give you a beating to prove his point.

            Olu suddenly felt an urgent need to know how much time he had left to wallow in the majesty of the night. The desire to prolong the idyllic night, coupled with the beers he’d consumed to numb his conscience, made him reckless.

            ‘So, how long?’ he asked.

            Akin misunderstood.

            ‘We just got here. Whassamatter with you, do you need to shit or something?”

            ‘Yo! Back off my friend. I just wanted to know how long you thought we’d be here.’

            ‘Thought. Thought. Stop thinking about what I thought. We’re here. In a while we’ll go. That’s it.’

            Olu gave Akin his best hostile glare before looking away. There was no need for the unspoken accusation that he was afraid. He stopped his nervous tapping on the glovebox and looked for something else for his hands to do. Cigarette! He lit one, took a long drag, and rolled the window down a fraction to let the smoke out. Akin tapped his arm.

            ‘Got more smokes?’

            Like a gambler shielding his cards, Olu looked into the packet without taking it out of his top pocket. There was one left.

            ‘Nah,’ he said, and offered Akin a drag of the cigarette in his hand.

            ‘Lying shit,’ said Akin, taking the cigarette and pointing to the bulge in Olu’s pocket with pursed lips.

            ‘Yeah, well, if you know I’m a lying shit, why ask?’

            ‘Dunno. But I’m not passing this back, so if you want a smoke, you’d better take another one out.’

            Olu tossed the packet onto Akin’s lap.

            ‘Eat it, dickhead.’

            ‘Oi! What’s eating you?’

            ‘Nuthin.’

            ‘Look,’ Akin always said, ‘look’ before he tried to get a point across.  ‘It’s like Joker said - Anna’s a bit sick, know what I mean?’

            ‘No. I don’t. What’s wrong with her?’

            ‘She’s got diarrhoea.’

            ‘Whassat supposed to mean?’

            ‘It means her shit’s going in some random directions.’

            ‘Random?’

            ‘Totally.’

            ‘And that’s her sickness?’

            ‘I think so. Mind you, I don’t smell her shit. Do you?’

            Olu hesitated a fraction too long. Akin’s smile was cold.

            ‘Oh, I see,’ said Akin, ‘you bin sniffing round and got a scent, eh?’

            ‘I beg your pardon.’

            ‘Ooh! He begs my pardon. Don’t air your overeducated teeth at me, Mister I Went To University. We do the same work for the same money, so you can say what to me, like everybody else.’

            Olu looked away. Akin was trying to read him.

            ‘How long we here, before we go?’ he said, repeating his original question.

            ‘An hour. Maybe.’ Akin’s tone had softened. Olu didn't like that; it suggested that Akin was making allowances for his relationship with Anna, and such thoughts were dangerous.

            ‘An hour. And then the doctor calls. Oya Akin, Pass me the smoke that’s there.’

            Akin looked in the packet on his lap and saw the lone cigarette.

            ‘Shares,’ he said, stubbing out the lit butt end he was smoking.

            Olu watched the smoke rise from the stub; the grey juju spirit of the ashtray dancing her dance of slow, cancerous death.

            ‘Shares? How can it be shares? They’re my cigarettes. And you just smoked one.’

            ‘S’mine now,’ insisted Akin, holding up the packet to prove it. ‘Shares?’ He offered the cigarette and raised his eyebrows.

            Olu recognised this moment as being identical to one an hour earlier, when they had shared kola nut and palm wine at the shrine. Their venture required the blessing of a Babalawo. There were things that a man could do that took the soul on a journey, and without the blessings of the gods, a soul could easily get lost. He fingered the tiny gourd around his neck. Akin had one too. Their eyes met. Yes, they’d needed a blessing from the Babalawo, but they also needed brotherhood. After tonight, they would be bound forever. Their likes, dislikes, ambitions, and dreams would all be irrelevant if that bond were tested.

            ‘Shares,’ Olu said, taking the cigarette and lighting it. He took a drag, leaned back and looked out of the side window. Soon they would go down into the town where Anna, in whose warm, bare embrace he’d found succour only yesterday, lay in her bed. She’d have finished her night’s work, and he and Akin would do theirs. He hoped she wouldn’t beg, prayed she wouldn’t refer to the thing between them. He set his mind to be fast, too fast for her to say a thing. He pictured the moment – the door opens, they’re inside in a flash, maybe Akin has instructions to question her, but he won’t let him. His blade flashes. Where? Where indeed to despoil that lovely smooth flesh without causing pain…

 

            Olu feels the tremor of the engine starting, hears the low rumble as Akin presses down on the accelerator and the car backs away from the edge. Time jumped while he was lost in thought. A sliver of golden light now slices the glittering tapestry in two. Dawn is coming. It is time. His hand moves across his face in feigned weariness, as if the thing that stings his eyes is the lateness of the hour.

            He burns an image of the world as it is right then into his memory. He knows that no matter how many times he comes back to this spot, if indeed he ever will, the city lights and twinkling stars won’t shine for him again. By the time the car swings onto the path, like so many others, he will conclude that Aribo Hill is just another ugly dump.

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