Ннеди Окорафор - Lagos Noir

“People dey talk about it,” Success T said, smiling. He was the only person on earth Showlogo trusted. The two had grown up together and then lived in the same flat for years when they were older. Both even had access to each other’s bank accounts. “How you dey tie them? Everyone wants to know.”

Showlogo paused as he ate more rice and drank from his bottle of Coca-Cola. He belched loudly and pounded a fist against his chest. “I be One Man Mopo. I no need help and no dey fight in group,” he responded, biting into a piece of goat meat. “You no believe me?”

“I do,” Success T said. He leaned forward, the smile wiped from his face. “Showlogo, I no want make you go to jail. Those police be cultist. Their people haven’t forgotten-o.”

Showlogo chewed his goat meat and smiled. “Jail no be for animal. Na for human person. But don worry. Jail no be for me.”

He wasn’t stupid. He thought about it. The police always had each other’s backs. And they held grudges like old women. And the fact that those two idiots who’d had the nerve to ask him for bribes were also part of confraternities was not good. So Showlogo decided to lay low for a bit. No partying or playing ludo outside with his friends for a few weeks. Go to work and then go home, that was the plan.

Then the Igbo shop down the street was robbed. Showlogo held his phone to his ear as he got on his okada that evening. Hearing about the incident first, Success T had called to warn him. “Watch out, o!” Success T said. “That kobo-kobo Igbo shop nonsense. Word on the street is that they caught the guys who did it and they said they knew you.” Showlogo blinked. Time to disappear. He would stay with Success T for a day or so until he figured out a better place to go for a while. He put the phone in his pocket and quickly drove home.

As he tried to pack up a few things, he heard cars arrive outside his building. When he looked out his window, he saw that one of the men who exited the police car was the very cop he’d left to die in the bush, the one with the fat wobble-wobble belly. They’d arrest him, and once in police custody Showlogo knew they’d find all sorts of reasons not to release him. He’d rot in jail for months, maybe years. He escaped from the back of the building just before the police came to his flat’s door.

He fled to the most hidden place he could think of — the airport tarmac. The shaded area beneath the mango tree on the far side of the strip was where the luggage loaders took their breaks. He’d once spent a night here when he was too tired to go home. Now, he sat down on the dirt to eat the jollof rice he’d bought from one of the lady vendors on his way there. He leaned his back against the tree and let out a tired sigh, thinking about his flat. Would the police force their way in and ransack the place?

As he sat in the early-evening darkness, chewing spicy tomato — flavored rice, Showlogo made a decision in the way he made every decision: fast. He stared at the 747 across the tarmac. He knew the schedule; this one would soon be bound for America. It was still glistening from its most recent wash. The water droplets sparkled in the orange and white airport lights. The airplane looked fresh, new, and it was headed to new lands. The sight of the clean airplane combined with the spicy rice in his mouth made the world suddenly seem ripe. Full of potential. Offering escape. For a while. He drank from his bottle of warm Coca-Cola and the sweetness was corrupted by the pepper in his mouth. He smacked his lips. He’d always liked this combination.

An hour later, he bought another container of rice from the same woman, demanding that she pack it into the plastic container he normally used to carry his toothbrush, toothpaste, and washcloth when he worked late hours. He went to his locker and brought out the heavy jacket he used when he worked during chillier nights.

“Success T, how far?” he asked, shrugging on the jacket as he held his phone to his ear.

“I’m good,” Success T said. “I dey study. You dey come out with us tonight. Where are you?”

“Look, I’m going for a little while. These yao-yao police need to calm down. Have Mohammed and Tolu watch my farm.”

“Where no dey go?”

“Away.”

After a pause, Success T said, “Good. I dey call you before. Some police dey wait outside your place. I drove by half hour ago.”

“Make you no worry about me. I fine.”

After the call, Showlogo stared out at the tarmac and pushed his phone deep into his pocket. He moved quickly. It was dark but he knew where he could walk and remain in the shadows. The New York — bound 747 would be pushing off soon, so he had to be quick. He climbed up the undercarriage, pressing a foot against the thick wheel. He hoisted himself into the plane’s landing-gear bay. In the metal space around him there were wires, pipes, levers, and other machinery.

He positioned himself in a spot where the wheels would not crush him and he could hang on to a solid narrow pipe. He’d have to grasp it tightly upon takeoff because the bay would fill with powerful sucking air as the plane picked up speed and left the ground. “One Man Mopo,” he said aloud with a laugh as he practiced his grip. He positioned his satchel at his back. Inside it were his phone, charger, the container of rice, a torch, his wallet, and a few other small things. All he’d need.

Showlogo’s mind was at ease when the plane began to move. In a few hours, he’d be in the United States. He’d never dreamed of going there. Nigeria was his home and the city of Lagos was his playground. But he understood change and that it could happen in the blink of an eye. He’d learned this when he was seven years old: one day his parents had been there, then the next, they’d died in a car crash. Since then he’d learned this lesson over and over. One day Chinelo had loved him, the next she was marrying his cousin and pretending she didn’t know him. One day there was food to eat, the next there was none. One day he had no money, the next his pockets were stuffed with naira and he had two jobs. One day he could buy fuel for his car, the next his car had been stolen and this didn’t matter because there was a fuel shortage. He’d lived his life this way, understanding, reacting to, and riding the powerful and weak waves of the universe’s ocean. He was a strong man, so he always survived.

The plane taxied to the runway. Showlogo watched the passing black pavement below. Success T would keep his flat for him, maybe use it as a second home when he wanted to be alone. Success T lived a fast life and was always sneaking away to spend days in remote hotels to get away from it all; the idea that his cousin could now use the place was comforting.

Of course, Success T would have to get rid of the police first. Showlogo chuckled to himself when he thought of the cops who were probably still waiting for him outside his home. They would spend weeks trying to find him. He’d lose his job at the airport by tomorrow morning and be replaced by the afternoon. So be it. He would be elsewhere. Who no know, no go know.

Showlogo began to have second thoughts as the plane picked up speed. The suction in the landing-gear bay was growing stronger and stronger... and stronger. Oh my God , Showlogo thought. He looked down at the pavement below. It was flying by, but maybe he could still throw himself out and survive. The plane wasn’t even off the ground, but already he felt an end to his strength. It was too late.

Whooosh!

When the plane left the ground, Showlogo felt as if he were dying. Every part of his body pressed against the bay’s metal walls. The air was sucked from his lungs. As the earth dropped away from him, his world swam. But this sense of death only lasted about thirty seconds. Then his body stabilized. In the next few minutes, Showlogo marveled at the fact that he would never be the same again. Who could be after feeling what he felt, seeing what he was seeing? Nigeria was flying away from him.