Chinedu Ogoke - Under Fire

“Imo, what of you?”

“I, too.”

“Well, let’s say the Ford may be his younger or older brother’s. But this shows how rich some people in this country are.”

“Some are super rich,” Aham contributed. “So rich that a few of them can off-set this country’s entire debt. And a lot so poor that a lot feed from dustbins, and don’t have shelter.”

Yunusa got up to switch off the musical set, then he came back. “Just like a handful of students can feed the entire students’ population here, and about seventy percent of the population can’t throw three simple daily shagallo.”

“What’s three times?” Imoni asked. “Only a few can afford two daily. We’re just fresh from home. Only two weeks. Alarm is knocking, already. People are on 0. 1. 1. After another two weeks, it will drop to 0. 0. 1. Just once. Starvation. And in contrast, during electioneering, a student splashes good thirty thousand tickets from his pocket.”

“We haven’t told you, Imoni,” Aham said. “Gladys was here while you were away. She had even come two times previously. She stayed long,” he said to Imoni’s question, laughing. “Mickey was here too. She pulled Yunusa and me out.” Imoni was puzzled. “She said somebody saw you lap this girl, Eva, in cafe B. She just wanted to tell us. She was going to talk to Eva, but we talked her out of it.” Both of them were laughing.

Imoni joined in the laughter, then suddenly got angry. She did know the direction to his room, after all, he reasoned. The person who did the gossip must be a fool, Yunusa commented. Imoni shouldn’t hold it against the girl. The instance must have been edited. Depending on how it ran and what she made of it. “You see what I’ve been telling you?” Imoni said. “This Gladys is sick. This guy, Cent, took me to that cafe to fill our tanks, this Eva girl came in. She came over, and was sitting on Cent’s lap. I joked that she was discriminating. I didn’t mean it. She just came and sat on my laps. Should I push her out?”

“Wao!” Yunusa shouted.

“Imoni Waltz!”

Imoni didn’t give up his anger. “She’s coming only for the second time since school resumed. And you know these people,” Imoni continued. “And while I was there, they pretended to shade me.”

“Imoni Waltz?” Aham stroked him. “Who won’t notice? A star? Who can shade you?”

What was she trying to gain? Imoni wondered. He was going to approach it the way it would suite both of them, he threatened. But his friends appealed to him not to appear provoked. He should rather show maturity, and leave mischief unfulfilled. It was a reconciliation strategy from the girl. Girls were like that. What did he think? She wouldn’t come knocking on the door that easy.

There was silence, moments later. Aham started making his bed. Imoni was tired to the bones.

Imoni was still bound to his bed, when Aham launched a cassette into the tape. But the loud sound was offensive at that hour. Yunusa was awake, but still had his legs inside a wrapper. Mickey was still missing. Aham left with a tooth-paste-laced brush, showing up after a lengthy passage of time. Some knocking sounded at his heels. “Yes? Who you? Just fall in.”

And somebody fell in. “Hey, guys.” The door closed behind the person. “Good morning, guys.”

“Good morning.”

“Why? It’s like these guys are still in bed.” He shook hands.

He wasn’t unfamiliar to them, but from a distance. He had started rolling with the music. Imoni sat up, robbing his eyes, while Yunusa put aside his wrapper to stretch himself out.

Their guest stopped dancing with the change of music. He sat on Aham’s bed. But he was up again. “That thing must be chrome.” He brought out the cassette. “Shit. Good. What did I say? You smell from afar anything you are accustomed to.” He replaced it, and the music continued, still so loud. He was one of high-pitched speech, with extensive ears and mouth, and a missing upper tooth and pimply face.

“Look,” he was saying, “there’s nothing like having big guys around wherever you are. Believe me, it’s like you guys are big thing.”

His listeners were all ears. “It’s like, by every standard, you’re big, and as a big guy, too,” he was pointing at his chest, “I have to recognise fellow big guys, not shade them. It’s like when I was posted to this hall, I discovered the place was a dead zone. And it’s like guys here are uncommunicative. Communication shouldn’t be just rap rap. You sound out the place, and get responses, and passers-by feel the impact. And it’s like the place looks like a hunger belt. The nuclear scientists here, for instance, outnumber normal guys.”

The others laughed. “So, we have a nuclear science research centre here?” Imoni asked.

He smiled. “Yes. It’s like a catchment basin of nuclear scientists. I even saw a professor beside your room, yesterday, placing a pot on a stove. I thought he was here, but I said no, those guys are too big for that.”

So there was radiation in the air, Imoni said, and he was sounding a warning. “I’m not sounding any warning,” he replied. “It’s like if your reputation means nothing to you, it’s different. I’ve been trying to relocate. After all, it will only cost a few tickets. But with duds like you, I may change my mind.”

They were fortunate to have him, Yunusa told him, and would hold unto him. How could they let him go? They wouldn’t afford to lose him. That would be a further blow to the place.

“Yes,” he continued. “It’s like you come back to the hostel, and you won’t hear good music. It’s like, people play their sounds so low you start wondering.... I’m yet to bring my sound box, if not, I would have blared them up to their senses. Thank God guys like you are around.”

“Well, we are happy about the compliment,” Aham’s voice woke up. “It’s always good to be lively.”

“Well, gentlemen,” the fellow said. “I’ve not introduced myself. My name is Cos.”

“That’s Cosmas?” Aham asked.

“Yes. But, Cos, not Cosmas. Cosmas is for yeye guys who do not understand.”

That drew laughter from his hosts.

“I’m Imoni.”

“Ahamefula.”

“No, Aham. I’ve heard it twice.”

“I’m Yunusa.”

They shook hands again.

“It’s like, go to other halls, especially halls A and B,” Cos continued. “Action, always. Parties. Music, babes all around. You know a place’s worth by the number of babe’s going there. It’s like I had to stay in the G.R.A., all the while. But now I’m here, I’m gonno paint the place red, and if possible, paint the whole town pink. Turn up the school. Everybody has to sit up to some action. Things can’t continue like this.”

The party drums were sounding around town, Aham said, and predictably drawing party enthusiasts. They were being regrettedly left out. How was he affected? Did he attend any yesterday, for instance? “I did,” he replied, “but the party was boring. It’s like I had to leave immediately. A friend suggested we should go to some other place. I said no, the same thing could happen. I’m even thinking of my own party. Why don’t you guys and I throw one?”

It would be wonderful, before attention shifted to studies, Imoni said. But money guaranteed a good party. They had such ideas, but the lack of money held down the most wonderful idea.

“Tickets?” Cos asked. “What are you saying? It’s like I shall provide that. You bring the chics, and other things. You know you’re older in the school.”

If they had such a support, they would go to work. Imoni still talked about what putting a good party together meant. Picking a suitable venue, for instance, and the movement of equipment to the place ought to be considered, too. The school would have been ideal.