Chinedu Ogoke - Under Fire

The young man didn’t leave him enough time to decide. Taking a stranger’s lugage into his care. It was a tricky request. “It depends.” He hesitated. “Okay.”

“It’s my portmanteau, and...”

There was a place for a portmanteau in the room, he told him. That wasn’t the question. It wasn’t easy to decide. He was split inside him. But he gave the nod. The fellow fetched the case and his identity card. “This is my name on the box. But you call me Mickey,” he said quickly, his eyes studying Imoni’s.

Imoni examined the names. ‘Michael Eto.’ Any prominent royal connection? “You can bring it along,” he said.

“Thank you. I’ll be up in less than no time.”

Imoni started climbing up. Moments later, the young man appeared and rolled up the heavy portmanteau. Imoni showed him the way into the room and the corner in which to haul up the case. “I shall come back later,” he said and fled away.

He kissed sleep and barely tasted its sweet, peaceful flavour, when it was severed. He staggered to the door, and threw it aside. The baggage siege was more interesting than the stranger before him. He responded to the young man’s greeting with an inquiry attitude, the way he felt in disturbance. Like he was going to throw back the door. He heard Aham’s name. He wasn’t Aham, he replied, now less puzzled, but Aham belonged to the room. Hall office. The room was full already, if he....

“No. I’ve just arrived,” the young man said. “I’m yet to get a place, so the chief porter directed me to one Aham; to put up with the guy till tomorrow, when I can get my own place.” He then stepped aside to let him in.

“I’m really grateful.”

“Small.”

They both shared the fifty kilogrammes average weight of the six suitcases, Imoni sometimes trying to keep his balance, as he struggled with the unruly cases. How a student could bring so much to school. The luggage filled the room. “Perch. Sorry, sit down.”

“Thank you.”

“Small. Don’t tell me you brought these things up here alone.”

“The taxi driver who brought me assisted me, so the porter didn’t come with me. He was busy, so he gave us directions.”

He was Imoni, he said. The young man was Modesty Okonkwo, and he took the 16.45 flight from Lagos. He had been admitted for History. Imoni smiled to that. “You’re a brother, then. I’m in part two of same department. You’re welcome.”

“Yea.”

Silence reigned briefly, then Modesty asked, “How do you guys stay in a town like this? I don’t think I can stay here. I was warned. My mum especially.... But, you see, adventure...”

Such preconception or prejudice wasn’t healthy, he told him. Against fact, it was so cheap. He would adapt, he told him. He would see. The place was at least a thousand kilometres from Lagos. So, the best method to survive there was to first, not to say‚ my mum. He wouldn’t like to, Modesty said. He was just scared. But, it wasn’t the first time he was leaving his mum. Was it? Imoni used a military academy term.

“Don’t you see me in that light,” Modesty responded. “I’m an adult. The weather. So hot a while ago, and it’s getting cold already. And getting colder. Exactly what a lady was saying in the aircraft.”

It was like that in January, Imoni said, that was why. The door was about closing on the cold season. Their discussion changed to general interests, then Modesty said, “Please, I would like to have some shower.” He could fetch him some water. Imoni picked up the bucket he had used earlier. “You mean I shall have to scoop water from the bucket?”

“Of course. The shower hasn’t functioned since we came back.”

He was disappointed. “And, one minute, please. Warm water, I suppose?”

“It has to be straight from the tap, and even steaming.”

“Alright.”

Imoni went downstairs. Back in the room, Modesty was wrapped in a large, colourful towel. The water was ready. He should just turn to his right, just by the world bank sign. He said he saw the place on his way up. The bucket of water was in the second bathroom.

“I’m really grateful.”

“Small.”

Moments later, he came back with an empty bucket, but with the absence of water evidence on him. Some surprise. What was it? Modesty was panting. “The bathroom! The place is hell! Very dirty, slimy. What an awful place.”

But, they all went in there for their bath, Imoni told him. It wasn’t unusual of a hostel bathroom.

He couldn’t bath there, he said. He said that like he could see the slime creep up to him. He would prefer to go about with an unwashed body. Could one even bend down there? he wondered. He said he felt like vomiting. He shook his head. They all had the same experience the first time, Imoni said. One would hit the water and it would be all over. His guest was exhibiting that first time attitude to the place, he was saying, amused. The disgust always decreased eventually. With him, it was different, Modesty replied. Even now he was going to recall the feeling and that place often. Actually, the feelings lingered on longer with some people, Imoni admitted.

He was in trouble if all the bathrooms were like that, Modesty said. “Not all. In halls A and B for instance, it’s different. But A’s the best. Quiet.”

“Where could that be?”

“Just a little distance away. Close to the sports centre. It’s supposed to be for post-graduate students. But they rarely stay there. They prefer to trade off their bed spaces at exorbitant rates, and to stay elsewhere.”

“How much do you pay here?”

“Well, we’re three, and each of us paid one-fifty. We’re not entitled to accommodation, that’s why. For you, it’s supposed to be ninety, the official fee. It keeps going up everyday. And I doubt if any jambite can get his legitimate space now because of lateness.”

“So, the extra is the premium.”

“Yes.”

“How is it in hall A?”

“You can’t get a bed space for less than two-fifty now.”

“The rooms are all like this?”

“All rooms in boy’s hostels are similar. Just bed-sitting rooms like this one. Barely enough to squeeze two students in.”

“I can see the rooms do not hold enough convenience.”

“Students provide much of the convenience. You could alter a lot, if you’re creative. But you don’t sink anything into the walls. Nothing can even penetrate them.”

“I think I’d better stay in that hall A if the place is so good.”

He would really like it, Imoni told him. There were still students holding on for the highest bidders. And, moreover, lots of people kept rejecting rooms allotted to them. What were the reasons? Modesty asked. The reasons varied, was the reply. Some social, some ethnic, and most religious.

Modesty soon changed into new clothes and shoes which told of good tending. He was unpretentious and unstudied.

“You plan going out?” Imoni asked.

“Where and whom do I know? Except this lecturer.” He produced his address book. “Dr. Osuagwu. Very tall, big. Bearded. You know him?”

“In the political Science department? With Marxist attitudes.”

“Yes.” He laughed.”

“I know him.”

“Please, I would like to see him today. Would it be possible?”

“Why not?”

Knocking came on the door. The door moved inwards, and Aham entered. “Hello, Aham,” Imoni greeted. Aham responded as his eyes strayed to the baggage and the stranger in the room. “This is the Aham you were directed to meet.” Imoni gestured to Aham.

“Modesty.” Modesty threw a hand, smiling to Aham’s puzzled expression.

“Modesty has just come,” Imoni continued the introduction. “These are his luggage.”

Aham winked.