A Friendly Dilemma
Tagbo sat on his pushcart outside the
warehouse of Ambrose Enterprises .His was sixth in line, waiting turns to lift
a full pushcart load of goods down to various buyers in the market. Tagbo also
joined to offload the Lorries when they arrived laden with goods, into the
warehouses. For offloading, they manually loaded several cartons on their
shoulders and stacked them in lines inside the warehouse.
Tagbo was popular in the loader’s union and amongst the
hiring traders. He was known to be energetic and honest. The loaders’ Union
ensured only their members could load, offload and operate pushcarts in the
market. They had issued identity cards from the union with their given numbers
emblazoned on the bright red bibs they wore atop their shirts. The union also
had records of individual loaders’ and their mobile telephone numbers.
The Union was led by a renowned loader called ‘Ifeadigo’.
His alias translated from the Igbo language meant – one who had arrived in
wealth. He no longer had to load since he was the President of the loaders’
union, but from time to time, stripped off to his torso and joined his men
offloading. The loaders were paid at agreed rates for individual cartons of
goods. This varied according to weight, as cartons of noodles attracted little
fees per carton, compared to cartons of soap or condensed liquid milk.
This was Tagbo’s world. It usually began by 7.00 am when he
arrived at the union office. He paid a daily fee of N20 only to obtain a
ticket. This ticket enabled him access to load, offload and operate a pushcart.
His pushcart had only been recently acquired on hire-purchase. He remitted N300
weekly to the owner. He still had 2 months to go of the remittances for the
pushcart to become fully his property.
He had faithfully fulfilled the contract for the previous 10
months. Then after his ticket, he speedily dashes to Mr. Njoku’s place. Mr.
Njoku had constructed several little anchors cast into the cement flooring of
his vast compound adjacent the market. Pushcart operators, wheel barrow
operators could lock their carts and barrows overnight there with a chain and
padlock. He paid N10 daily to lock his cart there every evening after work.
So apart from the occasional call from Mama Beaty in Nekwa
Town to complain about the irregularity of his visits, life was fairly
uncomplicated for Tagbo. Mama Beaty, was Tagbo’s mother. Beatrice was her first
child and in Nekwa Town, mothers’ were called after their firstborn’s nickname.
That was why one heard rather exotic names like Mama Yoyo, Yoyo was her son
Humphrey’s nickname. Or Mama Popo, so called after her daughter Mgbokwo’s
alias.
Tagbo worked hard and usually had the weekly remittance for
the hire-purchase ready by Monday evening. His Tuesdays began late, as he made
sure to first visit the bank and pay into the owner’s account firstly, with the
teller photocopied and copies well folded in a dry corner of his carrier bag
before stripping off to his work clothes. One day in the bank, a slogan caught
his eye; ’WITH YOU, TO THE TOP’. He liked it. Liked it so much that he painted
an abridged version on his cart; ‘WITH YOU’. That became his name. Other
loaders, traders, the food seller referred to him as WITH YOU. It was common
for invoices issued by sellers to their customers to have ‘WITH YOU’ inscribed
as the one to collect the goods. Life for Tagbo was simple. WITH YOU by day,
Tagbo by night and Sundays. He had little troubles, till the phone call that
changed his life.
It was a Tuesday. Tagbo remembered because it was his bank
day. He had just paid in the week’s remittance and was on his way to pick the
cart and change into his work clothes, when his mobile phone vibrated in his
pocket. He picked the call. Big mistake. It was the Rev. Luke. Could Tagbo
kindly rush down to the church, there had been an emergency. For any other
reason, Tagbo wouldn’t have budged. It was a busy Tuesday. He already had five
text messages from different customers of their goods to be collected by ‘WITH
YOU’. Also there were about 10 trucks that came in over the night to be
offloaded. But how could Tagbo not answer the call of the Rev.? He was an
ordained man of God. Regularly mentioned in his sermons about conversations
with God. Last week he had preached on Obedience being better than sacrifice. What
if he reported Tagbo, that he had been disobedient? Tagbo hastened to answer.
The emergency was in the form of a festering trouble left
behind by Cletus, a man who also hailed from Nekwa Town. Cletus had been a
thriving business man, with a large shop dedicated to the sale of cosmetics and
female inner garments. Had. For the past 2 months, Cletus had abandoned
matrimonial home, wife of 2 years standing and a child, to move in with a
middle aged woman who ran a beer-parlour shop, two streets from the market.
His family had gone to talk to him, to no avail. His bible
study group members, no dice. The madame who now harbored him, sat with him
through the various meetings. All reported that Cletus had an odd smile and a
vacant look spread from ear to ear. When the wife attempted to see him, the
madame and her attendants engaged the young wife in an uneven bout of
pugilistics. The lady landed in hospital and had to be discharged to the Rev.
Luke after he paid her bills. The Rev. himself thereafter went to see Cletus at
this place and marveled that Cletus wasn’t moved by hearing the Rev. Luke
describe his conversation with God on Cletus. The Rev. Luke kept shaking his
head as he left the seedy beer-parlour. ’Den of iniquity’, he remarked when
relaying the story to his wife.
The Nekwa Town residents in Onitsha at their urgent meeting,
had only one item on the Agenda; Cletus. It was resolved to hire a bus to bring
his ‘Umunna’, to come and rescue this man from whatever diabolic charms may
have been laid upon him, that he abandoned his home and shop to move in with a
woman old enough to be his mother. The members wondered amongst themselves
which far away herbalist could have prepared a charm as potent as this. For
there was nothing physically appealing about the madame. Her outer mammary
glands had long obeyed the gravitational forces and headed south with little
fuss. Her facial features were always shrouded in layers of cheap make-up. She
had two frontal teeth that seemed out of line with the remaining teeth, and
even protruded when her lips were closed. It was rumored that her first husband
left due to those teeth, poor man. Too many nights he had turned in bed to
behold 2 shimmering white spear like buds, shining in the darkness. One day he
was gone. There were rumours of his sightings in Fernando Po, but nothing
concrete.
In an average Igbo town, the Umunna (for the men) and Umuada
(for the women) are usually the last resort. They are members of the village,
not necessarily kin and are drawn from across various age grades. They were the
equivalent of enforcers. They were tasked with bringing to heel members who
strayed from acceptable norms. During funerals, they were feted and they had to
confirm that the deceased dues and levies were paid up, before interment dates
could be announced. Yes, the Umunna disciplined both the living and the dead.
It was no different in Nekwa. So one fateful morning, 7.00am
prompt, their bus landed at the madame’s house. Ten able bodied men in their
prime. Biceps bristling, they were unsmiling. They had Cletus in their grasp in
no time and quickly filled up their bus and made to speed away. One of the
madame’s patrons however was a policeman. He had been alerted by the madame’s
frantic calls and also happened to be patrolling the adjourning street with his
team. Cletus was freed and returned to the madame, while the Umunna from Nekwa
were apprehended and passed the following week in police custody. They were
later released to the Village Head after huge sums exchanged hands and
undertakings as to future behavior jointly and severally made.
Cletus was thereafter left to his fate. The wife also to her’s.
She made her way to the church after the Landlord ran out of patience waiting
for Cletus and threw out their few belongings left. They had already been
evicted from the Market as well. Obidiya, the wife knelt, her son strapped to
her back with a wrapper and begged the Rev. to help them.
The Rev. didn’t have a place for them. He would have let
them squat in the Children’s playroom section of the Church, which was yet unutilized,
but had observed the frown on his wife’s face as Obidiya spoke. The frown spoke
volumes without words and the Rev. knew the option was a no- go area. He decided
to call on Tagbo, who was also from Nekwa, to house her and the baby for the
night and escort them home to Nekwa next day. He walked them to the gate, all
the while exhorting Tagbo with copious quotes from the scriptures, and harped
severally on the need to store up treasures in Heaven, and not of the Earth.
Once they were out of earshot of the Rev’s wife, the Rev. Luke slyly slipped
some money into Tagbo’s pocket. ‘To help with the transport fare to Nekwa’, he
said. Tagbo only nodded, too dazed to speak. Just this morning he had been ‘WITH
YOU’, now he was with Obidiya, wife of Cletus and their child.
Tagbo lived in a semi-slum. The dwelling area comprised
series of blocks of one bedroom apartments. His own block had ten of these,
with all sharing 2 toilets and bathrooms, a pair located at each end of the
block. Five rooms were allocated a pair and rosters drawn up as to daily
maintenance. Each tenant also had keys as the conveniences were always locked
to avoid usage by sundry passersby. The whole block of ten apartments shared a
common kitchen behind the block. To this residence, Tagbo now led Obidiya and
her son to.
Tagbo couldn’t travel the next day, Wednesday.
He decided to hold on till Thursday or Saturday. His biggest customer, Oga Ben,
was coming on Wednesday. ‘WITH YOU’ had his hands full anytime Oga Ben was
around. He decided to show Obidiya the daily routine for the shared tasks,
where he kept the toiletries as well as the general layout of the one bedroom
he lived in. Her baby was so well behaved and rarely bawled or disturbed. Tagbo
left the set of keys with her as he left for work.
Once Tagbo got to the market and changed into his work
clothes, the pace of the day took over. There were orders upon orders waiting.
All the activities of yesterday were a blur on his mind, as he became ‘WITH YOU’
once more and clad in in his shorts, torso covered in beads of sweat, he
grunted his way to and fro the market with his pushcart. Tagbo was driven by
the desire to make up for the lost hours. When he had finished the several
orders, he joined those offloading the trucks. It was a good day. He closed
early, so as to seek out a toy tattler for Obidiya’s baby aptly named Miracle.
The real miracle began when he returned from work. Someone
had dusted the mosquito net cover on the window and the glass louvres behind
were sparkling. The curtain had been washed and spread on the cloth-line
outside, as all his dirty clothes. Living in tight spaces meant there were few
secrets between the neighbours. Your neighbours and everyone else knew when you
had received your payslip, they knew when you were broke and when buoyant. They
knew who boiled chicken and who made do without. They knew those that patronized
the cheaper ‘iced-fish’ and who was celebrating by steaming stockfish.
Tagbo began trailing the rich aroma wafting forth from the
foot gate right up to his door. The air around his room was suffused with
appetite whetting smells. Even the caretaker was sat on a stool outside his
door and made sure to shout a greeting across to the returning Tagbo. Strange
that. Tagbo still debated within himself if this was the right house. He was
pondering if he dared cross the threshold when Obidiya came out and welcomed
him most warmly. She took the bag off him and led him into the room.
Tagbo had never eaten such a sumptuous meal in his home. The
food was so inviting that he forgot to bathe till he was through the very last
morsel. She had also taken up Tagbo’s turn with the convenience and had given
it a new lease of life with a thorough scrub down using disinfectant. Tagbo
there and then decided there was no need to rush her return to Nekwa Town. His clothes
had been washed, ironed and hung on the wall hanger. The room had been cleaned
and now sparkled.
Tagbo woke in the morning to sweet rendition of folk tunes,
sung in a sonorous voice. Obidiya had already been up and his water was ready
in the bathroom as well as breakfast. Tagbo was experiencing a new level of
grace. That day he went to work whistling and humming through his repertoire of
praise songs. Obidiya had only made one request from him as he gave her money
for minor purchases. To come back with a food warmer or food flask. ‘That must
be for warming the baby’s food’, he thought to himself as he left. He was happy
she hadn’t raised the topic of their travel to Nekwa town.
The next day, Tagbo went to work with his lunch packed in
the food warmer. He carried it in a little canvas bag which he secured with a
tiny padlock. He was the only loader or pushcart operator that carried a food
flask. He was a novelty. Sitting on his pushcart behind the union building that
afternoon, eating from his own lunch packed with care. Even Ifeadigo looked on
longingly. And so stopped his acquaintance with the itinerant food sellers. After
all there was no relationship between the vulture and the barber. Tagbo’s life
had a new boost, there was a new drive. Life was worth it again as days passed
into weeks. Weeks became months. Three months passed thus.
The stories began from the church. Obidiya was now always
well dressed and in matching outfits with her baby Miracle. She was looking so
rosy and lustrous. Cue the whispers. She was second- hand, not original. After
she had been with another man before now. Who knew what she did to make Cletus
run to an older woman. Some opined that she must have strange growths sprouting
from uncommon sites. Only stuff like that could make a grown man show a pair of
heels, they reasoned. Envy, that deity of the embittered merely fanned their
embers after each Sunday Obidiya was seen.
In the market as well, they were all over Tagbo. News
travels fast. They sought to know what he thought of her as a woman. Tagbo as
much as he didn’t want to drive them on, was forced to clear her name by
disclosing the truth. There was nothing going on, she was just a friendly guest
he harbored who happened to be from Nekwa and female. They returned in
torrents. How could he always play it nice with the ladies? A lady already with
a baby and therefore not so fairly used. Why was he playing the ‘assistant
boyfriend’, the ‘carwash’, or did he have certain physiological challenges?
And so the dilemma began. Fueled by talk, Tagbo began to see
Obidiya for the woman she was. He began to interpret her every move and look.
His eyes began to follow the play of her hips when she walked. He began to
nurse thoughts. After all he deserved to be compensated somehow for having been
so nice. So accommodating. So giving of himself. Did he really? He quickly shut
his mind down. Everybody else couldn’t be wrong. Vox populi, vox dei, they
said.
What if she turned down his advances? What if she was so
disappointed in his conduct, that she upped and left, with baby Miracle in tow?
That was his dilemma. A friendly dilemma. He wanted to do something he was
loath to, to prove he was the man. To prove he wasn’t a weakling to his
co-loaders, wasn’t anybody’s fool. To push a lady who had only given him care
to a tiny corner, cowering or staring him down.
On the appointed night, he made sure to visit a bar on his
way home. To numb his conscience, to quieten his true self. He finally
staggered home. He had gone from a responsible, responsive man to a drunk, a
night crawler, all just to defile a symbiotic friendship forged in mutual
respect. To prove he wore the pants.
He awoke with a blinding headache. A hangover. The knocker
though wouldn’t go away. ‘Who in the devil’s name is it, so early?’ he
screamed. ‘It is me, the caretaker’ came the reply. ‘You came in late last
night, you forgot to clean the convenience. Kindly do so this morning before
the children start preparing for school’, he said. Tagbo sat up, and looked
around. His face wincing in pain as his eyes took in the entire room. His
clothes were once again scattered everywhere. The glass louvres had gone dusty
again and the curtains dirty. The baby and Obidiya had belonged in a dream! He
had been sleeping.
He broke into a smile, shaking his head ruefully. So there
was no dilemma waiting, friendly or not. He must visit Mama Beaty this Saturday
without fail. He would discuss getting married. He had seen first-hand, its
wonders, even if a dream. In Nekwa, it was said that one had to be mad for one
to marry young; but they also said ‘that madness tastes sweetest when one is
still young’.
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