Counting your chickens…….

COUNTING YOUR CHICKENS


George sat in the bus going to Enugu city. He was now sweating profusely and his handkerchief had gotten heavily soaked. From time to time he would wring sweat out of the handkerchief through the window. The midday sun overhead was merciless and pierced the bus windscreen and body as if there was none. George wondered when he will get to Enugu city today. He dared not wait for the epileptic train shuttle between Aba and Enugu city. The tales of stranded travelers passing nights on the rail tracks were legion. One was better served in a broken down bus than a train. One could always hitch a hike from any other vehicle going that way or be rescued by another bus from the firm’s fleet. A train on the other hand left one high and dry on the rail tracks in the event of a breakdown, mostly in the middle of nowhere.

He was sat in a 14-seater passenger bus which had advertised Enugu city. He was clad in an old T-shirt, with a welcome slogan about the USA. The colour of the shirt could no longer be made out, but it was safe to assume that it must have been whitish at some point in the very distant past. Mama had scraped his scalp clean of all hair, ‘to drive away malaria and evil-spirits’, she had claimed. At the time he boarded, there were 7 other ‘passengers’ in the bus then. In addition to him making eight, the bus ought to have been full since another five passengers had arrived and now made fourteen, the driver inclusive. What he hadn’t bargained for was that they could have been fake passengers. Mama had warned him about buses in the big city and their tricks. She had also stressed that he should only join a bus with a known logo on the sides, and stationed inside the bus terminal. He had felt Mama was exaggerating as usual. He knew Mama had such a big fear of the city. Mama who described an extra cup of water in the soup pot as a huge drum of water. He could handle it, he thought and hadn’t bothered to get to mama’s preferred terminal to board.

He was shocked to realise that those seven inside the bus were merely ‘Ocho-passenger’. They were baits used to lure travelers to come into the bus and part with fares believing the bus would soon depart. However for each new passenger, one of the previous seven surreptitiously alighted from the bus. With offhand comments like ‘I am coming’, they quickly disappeared into the distance only to re-appear as soon as another vehicle began loading. With well-choreographed steps, their coming and going was over in a matter of seconds.

George was aghast when he noticed the fifth ‘Ocho-passenger’ trying to disembark. He grabbed the bus conductor and demanded a refund of his fare. The conductor grabbed him as well, and a lot of pushing and shoving went on before the other passengers helped to separate the two. Meanwhile the other two ‘Ocho-passenger’ left in the bus, used the melee to exit the scene as well. The conductor merely referred George to the bottom section of the bus ticket. It stated clearly that ‘there will be no refund of money after payment’!

Dejected, shirt rumpled, ego bruised, George sat back in the bus. The argument meanwhile raged on. Few applauded the concept of the ‘Ocho-passenger’, others criticized it. Some were for the conductor, others were against. Some even berated George for the display and wondered aloud why the young ones always seemed in a hurry. Others were upset and felt shortchanged that after all the buildup, not even a single punch was thrown in anger or disgust. Disgraceful. What a pair of wimps, they thought!

More painful for George was the fact that there was no way to recognize the average ‘Ocho-passenger’. One had carried a small briefcase like a Jehovah Witness member. One had been reading a newspaper, the other a magazine. One had been listening to music on his mobile phone through an ear device. There was no guarantee that outside the seven, that there weren’t more still left. Other things now began to make sense to George. The little hawkers with their trays full of confectionaries hadn’t bothered with some of the passengers, who had all turned out to be all ocho-passengers. The bus conductor as well hadn’t bothered any of them for their fares and George had erroneously felt they must have paid earlier before he had gotten there. How wrong he had been! There had even been one sat in the driver’s seat, who only made way once George confronted the conductor. They were all in on it.

Finally the bus was full. Enter haggling session between the conductor, the driver that just appeared, and some men who claimed to be from the Government. The bus was parked on the roadside, far from the bus terminal. Another twenty minutes was spent on this before the bus moved on to the road, then veered right into the next gas station they encountered. Why the driver hadn’t filled up the gas tank all this while, no one could tell. George, with his ego already bruised refused to join in the cacophony of voices criticizing the driver. He just closed his eyes to the events in the vehicle. He would fight no common battles no more.

He was going to Enugu city to meet up with his uncle. His uncle was to house him until the University Matriculation Examinations taking place nationwide. George was a gifted student and consistently made good grades in School. Mama was determined that he received University Education. He had his pocket money from Mama, N20, 000 only. It was in the pocket of his inner shorts. Mama was a petty trader in their hometown and worked hard for any money she made. George had sworn to face his books and make her proud in no time. Not like Samankwe, the Catechist’s son. The family had sold their prized farmlands to pay for his education outside the country. After 10 years in the foreign lands, he had returned penniless. More like deported back with only the clothes on his back. He also had ear-rings in his earlobes and spoke with a funny accent. He now greeted people ‘hi’ in the mornings instead of the town’s customary salutation ‘Isalachi’. He had also acquired a drug habit and had since sold off all his few belongings to fund it. No, he was much smarter than that and would make Mama proud.

His thoughts drifted to his uncle whom he was to live with in Enugu city. He used to be known in their town as ‘Kusorochi’. These days he was only known and referred to as ‘Prince’. Even his new car had customized plates with ‘Prince’ printed on them. He had gone to Mama for answers to the puzzle. How come uncle Kusorochi was a Prince, and he George wasn’t? After all they were descended from the same Family Tree. Uncle was son to Papa’s senior brother. To the best of his knowledge, there was no royal blood in their lineage. Mama had asked to wait for his uncle’s return in December. She also confirmed that Papa’s family had no traceable links to the ruling houses but also knew that Kusorochi’s mother hailed from Opobo Town and could have provided the royal title. George felt the Opobo connection was a long shot and counted the days till December when uncle Kusorochi would return.

In December, Kusorochi returned. His fancy car horn gave away his proximity before the car rolled down the street towards the house. George was first among the throng of neighbourhood children and youths that ran to welcome Kusorochi. It was a long wait till the backslapping, loud laughter and tumultuous dancing finally toned down to barely audible chatter between the returnee and the various compound breadwinners. George finally got his uncle alone as he made to go relieve himself in the bushes behind the main house and immediately asked him about the title. Kusorochi confirmed to George that he had been born a commoner and his full names were Kusorochi Charles Nema. His City friends began calling him Prince due to his other name Charles. He was a namesake to a certain Prince of Wales known as Prince Charles. So he had also adopted the title to go with his name.




Three and a half hours later, after several stops and bumps on the way, they arrived Enugu city. They had got in before 4pm and there was still plenty of daylight around. George alighted at the terminal and felt the bulge from his inner pocket to be sure his pocket money from mama was still intact. He had heard a lot of the tricks of the city used to separate one from his funds. They had met their match in him. A very streetwise young man. Only death could separate him from this pocket money, he swore to himself. He considered those who fell prey to the sweet words of fraudsters as mere weaklings. The money was still there. He smiled to himself and picked up his bag.

He walked to a tri-cycle parked just in front. There was a driver and one passenger in the tri-cycle. He mentioned his uncle’s bus stop, Independence layout. The driver asked him to hop in. The other passenger wore a faded white tunic with cap to match. He had a foreign air about him, like someone newly returned from the West African coast. The other passenger stopped the tricycle and alighted. He began fiddling with his pockets looking for his fare. George looked elsewhere whilst waiting for the journey to re-start. He wondered if his uncle would have any dinner at home being a long term bachelor. He had told him on phone that they’ll mostly be eating out when he George arrived. The idea appealed to him, something different from the norm whilst with Mama. He closed his eyes to imagine the exotic aromas that would assail his nostrils tonight. He wondered if the uncle will take him to the famous ‘Polo-park’, with the numerous cafeterias built out of old container units. Mama had told him how the women used long wooden pestles to turn the ‘fufu’ in giant pots, clad in aprons stained with oil and perspiration. He had also heard how they regularly clashed over customers and sundry matters, bumping their mammoth bosoms against each other, like two rams locking horns. Or maybe to Ogbete junction, famed worldwide for the ‘abacha’ delicacy. George couldn’t wait! He had heard they garnish the abacha with rings of fresh onion, chumps of garden-egg as well as roasted cray-fish. Hmmmn. George couldn’t wait to meet his uncle, or for dinner time to come.

‘Excuse me Sir, please pay me in the local currency’, the driver said. George was startled out of his reverie ‘Please this is what i have, and i had been using it to pay others since i arrived’, the man in the faded tunic replied. The driver was shocked! ‘You mean you have been paying people in $100 bills’? He asked. ‘Each of these bills equals N30, 000 only in our local currency’ he continued. The tunic wearing man was nonplussed. He claimed to have loads of dollars in his bags at the hotel. He would like to reward them for their thoughtfulness and kind consideration for him. He was ready to exchange up to $50,000 only for N50, 000 as well, as a token of his appreciation. He would also collect their phone numbers and will reach them immediately he arrived on subsequent trips. He was in Enugu city once every week and was a rich textile seller in his native Abidjan. He bought bales of textile from importers in Enugu city for resell in his native country.

George quickly did the math. If he exchanged N20, 000 pocket money for $20,000, and subsequently sold same at the going market rate of N300/$1, that would be N6, 000,000! Six times a millionaire. A millionaire at 18 years of age. ‘Brother, this is our lucky day o ‘, the driver said to George aside. ‘Me, I will like to drive a real car and not a tricycle ‘. He had only N1, 000 on him though. George quickly brought out his pocket money from Mama, all N20, 000 of it. The man in the tunic collected the total of N21, 000 from both of them and left with the driver to get the other money from his hotel room. George was to wait in the adjourning bar for them. George was so happy and insisted they share a round of drinks before the driver left with the man in the tunic dress, who had now revealed his name as Alhaji Musa Yusuf from Abidjan, Ivory Coast. George could see the hotel gate from the bar and knew the man was lodged in room 51.

‘Thank you, Jesus', George exclaimed as soon as he was alone and made a sign of the cross. He smiled into his glass full of chilled malt. His Literature teacher in school had a favorite quote from Shakespeare; ‘there’s a tide in the affairs of men’. George’s high tide had arrived. In his town, it was said that ‘one couldn’t tell a good market day from a dull morning’. If the bus hadn’t been delayed, he might have missed this great benefactor from Abidjan that was going to help him make 30,000% instant income without even lifting a finger. This must be what the preacher on radio had referred to as ‘uncommon grace’. Yes he may have been school mates with his other town boys, maybe even age mates and room-mates, but he was clearly not their ‘grace-mate’. He was about joining the big leagues!

Once he received his windfall, he would make his way back to the hometown the next day. Of course after paying for a new accommodation in a highbrow area of Enugu city for his uncle and then buying a car. No, two cars. One for himself, and one would be for Mama. Her’s would be colored red and he will also employ a driver for her. He would learn to drive and upon gaining admission to the University, take it along with him. Before then though, he would build Mama a new house. A colorful bungalow with all the modern appliances. No more trips to the stream to fetch water for Mama and his siblings. There would be running water, washing machines as well like the type he glimpsed in the Reverend’s home, while on an errand. He would also incorporate a vacation to foreign lands with the rest of his siblings and Mama. They will visit the city of love, Paris. They’ll have a picnic lunch at the Eiffel Tower and spend the rest of the day marveling at the wonderful artefacts in the Lourdes museum. Maybe a quick walk through the fashion shops and colourful bistros, enroute the famed ‘Champs du Elysees’. He couldn’t wait to hear the excited shrieks of his siblings as they run amok on the grounds of Disneyland in Paris. Mama would likely sit out the trip to Disneyland, likely to prefer sampling the gourmet on offer. Mama was a huge admirer of good food, and the French were famed as the best.

A quick tube across the channel to London would also be in order. They could even include his Uncle so that he could visit with his namesake, Prince Charles. He, George would be revered in their hometown. He might even condescend to accept a Chieftaincy title from the King. Maybe ‘nwata kwo sia aka, nke mbu’. Yes, if the child washes his hands clean, he is allowed to dine with the elders.

“Hello Sir”, the waiter was speaking to him. ‘It’s been 3 hours now since your friends were gone’, he said. ‘Kindly pay for the drinks as we are about to close’. What! It was true. His watch confirmed same. He also confirmed from the waiter that there was no hotel across from the bar, but a mini residential estate with dual entry gates on either side. His world came crashing down. His dreams. His chickens all counted before even laid. Mama always warned against counting your chickens. The Alhaji and the driver must have been collaborating together. Chei! He exclaimed again, Chei! He was done for, finished! He thought of a quick escape but considering the other workers had now begun to gather, the chances were slim.

He begged the waiter to help make the call to his Uncle to come pick him and clear the bills to enable them let him off. The waiter only did so after lashing him severely. It didn’t get better with his uncle either. Uncle Kusorochi was furious when he arrived. Despite the plans to acquire better accommodation for him in the other side of Town. He railed throughout the ride home to his dwellings. How could George do such a thing? Now he would have to source money, as such news might just kill George’s poor mother. Since their dinner money had been spent on paying for drinks consumed at the bar by George and his business partners, they went to bed hungry and teary in the case of George, who was also too ashamed to speak.

His tears soon gave way to the sweet call of sleep. Once George began to snore, uncle Kusorochi remarked that to himself on how much the boy’s snore sounded like his late father’s. It still seemed like yesterday when he had been running around in diapers. They grow so fast these days, he thought to himself. The boy had grown into a fine young man, but like his own father always told him all those years ago, “that a boy has grown tall does not mean that he has acquired the wisdom of the elders”.



Nnamdi Wabara, 2016.