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Authors: Robert Wilson
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afraid to move on. Youâre being a modern man.â
âThatâs enough of that kind of talk, Bagado. Enough. Youâre getting very close to using that word and I donât want to hear that word in this car...â
âCommitment? There, Iâve said it. Better in than out.â
âYou can hear the ranks of bachelorsâ bowels weakening,â I said, cupping a hand to my ear.
âI donât know what youâre afraid of,â he said, sawing the scar in the cleft of his chin. âCompromise?â
âYouâve been pulling some vocab. out of the bag today, Bagado.â
âIs that it? Youâre afraid of compromise? You should see what Iâm going to have to do when I go back to Bondougou.â
âIâve already done some compromising. It wasnât half as painful as I thought it was going to be. What Iâm afraid of is that if I cross the line it might not work and Iâll be in a deeper problem than if I donât cross the line in the first place.â
âSheâll go,â said Bagado. âThatâll solve your problem.â
We arrived in Kétou at nightfall. The aid station was closed, with a
gardien
outside who showed us a restaurant where we had some
pâte
and bean sauce and a couple of bottles of La Beninoise beer. We drove out into the bush, set up a mosquito net against the car, rolled out some sleeping mats and had an early, very cheap night out under the stars. I lay on my back and felt like a deadbeat. The pattern had held for more than a year. Now things were falling to pieces and all out of my reach. Bagado going back to his job, Heike tapping her feet and behind it all the dark shadow of Bondougou, his eyes flickering in his head.
Chapter 6
Sunday 18th February.
Â
Gerhardâs people were dedicated and came in as early on Sunday mornings as they did during the week. They gave us coffee and directions. We crossed the border into Nigeria just after 8 a.m. and headed north from a town called Meko on a dirt road. After ten kilometres we hit a roadblock guarded by men wearing army fatigues and holding AK-47s loosely in capable hands.
âThey look like the real thing,â I said, as we cruised up to the soldier standing with his hand raised.
âThis is no place for armed robbery, unless theyâre very stupid.â
The soldier came to my window and looked in and over our shoulders.
âWhere you going?â he asked.
âAkata village.â
âClosed.â
âFor why?â asked Bagado.
âBig sickness. Nobody go in. Nobody come out.â
âWhat sort of sickness?â
âTyphoid. Cholera. We donât know. We just keeping people from going there âtil doctah come telling us.â
âWhich doctor?â
âNo, no, medical doctah.â
âI mean, whatâs his name, this doctor. Whereâs he come from?â
âOh yes,â he said and looked back at the other soldiers who gave him about as much animation as a sloth gang on downers. He turned back to us and found a 1000-CFA note fluttering under his nose. His hand came up in a Pavlovian reflex and rested on the window ledge. He shook his head.
âThis not that kind thing. You get sick, you die. A white man out here, what do I say to my superiah officah?â
âYou give him this,â I said, and produced a bottle of Red Label from under the seat.
âNo, sah. You go back to Meko. No entry through here, sah.â
âWho is your superior officer?â
âMajor Okaka.â
âWhereâs he?â
The soldier shrugged.
We drove back to Meko and headed west for about fifteen kilometres before cutting north again, but not on a track this time, through the bush. Within twenty minutes we were stopped by a jeep and a Land Rover, one with a machine gun mounted on the cab. Four soldiers armed with machine pistols got out of the jeep and stood at the four points of the car.
âThatâs enough of that kind of talk, Bagado. Enough. Youâre getting very close to using that word and I donât want to hear that word in this car...â
âCommitment? There, Iâve said it. Better in than out.â
âYou can hear the ranks of bachelorsâ bowels weakening,â I said, cupping a hand to my ear.
âI donât know what youâre afraid of,â he said, sawing the scar in the cleft of his chin. âCompromise?â
âYouâve been pulling some vocab. out of the bag today, Bagado.â
âIs that it? Youâre afraid of compromise? You should see what Iâm going to have to do when I go back to Bondougou.â
âIâve already done some compromising. It wasnât half as painful as I thought it was going to be. What Iâm afraid of is that if I cross the line it might not work and Iâll be in a deeper problem than if I donât cross the line in the first place.â
âSheâll go,â said Bagado. âThatâll solve your problem.â
We arrived in Kétou at nightfall. The aid station was closed, with a
gardien
outside who showed us a restaurant where we had some
pâte
and bean sauce and a couple of bottles of La Beninoise beer. We drove out into the bush, set up a mosquito net against the car, rolled out some sleeping mats and had an early, very cheap night out under the stars. I lay on my back and felt like a deadbeat. The pattern had held for more than a year. Now things were falling to pieces and all out of my reach. Bagado going back to his job, Heike tapping her feet and behind it all the dark shadow of Bondougou, his eyes flickering in his head.
Chapter 6
Sunday 18th February.
Â
Gerhardâs people were dedicated and came in as early on Sunday mornings as they did during the week. They gave us coffee and directions. We crossed the border into Nigeria just after 8 a.m. and headed north from a town called Meko on a dirt road. After ten kilometres we hit a roadblock guarded by men wearing army fatigues and holding AK-47s loosely in capable hands.
âThey look like the real thing,â I said, as we cruised up to the soldier standing with his hand raised.
âThis is no place for armed robbery, unless theyâre very stupid.â
The soldier came to my window and looked in and over our shoulders.
âWhere you going?â he asked.
âAkata village.â
âClosed.â
âFor why?â asked Bagado.
âBig sickness. Nobody go in. Nobody come out.â
âWhat sort of sickness?â
âTyphoid. Cholera. We donât know. We just keeping people from going there âtil doctah come telling us.â
âWhich doctor?â
âNo, no, medical doctah.â
âI mean, whatâs his name, this doctor. Whereâs he come from?â
âOh yes,â he said and looked back at the other soldiers who gave him about as much animation as a sloth gang on downers. He turned back to us and found a 1000-CFA note fluttering under his nose. His hand came up in a Pavlovian reflex and rested on the window ledge. He shook his head.
âThis not that kind thing. You get sick, you die. A white man out here, what do I say to my superiah officah?â
âYou give him this,â I said, and produced a bottle of Red Label from under the seat.
âNo, sah. You go back to Meko. No entry through here, sah.â
âWho is your superior officer?â
âMajor Okaka.â
âWhereâs he?â
The soldier shrugged.
We drove back to Meko and headed west for about fifteen kilometres before cutting north again, but not on a track this time, through the bush. Within twenty minutes we were stopped by a jeep and a Land Rover, one with a machine gun mounted on the cab. Four soldiers armed with machine pistols got out of the jeep and stood at the four points of the car.
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