am you will not believe me, you will only get confused.â
âAny friend of TK is my friend. You are my friend.â There was an eagerness about the man that showed how much he wanted to express his friendship for TK.
âI will give him your message when I find him.â
âI pray you find him. He was a good man who did notdeserve to be betrayed. They took side with gofment against TK. Where was gofment when TK was helping us? Where was gofment?â The questions left a pang in both their hearts.
Taduno thanked him and made his way from that street the way he came â slowly, with his guitar across his shoulder.
*
He narrated his experience to Aroli in a quiet mood. He felt pained not just because of TKâs ordeal, but also because he knew how much he loved his less privileged neighbours. How much he used to care for them. How he used to take their pains as his own. How he saw their plight as his own. How he gave them hope. âYet they betrayed him so cruelly!â he lamented.
Aroli shook his head in dejection.
Later that evening, Judah paid him a visit. The boy listened to him playing his guitar for a while. But they both looked forlorn because the music he played that evening told sad stories. Although he longed to, he could not lift the boyâs spirit with a beautiful song.
EIGHT
He was very anxious when he woke up the following morning, and his anxiety drove him through the city in search of the prodigious music producer turned homeless destitute. He travelled on one rickety bus after the other, with his guitar across his shoulder, a forlorn figure, searching the faces around him, hoping for a miracle.
Many stared at him, wondering why his guitar hung on his shoulder so awkwardly. Others wondered why his eyes were so expectant, yet so hopeless. A few gazed upon him with pity sensing that he bore a pain too intimate to be shared with the world.
At Mile 2 bus stop, and then Oshodi, he jostled amongst commuters who spoke in so many tongues. They spoke in Ibo, in Yoruba, in Hausa and in a hundred other tongues. It was as if people from all tribes of the country had converged at the bus stops on the occasion of his epic search. He was looking for a short man with Afro cut. And as he searched the faces at the bus stops, he wasamazed how many such people there were in the city. At TBS, the square where a motley crowd gathered every day to see nothing in particular, he peered at the face of every beggar who bore the slightest resemblance to TK. He roamed the square until he became faint with hunger; yet still his tired feet carried him on. Night fell, and as the crowd waned, a gentle breeze lifted the square, drying the sweat from the faces and bodies of the homeless men who now remained.
For a while Taduno sat down to rest. Then he resumed his tour of the square with renewed energy, peering into every face more closely, knowing that the man he sought belonged to the small group that now remained. He drew angry responses as he went along. Some of the men raised their fists in warning, others lashed out at him with their legs; but the threats were not enough to deter him. He continued until he had gone round the square and stared into fifty or so faces.
In the end he collapsed on a wooden bench. And with his last ounce of strength, he unslung his guitar and began to play a forlorn tune that found its way into the hearts of all the men in that square. Gradually, they gathered around him, and they huddled together as one, knowing that the music they were hearing was a tribute to all their woes.
*
It was almost midnight when he began to make his way from the square towards the bus stop where the tired voicesof bus conductors screamed various destinations. One of the homeless men trailed him. Taduno thought he was about to be mugged. Still some way from the bus stop, he hastened his steps, but the man soon caught up with him.
âExcuse me, please.â The voice lacked
âAny friend of TK is my friend. You are my friend.â There was an eagerness about the man that showed how much he wanted to express his friendship for TK.
âI will give him your message when I find him.â
âI pray you find him. He was a good man who did notdeserve to be betrayed. They took side with gofment against TK. Where was gofment when TK was helping us? Where was gofment?â The questions left a pang in both their hearts.
Taduno thanked him and made his way from that street the way he came â slowly, with his guitar across his shoulder.
*
He narrated his experience to Aroli in a quiet mood. He felt pained not just because of TKâs ordeal, but also because he knew how much he loved his less privileged neighbours. How much he used to care for them. How he used to take their pains as his own. How he saw their plight as his own. How he gave them hope. âYet they betrayed him so cruelly!â he lamented.
Aroli shook his head in dejection.
Later that evening, Judah paid him a visit. The boy listened to him playing his guitar for a while. But they both looked forlorn because the music he played that evening told sad stories. Although he longed to, he could not lift the boyâs spirit with a beautiful song.
EIGHT
He was very anxious when he woke up the following morning, and his anxiety drove him through the city in search of the prodigious music producer turned homeless destitute. He travelled on one rickety bus after the other, with his guitar across his shoulder, a forlorn figure, searching the faces around him, hoping for a miracle.
Many stared at him, wondering why his guitar hung on his shoulder so awkwardly. Others wondered why his eyes were so expectant, yet so hopeless. A few gazed upon him with pity sensing that he bore a pain too intimate to be shared with the world.
At Mile 2 bus stop, and then Oshodi, he jostled amongst commuters who spoke in so many tongues. They spoke in Ibo, in Yoruba, in Hausa and in a hundred other tongues. It was as if people from all tribes of the country had converged at the bus stops on the occasion of his epic search. He was looking for a short man with Afro cut. And as he searched the faces at the bus stops, he wasamazed how many such people there were in the city. At TBS, the square where a motley crowd gathered every day to see nothing in particular, he peered at the face of every beggar who bore the slightest resemblance to TK. He roamed the square until he became faint with hunger; yet still his tired feet carried him on. Night fell, and as the crowd waned, a gentle breeze lifted the square, drying the sweat from the faces and bodies of the homeless men who now remained.
For a while Taduno sat down to rest. Then he resumed his tour of the square with renewed energy, peering into every face more closely, knowing that the man he sought belonged to the small group that now remained. He drew angry responses as he went along. Some of the men raised their fists in warning, others lashed out at him with their legs; but the threats were not enough to deter him. He continued until he had gone round the square and stared into fifty or so faces.
In the end he collapsed on a wooden bench. And with his last ounce of strength, he unslung his guitar and began to play a forlorn tune that found its way into the hearts of all the men in that square. Gradually, they gathered around him, and they huddled together as one, knowing that the music they were hearing was a tribute to all their woes.
*
It was almost midnight when he began to make his way from the square towards the bus stop where the tired voicesof bus conductors screamed various destinations. One of the homeless men trailed him. Taduno thought he was about to be mugged. Still some way from the bus stop, he hastened his steps, but the man soon caught up with him.
âExcuse me, please.â The voice lacked
Similar Books
