Mide’s Abor with Olamide Longe
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HE said, “We shall cross seven bridges before we get to my pa’s house in the village.”
I stared at him. “Seven bridges!”
We were travelling on a rugged dirt road that barely contained our vehicle. Any misadventure and we would end up either in the ditch or the brush that bordered the road on each side. It wasn’t as if the ditch ran the length of one side and the brush the other. They alternated. It would be brush on one side for some distance, and then the ditch would appear. It was quite unnerving to behold and wracking to travel on.
“Seven bridges,” I repeated. My voice had gone up a note, and for good reason. I knew we weren’t going to see the likes of a Carter Bridge or a Julius Berger on this path. I bet Berger wouldn’t even find this place on a map.
“Calm down,” he answered.
“Calm down?” I could see us already crashing down a ravine, travelling on rotting wooden bridges hastily constructed by resourceful villagers forsaken by their government. I began to hyperventilate. All we had for illumination were the headlamps of the car. The moon up above was the first quarter, or last, but a quarter it certainly was. The truck’s lamps powerful though they were, did not engender trust. Besides, we’ve been travelling for hours and we had left the only semblance of civilization behind at dusk. Before it went completely dark, we came across the only other traveller on this path, a cyclist. He had a bundle of sticks tied to the back of his bicycle. It was an ancient type, with really big wheels. He had to get down from it and lift it off the path to make way for us. He had a burnished brown complexion, leathery skin. A blue keg dangled from the handlebar. I couldn’t believe my eyes; he was straight out of the African Writers Series. He gave us a grin that showed many open spaces.
A stereotype, I thought. Something one should have been prepared to spot on paths such as this, but still shocking to behold. He had on tattered brown trousers and a hole-riddled vest, for heaven’s sake! I turned rounded eyes to Tam.
“Is that man for real?”
“What do you mean?” he asked as he rolled down the windows. The man cautiously approached the car on my side. Tam beckoned to him to come over to his side. He spoke to him in his dialect.
The man beamed at this. He responded in excited tones. I watched his face as they chatted. Gorges formed where before there were only lines. They were quite loud. It was a cacophony of the meaningless to me. It ended with Tam reaching into his pocket and handing the man a five hundred naira note. His eyes crinkled. He put his hands together; the money still clasped in one, and blessed Tam.
He could only bless him for such largesse, I’m sure.
He grinned his holes at me and said something. I smiled back and nodded. He waved and we continued our journey.
“What did he say?”
“I don’t think you want to know.”
“I thought it was a compliment.”
Tam smiled. “He said you are a lucky woman.”
“I see.”
Tam laughed softly.
“What were you talking about?”
“Nothing, really.”
Just as I thought. “You took your time with that,” I said sarcastically.
He slanted me a look. “You are tired.”
I wanted to respond with something scathing, but bit my tongue. He had been driving practically the whole day. Our only break had been a one-hour stop at a small shopping complex built obviously, with travellers in mind. It housed an eatery, a couple of supermarkets; it even had a beer and pepper soup parlour. I considered the beer part a very bad idea. But, who am I?
We had lunch and did some shopping.
If I was cranky from being cooped up in this car, I imagined he would be crankier. We shouldn’t kill each other. So silence ensued until he told me we were going to cross seven bridges.
I wanted to cry.
How had he been able to convince me to come on this trip? The chance to visit a place I’d never been to before. The chance to travel through a part of country I had never visited before. I had heard so many tales about the region from my grandmother, and the writers of repute that came from the place had painted such a romantic picture of it that a visit to the place at the earliest opportunity had been on my bucket list. The fact that I’d be ensconced in a car with this teddy of a man beside me for hours on end. Besides all these, and the biggest motivation, we were freshly married. We’d visited a registry office just two days before and with only our closest friends present. Now, I’m on my way to be presented to Pa and others.
I was good to go. Giddy.
…to be continued.
