Vernon Mooers writes

THE WHITE MAN'S GRAVEYARD

chapter 20 (3)

Back at the camp a month passed. They were still waiting for a letter from Falmata's family.

"I don't think they'll let us get married," she said.

"It's ridiculous. They don't even have birth certificates and marriage licenses. If you want a divorce you just say `I divorce you' three times."

"The letter better get here soon. How long does the mail take? I'll kill someone if they dump a bag of letters down south that that letter is in. And why did he want permission from the families anyway? You haven't seen your father in many years and mine's been dead for twelve. It's crazy."

"If it's not that, it's something else," she said. "You have to do what they want, bring whatever it is."

Now her stomach was beginning to get bigger. The doctor had shown him where the baby was. She was doing a good job though, eating properly and walking a lot. But the food and water -- he'd be amazed if it was normal.

"Where will you deliver?"

"At home. I can fly back at Easter break."

"What if you can't get out?"

"Maiduguri is a last resort." He thought of the hospital there -- no blood, no oxygen, nobody on duty half the time. What if it was a Caesarean? Then there was the risk of infection and no incubators or anything.

"Maybe you can go to my mother's. You need a visa, though. We could buy the tickets. I'm sure she'd take care of you. Anyway, your friend is in London even if they wouldn't let you back on the airplane there. At least there would be hospitals."

"We need the license first, and I don't think he'll give it. They won't give a visa without it."

"Well, we better try once more."

The letter from her family came that week. It said she had permission to marry "as soon as possible." They were Catholics. It seemed a plea. Maybe they suspected. "My mother would have a heart attack if she knew," she'd said. Neither had Alex told his mother about this marriage, let alone the child.

The next Thursday night he had to talk her into taking the night train. She had resolved herself to the fact she wouldn't be married and was more concerned for the baby inside her than for papers now anyway. It was a rough ride for eight hours by train.

"For what, for nothing," she said. "Why should I ride that bumpy train and risk bursting?"

"We need the papers. He'll do it, I know. I'll tell Yemi to go and get the tickets and claim a cabin if there's a first class coach. You can sleep on the train."

"If there's a first class coach. If not, I have to sit up all night and get crushed or shaken to death."

"We'll make it," he said. "Tell Mercedes to tell your principal you're sick tomorrow. We'll go and try it anyway." He went back to the camp to get some things for the trip. They needed water and some sandwiches and blankets. He put them in a gym bag and went back to her house. He put the letters and passports in the gym bag. She had done her hair. After all, it was her wedding she was going to.

At 10:30 they heard Yemi's machine speed off toward the railway. Then there was the train whistle. "The train is here. We'd better try it," he said. The train did not always come.

They got ready. "We'll leave the car here. I'll go wave down a taxi."

Falmata stood on the open porch in front of the house. It was only fifty feet to the road. Peugeot taxis full of people whizzed by on the way to the railway. The bugs bounced and sizzled around the fluorescent porch lights. Finally a taxi stopped.

"Two -- the railway," he said.

"Naira," the driver answered.

"Fifty K," he said. Everyone knew that was the price.

"Zo, Bature," the driver said and he waved for her to come.

Yemi had gotten seats in first class for them. The cabin was theirs. No one paid first class.

Finally the train shunted off for the eight-hour journey.

In Kano, they disembarked at the rail station. This time, she couldn't jump.They walked part way then, past the bottling plant and the Airways and by Leventis Department Store. There were hawkers on the sidewalk. He paused for a second and then bought a cheap wedding band, gold-plated, for two naira.  Bukar had said, "And bring the rings."

"Give me your own ring," he said to Falmata. She took it off, her fingers swollen from the pregnancy. He put them both in his pocket in case they were needed. He didn't want to blow it for that simple detail.

They then took a taxi out Kashim Ibrahim Road. They were early and sat on a wooden bench under the tree outside the municipal offices. It was Friday, marriages were on Friday. He hoped the judge would come in today.

Finally, near ten o'clock, the judge came out of the main office and went into the small building.

They walked over into the office area. The judge smiled when he saw them. "We have brought the papers for the wedding," he said.

"Good. Bukar, go and tell Mohammed Hassan I have important business here now."

The judge seemed in good spirits. "Give the papers to Bukar when he comes back." He went into his office.

"We might be in luck," she said. "He wants to avoid a meeting with someone." She knew her own people, could read them. "He might do it and then go to mosque. He looks to be in a good mood."

"I hope so," Alex replied.

Bukar came in. Alex handed him the papers. There was an official looking letter from the Canadian Embassy that had talked about the marriage and child. It was on official letterhead and had a stamp, also the letter from her brother. He crossed his fingers hoping they'd accept them.

"Come in," the judge said. They sat down in the chairs in front of his desk.

"Where are the papers?"

"We gave them to Bukar, sir."

"They are out there, sir," Bukar replied.

"Did you check them?" he snapped at Bukar who didn't answer. "Go and check them."

They waited while Bukar went to his desk. He probably didn't even read them. A few minutes later he came back. 

"They are in order, sir."

"Good. Then we can proceed. You are both Christians?"

"Yes," they both said at once.

"Stand up." The judge reached for a Bible on the table. "Put your hand on this," he said.

They did.

"Do you take this man to have and to hold, in sickness and in good health, till death do you part, so help you God?"

"I do," Falmata said.

"And do you take this woman to have and to hold, in sickness or in good health, till death do you part, so help you God."

"I do."

"Good. I now thee wed. May Allah bless." There was a pause then. "Do you have a gift for her?"

Alex looked stunned. What was he supposed to do? "I have given her something," he said looking at her.  Her abdomen bulged slightly.

"The rings," the judge said.

"Oh, yes. The rings." He reached in his pocket and brought out her ring and put it on her hand.

"And do you have something for him?"

He brought out the other ring and she put it on his finger from which it almost slipped off, being oversized.

"Good. I wish you many healthy children." The judge smiled and stood up.

"Thank you, sir," he said.

They started to leave. "The paper," she whispered.

"The license, sir?"

The judge signed it and handed it to Falmata. "For Madam," he smiled.

They turned and left. The judge hurried out to go to mosque. Bukar confronted him. He handed Bukar the other twenty-five naira. "Thank you," he managed to say. He didn't know why he'd paid him. Bukar hadn't really done anything. Anyway, it was over.

Outside, they walked toward the road.

"I'm glad that's over," he said. "It was a close one. I almost forget to get the license, good thing you remembered." Alex looked at the license. It was dated February 2. Today was April 9th according to his watch.

Falmata laughed, "Let's get out of here before he changes his mind."

They hurried to the street and waved down a taxi. They got in without even bothering to barter over the price or even to tell the driver where they were going. The taxi wove through the traffic up Kashim Ibrahim Road.