Vernon Mooers writes

THE WHITE MAN'S GRAVEYARD 
chapter 14 (4) 

They went back to the police station. Gabriel was there and they told him what happened. "Madam, you can go home," he said. "The boy is not released yet." He turned to Hassan. "Did you measure the accident?" Hassan looked dumbfounded. "Take him on your machine. Make a drawing. Here's some paper."

He must have been trying to impress Jeannie. They didn't measure things. How would anyone know where the boy and the car had been? They should have done that immediately.

Alex climbed onto the back of Hassan's motorcycle and they drove to the edge of town where it happened. There was no crowd of people there. It was another day. A woman cooked outside a hut. He hoped the people had calmed down. He had to pretend it was O.K., that they were in charge, that he was not nervous. Several men were sitting on a mat in front of one of the houses. "What is that they're doing?" he asked.

"A game," Hassan answered. "Casting dice. It is not good if you lose, if you cannot pay. Sometimes there are killings."

The fish the boy had been carrying were lying on the road. He explained to Hassan what had happened, pointed to where the boy had come out of the ditch, where his tire marks were, where he'd gone off the road. The bicycle was still there by the road. He drew it on the paper for Hassan, with arrows to show what had happened. Hassan stood back. "Fifteen feet," he guessed. He hadn't brought anything to measure with and smiled. "Right here Mister Alex? Bring the bicycle."

They got back on the machine. He had to carry the bicycle in his arms as they drove back to the police station.

He waited again. Hassan came back out. "The car has to be inspected by the Motor Vehicle Inspector, in Low-Cost."

"O.K. No problem. I'll do it." He left then in the car even though he still didn't have his papers back.

Anyway, the brakes had been working. He'd had problems with them. It was lucky he'd gotten them fixed.

He found the Motor Vehicle Inspector, one Abba Ahmadu, at his house in Low-Cost. He told him the car had to be inspected. "An accident," Alex said. Overweighted lorries with bald tires commonly drove the roads. This was important. The man gave him a frightful look.

"Nothing too serious, a boy was knocked off his bicycle. Just scratched him up."

"Oh, ho. I thought it was fatal," Mr. Ahmadu said relieved. It was O.K. then. He came off the porch. If it was serious he wouldn't have done the inspection, would have had nothing to do with it. "Is the car running good?"

"I fixed it up. Everything works."

"Brakes?"

"Yes," he said.

Mr. Ahmadu went through the ritual of turning on lights and signals. He filled in the official form and said it was ten naira, which he handed over. There would be no cash for his trouble. It had to be official.

Alex took the paper directly back to the police station. Gabriel was there on the steps.

"I inspected the car. Here's the paper."

"Oh," Gabriel looked surprised. "By yourself? Hassan should have gone with you." He looked at the form. "You check here again when the boy is released."

He thanked Gabriel and drove back to the school. They still though, had his license and registration.

The next day he did not go over to school either. A Prefect came to the house. "Sir, you are supposed to be teaching us. The Vice asked where you are."

"Tell him I had an accident. I can't teach." He sent the boy back. He sat in the living room. His nerves were shot. They could still nail him on some kind of charge.

The same student was at the door again. "The Vice says you should come to the office, Sir."

He went out then. He was angry. He was not going to teach. He would refuse to teach them.

"The boy was not hurt I think," the Vice-Principal said. He was a very tall Kanuri who had been just appointed to the position. "Alhaji is a relative.  We will go and see him tonight. You go and do your work."

After classes they drove into town. The Vice had bought a big Volvo. The body wasn't in very good shape but he had a tape-deck in it and air-conditioning. It was still pretty comfortable. They drove out to the edge of town where Alhaji Tijani lived, parked in front of the house and the Vice knocked on the door. One of the servants came out and talked to him.

He came back to the car. "The boy was released. He is out playing," he said. He drove through a maze of back streets where children played and goats and sheep wandered. They parked near a mosque. A black Mercedes was sitting outside a house there.

"One of his wives' houses," the Vice said. "You wait here." Across the street a goat chewed on a paper bag and men sat under a niim tree throwing dice.

It was a half hour before the Vice came back. "Alhaji says if you agree to fix the bicycle he will not press any charges."

"Fine, I agree." More money, Alex thought. It was the Alhaji's fault for letting the boy have a bicycle and not watching his kids. He should be the one charging them for the damage to his car and all the problems.

"Where is the bicycle?"

"At the police station. They still have my papers too."

The Vice was a determined man. He was not made a Vice-Principal for nothing even though it was his first year teaching. He was from the area, could discipline the students, could solve problems. It was a political appointment. He got out of the car at the police station, a man with authority. He spoke loudly to Hassan on the steps and then went inside. He came out shortly carrying the bicycle and strode over and threw it in the trunk.

"Get in," he ordered.

They got in the car. He reached in his babariga and brought out the registration and license and handed it to him.

"What did they say?"

"They wanted money."

"How much do I owe? Did you pay them?"

"No! Why should I pay them? They are not doing their jobs!" His Kanuri temper flared.

They drove through the market then, dropping off the bicycle to be repaired. "He says twenty naira to fix it.  You can get it tomorrow. Do you agree?"

"Yes, that's fine."

"You get it tomorrow. Take it to the boy."

"No problem."

"We'll get back to the school then," the Vice stated.

Maybe the problem is solved, Alex thought. The police did not seem too pleased about it though.

It still bothered him two weeks later. In a few more days he would go to Kano and make a booking, pay whatever it cost to make it. Maybe Olun, the Youth Corper, would go with him, calm him down going through the road blocks. The military might go through his things, delay them, check his papers.

It was time to go. It had been too close. Now, he wasn't sure if he could get out. He had renewed his contract, got the re-entry Visa and a return ticket. It was easier that way. He'd put a Vancouver address on the form thinking he might be able to re-route it. The ticket was further, costlier, to cover the gratuity they owed him, but it was another thing to worry about. If they suspected he wasn't coming back they might make it hard for him. He would leave most of his things in the house just as if he were coming back from leave again. Jeannie had already gone, flown to Europe.

He'd burned all the papers in the bin yesterday. Alex thought the m'guardie had watched suspiciously and he'd been nervous when he'd walked by to go to the other house. There were so many things to worry over. If someone at the Ministry of Education disliked him they could make trouble and might contact the customs people. Then there was the boy. He could die of a tumour or even haemorrhage. They wouldn't have picked it up at the hospital. Alhaji could notify them in Kano, have him stopped anyway even though it was supposed to be all cleared up.

There was a banging at the door. Quereshi, his Indian neighbour, was standing on the porch. He unlocked the door and let him in.

"May I get one of your mattresses?" he asked.

He didn't answer. Quereshi was up to his old tricks, probably suspected he wasn't coming back this time from leave and wanted the mattress for his house. He'd ask to borrow chairs tomorrow and so get to keep them if he didn't return.

"You know Garg, teaches at Maiduguri, they were visiting here. He hit a girl on the road near Damaturu."

"What?"

"He has to stay," Quereshi said calmly. "The D.P.O. said he can't go. And his boy was driving, the eldest. The girl was killed. They tried to clear it up, paid the father and all but he has to stay in the police station. We will give him a mattress." 

 "What will they do with him?"

"They said no more. They have to settle it in court in Maiduguri. They can't deal with it here. They'll be six months to clear it up, and if he runs he'll pay more."

Alex went and got the mattress. Quereshi knew about these things, how to pray with the family, how things worked. He was from India and it happened there. He was a muslim. He knew the laws. Nothing seemed to bother Quereshi except how much he had to pay.

"I wish him luck," Alex said. "Here, you can borrow this over the summer." Alex gave him the clean set.

"Thank you, my friend ," Quereshi said as he left.

Alex closed the door and locked it. The villagers could come to the school looking for the expatriate, the teacher who hit the girl, burn or lynch him by mistaken identity. It would not be safe to drive near Damaturu.

Quereshi, he saw through the window, had taken the mattress inside his house. He came out again and was putting water in his blue plastic kettle. It was prayer time. He walked over to pray with the m'guardie and the others on the mat by the Principal's house.

Alex noticed it was dusk. Yes, he would go in the morning to try to make his booking.