Vernon Mooers writes

THE WHITE MAN'S GRAVEYARD 
chapter 14 (2)

They drove through the gate of the hospital. The 
old gate-keeper, dressed in a red uniform, looked at them nonchalantly. He was buying kola nuts from one of the women who sat with their wares under a baobab tree.

Alex got out of the car, still with the shocked look on his face and went straight to where Jeannie was sitting on the concrete wall that led to the ward. The policeman was talking with the orderly in Hausa.

"Is he O.K.?" he spit out.

Jeannie was pale. "I don't know," she answered. "Alex --"

"Ricardo is coming. Jesus, where is he? I had to get the police." He went and looked in the ward then. The boy was not there.

The policeman and orderly walked over. "Where is he?" he demanded anxiously.

"Oh no," Jeannie said. Her hand went to her mouth. A black Mercedes came through the gate.

"Alhaji," the policeman said. Now it meant trouble. "The boy's father." The policeman had hoped there wouldn't be complications. The boy was one of the Alhaji's wives' children, not just a village boy. He was wealthy. It made it a problem now. It was bad enough that a foreigner was involved.

The Alhaji got out of the car after his driver. He was a huge man, probably six foot four and three hundred pounds, in an expensive babariga. His large arms threw the cloth of the traditional dress onto his shoulder.

"He be big man," the policeman said.  "Important man."

He walked toward them like a giant.

"Sannu Alhaji," the orderly and policeman said, touching their chest where their heart was, with their hands.

Alex and Jeannie were speechless and wore worried looks. His lips managed a sort of silent "Sannu." The Alhaji didn't answer. He turned to the orderly and spoke in Hausa. The orderly looked worried. He went to get his clipboard. It was very official now.

"Zo," the orderly beckoned and they all walked past the ward to a treatment room. The boy was sitting in a wheelchair there.

They gathered around the boy. There were stitches in his forehead and he had a cut lip. On the side of his head, over his ear, was the lump. Some of the swelling had gone down. The boy smiled. He must have thought the Batures, the white people, were doctors.

Alex smiled at the boy, tried to tell him he was the one who hit him and brought him to the hospital. The boy, probably in primary school, didn't understand English yet.

"He came out right in front of me -- there was nothing I could do," he explained to  Alhaji, "I think he is O.K."

Alhaji did not look pleased. The orderly led them outside. They still talked in Hausa. Ricardo's white Volkswagen came through the gate then. He came over.

"Any problem?" he asked, looking at them all standing there.

"I hit a small boy. He's in there. Check on him."

Ricardo and the orderly went inside. "I think the boy will be O.K.," he said to Jeannie who was still sitting on the small wall.

"That's Alhaji Tijani," she said. "I've seen him with the Principal before." The policeman and Alhaji were still talking. The driver had gone to the car.

Ricardo and the orderly came out. "I think it's just a bump, couple of stitches. A close one. They want to keep him in here though. Maybe just a slight concussion. Was he awake when you brought him in Alex?"

"Yes, he was out cold for a couple of minutes. They threw water on him."

"Maybe just a bump. Alhaji sent for one of his wives, the mother. If he's still here tomorrow, you'll be O.K." Ricardo was smiling.

The orderly came over then. "Bakome. The policeman says you have to go to make a report.

"I hope the boy will be alright. Thank you."

"Bakome, bature, sannu." The orderly was writing hurriedly on his clipboard.

They drove very carefully to the police station. It had been dark for a while and the dust hung in the air as he drove nervously through the market. Outside the cigarette wholesaler's shop, men sat throwing dice on a straw mat, a customary gambling location.

In the police station, the sergeant was behind the desk. "You can wait outside," he said. He conversed with the policeman who'd come with them in Hausa.

They sat on the bench outside. Jeannie was frazzled, very tired.

"We never got the kerosene," Alex said.

"I don't need it any more."

The policeman ordered them to come back in.

"Did you get the papers?" the sergeant queried the other one, who looked at him. He handed the license over.

"The registration and insurance are in the car."

"Get it," the sergeant barked. "Go with him."

They went out to the car. The policeman had a flashlight on his belt and held it out while he switched on the overhead light and got the papers from the glove compartment.

They went back in. "I think the boy is O.K.," he said nervously to the sergeant.

"We need a report. Take them in there."