Vernon Mooers writes

THE WHITE MAN'S GRAVEYARD

chapter 6 (1)

Steve Morrissey had wanted to telephone his girlfriend. That's mostly why Alex went along. Steve had also received a letter from a friend he knew from Belleville who had invited him there to visit any time he wanted. Some guy named Jerry who used to be in the Air Force and was now an air-traffic controller working on a United Nations sponsored contract for an American company at the airport in Lagos. They had a compound beside the airport and it boasted a swimming pool.

Alex waited for Steve, who'd come up from Biu, and they took the train to Kano and flew down. It was Christmas vacation. Others were going to Kenya or Togo, even by motorcycle to Calabar and the Cameroons. Alex thought he'd better see the South first. When they arrived at Lagos Domestic Airport, the hot, humid air hit them like a steam bath.

"The International Airport," Steve said. He beat the taxi driver down ten naira but Alex figured they got ripped off. It was only a five minute ride. Somehow Steve talked his way through and a guy who worked security escorted them up the stairs to the tower. There was Jerry, working at the radar console.

"The stuff doesn't work too well," he laughed. "Every time there's a blackout the power comes back on and blows it. It's a pretty busy airport." He introduced Alex and Steve to his co-workers.

Jerry's shift was over at four. In the meantime, they went down and looked for a restaurant. The lounge had beautiful red-leathered menus but nothing was available. Alex and Steve settled for the meat pies at the lunch counter. In the washroom there wasn't water in the taps.

"Guess things don't run much better down here," Steve said.

"Looks that way," Alex chuckled. But there was one difference. The women in the airport. There were Lufthansa and KLM stewardesses strolling about, pulling trollies with over-night luggage. The southern women wore Western fashionable clothes. They'd been living way up in the North. They hardly saw women up there, except students and market vendors. But here...

"Paradise," Alex said.

"Jerry works here. He probably knows them all."

"It's what we came for. A Southern Vacation."

"Four o'clock. Jerry said to go up."

They met him upstairs again and did a bit of a tour of the airport.

"See the ports," Jerry pointed to a half-dozen Bell Helicopters sitting on the tarmac. "Jungle warfare. This is a military airport. The MIGs are in the hangers there. These are leasing planes. We put in an order for pizzas when a friend of mine makes a run to Calabar."

"Real pizza?"

"Italians run a restaurant there."

Alex's mouth watered. "What I'd give for a pizza and a big glass of fresh milk." He'd been four months up north living on fifteen varieties of sardines, bread that you hit a piece of sand in every second bite and a squash that was like a cross between pumpkin and turnip. He had been trying to cook, but often went to "Kentucky Fried Chicken," a guy who roasted chickens over a barrel with coals in it in the market. "Leave the leper dust. Hold the peppe," he'd say, "Ba peppe." The hot spices made his nose run and eyes water. He hadn't adjusted very well but Steve had put a piece of blackboard in front of the house last week with `MASH 4077' written on it in big letters. Alex thought for sure Steve was going over the edge. Marcel had already had a Psychiatrist come over and pick up a guy in Mubi who flipped out. Found him living in one room in the house with his pet cockroaches. There was month-old food all over the place. "A free ticket home," Steve joked. This guy had kept screaming about having to go to the Ministry again. It was the paperwork at the Ministry of Education that they made you do. It must have got to him.

Alex had come over, thinking to get Sherri out of his mind. There was nothing to do at night but stare at the fans going around overhead and chant to the music on the radio, except Radio Canada International when it sputtered and spit a half-hour each day when he could even pick it up. Then he had a choice between the propaganda foes -- Radio Moscow and Voice of America came in real clear. And so did Sherri.

Steve had it worse. There were no telephones. He had to go a thousand kilometres to call his girlfriend. She was only in grade thirteen so he had to wait it out. Imagine, going out with a student when you were on teaching practice. Now Steve had the rest of the year to kill before she got out of High School and they could get together in public. Otherwise, he'd never get a teaching job in Belleville, or anywhere else for that matter.

Everyone had their reasons. Jerry was being paid in U.S. dollars. He said he was stashing a nice bit away in a New York bank. His cheques went there automatically and he didn't have to pay the taxman either. They gave him an apartment in the compound, a car and living expenses money. Some guys had it good.

There was a party at a private house in Ikeja that night. Free food, plenty of drinks. Jerry drove over. They were expatriates. Their mere colour admitted them.

"It's the last outpost," a lady said. "We were in Rhodesia for ten years before it fell."

An Irishman swore he'd seen it all. "Twelve years running a hotel in Singapore. Those Asian women. I think I'll go back there. Was married in Ireland you know, lost my house and car. I got a woman here, cleans my house. You're Canadians, eh?... Good. I don't like Brits. If it's man to man an Irishman would take him any day."

"Mingle," Jerry said. He introduced them to a few people.

"I visited my sister in Georgia last year," a lady said. "She was watching what she said because we lived in Africa. I turned to her and said, `Let's call a spade a spade.' After that it was O.K."

People were drunk. Two buddies of Jerry's were talking. "He was up in Medical School and quit before he became a controller. Here, you guys take a couple of these. They're uppers. Keep you going."

They each threw a pill back.

"Who's that?" Alex asked.

"She's married to George. Forget it. She's from Thailand. They don't fool around. If you want Bernard's wife there, I hear she can't get enough. Just don't get caught. He's an ex-SIS man. Says he knows forty-two ways to kill someone with his bare hands... Oh,oh."

"What?" Alex asked.

"Steve's in trouble." Steve and another young guy were pretending to throw a girl in the pool. She was probably fifteen, dressed like a punk rocker. She was laughing, telling them not to do it. The father came over and slapped the other guy's face hard. They promptly let her go.

"She's afraid of water! She said to stop it. I say leave her alone," the man said loudly.

"O.K. O.K. We're just having a bit of fun," the guy said. They both walked away.

"Touchy."

"He's got it in for that guy. Doesn't like him. Probably fire him. That's the thing here.  People are tense. If you don't like someone, you get rid of them, set them up or something. You have to watch it."

Steve came over. "Short fuse on that guy."

"Yeah. You should leave that young stuff alone anyway," Alex said.

"Just be careful what you do around here," Jerry said intently. "These people can't go out. The wives are stuck out here. A pregnant woman was pushed down outside a department store and her car stolen. The company said not to let them go out shopping by themselves any more. Last week, a man put a gun to George's head and took his car right here on the compound. The robber's hand was shaking. Why do you think they drink so much?"

They watched themselves after that.

"I've seen people torched on Bar Beach for thieving," George said. "Throw a tire and a can of petrol over them and light it. Speaking of Bar Beach, I hear the military came by and tore the kiosks down. Unconventional. Blew them up. Drove by in trucks and threw grenades for practice."

"Did you see that body on Airport Road this morning? A boy hit by a car. Still laying there when I went by at four. No one would touch him," someone said.

"The family will get the body I suspect," George said. "If you hit someone, keep going," he laughed.

Jesus, Alex wondered, what was wrong with this place? They were hardened to it all. They lived in another world -- the barbed wire, the burglar bars and steel shutters. It was like a war zone. A question of survival. It did things to their heads. Made them crazy.

"We should get out of here," Alex finally said to Jerry.

"It's winding down anyway. People have been leaving. I have to work tomorrow. Get Steve and we'll get going before it gets too late. Not safe on the roads."