Vernon Mooers writes

THE WHITE MAN'S GRAVEYARD

chapter 4 (1)

Alex had to go into Maiduguri, at least to go to the bank, straighten up his pay sheet and that included a little holiday. He went straight to the motorpark and climbed into a flying coffin, one of the six passenger Peugeot taxis which cost more than the Toyota vans that stopped at every village. It took half the time, but was twice as dangerous.

He'd walked to town early Friday morning and should arrive by noon. Once the hair-raising trip was over without incident, except one road block which the driver bribed their way through, he got off on the road at the round-a-bout and walked to the Lake Chad Hotel where he washed to get the road dust off and sit in air-conditioned comfort and ordered a club sandwich and a coffee. The hotel bar outside and the pool were often frequented by expatriates, but it was too expensive to stay there unless a company was footing the bill.

After lunch, when Alex got himself together, he walked down to the Bank of the North, withdrew some money, a transaction which took over an hour and a half to complete, and cut through to the Ministry of Education where he figured on spending a couple of hours pursuing paperwork, trying to get files moved onto a desk or from one office to another. He'd naively assumed, on first arrival, they opened letters at the Ministry, and had written polite letters to get things done. It didn't work that way. No piece of paper moved of its own accord. It was exasperating and his patience and energy would be drained if he accomplished one or two things at all.

After he had given up on his files as a dead-end for now, he went back to the hotel for another air-conditioned coffee in the dining room, back to re-charge his batteries from the chaos outside. The other time he'd been there, there had been water in the pool. Expats had drinks and swam in the afternoons, relaxed, read books and lounged by the pool as if they were in paradise. Two African girls of fourteen or so, bare from the waist up, had been swimming there as natural as could be, their firming breasts and laughter, their freedom, an image he couldn't forget. Now, there was some problem with the filters and they couldn't get the part. Several people had gotten ear infections and they'd let the water drain out. By late afternoon though, teachers at the Polytechnic or those from out of town might filter into the patio bar and he could find out all the news, see what was happening. There was no telephone -- expatriate news would spread by word of mouth, verbally and efficiently.

But no one showed up, so at six o'clock, Alex walked down to the road and hissed a passing beat-up green and yellow Datsun taxi to take him out to Wulari. Norm and Debbie, CUSO friends he'd met when he first arrived, instructors at Ramat Polytechnic, were given a school-rented house out there as there had been no spare staff houses on the campus compound. He knew he was welcome to stay there, along with Steve if he came in from Biu and even Jeannie if she came down. If Norm and Debbie weren't around, he would walk to the Mai Deribe Hotel from there, see if he bumped into anyone, or get a taxi over to the University Staff House area and look for the American Professor there who he met at the hotel the first time he'd been down.

The important thing was to get set up somewhere before dark, stash his gym bag, wash, change his clothes and then maybe go out somewhere else. If he was lucky, the Italians or the British would be hosting some gathering at their compound. Otherwise, there was the late-night restaurant dance-bar the Lebanese had set-up, but it was in an out of the way area on the other side of town and you really needed a car to get there. Soon, Alex thought, walking over the railway tracks in Wulari, I'll have enough saved to get myself a machine, Honda or Kawasaki, be able to get around here easily. A car was too expensive, out of the question totally.

The path over the tracks was a short-cut. Alex wouldn't have dared to walk it at night. In the daytime, the big ditch on both sides was used as a toilet. Someone was squatting there, his babariga hiked up over his knees. Alex quickened his step. He had to catch them before they went out. The sun was starting to set, but two hundred yards away he could see Norm's blue Volkswagen parked inside the low wall which ringed the house.

This was an unsafe area. Squatters lived in unfinished houses throughout Wulari and Norm's house had been broken into twice. They'd had to hire a m'guardie with his family to live in the boy's quarters. Now they were on their second one. It had turned out the first had different tribal marks from the others staying in the quarters and Norm and Debbie had finally figured out the m'guardie had been renting part of the quarters, even had the others lugging 5 gallon tins of water to the nearby galvanized shacks and selling it. There were plenty of break-ins and expats just never knew if the m'guardies were in on it. Alex was glad he lived in a safe house, right on the school compound. Life, with all the facilities in Maiduguri, also had its disadvantages to offset the isolation of Ngami.

The m'guardie, a Tuareg, lay with his bow and poison arrows, a dagger on his arm, Agadez cross around his neck, on a mat just inside the gate.  "Sannu Mala," Alex said.  Somehow the m'guardie must have remembered him, and half asleep, let him open the steel gate and walk up to the door. Alex knew, Bature or not, if they didn't know you they wouldn't let you in. The last time he'd been down, Norm had wanted to drop off some books at a co-workers in Bellarum. It had already been really late and they'd been coming from the hotel bar but there had been a light on in the house inside the compound. The m'guardie, a Hausa, had been sleeping on a mat by the front door and had a woman there and had not wanted to get up and open the gate. Norm had gotten pissed off and rattled the locked gate until the m'guardie came to yell at them. "Shit, let me mace this guy," Norm had said and sprayed the m'guardie's face. The m'guardie had gone nuts, ran for his bow and arrow and they'd jumped in the Volkswagen and high-tailed it out of there without the lights on.

It had been crazy. Norm was like that when his patience ran thin. Once, Norm even put a guy in a headlock when he'd butted in front of them at a petrol station. They'd been lucky to get out of there alive. Norm was acculturalized now and he'd argue back with them, equally as volatile and hot-tempered. Norm had been there a long time and was just as aggressive as everyone else. Alex thought it sad how they hardened you, wore away your politeness, had you jumping cues, pushing in front of people at the bank, scrambling for petrol and hoarding provisions, fighting to get things done -- for survival -- like animals. There were just too many people, too much chaos and disorganization.  He wished he could not give a damn any more like Norm.

He tapped on the glass door and Debbie was there, smiling and friendly as usual. It was she who stabilized Norm, kept him on track so he didn't blow completely. Consequently, Norm just got mad and laughed about it after. He was half-Nigerian now. Maybe it was just his way of coping.

"Don't stand there, come in Alex," Debbie invited. Her hair was wet. She was drying it under the overhead fans. She looked refreshed, had only a wrapper on, which accentuated the curves of her body. She was very pretty -- Norm was lucky. Some marriages had dissolved here. There were few unmarried women and you got to know the people too well. There was pressure, strain on relationships. "In off the road, Alex? Down for your paperwork, eh? You must be tired..."

"Hey Alex," Norm called from the kitchen. "Come in and grab a Guilder."

Alex walked into the kitchen where Norm stood sauteeing rice with tomato paste sauce on the stove. "Grab a cold one. Got some chop on here... Hey, you can get a shower. Picked up a tobacco tin of loco weed for two naira today. Excellent stuff. We'll have a couple of hits after. Plenty of water. Shower, we're going over to catch the movie at the Lake Chad Club in the GRA if you want to come over with us. Starts around eight o'clock. Probably be a few people there... " 

"Thanks. Sounds O.K. to me." Alex was glad to get into Maiduguri for these events, even if they sometimes mixed the reels up or the projector went on the blink. They showed films outside, had chairs set up behind a hedge on one side of the compound. Otherwise, there was chicken, tables on the patio and a tennis court and a ping-pong table. The dues were high and he wasn't a member and no taxis were allowed in the GRA so he'd only been there twice.  Norm and Debbie would sign him in. It was a treat to spend a Friday night at the Club, have a few beer, socialize with the educated government people, feel half-civilized. The city had things to offer, things he needed to handle it all, to maintain his sanity.

There could also be women there. VSO's posted around the state. You never know who'd you'd meet. Alex took a shower and put on a clean T-shirt, one that looked like something Arnold Palmer would wear. There would stories and tips from expats who'd been old hands there for years, maybe even a party somewhere after. He felt good now.