Vernon Mooers writes

THE WHITE MAN'S GRAVEYARD

chapter 12 (1) 

"I went to your house, the radio was still on, the dog was barking, but no answer." Quereshi was still in his sleeping clothes that looked like pyjamas.

"I went looking for Jeannie -- she was at the WTC. I met them near the round-about. There weren't any soldiers at the NEPA transformer."

Musa was pulling his motorcycle out of the driveway. There was a case of empty coke bottles tied on the rack. It looked like he was going to the market.

"Go back," Quereshi was waving at Musa. "No, you should not go to the town." Musa looked sort of dumbfounded. They pulled in the driveway. The radio was still on. Jeannie took her things in. Alex was fixing his coffee.

"They don't know what's going on," he said.

The dog barked. Olun and another NYSC were at the door.

The dog stopped barking and Alex told them to come in. They sat down and he sat in the chair at the table. The Youth Corpers were from the South. They had reason to worry if there was trouble also. They were a long way from their home tribe States.

"Heard the news?" Olun said.

"Something about the military on BBC," he said, not letting on as he figured they might know more. "What's going on?"

"It's on Radio Nigeria, Lagos," Olun said.

"What? Can you pick it up?" he asked. They went over to the radio, put it on MW and Olun turned the dial all the way to the left.

"That's it," he said. "That's the military march music. They'll make an announcement shortly." They listened. A few minutes later the National Anthem was played.

The announcement came on: "This is Brigadier Sani Abatcha speaking on behalf of the Nigerian Armed Forces. All essential services are cut. You are advised to keep off the streets. All Nigerians are expected to be law-abiding. The military will not tolerate disturbance in any part of the country. The conditions will remain in effect until further notice when other announcements will be made."

A group of the WTC teachers came in from the town just then to ask for some pots and dishes for the party. Alex told them they'll have to change the location of the party to the school compound.

"The people are happy!" Mrs. Dibal exclaimed. "The Military took over!"

"Still, there's a curfew."

"There's so many invited," she answered, "we can't change it now. You can stay all night." She was out the door.

Alex shook his head. He knew it was better to stay in the school where it was safe and protected. The house was in the open in the town and not government property. The school was the most secure place.

"We should go," Olun said. "We have to get back from town before dusk. The D.P.O. is having a party at his place, if it's still on."

"I imagine that it's changed. He'd be busy. Anyway, you can see him and find out what's going on." The D.P.O. was from their area in Bendel State.

"Anyway, if there's a problem, we'll just go out to the barracks and stay there. There's some Bendelites out there too." The precarious situation was in limbo at present. Those from the South always had to worry more when things were unstable. Below the surface were memories of the last coup when a Northern General was killed and civil war broke out. During the process Southerners were slaughtered mercilessly all over the north in typical explosive vengeful anger.

"Come back and tell us what's going on, if you find out." Alex was hoping the D.P.O. was around. He'd seen him driving from the railway police station in the morning -- not in uniform. Communications were so poor that the only link was on the radio. He doubted even the police or the soldiers at the base knew what was going on any more than anyone else.

Dusk came on far too quickly. They rushed to get ready. It was already six o'clock. Curfew was at seven they had said. Alex put his sleeping bag, the Traveller's Cheques, passports, malaria pills and flashlight in a plastic bag and put them in the car. Then he had to go and load it with the trays and dishes. He was getting flustered. The sun was going down fast.

"Hurry up!" Alex yelled. "Go, go, I'll just lock up." He left both the kitchen and living-room lights on and switched on the outside security lights and locked all the inside doors. He spun out the driveway and saw all the cars still at Quesea's house.

"They'll all go in a convoy," Jeannie said.

"Yeh, well maybe they changed it to here. I don't want to drive all the way in there and have to come back." He wheeled in, anxiously beeping the horn. Finally, Charlie came to the door.

"Are you going to the town?" Alex queried quickly.

"Yes, we're going shortly."

"O.K. we'll go ahead." Alex spun back out. He drove recklessly around the turn, down the rugged, bumpy school road to the gate where the m'guardie and Mohammed and Saleh, who worked at the school also, were sitting around the fire. He waved and the m'guardie opened the gate and he drove down the bumpy road, faster than normal, rattling the dishes in the back seat, still trying to be careful not to have them bounce or slide off the seat or smash into the cakes. The road was just so ill-maintained and pot-holed.

Alex and Jeannie pulled up in front of the house -- the rest hadn't arrived. They took the dishes and things inside. Alex looked up and down the highway for awhile, smoking a cigarette, his feet on the bumper of the Volkswagen, studying the whole scene. The lights were on at the hospital and the post office. The petrol station was still open by the round-about and a Toyota Land-Cruiser, its load weighing the whole back end down, had pulled in by the pumps.

All was quiet. There was the odd van passing from the railway and a Peugeot taxi, its lights off, came around the round-about and sped off toward the railway station. There was little movement. It was almost dark. By the round-about, lights were on at the autobody and paint kiosk but there was no fire on the mound of brick where they roasted slabs of goat meat on sticks. The light bulb fastened to the faded billboard showed the table bare and the bench set on top. It was usually stacked with bread and packets of sugar or detergent.

There were no vendors walking with trays of kola nuts or cigarettes on their heads, no taxi vans stopping, no motorcycles without tail-lights recklessly tearing around. There was no sound of cheering for the Kung Fu scenes at the outdoor cinema, one of the centres of nightlife where kiosks and food hotels and vendors stayed open, children played and the noise of a flurry of activity conglomerated together.

The curfew was real all right. He didn't think they'd take it seriously. Most laws were flouted. It was not uncommon for a taxi to speed through a road block without stopping or to see a driver just slip a couple of naira into the policeman's hand and go through. Normally, they didn't pay attention to rules and regulations and nobody enforced them anyway. He hadn't expected them to close the kiosks, for that meant loss of business, but everything had slowed down.

Not a soldier or policeman or army truck passed. The odd taxi still sped by. It was close to seven o'clock. They were closing down and going home, maybe only in case there was trouble. The word had gotten out now -- news was slow to travel to the north.

Finally, the other three cars arrived from the school. They all went inside. The Sri Lankan teachers pulled in in their Volkswagen. It was already 7:30. The drunks -- the Pakistani doctor and his wife and Adele, the Egyptian dentist, came banging on the back door a few minutes later, carrying a bottle of Dubonet and whisky and laughing. They'd stumbled across the back stretch through a hole in the fence at the back of their compound where their two houses were.

There were now about thirty people, most of the expatriates of the town who partied together usually. The Filipino doctor was there with his three kids. All were determined to celebrate New Year's Eve even though they were a long way from their homes.

Alex adjusted the radio to get Lagos again. There was no music yet. Everyone was just laughing and greeting each other and trying to pretend nothing had changed, that coups and other things were normal. Of course, they'd all been there for the Kano and Bulunkutu religious riots when thousands were killed, the expulsion of the aliens, the clashes during the elections and the border clashes with Cameroon and Chad.

They were used to disturbances and riots at the schools. Car accidents and armed robbery were common occurrences. It is just another event, Alex thought. Underneath though, always present, was an aura of uncertainty and tension. He'd gotten used to the explosive unpredictability of the volatile society, but the insecurity of living a precarious existence was always there, hidden in the back of his mind, regardless of how used to things he became.

Things were still uncertain. They didn't know what would happen. No Head of State was announced. Something was going on in Lagos, that was all. Nobody knew what would happen.

The party started and they all took their food, which had been laid out smorgasbord style on the table. The Indian community, who sort of stuck to themselves, weren't there. A Volkswagen took off. Alex looked around. Ricardo Quinones and Malik, the two doctors, were gone, probably to the hospital to check on things. They'd had to do a Caesarian that day. Usually, they came and went at parties.