The Evening Of The Morning

002

It was agreed that any squad that stayed the first half would have their days extended because it fell within Christmas. The meeting ended and the men dispersed.

Boga held Agbo's shoulder and told him, his mouth smelling strongly of tobacco. "When these people reach their village, stay, and when they decide to come back, their pocket would be empty; they would have given every leftover, or things of value to their relatives in the village. Those men, including me, don't give a fuck about the significance of the day."

It made more sense to Agbo now. They fall within the early days, when travelers carried the so-called things of value, with pockets full of money.

“Debt swallowed that whole one million that woman awarded us. I need the extra cash, my son keeps asking for a PSP. I never give that boy anything.” Agbo said.

Some commercial buses even prepared for such occurrences before hitting the road. On four Occasions, Agbo had been to a bus terminal, wearing a face cap, and an extra hundred naira was demanded from the passengers for road charges. Road charges being police post.

Agbo stepped into the cold night, one that didn't stop him from being shirtless. He wore the camouflage vest Bago had given him without buckling it.

Goba was the third man on the three-man squad. He was across the road sitting on a tiny rock, his gun laid across his thighs, and the red light of a cigarette got more pronounced as he probably inhaled. The only source of light (which wasn't supposed to be so) was the oil lamp sitting on the bags of sand heaped by the corner. Agbo had taken cover behind that heap one too many times.

Goba, who was sitting on a small rock, stood up and quenched the cigarette under his sole when a headlamp materialized; shining like the eyes of an evil bat in the dark. Goga had once said, when they shared a bottle of whiskey, that his heart leaped faster whenever he saw a headlight at night. You never know what one might find.

"Always anticipating the worse!" Agbo said aloud and cocked his gun.

"Soldier, this car is carrying a nuclear bomb!" Goba said waving down the approaching car with a torch. Getting to the checkpoint, the trunks placed at specific positions already slowed down the cars and made them drive zig-zag, but Goba still waved the flash.

"The man by the passenger is holding a riffle," Goba continued, "His finger is shivering on the trigger. And there are two guys behind; one with a pistol, the other's hand is bare."

And that was how Agbo imagined it. It could be a family traveling late, or a private transporter. It could always be thieves, yes, it could be, but Agbo always anticipated the worse.  But, no way anyone travelling that road was transporting a nuclear bomb.

The car stopped. Goba approached, wielding a blinding flash and Agbo followed behind, ready to fire, with an almost friendly facade. They wouldn't want to scare whoever was behind the wheel, say it was just an innocent family like the one they were staring at now. The driver, who shielded the flash with his hands, was a perfect replica of a bulldog; sagged cheeks and very small eyes. barley looking behind, Agbo could tell that the children were his. Agbo tapped Goba and Gabo flipped the blinding flash off.

The man brought down his hand, his eyes grateful. "Good morning." The man said flatly.

"Oga, travelling late eh?" Goba asked.

"You can never be early with women." The man's voice lacked enthusiasm.

The woman on the passenger side was an albino. And she didn't for once glance toward them. two boys, not more than ten, were sleeping behind and a girl, matching features with the man, stared directly into Agbo's eyes.

"What do you have in your boot, sir?" Goba asked, following protocol, not that he wanted, or even incubated the thoughts of searching the boot.

"Personal belongings." The man said.

Goba was quiet for a while, probably waiting for intuition to tell him to search or not.

"I would like to see it," Agbo said from behind.

"Sure." The man reached down and the boot clicked open. He stepped down and Agbo saw that he wore blue shorts and had a white bandage around his left ankle, then Agbo wished he never asked to check the boot. The man limped toward the boot, leading the way as protocol demanded, and swung it open. Two black leather bags laid there. No extinguisher, no tool, just the boxes. Agbo didn't glance twice, he closed the boot himself.

The man entered his car and Goba asked for his driver's licence. The man dipped in his pocket and retrieved something which he clutched and gave to Goba. It was money. Goba allowed the torch fall but it was held by the leather belt attached to it, hung across his shoulder. ( just as his Ak hung behind him.)

Goba straightened the money. "Just one thousand?" He complained.

Agbo stealthily tapped him in a way to say, what are you doing? are you not seeing his leg?

"Have a safe journey sir." Agbo said.

“Thank you. ” Just as the car drove off, the albino on the passenger seat looked at Agbo. He couldn't see her eyes. It was the dark, he knew, or was that something else?

"Didn't you see his leg?" Agbo asked when the car drove off.

"Forget that thing! These people have money. They are going to the village to spend it all. See the way he Just dropped one k. He would have dropped more if we pressured." With the aid of the bright flash, Goba retraced his steps to where he had stubbed the cigarette and when he located it, he lit it again. Agbo had used his fingers to quench his and slipped it in his pocket when he saw the car coming. He would save his for morning bowel discharge.

"At least tomorrow is Christmas!" Agbo said excitedly.

"Yea baby!" They high-fived each other. "But more accurately, today is Christmas," Goba said.

"How the fuck do you guys want me to sleep my turn when you guys keep shouting like that!" Bago yelled from the thatched hut.

They laughed and sat down on one of the trunk obstructing the road, backing each other. Goba liked to talk about women and had started narrating untrue stories, while he smoked, about a girl he had been with. Goba was dark and ugly. Three tribal marks were slashed on both of his cheeks. He was bald by choice and loved to cover it with his green barret. He was hench but not as hench as Agbo. Before Goba reached the climax of his story, another headlight materialized. This one was a singular headlamp; a motorcycle. Goba stood up and flipped on the bright flash to flagged down the motorcycle, but the headlamp maintained the same speed, zig-zagging through the roadblock.