The Lagos Tale

“A one-eyed man is much more incomplete than a blind man, for he knows what it is that’s lacking.”

― Victor Hugo, The Hunchback of Notre-Dame

Being a conductor is hard.

Being a conductor on a bus that heads for nowhere? Even harder.

The most difficult part is the face, there’s a specific face that you have to make that is at both turns comforting and non-threatening when you say, “No need for money oo. This one free,” to the people embarking, and Tegbe was not known for his comforting and non-threatening appearance. Words used to describe him ranged from disquieting, to simply terrifying.

But that was how things were: his younger brother, Chris, drove in the front while Tegbe herded in the people until the bus was full. That was the deal.

The road was dusty and a speeding car with brown plumes of dust behind it horned for the car in front to move faster. A beggar constrained to a board on two scraggly wheels pleaded passers by for money, anything, that could get her through the day. Traffic was building in the street; you could feel it in your blood if you lived here long enough. There wasn’t a scientific formula, nor was there a particular logic. Sha, there was traffic coming, you knew it and like bad energy, you stayed far away.

There was a look that people gave him as he explained there was no charge from here to Sango-Ota. Their eyes would quickly glance at his face and they would search for a place in the scarred mess for their eyes to settle on, and when finding none, they would just settle on his nose as he talked, careful not to look for too long. Nobody asked questions, they just nodded and entered. Nobody ever asked questions.

Smile. He was supposed to smile.

He flashed a grin and the woman in front of him screamed and recoiled before soothing her rumpled skirts in distress and walking slowly into the bus.

Tegbe stopped smiling.

He kept shouting “Sango-Ota! Sango-Ota!” until the bus started to fill small small. Chris smiled at Tegbe from the driver’s seat, his thin fingers drumming on the dashboard. He did this when he was happy. And today was a happy day, after all. It was their last run. After this, they would park the bus by the side of some road and say goodbye to their life of crime and blood rimmed magic. Tegbe was relieved.

He gave Chris a thumbs-up.

A little girl holding a thick red bound book clambered inside the last space and Tegbe briefly wondered why such a small girl was riding in a bus alone, but he shrugged and nodded to Chris who gunned the engine, and started driving.

Their deal with Baba Exodus was simple, almost childishly so: on the midnight of the 24th of every month, they were to drive a bus of people across the Lagos State border where he had used a charm to mark a long thin line that he assured them no one else could see. Once they had done that, they would receive the credit alerts on their phone; ₦50,000 each per head.

The first time they did it, maybe three, four years ago, the bus had gone from crowded to empty in an eyeblink. Tegbe had searched for them but he found nothing. It was like they had never existed. And sure enough, a minute later he got a text from his bank that a transfer had been made from an anonymous benefactor. Chris had gotten one too.

He counted. He was good at that. And talk true, it was ₦50,000 per head.

Chris had laughed with euphoria and slapped Tegbe on the back that day. “Guyyyy,” he said, a sick smile on his face, “we don hammer.”

Tegbe had simply nodded. They didn’t charge on the 24th of every month, Tegbe had suggested that. It only seemed fair.

But today, today was their last run. After this, no more. They were going to put their money somewhere and maybe invest. Tegbe didn’t know. He looked at the bus full of people either sleeping or using their phones or talking and he looked out as he hung out of the open door, the wind blowing his face as they manoeuvred through the expressway.

He didn’t know what they’d do with the money. All he knew was that he wanted this, this sick feeling in his stomach, to finally be over.

They had been on the road for maybe an hour when he felt eyes on him. People always stared at him but after a while, he didn’t really care. But nobody ever stared at him on the bus, being in a crowded enclosed space drove out the thoughts of the chance of even slightly annoying the giant.

But he could feel a pair of eyes on him now. And it…he didn’t know how it made him feel.

He used his thick arms to drag himself into the bus and he looked back at the eyes. The eyes of the little girl, her hijab tied tightly across her head, her book in one hand, a white nylon in the other.

She waved at him.

Tegbe looked behind him in confusion and then back again.

He pointed to himself, an unsaid question in the air.

The girl giggled and nodded her head.

Tegbe waved back and he tried a smile again.

She didn’t run, or scowl, or cry like the others did.

The girl smiled back.

She brought out a hand as she looked up at him with her round face. “My name is Fatima,” she said and Tegbe could see she still had some teeth missing, though, some whites could be seen in the sea of pink gums.

Tegbe tentatively shook her hand. “I’m Tegbe,” he said. “But sha, my friends call me Tegbs.” There was a pause and then, “I don’t have any friends.”

The girl smiled again. “Okay,” she said, “can I call you Tegbs?”

Tegbe nodded and smiled. “Yes.”

“Have you ever shaken anybody’s hand before, Tegbs?” The girl asked.

Tegbe crossed his eyebrows. “Yes, of course. Why not? Why are you even asking seff?”

“Because you’re still holding my own hand.” The girl said quietly.

“Oh oh oh,” Tegbe said, almost blushing, “I’m…sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Fatima shrugged. She looked at Tegbe while she talked to him, staring into his eye, never breaking contact. Even Chris always settled on his nose.

Tegbe pointed at the nylon bag. “What’s that for?”

Fatima held it up and looked at the bag. “My uncle is sick and I was the only one at home so…so they sent me to go and buy drugs for him.”

“Just you?” Tegbe said, observing her small frame.

She nodded her head. “There was nobody else and the thing has been doing him since.”

Tegbe pointed at her other hand. “Then what’s that one?”

Fatima brought out her book. “My uncle has a bookstore and he gave me this for my birthday. It’s from the overseas.” She held it out for Tegbe to see.

He stared blankly at the cover before shaking his head. He mumbled something under his breath.

“What?” Fatima asked.

“I…” he was saying, the words choking him, “I…My father,” he looked at Chris, “our father didn’t believe in school. He said that the main thing was making money, so we never learnt. I don’t…I don’t know how to read.” Then, “But my mother used to read some stuff to me when I was small.” He made a small gap between his fingers.

“Oh,” Fatima said and perked up. “Don’t worry, I’ll read it for you. It’s called The Hu…Hunchb…Hunchback of Notre Dame.” She wiggled her eyebrows at the cover. “I don’t know if I pronounced that one right.” She shrugged again.

“What’s it about?” Tegbe asked.

“It’s about this man,” she said, still looking at him, “who is going through a lot and people only judge him by how he looks. But one day, as he’s being whipped, a woman comes and brings him water…I’m still in the middle so I don’t know what happens next.”

Tegbe nodded. “It sounds interesting sha.”

“It is. Tegbs, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“What happened to your…” She gestured to her right eye.

Tegbe touched his own and grimaced. “There was a…fight,” he said, “some things were said, some bones were broken and some eyes were slashed.” Then, “My own…my own eye was the one that was slashed.”

Fatima winced. “I’m sorry,” she said and the words sounded strange in Tegbe’s ears, like the way the word Pogonotrophy would have. It was in the way a word would sound strange if you had never heard it said to you before.

“It’s fine,” he said. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” she said.

“Can you… can you read to me?” Tegbe said. “The book, can you read the book to me?”

Fatima smiled. “Of course.”

Most of the people were sleeping at this point and the bus was dark except for the glow of people’s phones and tablets as they scrolled and tapped, it was quiet except for the sound of a little girl reading a story to a man who had never read one.

“Meanwhile, at the pillory,” Fatima read, she had a nice soothing voice, “Quasimodo had raised his head to look out at the crowd. ‘Water!’ he cried out pitifully. But nobody gave him any. ‘Water!’ he cried again. Then, at last, one woman came forward…”

Tegbe!”

Chris called, interrupting his reverie.

Tegbe groaned. He had been enjoying the story.

He told Fatima he would be back soon and he leaned in to the front of the bus. “Ehn?” he said.

“Time go soon reach,” Chris whispered, pressing something on his phone to show Tegbe. They had 45 minutes to midnight. Tegbe looked out the windows at the stirps of land flashing by and he saw a grove of trees. He knew that grove, they called it Ogun’s Grove. It meant they were close.

Tegbe nodded and with heavy feet and a heavy heart, he got back to sitting on the ground next to Fatima.

“Do you want to continue?” she asked.

Tegbe shook his head.

And then, he thought of something in a quiet moment and fished out his misshapen wallet, pulling out from it a folded piece of paper that may have once been white and crisp but was now yellow and mouldy.

He gave it to Fatima, who took it.

“Can you read that one to me?” He asked quietly.

Fatima looked at him and then the piece of paper and began unfolding it. When she was done, she held it carefully, as if trying not to break it.

She looked at Tegbe again and then she began reading it. “May God protect and guide you,” Fatima read out loud, “may you not know sickness or strife. May your footsteps be guided by Jehovah. Nobody knows tomorrow. But I love you both, my sons. May God lighten your lives as you have lightened mine. God bless you. Love, your mother.” Fatima looked at Tegbe as she finished. His head was down and he was quiet for a long while.

“Thank you,” he said quietly as Fatima gave him back the letter. His eye was red with tears.

The bus suddenly pulled over to the side of the road and Chris got down to ease himself. The border was right in front of them. Tegbe got down too.

When Chris was done, he turned to find Tegbe right behind him.

Chris smiled. “Ten more minutes,” he said, “and we’ll be done. We’ll be rich. Guy, think of all the cars we can buy now. All of the houses, the watches. The phones.”

“I don’t think we should do this,” Tegbe blurted.

“What?” Chris said, cocking his head.

“I…I think we should leave these people alone and just go. We have enough cash already. I just…I don’t think we should do this again, E don do.”

Chris took a step forward. “What?”

“I don’t — ”

Chris punched him across the jaw. “What the fuck do you mean by that?” He snarled. “After everything?”

He calmed down a little. “No more. No more eating garri every day. No more begging. After this, we can be good for life. You can go to school like you’ve always wanted, shey? You want to go to school, don’t you?”

Tegbe nodded, his hand to his mouth. It was bleeding.

“Ehen, see? We need cash, money to do that.” Chris closed his eyes and opened them back again. “It’s bad, I know. But we have to do this. You get?”

Tegbe nodded, tears flooding his eyes. “I get,” he nodded.

Chris smiled and patted his brother on his shoulder as he walked past him to the bus. “I knew you’d get.”

Chris had reached the back of the bus and was making sure the boot was closed properly when his head was smashed against the bus, the people inside looking back, screaming.

Tegbe stood over his brother as Chris cradled his bloodied head in now bloodied hands. He was shouting, screaming.

He stood up and Tegbe just stood there, allowed him, and then Chris kicked his groin and Tegbe went down, the hard groan escaping his lips.

“…run…” he said, but nobody heard him.

Chris held Tegbe’s head in his hands and put his knee to it and stars exploded in his eyes.

“You bastard,” Chris spat. There was blood running down his face. “We could have had everything!”

“Run!” Tegbe screamed, and this time, the people in the bus heard and they started dashing from the bus in all angles and directions.

The little girl, Fatima stood there, staring at Tegbe with wide eyes.

“Run!” Tegbe croaked to her, stumbling as he tried to get up. Chris followed Tegbe’s eyes.

And the girl ran.

But Chris was faster.

He raced to catch her and Tegbe got off his feet but deep inside, he knew it was useless. Chris was always the faster one, Tegbe, the bigger. Chris caught the girl as she screamed and fought, clawing his hand as he dragged her to the bus.

“No!” Tegbe screamed as he launched himself at Chris but he must’ve found an iron from somewhere because he whacked Tegbe’s head with it and for the second time that day, Tegbe’s face met the ground and world turned sideways.

“Please,” Tegbe mumbled as he tried to get up, Fatima’s screams filling his mind. “Please.”

Chris, grabbed the girl and threw her into the bus and locked the door.

“At least one is enough,” Chris said, smiling at the girl. “One is better than nothing.”

“Use me!” shouted Tegbe, and Chris turned around.

“Use me, just let her go,” Tegbe begged. “Please.’

Chris smiled and waited by the bus door. He was waiting for Tegbe to come. And with pains and groans and his vision fading, he managed to stand and stumble to the bus.

Chris opened the door and let Fatima out. She looked at Tegbe with teary eyes and was about to run when she hesitated, threw something in the bus and continued running.

Tegbe slowly got in the bus and Chris was about to close the door on him when Tegbe dragged him inside and headbutted him twice and Chris was on the bus floor, groaning. Tegbe reached from the back to the driver’s seat and gunned the engine.

“Wha…” Chris was saying. “What are…you doing?”

Tegbe looked for something heavy and found the iron that Chris had used to hit him earlier and he wedged it on the accelerator.

The bus began to move. Slowly.

Chris tried to jump the bus but Tegbe held him back and punched his jaw. Chris had two broken teeth now.

“Smohp!” Chris tried to scream with his ruined mouth as Tegbe held him fast to the seat with his left hand and with his right, he reached to find what Fatima had thrown and he smiled when his hands closed around it.

Chris screamed and struggled but it was useless: Tegbe had always been the bigger, him, the faster.

The bus lurched slowly and Tegbe smiled, holding the Hunchback of Notre Dame tight in his hands as the bus passed the border and they disappeared into the night.

Their phones had fallen down in the fight but they lit up now, each with a credit alert for ₦100,000.

₦50,000 for each head.