Driver

A short story by Jude Dibia

“My oga fucks men.” Those were the first words Gabriel Achimota heard when he entered the drivers’ waiting room that raining morning in June. The speaker was Ade Enunla; the driver assigned to Jide Crowther.

A pause greeted Gabriel’s entrance, a silence he was used to, annoyed with but accustomed to; a brief moment of quiet disturbed by the honk-a-tonk of rain on the roof of their head office complex, disturbed by the muffled voices coming from the nearly mute TV that sat on a high Formica topped table by the rain-streaked window in the centre of the opposite wall. He looked from face to face and curious, suspicious eyes gawked back at him—distrustful eyes.

“My master is an ass,” Gabriel said, adding his own contribution to the ongoing discussion. He shut the door behind him and hoped that the men in the room believed him. Gabriel had never bad-mouthed his master before.

“What did your oga do to you?” One of the other drivers asked.

Gabriel sighed. “First morning I come late to pick him and he abused me like I do it all the time.”

Gabriel noticed some of the drivers nod their heads; they had all been there before. Ade, the one who had been speaking when Gabriel walked in, pulled a plastic chair and sat on it. He pulled his feet out of his soggy shoes and wriggled his toes. Gabriel wondered how the men seated close by could stomach the rancid stench that came with the appearance of those ugly, stubby toes. He suppressed a smile at his misplaced fastidiousness; the small, stuffy drivers’ room had all sorts of unpleasant smells, from bad body odour, stale food rotting away in the bin by the corner of the door to the occasional potent fart from its occupants. And there was the small cubicle by the door, the toilet, windowless, always occupied, and with its own contribution to the olfactory unpleasantness. Gabriel had almost forgotten that these men’s noses had long been deadened to such smells. Occupational hazard perhaps, Gabriel thought, as he silently wondered if his nose too would eventually become accustomed to the stench. Some of the other drivers had clocked fifteen years here, people like Ade Enunla, and there was Boniface Biribiba who had done ten years, not to forget the other fellow from Ghana, Yaw Toronto, who had dodged being deported twice when Ghanaians were sent back to their homeland in the thousands. Gabriel, on the other hand, had joined Imperial Logistics Limited six months ago. His first and only assignment to date was driving Mr. Reginald Nso.

“So, your master insulted you,” Ade said, “What’s the big deal? We get insulted every day.”

Gabriel’s eyes scanned the group. He noticed many of the men nodding their head at what Ade said. Their eyes narrowed at him and some even diverted their attention to the television set. Gabriel knew he had to do or say something quickly before the circle of kinship closed up, shutting him out as always.

“He called me an illiterate nincompoop,” Gabriel lied. “And it’s not the first time.”

The men looked at him before they burst out laughing. Gabriel knew that they were not strictly laughing at him, but were laughing because his master, Mr. Reginald Nso, did use highfalutin words like ‘nincompoop’ and ‘rebarbative’ occasionally. But, Gabriel knew that they laughed even more because they were aware that a high percentage of the drivers were either university graduates or degree holders.

Gabriel spied Ade and was somewhat pleased when he observed that he too was laughing.

“These our masters,” Gabriel added. “They believe that their shit no dey smell.”

Ade nodded. The other drivers, those who had turned away pretending to watch television, all turned back to face the group. There was an empty seat not far from where Ade sat, Gabriel planted himself on it.

“Ah, their shit stinks the most,” one of the drivers said. “My madam, Mrs. Giwa, does not let me rest. As soon as she enters the car, she lets out the foulest of farts—those silent ones. One would think she has waited the whole day to ‘mess’. Since the air-conditioning is on, the windows remain up and I have to inhale the poisonous gas.”

Gabriel noticed that there was hardly a dry eye in sight as the drivers doubled over with laughter.

“You should wind down the glass,” someone managed to say.

“I tried once, but she screamed at me to wind up and put on the AC. Ah, but I had my revenge.”

“What did you do?” Gabriel asked.

“One day last week, just as she entered the car and I pulled out of the car park, with the air-conditioning blaring and all, I let out my own silent missile…mind you, I made sure to eat six boiled eggs and beans that afternoon.”

Gabriel could not hold his laughter. He looked around him and noticed that everyone was also laughing. Chairs rocked from side-to-side, their squeaks drowning out the residual sound from the television set. For a moment, Gabriel felt a bit lighter than he had felt since his master snapped at him that morning.

“…shame did not let her ask me to open the window. She sat there and endured the smell with me…”

Ade cleared his throat. Gabriel noticed that the other drivers began to quieten. The energy in the room was shifting back to Ade.

“Well, Sunday,” Ade said, addressing the driver by name. “Your madam farts in the car, big deal! My Oga fucks men.”

The sedateness, which had greeted Gabriel when he entered the room earlier, returned. Gabriel was aware that the drivers spent a lot of their time discussing their bosses when they gathered in the waiting room. Most of the time, Gabriel would hear one driver or the other complain about a wrong done to him by his boss or the boss’s spouse and sometimes, the boss’s children. Some of the drivers, whinged about working late hours without being compensated for it; some grumbled about working during the public holidays and even on Sundays. Others moaned about driving long distances without respite until they felt that their bladders would burst, and some had even joked about helping their bosses cover up love affairs. Gabriel had heard about some of the bosses who would come back from a business trip a day or two earlier so that they could spend time in a hotel with their mistresses. Meanwhile, the wives remained unaware of these dalliances.

Up until that morning, Gabriel had always felt that the most shocking thing he had overheard in the waiting room was the tales of married female bosses who also carried out illicit affairs of their own with other men behind their husbands’ backs.

Now, with Ade Enunla’s statement there was a massive shift in the equation of things. This was serious talk, no longer within the arena of malicious jokes, Ade’s assertion bordered on the premise of permanently destroying a man’s reputation.

From the corner of his eyes, Gabriel noticed Yaw Toronto nudge Ade with a poke of his elbow as he directed skeptical eyes toward Gabriel.

Ade’s laugh was hearty and full. “Gabriel is one of us now,” he said. “Driver na driver whether new or old, with school cert or university degree. Abi?”

The men in the room agreed. Gabriel caught Ade’s stare and offered him a respectful nod. He was grateful that Ade had finally accepted him as one of them. If he had known all along that by speaking badly of his master he would be welcomed into the brotherhood, he would have done so a long time before now.

“As I was saying about my Oga,” Ade continued. Gabriel picked out pride in Ade’s tone, sensing that he was satisfied to have drawn everyone’s attention back to himself. “Don’t you want to know how I know about him?”

Gabriel stared at his fingers. His nails were cut short and well kept. He turned his hands over to study his palms, counting the lines on both hands quietly in his head. He could hear the other men breathing in and out, in and out. Faint voices from the actors on the television set filtered out into the room. Why was no one saying anything? Gabriel wondered.

“I will tell you anyway,” Ade declared. “You see, I have always suspected that there was something fishy about that Mr. Jide. The ahun man is nearly forty and he never marry. Unlike some other masters I have driven, he does not entertain women after work except he is having a late business dinner. His routine is pretty set; pick up for seven-thirty in the morning, goes out for two or three meetings during the day, I pick up his lunch from The Grotto at one-thirty in the afternoon and, we leave the office by six.”

Gabriel was aware that apart from their boss’ daily itinerary, which every driver must know, drivers were also privy to details of their private lives; this came with dropping off their children at school, going shopping for ‘the madam’, running odd errands for them and being at their beck and call almost at all times. Gabriel had always felt that this was the burden of drivers, and indeed many domestic workers, having to carry the secrets of their employers. However, Ade had said nothing concrete to back up his initial declaration.

No one was speaking yet. Gabriel imagined that the silence felt as charged and suspenseful as though he sat in a courtroom, waiting for a verdict to be delivered.

Sunday spoke first. “So, what is unusual with your master’s routine that makes you think he…?”

“I don’t think,” Ade stressed, “I know. If you just let me finish.”

Ade stopped talking. He stretched his legs and wriggled his toes slowly as if exercising them. It was obvious to Gabriel that he enjoyed keeping all of them in a state of anxiety.

“That Mr. Jide is a very secretive man,” Ade continued. “He gets these funny calls in the car that makes him whisper. I have tried to listen in by reducing the volume of the car stereo, but I never hear anything useful. Anyway, you know how lazy these our Ogas are! Always wanting us to carry their bags and things as if they don’t have hands of their own…”

Gabriel nodded and noticed that the other drivers were nodding as well, some even chuckled.

“…well, one day after dropping Mr. Jide in his house, I went to the backseat to pick his suitcase when I noticed he had left his phone behind. I picked the phone and checked the last call he received when we were still driving. It was from a fellow named JT…A man!”

Gabriel suppressed a hiss. After all that wait and high drama Ade’s final revelation felt more like an anticlimax.

“Is that it?” Gabriel asked. “Is that your proof that your master fucks men?”

Gabriel caught Ade’s reproachful look and immediately regretted speaking. He could not afford to blow the first chance he had had with bonding with the other drivers. This was a breakthrough moment for him and here he was upsetting the most respected of the drivers.

“Did I tell you I was finished?” Ade asked.

“Sorry,” Gabriel added quickly.

“Anyway, as I was saying…” Ade eyed Gabriel, who in turn looked at his fingers. “I have this friend who will do anything for money. I gave him my master’s number and told him my suspicion. The next day he sent a text message to Mr. Jide and he got a reply. They met over the weekend and they fucked.”

***

Gabriel knew quite well that his master, Mr. Reginald, did not refer to him as an illiterate nincompoop. Mr. Reginald had merely snapped at him for coming late. In fact, the only scathing remark Mr. Reginald had made after the whole tirade was ‘You should know better, Gabriel.’ Mr. Reginald’s words had sounded to Gabriel like those of an adult addressing an obstinate child.

Gabriel had not been in the mood for such condescension that morning. He had tried to explain to Mr. Reginald that he had awoken to discover that his motorbike was stolen in the middle of the night. None of his neighbours admitted to knowing anything about it. By the time he had gone round to question all the likely suspects living within the tenement, he was already an hour late, and the early morning downpour made getting a bus to Mr. Reginald’s home nigh impossible. Not that Gabriel’s dilemma meant anything to Mr. Reginald; he had not allowed Gabriel explain it to him, instead he had tossed the car key at him as if he were just a mere houseboy, a common slave. This had hurt Gabriel.

However, Gabriel could not deny that apart from the incidence of that particular morning, he had always counted himself lucky for having one of those easygoing and generous bosses. Yes, generous. Gabriel was never called to work on weekends like most of the other drivers. When he was ill, Mr. Reginald gave him money to take care of himself. There had been much other forgotten benevolences; hand down gifts like Mr. Reginald’s fairly used generator set that he had given Gabriel when he had bought a new one for himself; or the 32-inch television Gabriel had inherited the moment Mr. Reginald bought a wide screen plasma replacement.

In truth, Gabriel had no dark secrets of Mr. Reginald to share with the other drivers. Unless he considered Mr. Reginald’s monthly visits to the clinic to check his high blood pressure and get his HBP medication a dark secret. However, Gabriel was somewhat grateful for the opening his little lie had given him into the other drivers’ circle of trust. He now enjoyed the freedom of the others speaking unreservedly whenever he was present. Gabriel still remembered the impact the initial isolation had had on him. He recalled sitting alone in a corner, enduring the muffled whispers that drifted to his hearing, as well as the sniggers which had always made him wonder if he was the butt of their jokes. Yet again, the drivers did talk about everything and everyone.

But nothing had come close to Ade Enunla’s disclosure about his master. Ade had not only given them proof, but also opened their eyes to the vulnerability of the people they carried about like royalty. These people they drove were not a special breed different from them. They were not gods, but humans who farted, shat and quite obviously fucked.

“My friend is constantly receiving good money from Mr. Jide. I know this because we share the money,” Ade had said that day. “If he tries anything funny, we go show him nyansh for public.”

Even after three weeks, Gabriel could still hear Ade’s words in his head.

***

Ade’s revelation emboldened the other drivers. Apart from disclosing private information about their bosses, Gabriel noticed that some of them began exhibiting rude and disrespectful behaviours toward them in the open. How else would he explain Sunday’s sluggish response to his madam’s call the other day? Mrs. Giwa, Sunday’s madam, had called the drivers’ room and asked that Sunday pick her at the entrance of the building. Instead of Sunday rushing out to meet her, he had loafed about for ten minutes doing nothing and had ignored her persistent call-backs.

“Na wetin?” Sunday had finally said. “That’s how the other day, armed robbers were shooting on Third Mainland Bridge, cars were stopping and reversing, but my madam wanted me to speed through the problem area as if bullets don’t kill drivers too.”

Somebody sniggered. Gabriel was not sure who it was.

“Me, I have a wife and children,” Sunday continued, as he slowly approached the door, “I will not die for somebody else. How many of us are willing to die for the people we carry?”

Sunday sighed and then smiled as he popped a boiled egg into his mouth before exiting.

***

Gabriel was summoned to Mr. Reginald’s office at 7pm. It was time to go home. As always, Mr. Reginald was packed and ready for him, his briefcase and carry-on bag sat on the table. Gabriel grabbed the briefcase and as he made to lift the other bag, he noticed Mr. Reginald motioning him with his hand to leave the bag.

“Don’t worry about that one,” Mr. Reginald said. “I have put all I need in the bag you are carrying.”

Only after Mr. Reginald said that did Gabriel realise the bag was indeed heavier than on most days. Gabriel took the bag to the car and placed it, like he always did, in the boot of the car. He drove the car to the entrance of the building. Reginald was already waiting for him.

“What route should we take, sir?” Gabriel asked as soon as Mr. Reginald entered the vehicle.

There was a pause. Gabriel eased the car out of the office premises.

“It’s a bit late,” Mr. Reginald said. “Take the Third Mainland Bridge. I’m quite certain that the traffic will not be too bad at this time.”

Gabriel drove in silence. He tuned the radio to the BBC World Service, Mr. Reginald’s favourite station, and kept the volume moderate.

The traffic was mild as Mr. Reginald had predicted and to Gabriel’s relief, there was no incidence on the bridge. They got to a standstill as soon as the car descended into Victoria Island. Long strings of cars, trucks and buses resembling a weird ensemble of mismatched link chains lined Ozumba Mbadiwe Street. A two lane road had morphed into a four lane bottleneck. This was not new to Gabriel, he had expected it.

“Sir,” Gabriel said. “I know a shortcut through one of the side streets. Can I use it?”

Gabriel waited for an answer that he knew would not come. Knowing his master, he took his silence as a passive consent. As soon as they reached the Law School intersection, Gabriel swerved the car right, into one of the dirt roads. It was a rough road, erosion ridden and unlit. It was already quite dark outside.

“Sorry, Sir,” Gabriel kept saying every time the car dipped roughly into a pothole. He would say this even before Mr. Reginald could release a sigh or an irritable groan.

Not long after they had manoeuvred their way through a muddy rift in the middle of an expansive rock-strewn road, the car stopped moving.

“What’s the matter now?” Mr. Reginald asked.

Gabriel perceived the impatience that shrouded Mr. Reginald’s tone. “Sorry, Sir. I think the tyre is stuck.”

“Well, go and fix it,” Mr. Reginald said. “You should have stayed on the regular road.”

“Sorry, Sir.”

From the rear-view mirror Gabriel observed Mr. Reginald turning back to peer through the back windshield into the darkness outside.

“There’s not a car in sight!” Mr. Reginald sighed. “Everybody must know this is a bad road, Gabriel. No one else is following us.”

“Sorry, Sir.”

“Stop with this ‘Sorry, Sir’ business and go and fix the tyre.”

There was a violent rap on Gabriel’s side of the door just as he was about to get out. He noticed the car was now surrounded on both side by men whose faces hid behind black woollen masks. Gabriel counted at least four of them. The men held what seemed to be machetes and crude looking clubs.

Gabriel looked at the rear-view mirror and noticed Mr. Reginald looking around frantically. Gabriel heard him whimper.

“What is happening?”

“Don’t worry, Sir,” Gabriel said. “Everything will be fine.”

“Wetin una dey find for dis side?” A guttural voice barked. It belonged to the man standing closest to Gabriel’s door. “Oya commot for motor two of you.”

“Oh my God… Oh my God… Oh my God!” Gabriel heard Mr. Reginald’s muffled cry at the back of the car.

Gabriel was dragged out of the car and made to kneel down with his hands clasped behind his head. He noticed Mr. Reginald a yard or so away from him also in a similar position.

One of the armed men was shouting at Gabriel and Mr. Reginald.

“Na who you be?”

“My name is Gabriel Achimota,” Gabriel said. “I’m only a driver.”

“Please, please…I have a family,” Mr. Reginald cried. “Take whatever you want, but please don’t hurt us.”

“Sharrap!” One of the masked men shouted.

Gabriel’s pockets were searched and emptied. His wallet was taken as well as his mobile phone. He was told to lie down flat and he obeyed. His eyes remained opened, so he could see what was happening to Mr. Reginald.

Like Gabriel, Mr. Reginald was searched thoroughly. His wallet was seized as well as his three mobile phones. Two of the masked men headed for the car. They searched the pockets and dashboard for anything valuable. One of the men opened the boot. They found Mr. Reginald’s briefcase and Gabriel heard a yelp of excitement from the men. He could also hear Mr. Reginald sobbing and whispering a prayer from where he lay.

“Where de money?”

One of the masked men walked over to where Mr. Reginald lay. He was holding in his hands a laptop and a couple of thick books. He threw these down beside Mr. Reginald.

“I say where de money?”

“You have taken all I have. You took my wallet already… I don’t have any more money.”

“Liar!”

The masked man began to kick Mr. Reginald. He dragged Mr. Reginald to his feet, punched him in the face and knocked him down again.

“Stop… Stop!” Gabriel begged. “He is telling the truth.”

The masked man paused. He kicked Mr. Reginald one more time before he approached Gabriel. He grabbed Gabriel by his shirt collar and pulled him up.

“You better show us de money or I go kill your driver…”

As the masked man dragged Gabriel away to a secluded spot, Gabriel heard Mr. Reginald’s plea: “Please… Please, don’t kill him… Take me to an ATM and I will give you more money…”

***

At the secluded area Gabriel wrested himself away from the grip of his captor.

“Ibinabo,” Gabriel said. “This is not what we discussed. You were not supposed to hurt anybody.”

Ibinabo pulled off his mask. He shrugged and chuckled.

“I jus’ rough de man up a bit. And you sef, where de money you say go dey for him bag?”

“There was supposed to be money. We went to the bank today and he carried his other bag. He left that bag in the office and I thought he moved the money to the bag we came with.”

Gabriel could see from Ibinabo’s reaction that he was not pleased with the news. But Gabriel was past caring about what Ibinabo felt; he was more concerned about the welfare of Mr. Reginald. This was not what he had wanted or planned. It was meant to be an easy operation that was supposed to scare Mr. Reginald, teach him a lesson for the insensitive way he had treated him the morning he came late to work and, at the end of the day, Gabriel would have made enough money to get himself a new motorbike.

After all, the other drivers talked about how predictable their bosses where, how easy it was to learn everything about them and to manipulate them. Ade Enunla was getting rich off his boss’s secret life. Some other drivers had confessed to filching money from their bosses’ bags. Gabriel considered himself above that. He wanted to score big this one time. It was only because his motorbike was stolen, he had convinced himself. He was a good driver and he actually liked Mr. Reginald.

Gabriel’s chain of thought was broken by a loud scream. It came from where the car was parked. Moments later the other three masked men ran up to where he and Ibinabo stood.

“Wetin happen?” Ibinabo asked one of the men.

The man addressed Gabriel directly. “I think your Oga is dead.”

“WHAT?”

Gabriel listened in a daze as the man narrated how they did not touch Mr. Reginald, how he was crying one minute and the next they noticed that he began to shake uncontrollably. They claimed they tried to revive him, but Mr. Reginald had stopped breathing and just lay as stiff as wood.

Gabriel ran to where he had left Mr. Reginald. He found him as the men had said, lying like a corpse on the road. He bent down and tried carrying him.

“Help me,” Gabriel called out. “We have to get him to the hospital.”

“I no dey for dat one,” Ibinabo said. “Dis one don become police matter. My man, you are on your own o.”

They left them there, Ibinabo and his men. Gabriel was panic-stricken. He shook Mr. Reginald repeatedly and kept calling out his name. He sat on the muddy ground with Mr. Reginald’s head in his lap and began to cry. What had he done?

When Gabriel thought all was lost, he saw Mr. Reginald’s right leg twitch. It was a slight jerk that could have been missed if Reginald had blinked at the same moment.

“Mr. Reginald… Mr. Reginald.” Gabriel cried.

He felt Mr. Reginald’s pulse. There was a faint beat. He felt like screaming for joy, but knew that Mr. Reginald was not completely out of danger yet; he was hardly breathing.

There was no time to waste. Gabriel carefully lifted Mr. Reginald and placed him in the back seat. He looked in dismay at how filthy Mr. Reginald’s clothes had become. For a second he was tempted to clean him up. But he had no time.

Gabriel jumped into the driver’s seat and started the car. Mercy Hospital was not too far away. It

was Mr. Reginald’s hospital of choice. He prayed one final prayer as he drove the car away from the ambush spot and into a principal street; he prayed that Mr. Reginald should not die.

As he neared the hospital, he wondered how he would spin this to the doctors and nurses and maybe the police. He wondered, too, how it would sound to the other drivers at the office. His story will make him out to be a hero. He was the driver who had risked his life to save his master’s life.

END

© Copyright Jude Dibia 2011.