AFRICAN FICTION: Dust, A Short Story

Senator Ego was a very proud man. The whole world knew it. And I knew it too, being his personal driver for the past ten years. Senator Ego himself had never pretended to be a humble man. To him, humility was the opium of powerless persons. He nosily blew his own trumpet himself and would not mind paying others to blow it too.

"I schooled in Harvard University," Oga would boast while arguing with his associates "and I was the best graduating African student in the 1979 class. So when I am talking about any subject, your only duty is to sit and listen. You can't know it better than me, boys. You local men with a rusty PhD from local universities. I have visited 123 countries across all the lands and oceans of the world. You should consider yourselves lucky to share from my wealth of experience. What do you know?"

Source

Oga's friends, although quite offended, would wear a thin smile on their faces and dare say no word. This was because Oga had helped some of them become Vice Chancellors, professors, ministers, chief judges and even vice presidents. As much as the sun doesn't rise in Oga's eyes, none of his friends could look into his eyes and talk back at him - they revered him.

We, Oga's aides, were doomed. He treated his dogs better than us. The uniformed men, too, were not spared. Sergeant Musa's duty, for instance, was not only to bathe Oga's dogs; it extended to shining Oga's shoes publicly and fanning Madam in air conditioned sitting rooms. Even when some media men protested with their pens, nobody took them seriously.

As for me, I had lasted on my job more than anybody else before me not because I was a better driver but simply, perhaps, because I had learnt to act like a robot more than anybody else before me. I had acted like a robot for ten years now.

"You idiot," Oga would yell at me on the highway, "You diot. You're too slow." I would change the gears immediately and accelerate. Soon after, Oga would yell again, "You idiot. You idiot. You're too fast." I would change the gears again immediately, killing my speed. A few moments afterwards, Oga would scream again, "you idiot. Turn right. Turn left. Turn right about stop." I did exactly as I was commanded in the best of dispositions and that, clearly, has kept my job.

Last week, I was driving Oga back home from church when a keke driver nearly ran into us at a T junction, a few yards away from where the towering status of Odimegwu Ojukwu, the Biafra warlord, stood at Onitsha. Being a clever driver, one whose darting eyes were as keen as the eyes of an aye-aye, I saw the keke timely enough and maneuvered to the left such that I nearly ran into a speeding truck.

"Blood of Jesus, Blood of Jesus," Madam cried, her hands covering her face, when I managed to bring the Toyota Highlander Jeep to a halt. "Blood of Jesus. Blood of Jesus." Oga cried too. "Who was that reckless, unbridled beast? He nearly killed us. He will rot in jail, I swear by my mother's grave. Does he know who I am? He will rot in jail."

Oga jumped down from his vehicle, his white agbada flowing in the wind. I followed him too. Two police houseboys, or if you like call them men, who were driving ahead of us in a black Hilux stopped too and ran after Oga. The keke rider, who had now parked at a corner of the busy road, came down and knelt before Oga. She was a woman.

"Please sir, I lost my balance. Forgive me."
"You're a fool. Go kill your husband and children first before you come to the highway to kill other persons. Thank your stars that you're a woman. If you were a man, you'll roast in jail."
"Please sir, I lost my balance. Forgive me." the rider apologized again.
"Keep quiet, you fool. I say keep quiet. Do you know who I am?" Do you know who I am?"
"Yes, I know you." the Keke rider rose to her feet at once. Oga's face brightened. He felt amazed that he had become so famous that a keke rider knew him. "I know you very well." The woman crossed a gutter to the other side of the road and picked up a handful of sand. "Oga, I know you. You are a dust. You were made from this dust in my palms and you'll return to it someday. Do your worse, dust."

Oga walked away and never had dinner that night. And when I thought he had repented, the dust started giving orders again from the next morning forgetting that he was dust.

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