ADSactly Short Story - Racing for Life

The man pulled over in front of the dilapidated four-story building, parked and stepped out of the car. There were many people dressed in black loitering on the premises. As he walked around the place, he couldn't help but remember the events that took place there many years ago.

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^{Source: PulseNG}

"Thief! Thief oh! Ojo, thief," she shouted from the balcony of the fourth floor of her husband's four-story building. She was Chinyere, the wife of Chief Omenuka of Ojo. Ojo was an old city located in the South Eastern part of Nigeria. It was established in the early 20th century as an important commercial hub in the entire South East. Without much input from the government, the men and women of Ojo built their businesses and sustained commercial growth in the city and its environs. Like every other city, it was made of people from all walks of life.

There were teachers, doctors, merchants, lawyers, bankers, pastors (many pastors), native doctors, herbalists, government workers, farmers, cooks, tailors, housewives, mechanics, blacksmiths and goldsmiths, cobblers, traders and other less known occupations like the people who would move around in some neighbourhoods helping households empty their sewerage. You could not call them plumbers because they did no other plumbing work except using machines to suck sewerage from the septic tanks of the households that hire them. Among all these were the madmen. If you were a stranger, you would be hard-pressed to notice them. On the corner of that busy intersection, there was a well-dressed man, minding his business, except that if you looked closer, you would notice his right hand busily rubbing toilet soap on his tangled hair. If you had any patience, in an hour, you would see him exhaust one tablet of soap and go looking for another tablet or for more money to buy another one.

Oh, Ojo was like every other city except for one thing: it was a city that had gotten used to looking after itself. Most people who grew up in Ojo knew that if you had a problem with your neighbour, you took it up with him. If the problem would result in a fight, it did not matter that your neighbour was stronger than you. All you needed to do was stay in the fight long enough to show yourself the underdog before your other neighbours, pedestrians and business owners going to their places of business would stop and come to your aid. It did not matter that these people were in a hurry at the time of the incident: they would stop and be your judge and jury, and they would pass a judgement which was fair most of the time.

If you found a burglar in your backyard, you did not call 911. There was no 911 and if there were it would take ages for the law enforcement agents to arrive at the scene. Instead of chasing the thief, instead of calling 911, you would shout, "Thief! Thief!" as loud as your voice could carry. But you better be sure that the person in question deserved to die for what they had stolen because theft was one crime Ojo did not sit as judge and jury; they were the executioners. If someone must be assigned the role of the judge, it was the man or woman that shouted "Thief" in the first place.

"Thief! Thief," Madam Chinyere shouted once more from the third floor, but there was no need for her to do that. The first set of young men and women that included people hawking their wares outside her home, pedestrians, business owners, were already running towards the building to apprehend the thief.

It took Bambam a few seconds to realise what was going on. He sprang to his feet and made for the exit. The staircase was dark so he could not see. He used the rail to steady himself as he took the stairs two at a time. As he ran down, he began to hear the footsteps of the people coming from the ground floor. He ran to the back balcony of the third floor and looked down, but there was no escape route from there. He continued running downstairs thinking how he that day could be his last day on earth.

Bambam could not think of any reason why his aunt would act in the manner she acted. Was it possible that she did not know the implication of shouting "Thief" in public? If he had known that their quarrel would have resulted in a life-threatening situation, he would not have visited her in the first place. He was there to deliver a message his uncle sent him from London. The text message his uncle sent him was unambiguous: Please go to your aunt Chinyere and tell her to give you fifty thousand Naira out of the money I sent to her for your mother.

Bambam had never been close to any of his relatives from the extended family except his uncle Charles who lived in London, so he had thought that his visit at aunt Chinyere's was going to be a short one. When he arrived and told her why he had come, she told him to wait for her husband to return. Bambam thought, perhaps her husband would return with the cash, so he waited. After waiting for three hours, Chief Omenuko returned, but he was utterly unaware that Bambam was waiting for his return and he certainly did not return with the money Bambam had come for.

A half hour after the chief returned, Bambam was still waiting. He started getting impatient because he needed to leave the city before night to return to Owe where he came from. Mrs Omenuko, on the other hand, ignored him and served her husband dinner where Bambam sat there watching his stomach, knotting.

"Aunty, can I have the money now? It is getting late," he said.

"Which money? Do I owe you money?"

Bambam lost it. He stammered when he was mad, and the more he tried to get the words out, the more he stuttered and raised his voice.

"You came to my house to insult me?"

"Chy, calm down," the chief said, placing a hand on his wife's arm. She stood from the dining table and moved out of his reach.

"You see the kind of nonsense I have to tolerate from these people? I said, leave my house this minute!"

"Or what?" Bambam replied, seemingly unperturbed.

"Oh, you want to know what I can do? Right?" she asked but did not wait for the answer. She was a bulky woman, but she moved with the agility of an athlete to the balcony and called on Ojo people.

As Bambam ran for his life, he was aware that there was no way out of the problem he had gotten himself into. He had almost reached the crowd running upstairs when he realised that there was no way they could tell who was among them and who the thief was. Apart from the light coming in from the two balconies on each floor, there were no other sources of light in the staircase. Bambam was dressed in a dark-coloured shirt and trousers so if someone coming from a brighter place did not look well, they would not see him. He decided to stop running, then he flattened himself on the wall of the darkest part of the staircase. As the mob approached, he started running in a spot by climbing the step in front of him and climbing down it until the first set of the crowd reached him. He started running in the same direction as they were, at a slower pace until they all overtook him. He quickly ran down the remaining steps and was at the exit in a few seconds. He composed himself and walked out as casually as he could while his heart still raced, beating violently against his chest.

A small crowd had gathered, waiting eagerly to see the outcome for those that ran up the stairs. A few of them looked as Bambam suspiciously, but he was determined not to run. He had almost walked past the crowd when he heard the familiar voice from somewhere above his head.

"That's him! Catch him!" the voice said.

Bambam could not have run faster if his whole body was made of limbs. He pushed himself so hard, it seemed that the ground beneath him was moving in the opposite direction, giving him more advantage over the mob. But his success did not last long, as more people from the street were learning what was going on and joined the chase from all side. He ran towards Park Road by Jersey where they had the most notorious gangs and crack heads. Most ordinary folks did not navigate that part of town because everyone who went to those parts lost something. Some lost their watches, others their cell phones. But Bambam did not see that he had any choice. He ran down the steps on the left side of Jersey Crescent called Down-below hoping that the mob would not follow him. It was a desperate act which he could not accurately predict its outcome. After he ran into the enclosure, he looked back to find that no one followed him. He was so out of breath that he did not notice the men in front of him. One of them was a tall, bald, shirtless man that looked like he could use some food. He walked circles around Bambam as if he was inspecting the boy.

"What have you brought for Kodo?" the bald man asked.

Bambam could not speak. He was still bent over, trying to catch his breath.

"Throw him out," Kodo ordered.

"No, no, no! You can have my phone, watch, shoes, anything. Please don't send me out there," he pleaded.

"Very well," Kodo said, motioning to his men to take the things Bambam had offered.

It did not take long before Bambam was offered a big wrap of weed. Bambam had never smoked anything before, but he could not risk offending his new hosts. He lit the blunt and drew on it. He coughed until tears fell from his eyes. He was glad to learn that he did not have to smoke the whole thing as the person seated next to him motioned him to pass it along. Bambam did not return home until around midnight. When he left Down-below, he was barefoot but happy to be alive. He never spoke of his experience with any person in his family.

For years Bambam hated Chinyere, his aunt for trying to kill him. As he walked into the funeral parlour where she lay, he realised that he was still angry at her. He looked at her lying there, and the only thought in his mind was how he would not have had a funeral if that mob caught up with him those many years ago. But I am still alive, and she is not. Perhaps I should be more grateful, he thought. He found himself speaking at the corpse in low tones, telling her how horrible she was to him and how he had hated her most of his life. As he spoke, tears welled up in his eyes. By the end of his monologue, he wished her well and walked away. As he drove away, it felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders and he felt better than he had felt since the day the mob almost killed him.

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