People of the City - Page 21

‘You’re sure you haven’t got them in your shoes?’

Sango slumped into the nearest seat. He heard the other policeman say, ‘I’ve found something! On the floor!’

He was holding a note marked with the letters C.I.D. ‘Who owns this?’

Bayo opened his eyes.

‘I’ve never seen that before!’

‘I must ask you both to come to the station,’ the stout man said. ‘Nothing much, just formalities.’

‘Sorry about the inconvenience, Amusa . . .’

‘You know my name!’

‘Amusa Sango, crime reporter West African Sensation. The most eligible bachelor along Molomo Street. But take care women don’t land you in trouble.’ He showed his dirty teeth.

They went out.

Sango could not get his grip on things. He knew he must write his report but try as he would he could not concentrate.

Sam came into the room. ‘Lajide is very annoyed with you, sah. He say he never get C.I.D. men in this house since he built it. He and the men talk for long time before they take Bayo away in the 999 van.’

‘Not very good news, Sam; we don’t want anything to annoy Lajide now.’

‘Jus’ so, sah. That Bayo is a bad boy. You better be careful of him, sah. He will put somebody in big trouble.’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘I will show you somethin’, sah.’

Sam went out and in a moment returned with the cooking-pot which Sango had seen him carrying a moment ago. ‘Master, look what they give me to take to barber and keep. I no meet barber in the shop . . .’

He opened the pot.

‘What!’ exclaimed Sango on seeing the hypodermic syringe and the phials of penicillin. ‘Go and throw that into the lagoon, quick! You want to put us all in prison?’

Carefully Sam wrapped the dangerous goods in paper, threw a cloth over his shoulder and stepped out into the street, whistling.


Sango did not find out the full details of this incident until, out of sheer habit, he dropped in at the All Language Club. It was past midnight and Sango felt entitled to the treat, since he had already dispatched his copy to Layeni, the night editor of the Sensation.

‘Amusa Sango!’ It was First Trumpet. He looked up from a music score as Sango entered the club. ‘Where have you been? Since eight we have been waiting for you and now it’s over midnight? Or you forgot?’

‘I’m sorry, First Trumpet! You carry on. Lead the band for a change. Let me have an instrument.’

There was a clarinet which Sango took over; and, for the first time since he owned a band, he played sitting down. But his mind was not on his music. He was thinking generally of himself in the big city. What had he achieved? Where was he going? Was he drifting like the others, or had he a direction? Whatever that direction was, he did not feel at this moment that he was progressing along it. Certainly his mother would not be proud to see how he was making out. Crime reporter for the West African Sensation. Leader of a band in a night club. The old woman would think he was lost. As far as money was concerned, there was little of it being put aside for the rainy day; and then there were the girls, every one with her own problems and thrice as interesting as the last. Something must have happened to his noble resolutions.

The number was a hot one, and he rose and took a bouncing solo, registering the twisting, writhing bodies, the glittering jewellery, the shuffling feet and wiggling hips. He could smell the mixture of dust, perfume and sweat. The excitement rose to a rollicking climax topped with cheers. He looked up and saw his friend Bayo, just entering the Club and performing a late jig at the entrance.

During the interval, Bayo came and apologized for his irresponsible action. ‘Sango, I didn’t want you to know at all. I needed money, you know . . .’

‘You were joking with a hundred pounds’ fine or two years’ imprisonment, or both, so the books say.’

‘You know when they were searching me, I was shivering . . . I prayed and prayed. I was lucky they found nothing on me. You know what happened to the “nurse”? He was detained. No bail allowed.’

‘You’d better learn your lesson, Bayo. If I find you mixing with any more of the underworld, I shall never have anything more to do with you. You have angered Lajide, my landlord. He is very annoyed. Sam told me.’

Tags: Cyprian Ekwensi Fiction
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