TAXI
A dark slender man waved me down, he was standing in front of a clean-looking Honda SUV, the dark-blue beauty was parked just off the Lekki-Epe expressway by the Total filling station. His large hands flailing in the sweltering afternoon sun, he was hard to miss.
Something in me had said to drive past and head home. It had been a very late night the day before, passenger after passenger hailed me to be picked up, barking out destinations before promptly haggling about pricing. Nights like that gave me hope. Hope that driving this useless Camry did have upsides after all. There had been dire nights in the past, sparse of passengers or heavy in traffic, ones that seemed to exist solely to suppress my being.
Going home would have meant seeing my landlady, a short abrasive woman who I happened to owe three months' rent, so I slowed down. "To where?" I asked.
"UNILAG campus gate, near the Sweet Sensation." He said with a smile, revealing his dirty brown teeth. He looked too old to be a university student, but also too rough to be a professor.
"That's Yaba abi? N6,500" I said. There was always traffic on that side, stupid bus drivers clogged up the streets and the LASTMA officers were useless, mostly there to extort motorists. The week before, a particularly wicked one stopped me. Using his grubby black hands to yank the keys of my car, knowing I would try to drive off. Even if I was passing one-way, I wasn’t the first to do so, bastard.
“Haba, I said Yaba, not Ogun State.” He scoffed. They always did, as though I should take them to their destination for free, idiots. “Wetin be last price?” He asked again, breaking out a weak smile.
“Na the price wey I tell you oga. Fuel don cost.” The bastards in government had recently increased the fuel prices, something about subsidy removal. Just like that, with little warning. I always say they are out to get us. Every day there was something new to frustrate us. “Oya, bring N6,000,” He let out a sigh before he retreated into the car behind him, appearing moments later with a large bag in hand and a woman at his side. Her gait was that of an unwilling traveler; she walked slowly toward the backseat. Loading her large bags there, before coming to join me at the front.
“Inemesit, it is for the best eh. Don’t think too much about it.” The slender man said into the window, handing her what I assume was the taxi fare before walking away. She nodded robotically in response. As we pulled away the woman gave several glances behind us, watching him drive off. When she was sure he was out of sight she burst into laughter, shedding the expression of grief she had worn so convincingly moments before. Her eyes shone a bit too brightly for my liking, almost oozing an evil air.
“Stupid boy,” She said, after a theatrically long hiss. “Abortion ko abortion ni,” Her accent was distinct, drawing out her words whilst maintaining their sharpness. She fiddled with a small phone as we cruised along the Lekki-Epe expressway, the traffic was light and the morning breeze rushed in and out of the Camry. As we approached the toll-gate she gave me an inquisitive look. "Wo, brother don't vex, but we are not going to Yaba." She said, in a tone that resembled that of a nervous child. "I lied to that fool earlier." She handed me the money he had given her.
"Where should I take you?" I asked, a bit confused by the situation.
"Anywhere you like," She replied lazily. "My next customer never calls, so I just dey float. You get?" I did not get it. I had so many questions. As if there was not enough mystery and confusion, she whisked out a large Afro wig and some glasses from the bag on her lap. Looking in a small mirror that seemed to appear from thin air, she shook her head. Soon after she proceeded to grab something from the backseat, a dark bag of sorts.
"Are you an ashewo?" I blurted out, immediately regretting it. She laughed in response, putting on the makeup she had taken out of her bag as if my question didn't warrant a reply. "I'm not judgi..."
"No, I'm not that. Something… a bit more interesting than that." Shoes were the next to be changed as she lunged into the back again. "We can hang out here," she said, pointing to the monstrosity that was the Oriental Hotel, a gigantic set of buildings garishly designed to stand out. It was rumored to be owned by the outgoing state governor.
"I don't have fine clothes like you," I said, hoping to discourage her. What kind of person was this? Why did I always pick the weird ones? "I can drop you at the entrance, I will give…” She shook her head.
“What’s your name?” She asked. They never asked that. They never cared.
“Tari,” I muttered.
“Tari? Where are you from? Well, that doesn’t matter now. Be bold Tari, plus you got paid for a ride to Yaba,” She spoke clearer now, almost as though it was a different person who had entered my car moments before. “It’ll be fun,” She said, as I pulled a hard right into the driveway that led to the hotel’s massive parking lot.
“This is going to be trouble madam,” I said, more to myself than to her. As we drew closer the Lagos sun seemed to become more prevalent, peering more closely at the misadventure I was foolishly about to embark on. The Camry’s AC hadn’t worked in years, so I sat there, nervously sweating, as the hotel security searched the boot of the car before letting us in. The uncertainty tightened my stomach, the way it would when drunk officers who could barely stand would stop the car at night to search for “things”.
“Go here,” She pointed, ignoring my warnings. “If we park here I won’t have to walk too much.” Scenarios of varying intensity played in my head, one involved an illicit cocaine deal, and another had mobile police raid the hotel, spraying tear gas and shooting aimless warning shots.
“What is your name?” I asked, desperately needing something to hold on to. The police would not believe me if I said I had no idea who she was. I wouldn’t be able to describe her either, her propensity to change appearance so thoroughly frightened me.
“If you follow me inside, I will tell you,” She said with a mischievous smile. “Come on now, I am ready to enter.” She slid out of the car as she said this, leaving the door ajar in her wake. She walked a few paces ahead of the car before looking back to beckon me.
I am not sure whether it was the heat or the palpable fear of the unknown but something drew me to her. I sprayed copious amounts of the cheap cologne I kept in the glove compartment, looked at myself in the mirror, and then went after her. “Please tell me what we are doing here?” I said once I caught up to her. To which she offered only a smile, grabbing my arm as we entered the colossal lobby. The air smelt of bags from the airport, better than the best air freshener, the smell of abroad. She grabbed my hand, pulling me towards a seating area, as though she had been here before.
“Loosen up, you look like you have been kidnapped.” She said as we sat. In the light of the lobby, her dark skin glistened, almost invitingly. “You smile don’t you?”
“You said you would tell me your name,” I said with a shrug.
She laughed, in the way one would at a naive child. “Is that all you want to know, just my name?” I would also like to know what evil spirit led me to pick you up. I would like to know if you have always been this insane. I would like to know what crazy thing you have planned here.
“First things first,” I said, trying my best to keep my composure. Guests, mostly foreign, strolled through the staggering lobby as we spoke, almost alien in their peculiar mannerisms.
“Sandra,” She said finally. Sandra? She didn’t look like a Sandra. Her subtle features resembled a Chiamaka or an Ifeoma.
“Is that your real name?” I asked, looking at her and wondering what else she was hiding behind the glasses. She had to be hiding from someone. It would be the only sensible explanation.
“Do you care?” She giggled, revealing her gleaming teeth. Sandra was almost good-looking, too small for my liking but almost appealing.
“If you are going to play games with my head, I will leave you here to do whatever it is you are up to,” I said, getting up to leave.
“Wait now, small play and you are getting angry.” She said as she stood with me, her glasses sliding down her small nose. “Alright, I will tell you everything you want to hear. Just sit down, I don’t want these people asking me JAMB questions.” Something told me to walk out on her, to leave with my N3,000 and head home. That was the smart course of action.
“So what is your name?” I asked as I sat down again. “If you like lying, you will stay here by yourself,”
“My name is Sandra. I only give customers fake names.” She said blankly. Customers? What could she possibly be selling?
“Let us say I believe that, why are we here? Tell me the truth abeg,” I said, uneasy in my seat. A waitress from what looked like a restaurant in the distance approached our table, hands full with menus and a notepad. She smiled nervously as she arrived at the table.
“Do you have anything in mind? Or should I leave you with the menus for a minute?” She asked in my direction.
“Idiot! Why did you ask him and not me? Or do you think that I am some kind of slut? Is that what this is?” Sandra screamed, giving no prior warning of this diatribe. The waitress was incredibly discomfited, not knowing what to say. Not that Sandra would have let her get in a word, in any case, she soon resumed her tirade. “Call your boss or whoever runs this dump, call him now, unless he too wants my wahala today!” Her voice was piercing. I sat there in shock and amazement, wondering where this strange woman was going with this. All the while watching main doors and side exits, fearing the worst. The defeated waitress hurried off into a door further down the lobby, presumably to fetch her superior.
Sandra smiled as she walked away, the type of malevolent smile that I had seen on her in the car. I thought to ask her again what this was about, why she had abandoned the tactic of going unnoticed. The manager appeared to disrupt my thoughts, he was a small Lebanese-looking man. I was not sure but that wasn't important.
“Hello, what seems to be the problem?” He said in an accent that was not Lebanese. Maybe he was a South African. “She said…”
“The idiot you hired refused to attend to me, it is like you people don’t like women here. I am ready to cancel my reservation.” She started furiously, cutting him off, to which he simply smiled. “I don’t know why it’s so hard to get respect as a woman, after all the money you people charge.” The racially ambiguous manager was flushed. He probably expected to deal with a bungled order of grilled chicken.
“This is unacceptable, My name is Amir and I will do all that is in my power to fix it,” He said softly, careful to sound apologetic.
“Your name isn’t going to remove my embarrassment is it Amee, abi what did you say your name was?” She snarled. Her round face expressed a convincing amount of disdain. “Who do I have to see to cancel my reservation?” He looked at me briefly, hoping perhaps for some respite. I offered a blank look in response.
“Please madam, let us not get there yet. We are deeply sorry about what happened.” He said, visibly sweating. “We will upgrade your room, let us give you a waterside view.”
“That is it?” She said with a drawn-out hiss. “Please leave here, Jonathan let us try Radisson Blue, maybe those ones have small sense,” Sandra said in my direction, her mouth still in a distinct scowl as she got up to leave. I did not know when I became Jonathan but I followed suit.
“Please, don’t go madam. Let me put you up in a deluxe suite, one night extra free. Just for you,” Amir pleaded. He seemed like a nice guy. The kind of guy that did not deserve this.
Sandra hissed, halting her steps considering her options. With an intentionally melodramatic sigh, she turned to Amir. “All right then, go get the keys hurry,” Amir shooed away the waitress, who by now had probably lost her job, before heading to the front desk. “Oh and bring the key for 307,” Sandra called out. He nodded, smiling nervously as he left us.
***
"What are we doing here?" I asked as soon as I was sure I could no longer hear Amir's footsteps. He had hurriedly been rid of our company, understandably so.
"To see the queen, what do you think?" She said with a hiss. "I take things, Mr. Jonathan. That is what I do," She pronounced Jonathan mockingly.
"So you are a liar and a thief?"
"And you are the loudest taxi driver in Lagos. Shut up!" She snapped.
“How did you know this room would be empty?” I asked as she rummaged through the room. The room visibly still had occupants. Occupants who, at any given moment, could walk in through the door. Sandra was hastily picking up anything she considered valuable. Shoes, perfume bottles, and shampoo were all game. Her disdain for a meticulous approach was almost impressive.
“I didn’t,” Sandra said without raising her head. A dress on the counter caught her attention, a dark red number that looked expensive. Pulling off the wig, she looked at me and smiled. In what seemed like an instant she was completely undressed, revealing a large tattoo on her shoulder and a surprisingly full figure. After a gratuitous twirl, she stealthily slipped into the dress. She walked slowly past me towards the mirror. “It looks nice, abi what do you think?” She asked as she admired her reflection.
“I think you are crazy,” I said, “although I think I am worse, what am I still doing here?” She giggled in response. Getting caught stealing clothes with a crazy person was certainly not a good look. My heart raced as I thought of prison, I wouldn’t last in there. A cousin of mine had served a 5-year sentence at Kirkiri when I was much younger. Although he had always been the rough type, but even he seemed shaken by the time he got out.
“Stop worrying so much, help me hold this bag, I am almost done.” Her bag of pilfered goods was nearly full. She must have been reading a text on her phone when the large room door jolted open. A corpulent young man of about 14 or 15 appeared, staring at Sandra. Afraid of what or whom might have been coming after him, I hit the poor boy over the head with a lamp by the door. I grabbed the small bag Sandra handed me and bolted. I heard him fall with a heavy thud as I sprinted out of Room 307, Sandra was not far behind, heaving as we flew down the stairs. Assault had now been added to the charge of theft if we were caught.
“Why did you hit him?” She asked as we made our way out of the lobby. “The fatty could have died. Is that how they treat children where you come from?” The sun was still out, almost as though it was stalling to see how my dimwitted misadventure would end. We sprinted up the parking lot steps, looking around hoping we would not arouse suspicion.
“Shut up,” I barked, trying and failing to open the Camry doors. “Why did I even follow you in the first place? Fuck, I am foolish. I could have just gone…”
“Calm down jor, is that why you want to cry?” At that moment I thought to just throw her over the fence and onto the express, stupid woman. The doors finally opened, offering much-needed reprieve as we slid in.
“Please just keep quiet,” I said as we entered the car. She hissed, muttering something likely another barb. “I have had enough of you,”
“Can you believe I left my wig? I now just bought it oh,” She said. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, she had to be cursed, it was the only answer. What kind of person would bring that up now? A security guard started to walk in our direction, speaking menacingly into his walkie-talkie as he neared the car. I jolted into action, shoving the keys in the ignition and turning furiously only to hear a faint whimper instead of a roaring engine. My heart sank, the worst was happening. I gave the Camry another go, saying a quick prayer as Sandra sunk into her seat. It was useless, the rust bucket was determined to disappoint.
The guard beckoned me to wind down the window. He was darker and much taller up close. His black uniform cruelly mirrored my possibly tragic fate. As I wound the window down I felt a small trickle seep down my thighs. "Una just dey come?" He asked in an expectedly booming voice.
"Eh... No, we are leaving now," I said finally, not knowing whether a lie would be beneficial. Sandra nodded beside me, visibly shaken for the first time.
"You better relax for there. Them talk say armed robbers don dey operate," He said. The small trickle turned into a full-blown stream at that moment. "Just stay here, for now. When MOPOL come clear them you fit go."
"Na wa, in this Lagos? Thank you, oga" Sandra said, prompting a smile from the guard.
"Abi oh, wetin we dey see." He said dismissively before he disappeared into the dark stairwell. Sandra's heavy breathing was the only sound that interrupted the loud menacing police sirens. We sat there waiting, both of us fearing the worst, both too petrified to speak. What seemed like an eternity passed by in the parking lot before the din from the patrol cars subsided. The sight of cars coming into the lot signaled free movement below, or so I thought.
Waiting any longer would have driven me insane anyway, so with another short prayer I gave the keys in the ignition another go, to which the car responded with a roar. Finally, some fortune, I thought as I drove out of the lot, hoping to remain largely inconspicuous. The sun had begun to retreat now, probably satisfied with its viewing of my near tragedy. The evening breeze swept in through the Camry window as I sped down the express, still feeling a knot in my stomach. Sweat trickled down my shirt now, as I looked at my day's solitary passenger, asleep and almost harmless in that state, her thick brown hair fluttering from the swooshing wind.
***
The landlady's dog welcomed us with haunting barks as I pulled into the large compound, its eyes eerily reflecting bright green in the distance. The large heaving beast was meant to 'secure you people' as his owner put it. I suspect it was just her way of circumventing the tenant's request for a security guard. The presence of the German shepherd, which she named Abacha for obvious reasons, did not make me feel secure at all, its menacing growl had many times caused me to nearly wet myself. The stupid thing needed a kick to the head.
"Madam Sandra," I said, tugging her arm. "I am home," Her eyes were cloudy and her mouth primed for a deep yawn. She slid up the passenger seat, slowly looking to get a feel for her surroundings. "What are you going to do?"
She looked blankly out of the window, letting some moments pass by before turning to me. "Can I sleep here?" She asked gently. It dawned on me then that she might have been homeless. Her floating, fabricating, and pilfering ways were merely tools of survival, by-products of the strange world she inhabited. I felt sorry, sorry for a stranger who had almost ruined my life within hours of meeting him, a stranger I was sure I hated.
"If you agree to tell me everything about, the truth, all of it," I started, "then you can stay the night," She looked away, as though my request had been one too wearisome. After a short while she nodded, acquiescing to my demands.
My apartment did not have any valuables she could steal, nor had I any money hidden away, so as I opened the door to let her in I gave no warning. She looked around in long glances, hesitating to sit till beckoned to do so. "You are just a taxi driver?" She asked as I collapsed into the apartment's solitary couch.
I nodded, looking around my apartment wondering whether that was an insult or a compliment. In all her mystery and secrecy, Sandra seemed to fit in my world; a space for lost taxi drivers and less than professional thieves. "The dumbest taxi driver in Lagos,"
Bio: Jerry Ayodele is a Nigerian-American poet, essayist, and author of fiction who has been published in online magazines like Bese.Com and Afreada. He is also the founding editor of Communa Magazine.
A dark slender man waved me down, he was standing in front of a clean-looking Honda SUV, the dark-blue beauty was parked just off the Lekki-Epe expressway by the Total filling station. His large hands flailing in the sweltering afternoon sun, he was hard to miss.
Something in me had said to drive past and head home. It had been a very late night the day before, passenger after passenger hailed me to be picked up, barking out destinations before promptly haggling about pricing. Nights like that gave me hope. Hope that driving this useless Camry did have upsides after all. There had been dire nights in the past, sparse of passengers or heavy in traffic, ones that seemed to exist solely to suppress my being.
Going home would have meant seeing my landlady, a short abrasive woman who I happened to owe three months' rent, so I slowed down. "To where?" I asked.
"UNILAG campus gate, near the Sweet Sensation." He said with a smile, revealing his dirty brown teeth. He looked too old to be a university student, but also too rough to be a professor.
"That's Yaba abi? N6,500" I said. There was always traffic on that side, stupid bus drivers clogged up the streets and the LASTMA officers were useless, mostly there to extort motorists. The week before, a particularly wicked one stopped me. Using his grubby black hands to yank the keys of my car, knowing I would try to drive off. Even if I was passing one-way, I wasn’t the first to do so, bastard.
“Haba, I said Yaba, not Ogun State.” He scoffed. They always did, as though I should take them to their destination for free, idiots. “Wetin be last price?” He asked again, breaking out a weak smile.
“Na the price wey I tell you oga. Fuel don cost.” The bastards in government had recently increased the fuel prices, something about subsidy removal. Just like that, with little warning. I always say they are out to get us. Every day there was something new to frustrate us. “Oya, bring N6,000,” He let out a sigh before he retreated into the car behind him, appearing moments later with a large bag in hand and a woman at his side. Her gait was that of an unwilling traveler; she walked slowly toward the backseat. Loading her large bags there, before coming to join me at the front.
“Inemesit, it is for the best eh. Don’t think too much about it.” The slender man said into the window, handing her what I assume was the taxi fare before walking away. She nodded robotically in response. As we pulled away the woman gave several glances behind us, watching him drive off. When she was sure he was out of sight she burst into laughter, shedding the expression of grief she had worn so convincingly moments before. Her eyes shone a bit too brightly for my liking, almost oozing an evil air.
“Stupid boy,” She said, after a theatrically long hiss. “Abortion ko abortion ni,” Her accent was distinct, drawing out her words whilst maintaining their sharpness. She fiddled with a small phone as we cruised along the Lekki-Epe expressway, the traffic was light and the morning breeze rushed in and out of the Camry. As we approached the toll-gate she gave me an inquisitive look. "Wo, brother don't vex, but we are not going to Yaba." She said, in a tone that resembled that of a nervous child. "I lied to that fool earlier." She handed me the money he had given her.
"Where should I take you?" I asked, a bit confused by the situation.
"Anywhere you like," She replied lazily. "My next customer never calls, so I just dey float. You get?" I did not get it. I had so many questions. As if there was not enough mystery and confusion, she whisked out a large Afro wig and some glasses from the bag on her lap. Looking in a small mirror that seemed to appear from thin air, she shook her head. Soon after she proceeded to grab something from the backseat, a dark bag of sorts.
"Are you an ashewo?" I blurted out, immediately regretting it. She laughed in response, putting on the makeup she had taken out of her bag as if my question didn't warrant a reply. "I'm not judgi..."
"No, I'm not that. Something… a bit more interesting than that." Shoes were the next to be changed as she lunged into the back again. "We can hang out here," she said, pointing to the monstrosity that was the Oriental Hotel, a gigantic set of buildings garishly designed to stand out. It was rumored to be owned by the outgoing state governor.
"I don't have fine clothes like you," I said, hoping to discourage her. What kind of person was this? Why did I always pick the weird ones? "I can drop you at the entrance, I will give…” She shook her head.
“What’s your name?” She asked. They never asked that. They never cared.
“Tari,” I muttered.
“Tari? Where are you from? Well, that doesn’t matter now. Be bold Tari, plus you got paid for a ride to Yaba,” She spoke clearer now, almost as though it was a different person who had entered my car moments before. “It’ll be fun,” She said, as I pulled a hard right into the driveway that led to the hotel’s massive parking lot.
“This is going to be trouble madam,” I said, more to myself than to her. As we drew closer the Lagos sun seemed to become more prevalent, peering more closely at the misadventure I was foolishly about to embark on. The Camry’s AC hadn’t worked in years, so I sat there, nervously sweating, as the hotel security searched the boot of the car before letting us in. The uncertainty tightened my stomach, the way it would when drunk officers who could barely stand would stop the car at night to search for “things”.
“Go here,” She pointed, ignoring my warnings. “If we park here I won’t have to walk too much.” Scenarios of varying intensity played in my head, one involved an illicit cocaine deal, and another had mobile police raid the hotel, spraying tear gas and shooting aimless warning shots.
“What is your name?” I asked, desperately needing something to hold on to. The police would not believe me if I said I had no idea who she was. I wouldn’t be able to describe her either, her propensity to change appearance so thoroughly frightened me.
“If you follow me inside, I will tell you,” She said with a mischievous smile. “Come on now, I am ready to enter.” She slid out of the car as she said this, leaving the door ajar in her wake. She walked a few paces ahead of the car before looking back to beckon me.
I am not sure whether it was the heat or the palpable fear of the unknown but something drew me to her. I sprayed copious amounts of the cheap cologne I kept in the glove compartment, looked at myself in the mirror, and then went after her. “Please tell me what we are doing here?” I said once I caught up to her. To which she offered only a smile, grabbing my arm as we entered the colossal lobby. The air smelt of bags from the airport, better than the best air freshener, the smell of abroad. She grabbed my hand, pulling me towards a seating area, as though she had been here before.
“Loosen up, you look like you have been kidnapped.” She said as we sat. In the light of the lobby, her dark skin glistened, almost invitingly. “You smile don’t you?”
“You said you would tell me your name,” I said with a shrug.
She laughed, in the way one would at a naive child. “Is that all you want to know, just my name?” I would also like to know what evil spirit led me to pick you up. I would like to know if you have always been this insane. I would like to know what crazy thing you have planned here.
“First things first,” I said, trying my best to keep my composure. Guests, mostly foreign, strolled through the staggering lobby as we spoke, almost alien in their peculiar mannerisms.
“Sandra,” She said finally. Sandra? She didn’t look like a Sandra. Her subtle features resembled a Chiamaka or an Ifeoma.
“Is that your real name?” I asked, looking at her and wondering what else she was hiding behind the glasses. She had to be hiding from someone. It would be the only sensible explanation.
“Do you care?” She giggled, revealing her gleaming teeth. Sandra was almost good-looking, too small for my liking but almost appealing.
“If you are going to play games with my head, I will leave you here to do whatever it is you are up to,” I said, getting up to leave.
“Wait now, small play and you are getting angry.” She said as she stood with me, her glasses sliding down her small nose. “Alright, I will tell you everything you want to hear. Just sit down, I don’t want these people asking me JAMB questions.” Something told me to walk out on her, to leave with my N3,000 and head home. That was the smart course of action.
“So what is your name?” I asked as I sat down again. “If you like lying, you will stay here by yourself,”
“My name is Sandra. I only give customers fake names.” She said blankly. Customers? What could she possibly be selling?
“Let us say I believe that, why are we here? Tell me the truth abeg,” I said, uneasy in my seat. A waitress from what looked like a restaurant in the distance approached our table, hands full with menus and a notepad. She smiled nervously as she arrived at the table.
“Do you have anything in mind? Or should I leave you with the menus for a minute?” She asked in my direction.
“Idiot! Why did you ask him and not me? Or do you think that I am some kind of slut? Is that what this is?” Sandra screamed, giving no prior warning of this diatribe. The waitress was incredibly discomfited, not knowing what to say. Not that Sandra would have let her get in a word, in any case, she soon resumed her tirade. “Call your boss or whoever runs this dump, call him now, unless he too wants my wahala today!” Her voice was piercing. I sat there in shock and amazement, wondering where this strange woman was going with this. All the while watching main doors and side exits, fearing the worst. The defeated waitress hurried off into a door further down the lobby, presumably to fetch her superior.
Sandra smiled as she walked away, the type of malevolent smile that I had seen on her in the car. I thought to ask her again what this was about, why she had abandoned the tactic of going unnoticed. The manager appeared to disrupt my thoughts, he was a small Lebanese-looking man. I was not sure but that wasn't important.
“Hello, what seems to be the problem?” He said in an accent that was not Lebanese. Maybe he was a South African. “She said…”
“The idiot you hired refused to attend to me, it is like you people don’t like women here. I am ready to cancel my reservation.” She started furiously, cutting him off, to which he simply smiled. “I don’t know why it’s so hard to get respect as a woman, after all the money you people charge.” The racially ambiguous manager was flushed. He probably expected to deal with a bungled order of grilled chicken.
“This is unacceptable, My name is Amir and I will do all that is in my power to fix it,” He said softly, careful to sound apologetic.
“Your name isn’t going to remove my embarrassment is it Amee, abi what did you say your name was?” She snarled. Her round face expressed a convincing amount of disdain. “Who do I have to see to cancel my reservation?” He looked at me briefly, hoping perhaps for some respite. I offered a blank look in response.
“Please madam, let us not get there yet. We are deeply sorry about what happened.” He said, visibly sweating. “We will upgrade your room, let us give you a waterside view.”
“That is it?” She said with a drawn-out hiss. “Please leave here, Jonathan let us try Radisson Blue, maybe those ones have small sense,” Sandra said in my direction, her mouth still in a distinct scowl as she got up to leave. I did not know when I became Jonathan but I followed suit.
“Please, don’t go madam. Let me put you up in a deluxe suite, one night extra free. Just for you,” Amir pleaded. He seemed like a nice guy. The kind of guy that did not deserve this.
Sandra hissed, halting her steps considering her options. With an intentionally melodramatic sigh, she turned to Amir. “All right then, go get the keys hurry,” Amir shooed away the waitress, who by now had probably lost her job, before heading to the front desk. “Oh and bring the key for 307,” Sandra called out. He nodded, smiling nervously as he left us.
***
"What are we doing here?" I asked as soon as I was sure I could no longer hear Amir's footsteps. He had hurriedly been rid of our company, understandably so.
"To see the queen, what do you think?" She said with a hiss. "I take things, Mr. Jonathan. That is what I do," She pronounced Jonathan mockingly.
"So you are a liar and a thief?"
"And you are the loudest taxi driver in Lagos. Shut up!" She snapped.
“How did you know this room would be empty?” I asked as she rummaged through the room. The room visibly still had occupants. Occupants who, at any given moment, could walk in through the door. Sandra was hastily picking up anything she considered valuable. Shoes, perfume bottles, and shampoo were all game. Her disdain for a meticulous approach was almost impressive.
“I didn’t,” Sandra said without raising her head. A dress on the counter caught her attention, a dark red number that looked expensive. Pulling off the wig, she looked at me and smiled. In what seemed like an instant she was completely undressed, revealing a large tattoo on her shoulder and a surprisingly full figure. After a gratuitous twirl, she stealthily slipped into the dress. She walked slowly past me towards the mirror. “It looks nice, abi what do you think?” She asked as she admired her reflection.
“I think you are crazy,” I said, “although I think I am worse, what am I still doing here?” She giggled in response. Getting caught stealing clothes with a crazy person was certainly not a good look. My heart raced as I thought of prison, I wouldn’t last in there. A cousin of mine had served a 5-year sentence at Kirkiri when I was much younger. Although he had always been the rough type, but even he seemed shaken by the time he got out.
“Stop worrying so much, help me hold this bag, I am almost done.” Her bag of pilfered goods was nearly full. She must have been reading a text on her phone when the large room door jolted open. A corpulent young man of about 14 or 15 appeared, staring at Sandra. Afraid of what or whom might have been coming after him, I hit the poor boy over the head with a lamp by the door. I grabbed the small bag Sandra handed me and bolted. I heard him fall with a heavy thud as I sprinted out of Room 307, Sandra was not far behind, heaving as we flew down the stairs. Assault had now been added to the charge of theft if we were caught.
“Why did you hit him?” She asked as we made our way out of the lobby. “The fatty could have died. Is that how they treat children where you come from?” The sun was still out, almost as though it was stalling to see how my dimwitted misadventure would end. We sprinted up the parking lot steps, looking around hoping we would not arouse suspicion.
“Shut up,” I barked, trying and failing to open the Camry doors. “Why did I even follow you in the first place? Fuck, I am foolish. I could have just gone…”
“Calm down jor, is that why you want to cry?” At that moment I thought to just throw her over the fence and onto the express, stupid woman. The doors finally opened, offering much-needed reprieve as we slid in.
“Please just keep quiet,” I said as we entered the car. She hissed, muttering something likely another barb. “I have had enough of you,”
“Can you believe I left my wig? I now just bought it oh,” She said. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, she had to be cursed, it was the only answer. What kind of person would bring that up now? A security guard started to walk in our direction, speaking menacingly into his walkie-talkie as he neared the car. I jolted into action, shoving the keys in the ignition and turning furiously only to hear a faint whimper instead of a roaring engine. My heart sank, the worst was happening. I gave the Camry another go, saying a quick prayer as Sandra sunk into her seat. It was useless, the rust bucket was determined to disappoint.
The guard beckoned me to wind down the window. He was darker and much taller up close. His black uniform cruelly mirrored my possibly tragic fate. As I wound the window down I felt a small trickle seep down my thighs. "Una just dey come?" He asked in an expectedly booming voice.
"Eh... No, we are leaving now," I said finally, not knowing whether a lie would be beneficial. Sandra nodded beside me, visibly shaken for the first time.
"You better relax for there. Them talk say armed robbers don dey operate," He said. The small trickle turned into a full-blown stream at that moment. "Just stay here, for now. When MOPOL come clear them you fit go."
"Na wa, in this Lagos? Thank you, oga" Sandra said, prompting a smile from the guard.
"Abi oh, wetin we dey see." He said dismissively before he disappeared into the dark stairwell. Sandra's heavy breathing was the only sound that interrupted the loud menacing police sirens. We sat there waiting, both of us fearing the worst, both too petrified to speak. What seemed like an eternity passed by in the parking lot before the din from the patrol cars subsided. The sight of cars coming into the lot signaled free movement below, or so I thought.
Waiting any longer would have driven me insane anyway, so with another short prayer I gave the keys in the ignition another go, to which the car responded with a roar. Finally, some fortune, I thought as I drove out of the lot, hoping to remain largely inconspicuous. The sun had begun to retreat now, probably satisfied with its viewing of my near tragedy. The evening breeze swept in through the Camry window as I sped down the express, still feeling a knot in my stomach. Sweat trickled down my shirt now, as I looked at my day's solitary passenger, asleep and almost harmless in that state, her thick brown hair fluttering from the swooshing wind.
***
The landlady's dog welcomed us with haunting barks as I pulled into the large compound, its eyes eerily reflecting bright green in the distance. The large heaving beast was meant to 'secure you people' as his owner put it. I suspect it was just her way of circumventing the tenant's request for a security guard. The presence of the German shepherd, which she named Abacha for obvious reasons, did not make me feel secure at all, its menacing growl had many times caused me to nearly wet myself. The stupid thing needed a kick to the head.
"Madam Sandra," I said, tugging her arm. "I am home," Her eyes were cloudy and her mouth primed for a deep yawn. She slid up the passenger seat, slowly looking to get a feel for her surroundings. "What are you going to do?"
She looked blankly out of the window, letting some moments pass by before turning to me. "Can I sleep here?" She asked gently. It dawned on me then that she might have been homeless. Her floating, fabricating, and pilfering ways were merely tools of survival, by-products of the strange world she inhabited. I felt sorry, sorry for a stranger who had almost ruined my life within hours of meeting him, a stranger I was sure I hated.
"If you agree to tell me everything about, the truth, all of it," I started, "then you can stay the night," She looked away, as though my request had been one too wearisome. After a short while she nodded, acquiescing to my demands.
My apartment did not have any valuables she could steal, nor had I any money hidden away, so as I opened the door to let her in I gave no warning. She looked around in long glances, hesitating to sit till beckoned to do so. "You are just a taxi driver?" She asked as I collapsed into the apartment's solitary couch.
I nodded, looking around my apartment wondering whether that was an insult or a compliment. In all her mystery and secrecy, Sandra seemed to fit in my world; a space for lost taxi drivers and less than professional thieves. "The dumbest taxi driver in Lagos,"
Bio: Jerry Ayodele is a Nigerian-American poet, essayist, and author of fiction who has been published in online magazines like Bese.Com and Afreada. He is also the founding editor of Communa Magazine.
