This House Is Not for Sale

by E. C. Osondu

  He made them stand on their heads for any infraction. Soja had a bump at the center of his head when he returned and he proudly showed this off. He said the weaker recruits had a small square piece cut from their foam mattresses that they slipped under their head when they were asked to stand on their heads.

  He said time and again the sergeant-major asked them to repeat and chant the motto of the training camp. They all shouted—There Is No Going Back. Yes, there is no going back for you. If you die here we bury you here. If you run away, better kill yourself because if we catch you, we’ll kill you. They frog-jumped them, they belly-crawled them through razor-sharp barbed-wire fence; they made them do push-ups until they felt they were doing push-ups even in their sleep.

  They took them into the bush and made them practice shooting at one another with live bullets. The sergeant-major boasted that one trainee soldier died during training for each of the twelve years that he had been training army recruits. He said this was the thirteenth year, and because thirteen was an unlucky number he was hoping that at least two or more recruits would die in training instead of one.

  Soja later said that his time at the training camp was the best time in his life. He said that what the country needed was a sergeant-major to drill all citizens every morning and everyone would fall in line and the country would be shipshape.

  Soja was discharged from the camp with the rank of korofo. Meaning that he had no rope but he was a soldier and had his uniform, his beret, and his boots. What he told people when he came back from training was that every soldier was given a shot annually. It was this shot that made soldiers superhuman. He said that every soldier was given an ampoule of liquid bravery. That was what the shot was; it was pale, like the color of blood. He said after the shot the soldier had a mild fever and then woke up feeling as strong as stone.

  Soja’s first job was with the Environmental Task Force. Their job was to ensure that everywhere was clean. Streets swept, gutters and drains cleared, ensure there was no street trading. They patrolled streets and markets and roads and looked along the rail tracks for those who broke the law by selling their goods there. The task force was made up of soldiers, a few naval personnel, and an air force corporal. They drove around in a dark blue Toyota Hilux truck.

  Initially people commended them for the good job they were doing. They made tenants and landlords sweep clean their gutters, cleared drains, and swept streets. They made street traders leave the streets, which helped the flow of traffic. They ensured that everyone stayed home and cleaned their homes on special days designated for cleaning and sanitation. But all these soon got old.

  It was not long before Soja started bringing home baskets of produce, used coats and pants and dresses. The task force now carried out raids. They would swoop in on unsuspecting street traders, brandish their guns, chase them away with a koboko, and throw their goods into the Toyota Hilux truck. They would sometimes throw the traders in with the seized goods, drive with them a little ways, dispossess them of the money in their pocket, and then throw them out of the truck, meanwhile not returning the seized goods to them. Every day Soja brought different types of goods to the Family House. The edible things like chicken, tomatoes, pepper, and other foodstuffs were consumed in the house. The other items like clothes and sometimes electronic equipment were sold off. The traders would sometimes be made to buy back their own products. The task force was actually supposed to charge repeat offenders to the Environmental Tribunal set up for this purpose, but they didn’t.

  —What they are doing is worse than armed robbery—

  —They are stealing with authority backing, it is pure authority stealing—

  —Does it mean no one can stop them?—

  —I thought the work of soldiers was to go to war and fight; now they are waging war against hardworking traders—

  —This is their time jare, let them enjoy it. After all, life is turn by turn; it may be your turn tomorrow—

  —It will never be my turn to steal—

  —It is always from that house that all things both good and bad emerge—

  —Can you imagine the poor traders being forced to pay twice for their own goods? They have to buy back their seized stuff—

  —This is why the price of goods continues to go up, and they always go up and never come down—

  —I hear the task force members gather to share money and goods like robbers after a successful robbery operation gathering to share their loot—

  —People are now lobbying to join the task force but initially people called them glorified sanitary inspectors, ordinary wole wole—

  —They have the support of the authorities who are higher up—

  —They make returns to the big Oga’s every day—

  —Ah, in spite of all the money they have in that house, they are still collecting from the sweat of the poor—

  —Is that not what they specialize in? One day is one day, the monkey will visit the market one more time and will not make it back—

  —Is it monkey that they say in the proverb or the baboon?—

  —Monkey or baboon, what does it matter? It will for sure not return from the market—

  People complained that before the government could ban street trading or clear the street of roadside traders they should provide shops and build more market stalls. Soja and his colleagues in the task force were no longer interested in charging those they arrested to the tribunal. In some cases they were not even interested in letting the trader pay a bribe to get their goods back. They were not interested because they were opening their own stores and selling all kinds of dry goods. When they seized or confiscated enough DVDs they opened a DVD store; if they seized enough children’s wear they opened a shop to sell these. The fear of the task force was the beginning of wisdom. Traders in the major markets supported members of the task force. They said roadside and street traders ruined their business because they had no overheads and could therefore sell their stuff at a cheaper rate.

  And then one day Soja fell sick. He could not empty his bowels for seven days. He was given lots of oranges and grapes to eat to soften his belly. At intervals he’d be led to the specially made toilet in the backyard and asked to try and push.

  —Try. Try harder. Push as if you are having a baby—

  “I am pushing,” he would respond through clenched teeth.

  Nothing happened. His eyes became muddy colored. He said he had no strength. He walked like a man with a heavy weight attached to his waist.

  —We said it that one day the chicken would come home to roost—

  —Look at him now is he not the one suffering—

  —What punishment can be worse than not being able to pass stool?—

  —It is the spirit of all the poor people they deprived of their means of livelihood that is now haunting them—

  —Think of all the curses that were rained down on them when they confiscated innocent traders’ goods—

  —What made it worse was that they even began selling off the goods and opening their own stores—

  —They must have offended someone whom they shouldn’t have offended—

  —That is true. There are people who must not be offended—

  And then Soja began to use the toilet and could not stop going. He went so many times and had the urge to go so much that he sat on a wooden bench by the door of the toilet.

  It would be assumed that Tata Mirror would have been able to find a cure for Soja’s illness, but Tata said that if a person did you no harm and you decided to harm them, then if the victim in their anger decides to place a curse on you, no god or goddess will come to your aid. She said that Soja had offended a very old woman whose only means of livelihood was going to the bush market to buy tomatoes directly from farmers, which she later sold at a profit. She said that she sold tomatoes along the railway tracks because she was too poor to rent a stall in the market. She said that on the day Soja and the members of his task force had seized her tomatoes,
she had begged them but they had refused, that what stung her was the fact that she had called Soja her son—help me, my son, she had cried, but Soja had pushed her away and actually whipped her with his koboko. As the members of the task force drove away with her basket of tomatoes, she wept. According to what Tata said, the woman had woken up at midnight and had taken off all her clothes and had placed a curse on Soja and his task force colleagues.

  All through these events Soja’s wife had decided to take him to a white garment church for healing. The members of the white garment churches wore no shoes because they believed that all the earth was a holy ground. They wore only white garments as a proclamation of their holiness. They drummed and danced and fell into trances and saw visions. They proclaimed all kinds of fast—white fasting in which they ate only white things like pap, milk, white bread; dry fasting, in which they ate nothing at all; and sweet fasting, when they ate only honey. They had special feast days, too, on which they killed rams and sheep and cooked jollof rice and drank warm soda. Soja’s wife had benefited from his being a member of the task force. She used to be a trader herself and had actually had her goods seized, which was how she had met Soja and moved in with him. She had opened a small store where she sold some of the stuff that was gotten from the raids on traders.

  —Did we not say it?—

  —Are they not the ones running from herbalist to native doctor to white garment church now?—

  —We said it then that they were stealing from the poor, hardworking traders who were only struggling for their daily bread—

  —Even the special injection they give to soldiers could not save him from this illness—

  —They said that for seven days he could not pass stool—

  —And seven days later he started passing stool and could not stop—

  —They should go and beg all those poor market women and men that they stole from—

  —Even the wife has closed down her store—

  —No more confiscated goods; what is she going to sell in the store—

  —Was she not confiscated herself? How did they meet? She was one of the traders helping her mom, whose goods were confiscated. She was thrown into the task force truck. That was how she met him. She followed him back and began living with him—

  —Their eyes have not started to see pepper. Very soon they’ll be consulting Alaafa—

  Soja had lost a lot of weight, and with his shaven head and his emaciated body in the flowing white garment he took to wearing, he looked like the angel of death. He was told to wear the white flowing soutane at all times because it would make his body the temple of God and death should have no dominion over it.

  Instead of Soja getting better, he developed boils and rashes all over his skin. There were tiny boils where his eyelashes used to be, one boil for each eyelash. He had rashes on his skin. The head of the prayer band at the white garment church where he was being looked after said he should be taken to the world headquarters of the church so that his spiritual leader could say the word and Soja would be healed.

  It was hard to get ahold of the spiritual leader because there was usually a long line of people waiting to see him. They said all he did was utter a word or phrase and the supplicant’s problem would be solved. To a woman crying because of her sick child he could say cry no more your tears will become tears of joy. This would mean that the child would be healed. He would say to a spinster you will no longer walk alone, meaning she would soon get married. Cryptic phrases that were assiduously recorded by a bearded acolyte called the Scribe. He took down every word and utterance, coughs, and sighs of the spiritual leader.

  Invoking esprit de corps with the policemen who served as guards for the spiritual leader, Soja and his wife were able to jump to the front of the line and see the spiritual leader, who said to Soja—I release you to your destiny. Even the Scribe could not interpret the expression. What was Soja’s destiny? Was his destiny to live or to die? They left more confused than before. Soja’s wife decided to take him to an Islamic sheikh who was reputed to heal by dipping his prayer beads into water and giving the water to the supplicant.

  —Have you heard what I heard?—

  —They say the spiritual leader of the white garment church could not heal him—

  —I hear that man is powerful. If he could not help, there may be no hope—

  —He sure is powerful. He eats no meat. Fasts for forty days and nights without touching any food—

  —If the problem is one that he cannot solve, then the man should return home, put his affairs in order, and start waiting for death—

  —His wife is still carrying him about from one healer to the other—

  —I hear she has taken him to the powerful gray-bearded sheikh, the Islamic preacher and healer—

  —I hear those ones are powerful too. They use words from their holy books—

  —He has really suffered. Look at him, all bones—

  The first thing that was demanded of Soja before he could see the sheikh was that he needed to convert, he should change his name and shave his hair.

  He wanted to argue with them but they explained to him that it was all one God. He was only called by a different name. He agreed. His new name was Ahmed. He was happy. He covered his head with a taj, a cap worn by the Muslim faithful.

  Finally he got to meet the sheikh. The sheikh shook his hands and touched his right hand to his heart in the Muslim fashion and said to Soja/Ahmed—Inna lillahi Wa inna ilaihi Rajioon. What the sheikh said to him was the Islamic prayer for the dead.

  Grandpa said Soja’s wife should stop carrying him from place to place. He said Soja knew what was wrong with him. He should say the truth.

  After this people began to speculate about Soja’s illness and the cause.

  —You know when he was in the task force some of the female roadside traders bribed them—

  —Of course everyone knows that they collected bribes—

  —No, not that kind of bribe you are thinking about—

  —The women who they took to their head office the task force head office you know—

  —You mean they did things to the women?—

  —Some of the women used what they had to bribe the task force people and get their goods back and free themselves—

  —They got a lot of it, some members as time went on even preferred to be bribed that way. They say Soja was that way—

  —Probably, that is what is killing him now?—

  —Was it that he did it with another man’s wife?—

  —Not sure—

  —If it was the one people got from doing it with another man’s wife, the victim will fall off the woman, crow three times like a cock, and die—

  —So if it wasn’t that one what was it?—

  —You won’t hear it from my mouth. You know what it is that is killing him—

  Soja finally died. They say he refused to go quietly. They said he died fighting. He struggled, he rolled from one side of the bed to the floor, he sweated, his labored breathing could be heard about three houses away. And then he stopped breathing. He was finally at rest.

  Soja was buried in the military cemetery. Because of the speculation that whatever had made him sick was a result of his task force duties, his colleagues rallied, they contributed money for him and tried to get his gratuity and payment out very quickly. They were planning to give the money to the wife, but it turned out she was not the next of kin. Soja had never officially married her. Grandpa was the next of kin. He was the one who got all the money except for the contributions and the gratuity. Soja’s woman cried, she begged, she threatened, she cajoled.

  Grandpa asked only one question—she should receive the payment in her capacity as what?

  Soja’s woman did what she had heard the old woman did to her husband. At midnight she stood in front of the house, bared her buttocks at the house, and cursed the house and those who lived in it.

  She later repented and came back to beg Grandpa w
hen she discovered that she was pregnant with the late Soja’s child. Grandpa gave her a small space in front of the Family House where she could fry and sell bean cakes.

  FUEBI

  Soja’s wife, who now had a daughter named Fuebi, was using the small corner outside the Family House given to her by Grandpa to sell akara fried bean cakes. It was a good location to sell akara because of the many feet that passed by the house. Her mother fried the akara in hot oil while Fuebi wrapped the hot balls in newspapers for customers. Beside them on a tray were loaves of bread, which they also sold. Beside the loaves of bread lay a pile of old newspapers. One of Grandpa’s acts of kindness was to allow them to make use of the space in front of the Family House to sell. Fuebi’s mother may have been beautiful many years ago, but she was now the same ochre-white color as the smoke that emerged from the cheap firewood with which she fried her akara. Fuebi was beautiful. She sparkled. She had a gap on her upper incisor, which was considered a mark of beauty. She had dimples. Her skin glowed. She smiled a lot. This was despite the hard work she had to do every day. Frying akara was the final task in a very laborious process that began with soaking the black-eyed peas in water overnight and washing off the tough skin the next morning. Washing and rinsing and pouring the water into an open drain very far from the house because the smell from the bean water was awful. Then carrying the washed beans to the communal grinding machine store where she joined the line to have the beans blended, then returning home to go to school. Coming back from school to go buy firewood and going to broad Teacher’s place to collect old copies of the Daily Times. It was a tough job, but Fuebi never complained. She was always smiling. During a pause in sales or on days when due to rainfall the sales and frying came to a halt, the woman would turn to Fuebi and point at herself.