Nameless

by Yas Niger

  Chucks craftily made a hasty retreat to his room to resume his activities with Modesta, the girl he had met last night. She said she had just come in from the big coastal city and thinking of her name made Chuks smile as clearly modesty wasn't a virtue she possessed and that was not what he sought. He climbed the stairs with renewed gusto and promptly forgot about Ajasko and his aproko mouth.

  ***

  Tijani the sixty year old cleaner was the only person who had paid close attention to the exchange between the two men, and he had a thoughtful look on his face as he made his way out of the room and back to his work post. He was in timely retirement because he was honest about his age at his time of employment. This was rare. It was considered almost normal to falsify documents or information, but Tijani had no respect for people who did not respect the due process and the law. Most of those he met in government service had fraudulently altered their ages to stay on, but Tijani was happy to leave even though he wasn't ready for retirement in the least. He chose to continue residing in the town he had actively served for thirty years, rather than return to his region of origin. He had gotten married, started a family and built a small house in this town, where he was stationed, far away from his ethnic origins. Yes, Nameless had been good to him.

  As an elderly man of minority origins, remaining with his family in a society not indigenous to him after retirement was an easy decision, because he had lived away from his own people most of his adult life. Returning back to his home town after retirement was never an option for him or his family. They had assimilated completely, and spoke the local dialect fluently. Tijani and his family were prepared to tolerate the tacit second-class status sometimes allotted to them by some strangers, but he and his family were generally happy.

  His only source of sadness was Tabitha his wife who was suffering from diabetes and in dire need of money for medication. His pension had still not been cleared, and welfare and social security was non-existent, so he had taken a job in the hotel to make ends meet while the government prosecuted the pension thieves and returned the money to the rightful owners who had given their strength and their best years to the country.

  It never escaped him that he was eligible to benefit from the existing pension scheme, but because payments were highly irregular and it is always a herculean feat to get any funds out of institutions when due, he had in essence re-joined the ever growing number of unemployed who are not constitutionally provided for and are left to their own devices.

  His brother’s voice always rang in his head, reminding him that he should have had more children so that they could cater to him in his old age instead of waiting for the government to provide social security.

  “TJ, children are wealth from God so do not deny yourself the gift that is your due. If you have many, at least one of them may have a good job so that they can care for you,” were always his goodbye conversation with Tijani.

  Tijani was struggling to make ends meet at such an advanced age, so he wondered how he could have taken care of more children. He was always glad he did not have more children, but sometimes he did wonder if his brother was right.

  Tijani was always amazed at the islands of prosperity which existed amidst oceans of poverty, without a formal social security structure. The nation wasn't delivering the much-heralded dividends of democracy to the citizens like it shouts from the roof tops it is doing, especially to women. Poverty was still cemented among the low income earners. Crime rates had increased exponentially,  life expectancy kept falling and maternal mortality rates kept rising, and healthcare was only affordable to high paying customers.

  Tijani wondered if any functional social security scheme would be implemented during his lifetime. He only hoped that his children would have available to them a welfare scheme funded by a progressive tax structure providing for and supporting the poorest, weakest and neediest of the society. The existence of such a social security framework would greatly reduce corruption, and public workers would be assured of an income and social services after retirement when they could no longer work. He had read reports that showed social security schemes made it possible for governments to raise entire strata of society from poverty, in a planned, scalable and measurable method.

  That night as Tijani headed home, he was tired and worried as was usual with him. It dawned on him that if he played his cards right, he could get a sizable compensation from the military for exposing Chuks as a deserter. Tijani could really do with the money. Tani, his oldest daughter was just about rounding up her studies for a degree in Catering, and he knew she would be home expecting him to dole out more money for her upcoming practicals. He also thought of his second child Bitrus; the boy had completed his National Diploma three years ago and since then it had been near impossible for him to secure admission back into the Polytechnic for his Higher Diploma. Tijani could not understand why Bitrus had to finish the same school and again seek admission to return to it. Like the entire nation, Tijani was not convinced that a university degree was more qualitative than a polytechnic higher diploma. He would rather Bitrus learned a trade rather than obtain his Higher diploma and be further segregated against for not having a degree.

  "At the rate things are headed, our future generations may not be adequately educated and our future teachers could end up being worse than their pupils,” he said aloud to himself. “With the unattractive salaries paid to teachers, those who are the most suitable for the profession are not attracted to it and even if they are attracted, don’t have a fair chance of getting the jobs because the field is oversaturated by people who are clearly unqualified."

  As he walked past houses with high fences, barbed wire bordered walls, the ever present rumbling of generators accompanying him, Tijani thought bitterly that the only children with access to qualitative and uninterrupted education were those of ruling class. If qualitative education was readily available and affordable, then graduates of the nation's educational system would be considered amongst the best in the world. Parents like Tijani would then feel proud in educating their children and look forward to seeing their graduate children work as researchers, scholars, professors and even philosophers, at home and abroad. This can only be the case when a ninety eight percentage literacy level is accomplished all over the nation. However with this same shoddy arrangement in place, building local capacity and leading in essential fields cannot be achieved.

  It had always baffled Tijani why different sides of the country have different literacy levels, with the gap being incredibly wide across certain parts of the nation. He wondered why he bothered to educate his children, when most educational certificates given by the local tertiary institutions were seemingly useless. Graduates tended to remain uneducated after spending years struggling through the country's formal education system. The average Nigerian graduate lacks the ideal command of language, with archaic knowledge of their fields of study and little or zero practical knowledge. Tijani recollects he had to pay to have someone write the prerequisite WAEC and NECO examination for Bitrus after his previous results were very bad. It hurts him to his hearts core that he had to stoop that low, but corrupt works best in this land.

  The issues at the universities were just as bad, with more people applying for admissions in universities than there are spots available. There aren't enough qualified teachers where they are needed and in fields for which they are most required. There aren't enough to cover all levels. Meanwhile, the incessant strikes by academic staffs caused so many delays very few people graduated university without at least an extra year added.

  Tijani felt Tani was wasting her time and his money in formal education, wasting away in catering. He wished she was studying something more marketable. Her mother had already taught her to cook beautifully and he had a gut feeling that she would end up staying back home and unemployed, unless she developed the business acumen to start work as a caterer. Tijani knew in his gut that if unemployed graduates could be trained to be qualified teachers in th
e essential fields; especially science and technology, the problems of unemployment would be greatly reduced.

  At this juncture Tijani made the definitive decision that he would have Bitrus join a skill acquisition programme. It is needless to have a good sounding prestigious formal education certificate and not be able to earn a living with it. Tijani would ensure Bitrus joins students that get trained in various technical areas so that they become self-reliant, enabling them to be self-employed and start cottage industries.

  It became crucial for Tijani to get the reward for exposing Chuks. The money would really come in handy. He started to plan what he would do with the reward money he wasn't even sure was there.

  ***

  The next day, it was already six in the evening when Tijani left for work. He was late, it would take him six minutes to make it to the hotel and he ought to have been at his post at six. He barely had enough time to get home, clean up and leave because he had to take Tabitha to see Doctor Jamila Mahmood to discuss some innovative traditional medication.

  Tabitha’s othodox medication was so expensive, they had to find a permanent solution. The State appeared unwilling to fund basic healthcare. Health insurance for the masses was literally non-existent. Conditions of employment for medical personnel were bad, as qualified personel left for other countries or set up really expensive private hospitals.

  Poor people were left to patronize state hospitals that were at best death traps, though when they are first opened and in the absence of the incessant strikes by the public healthcare staff, they'd functioned well. 

  Tijani and Tabitha waited to see the healer for hours and then they still couldn’t see her because Tijani had to hurry away to work.

  By the time Tijani managed to navigate and manuever through the still busy Afele market, where stores were closing for the day, it was ten minutes after six. He was relieved to learn from a colleague that Chuks was still upstairs in his room. But he headed upstairs anyway to ensure that he was still there, before he made the call. No point the authorities getting here only to find that Chuks had checked out.

  He knocked and waited. There was no response at first. Then he heard a lady giggling from within the room. He knocked again, and this time Chuks’ muffled voice answered. A few seconds later a half dressed Chuks opened the door.

  "Ah Baba, na you? Please come in."

  "Morning sir," Tijani greeted and followed Chuks into his room,. On the bed, lying completely naked, the bedsheet barely covering her, was the young lady whose tinkling laughter he had heard. She was turned away from the door, her hip jutting at an angle, her long fake synthetic fibre hair covering half her face as she spoke into the phone she held to her ear. "Yes mummy, I am attending choir practice. I might return late."

  What was it about her voice? But before Tijani had time to process this, she turned around and the light fell full on her face. Her face slackened in shock and it could only be a mirror of Tijani's face. For it was Tani, Tijani's daughter.

  ______________________________________

  Jamila

  Jamila walked briskly to her car, got in, and locked the door. It was not until the AC kicked in that she realised she had been holding her breath. She looked down at her hands and saw that they shook slightly. She clamped them between her thighs and forced herself to breathe, to be calm. Seeing her co-wife in Afele market had shaken her. It had been eight months since her husband took his latest wife, and there was never a time that Jamila was prepared for this reaction. The anxiety always started in the pit of her stomach and despite her best efforts to quench it, spread through her body until it reached her fingers. This was crazy. Insane. Where was this coming from? This was untenable. What was she going to do? But then, why had she gone to Afele market and not any of the others...?

  She had had these feelings once before. During her second year in the university, a strong friendship had developed between herself and her course mate Barbara. Close on the heels of the friendship, an intense attraction had grown. A physical attraction, which took Jamila completely by surprise. They did everything together, and Barbara encouraged Jamila to explore her alternative sexuality. During those curious months, they had attended parties, raves, pride. Jamila had grown to embrace her attraction to other women. After university, she had put it firmly behind her, stashed it away like somebody else's bad idea, never to see the light of day. Until she met Shakira, her husband's new wife.

  That first night when Jamila was first introduced to Shakira, she felt all the old cravings crawling out of the pit where she had them buried.

  Jamila's tongue tied up in knots every time Shakira was near, her brain going into a whirl. She watched Shakira around the house and fancied that she was being deliberately teased by Shakira’s veiled stares and innuendos. Jamila knew she was being silly revelling in the thought that Shakira was dressing up for her. Shakira could not stand her. Still, Jamila sought her out; in the mornings before she headed to work, in the evenings when she returned. She always found an excuse to drop by Shakira's part of the house. She started to feel like she needed to see Shakira to get though the day - her slow way of talking, the way she flung her long braids over her shoulder, the bold stare, her swaying, sensuous walk. And Jamila liked to hear the kids talk about what 'aunty Shakira' had done that day. She listened with such rapt fascination about very mundane accounts that she wondered if anyone else noticed that her face was heated, the way her lips parted, the sweat. And when she lay in bed at night, it was even more unbearable. When Alhaji was with Jamila, she thought of Shakira, and when he was with Shakira, Jamila felt a jealous rage well up in her.

  To curb her raging emotions, Jamila reminded herself of all the times Shakira had tried to be mean to her, especially in the beginning when she first came - ignoring her greetings, the curt answers, and eventually, refusing to let Jamila carry her baby. That hurt the most, the day Shakira had turned away from her, refusing her help, that morning she'd been struggling to balance crying baby, diaper bag, and food warmer as she headed to her shop. Jamila had stretched out her hand to help calm the child when Shakira turned away and muttered, "This one wey no get pikin wan carry my own learn work." Jamila had heard every word then, and heard them again now. She closed her eyes, allowing the pain to wash through her afresh. 

  But now Alhaji was out of town. She and Shakira were both free in the mornings, and they had 'bumped' into each other three times in the last two days. Suddenly, the feelings of hurt and anger that she had conjured to help her cope vanished.

  As was customary they said good morning and asked after each other's health before going their different ways. But in the last three days, since Alhaji had announced he was going to be traveling, Jamila's mind had gone into overdrive. She wondered what would happen in the two days Alhaji was going to spend out of Nameless. That was all the time she had to make the decision that could affect everything...

  She swiftly put those thoughts out of her head as she swung the car into reverse and drove to the office. She checked her bag again to make sure she remembered to take the knitted muffler she had bought for Matron Oshaloye.

  ***

  Jamila didn't understand why she couldn't get pregnant. Alhaji was rough, gruff, and not romantic at all, but if that had produced children for the others, why wasn't it good enough for her? Was it because she barely tolerated him, because hearing, "juya" set her teeth on edge? Was her fear of contracting an STD the reason she couldn't enjoy her husband? Or was it because... astaghfirullah, she muttered as she got to her office door. She wouldn't allow herself that thought. 

  ***

  She hung her white coat on the door and walked to the fridge to get a sip of water. She started to unwind her hijab when there was a knock on the door. "Come in", she breathed without turning round.

  "Feels like today is never going to end, Lucy", Jamila said as she put the bottled water back in the fridge. "Right now I just want to go and sleep." She turned with a tired smil
e on her face that quickly morphed into narrowed eyes as she realized the person in the room with her wasn't Lucy, but a young lady with very pretty eyes looking back at her.

  "I am sorry I am not Lucy, but she told me to knock on the door and see if you were inside".

  Jamila hurriedly retied her hijab while thinking to herself that it was a good thing the person who came in was a woman, not a man. Mallam Kabir would be horrified to learn that another man had looked at her uncovered while at work. He took such things very seriously, especially and he was an informer for her husband - this was the concession she'd had to make for him to allow her to work.

  "Please sit down," she murmured while making her way behind the desk. "I am Doctor Jamila Mahmood and I assume you have an emergency if Lucy sent you in with a file already." She nodded at the blue file in the young lady's hands.

  "Yes. Well, no. Not really." The lady stuttered. "My name is Anna and I am sorry you are having such a long day. Lucy was called away by another Doctor while she was bringing me in."

  "It's ok, I should have looked before I spoke." Jamila said, taking the file from the young woman's hands and starting to flip through it. "How can I help?"

  “Doctor, I am pregnant." Anna's voice shook.

  "Ok. Have you done a pregnancy test?

  "Yes. I bought a kit from the pharmacy."

  "When did you do it?" Jamila studied the open file before her.

  "Last week."

  Anna was pale, clearly anaemic, pimples peppered her forehead, revealing some combination of bad nutrition. She looked young, her right hand was busy spinning the colourful plastic bracelets that hung on her left wrist.

  "You do realise this is a fertility clinic." Jamila shut the file close. "I will have to refer you to somewhere you can get prenatal care."

  Anna cleared her throat. "Doctor, it is a bit more complicated than that."

  "What is the complication?"