 |
||
So, There Were These Three Guys, and a Cow...
by Des Nnochiri, June 19th, 2008
Well, actually, there were four of us: myself, my uncles Paulie and Emmanuel, and Richard, the driver of the pick-up truck we were using. And it was a bull, not a cow.
Let's call him Bull, for the sake of convenience.
We were no more than a few kilometres out from the cattle market at Obinze, near the military base on the outskirts of Owerri, the capital of Imo State, in eastern Nigeria.
No more than a few kilometres. But, with a broken-down vehicle, a trussed-up bovine in the truck bed, cooling our heels on a two-lane road seemingly in the middle of nowhere, we might as well have been on the moon.
Hmm. A lot of hyphenation in that last paragraph. It was one of those days.
Our mission was founded on a single, tragic event. My mother had passed away in May, at the age of 72. Not so old; not so young. But, as the wife of an Ambassador (Dad had left us a couple of years previously, due to heart failure), with three surviving sons (Europe-educated, in varying positions of responsibility), the people of my mother's household had felt justified in asking for the gift of a cow, as tribute for allowing their daughter to marry into our family.
Strictly speaking, their request was not in keeping with tradition here, as my mother's elder sister is still alive. However, it was felt that, since we were in a strong enough financial position to provide a cow, that we should do so, as a gesture of good will.
Hence, the cattle market at Obinze. And our friend, Bull.
And that truck. A two-door Peugeot pick-up, which must have been really something - back in 1978. Now, though...
No ignition key; you had to hot-wire it to start. No headlight or wiper switches: you had to wire these up direct to the ignition. No door handles; you had to manipulate the little catch on the door frame - at great risk to your fingers. No rear-view mirror; you had to navigate from the point of view of a single wing mirror, on the driver's side. Only one window crank: you had to swap it between the two doors. And so on.
Our trip started in the early hours of June 19th, 2008. We set off at 7am, in the company of my uncle Joe (Yes, one does have a lot of uncles, in these parts), who was due to catch an early morning bus to Lagos, the commercial capital of Nigeria, in the southwest of the country.
We got as far as Awaka, a small township on the outskirts of Owerri, before the front passenger side wheel of the truck started coming off.
We managed to limp to a mechanic's workshop that Richard had used once before. There, I, Paulie and Emmanuel waited, while Richard took "public transport" (ie., an unlicensed private taxi) into Owerri, to buy a replacement wheel bearing. The round trip took about an hour and a half, with an additional half hour for the mechanic to put the new bearing in, and the wheel back in place. And adjust the position of the radiator, which had slipped dangerously close to the front grille. And was leaking.
We made it to Obinze by about 11am. Our negotiations with the Hausa cattle traders (from the north of Nigeria) were surprisingly brief, and satisfactory to all the parties concerned. I parted with some sixty thousand Naira (about 520 US Dollars), and we took possession of Bull, a sturdy white steer, with a gentle disposition.
The traders trussed Bull's legs up, put him in the back of our truck, and off we went.
We'd made a few kilometres when there was a popping sound from the engine compartment, like an exhaust backfiring.
We wobbled off the expressway onto the "hard shoulder" (if you can call it that), and came to a shuddering halt.
Convinced that it was an electrical problem (worn condenser, weak ignition coil, who knows?), Richard proceeded to try and remedy the situation himself, by wiring both the coil and the condenser directly to the truck battery. Of course, the wire he used to do this was scavenged from the mass of cables trailing from beneath the dashboard, whose true function remains a mystery, to this day.
Within moments of the ignition being turned back on, plumes of thick white smoke began pouring from the engine. No more condenser. No more coil. And no more battery (though we didn't know this, at the time).
Richard set off on what was to be the first of several shuttle runs. The format of each was the same: Identify what seems to be the problem with the engine. Take public transport (motorcycle taxi, this time) to the nearest mechanic's workshop, with a possible stopover at a motor parts market, to buy replacements. Return to the truck, accompanied by mechanic. Fit parts; try engine. Start cycle again.
Things would have been simpler, if there was an Automobile Association (as in many other countries), or even the occasional tow-truck on the road. But, the place where he'd left us...
"No Man's Land!" declared my uncle Paulie, with chilling finality.
Which was a pretty fair description. Though no more than a few kilometres out from the town of Obinze, the two-lane road on which we found ourselves for most of the day was bounded by lush vegetation - with not a soul or a dwelling place in sight.
We took turns, sitting in the truck cab, and pacing along the hard shoulder, as vehicles of all classes and descriptions blew by, engaged in some of the most inventive high-speed motoring you'll ever see. Anywhere.
Not that we had to be there. Strictly speaking, we were at liberty to abandon the vehicle at any time, and make our way back to Owerri, via public transport.
But, there was the small matter of the vehicle itself (however battered) - which represented someone's livelihood. And Bull, who represented a considerable financial investment - and the fulfillment of a promise.
Now, what I don't know about cattle could fill the pages of a very large book. We nonetheless did what we could to keep the poor creature comfortable, as he sat stoically with us, throughout.
It began to rain at about 6pm.
And not a refreshing summer drizzle, either. A full-blown, torrential, tropical downpour. Which lasted over two hours.
A little after 8:30, the final mechanic of the day showed up. He confirmed that the truck battery was now completely flat, the new ignition coil we'd just bought wasn't worth the money paid for it, and that new condensers were required.
Oh, and we'd better get off the road, as our current location was a known target for armed robbers.
Thankfully, in addition to useful information such as this, he had a station wagon and a towing cable. He pulled us all the way back to his workshop in Obinze town, with assurances that he could fix everything in the morning.
We decided among ourselves to call it a night, and to do a division of labour. Richard and uncle Emmanuel would stay overnight with the truck and Bull, while I and uncle Paulie would try to find transportation back to our village residence, and inform the good people there that we were still alive.
We got back at around 10:30pm, after a bus ride, a motorcycle taxi ride, a cab ride, and another jaunt by motorcycle taxi - which almost ended prematurely, when rainwater got into the bikes's fuel tank.
Of course, the good folks in the village gave us Hell for keeping them up with worry, as we munched morosely on the loaf of bread and few scraps of dried beef we'd managed to snag as dinner from Obinze.
At 10am the following day (Friday) - after repeated attempts to get through to Richard or Emmanuel by phone - we headed back to Obinze in my car (a Nissan Primera hatchback, which must have been really something back in 1992, if you're interested), to find out what was going on.
The mechanic from the previous night cheerfully informed us that he had fixed the truck, and that our people had left his workshop and headed back to town at 6am that morning. Oh, and the cow (Bull) was fine.
This wasn't such good news to us, as there had been no sign of them at any point during our trip to Obinze - and there was no sign of them going back.
In Umuagwu village, my mother's brother confirmed that there had been no sign of the truck during our absence, either.
It didn't look good.
At best, the truck and its occupants had been arrested, and taken away by security officials from one agency, or another. We dared not assume the worst.
A relation of ours from Umuagwu is a senior officer in the Nigeria Police Force. As we prepared to contact him, and make some enquiries as to any vehicles impounded along the Obinze road that morning, the truck showed up.
Everyone on board was safe and sound. Turns out they took an alternative route - and the truck had broken down again, on the way.
Time to take stock of the events that led up to this point.
Spent a day and a night on the road, at considerable risk to life and limb; not so good.
Walked about 6 kilometres, at a brisk pace; healthy enough, I suppose.
Ran an additional 3 kilometres - all the while pushing a broken down pick-up truck with a live cow in the back. Sorry. Bull.
Fulfilled a promise.
As I watched Bull being off-loaded from the truck bed, an old Chinese curse came to mind. Perhaps you know it: May you live in interesting times.
Interesting times, indeed.
PostScript: On Saturday, the members of my late mother's household in Umuagwu held a small celebration, in appreciation of our efforts on their behalf. I can report, with mixed feelings, that Bull... was really quite tasty, in parts.