HOLES
Tags: Fiction, Life, Story

Suru ran as fast as his legs could carry him. But the driver of the yellow LT wasn’t willing to give him a chance. He knew how to get such drivers - grab their spare tyres through the back door of their bus or break off their side mirrors and leave them to face the wrath of the police. Suru marked the driver’s face before falling back in pace, enough to grab the back door of the bus. He gripped the rim in the tyre, flinging it out of the bus and off the road, then let his legs hit the cold tarred road in a running manner to prevent a fall. The skillfulness that came with that multitasking had been fine-tuned by years of ticketing vehicles.

Suru felt a sting on his right arm. Something must have scratched him during the chase - the door of the vehicle, the rim or the tyre, or the side mirror of a dodging vehicle. These marks came with the job and the pain was usually soon numbed out with the pain of another injury. The driver would pay for it still, he assured himself. He knew that driver, or he thought he did. He was one of those drivers who always avoided getting the ticket, the type that followed the bad roads inside the streets instead of plying the main roads to avoid the transport union workers. Some drivers gave the excuse that they had just started for the day, that it was their first trip, and to prove it, they'd empty all their pockets.

If it had been a busy day, Suru knew that driver wouldn’t have escaped the ticket and his curses. There would have been enough congestion that only those who carried government officials would skip the payment of the single trip. It was Thursday morning, the Environmental Sanitation day. There was usually less congestion and public buses were able to avoid buying a ticket. Also, the speed bump had flattered out and no longer slowed down any vehicle. Suru looked at the tickets in his hand - three full booklets. On a good day as Monday, they’d be exhausted before evening. But today wasn’t one of those good days. Aside the sanitation which restricted movements, Suru remembered climbing his wife early that morning, long before the day broke. It was a fast and dry sex with no words before, during, or after it. The intercourse had been a grunting mess of old dirty sheets with gapping holes, stale sweat of their unwashed bodies, and the hot smelly April air that hung in their compound. Every thrust screeched the damaged bed post against the floor and with the combined noise, Suru could barely hear his neighbour from the megaphone preaching his usual sermon about the kingdom of God that was at hand.

Climbing Iya Tosin hadn't even been on his mind when he woke up and if she hadn't woken up around the time he did, he'd have used the cold water from the compound well to kill his erection. He remembered that she had groaned the entire time he rammed into her. It wasn't his usual style; he was a man of plenty foreplay and romance. He knew he had to apologise to her with suya and some change when he got home. The thrusting while on top of her coupled with his orgasm had weakened his knees. Now the stupid driver had made him run, he thought, hissing loudly. So at the moment, he felt the shaking in his legs and knew he needed to sit down quickly. Suru grabbed the bench on the median and landed on it, almost falling backwards. He balanced himself and scanned the road, mentally marking spots where potholes would be dug at midnight by his boys, to slow down vehicles and cause congestion on bad days like this.

******

Suru’s eyes landed on the field adjacent to the main bus stop. He looked away for a moment, but just as every other day, he looked back at the field, with a conflicted expression on his round sunburned face. He shut his eyes slowly, partly to relive the memories, and partly to prevent a salty bead of sweat from entering his eyes and making him cry involuntarily. He used to play on that field. He had been great at it. It was a time he was still called Tijani, his real name, back when his hairline was still intact. Everyone knew him on that field. He was likened to lightning because of his speed and dribbling skills. He had been training hard, playing harder, hoping someone respectable amongst the crowd would call him out and push him towards the state or national team. He’d leave home early enough to make the first set of players and would stay late enough to make the last. He’d sneak back home in the afternoon, rest, take a quick bath, and eat whatever he found in his mother’s kitchen. At the time, Iya Tijani would be hawking her ogogoro and peppered beef in the bus park at the main bus stop. The day she came home unexpectedly because of a loose bowel and met him snoring in her bed, she mixed some soil in cold water and threw it at him. It took him over two hours to get all the mud out of everything and by the time he got back to the field, someone else had taken his place. Iya Tijani wasn’t having it, she was tired of having her first child remain unproductive. She wanted him to help their family because even if she sold a full carton of ogogoro everyday, it wasn’t going to do a lot, and she hardly sold a carton.

She had gathered her ajo money and paid for him to learn to fix electrical appliances for 6 months, but after 2 weeks, he never showed up at his master's shop again. A neighbour had told her that he was seen playing football on the field. Iya Tijani stormed the field, her skin stretched and reddened from anger and inferior beauty products. She wailed like a mourning widow lamenting about the money she had paid to get his master to train him; she promised Tijani that he’d get no food or shelter from her as long as he played football without contributing anything to the house. Tijani was sick with worry, his mother never went back on her promises. Without any shame, he knelt down and begged Iya Tijani for more time. He repeatedly asked her for mercy and patience until his talent paid off. His local accent, thick and heavy, had a slur in it as he begged her to "ni suru", to have patience. His friends and teammates joined in begging Iya Tijani, but the angry woman had had enough of her son. The display of a soft side of Tijani earned him Suru as a nickname that day. And soon, it spread even beyond the field. He had to sneak into and out his mother’s home when everyone was asleep. His younger sister, Soyombo, helped him through this time and some of his friends accommodated him on some days.

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Suru slapped the flies away from his face. The sun was out now and vindictive from being down all night. Suru looked up, a driver was calling out to him, his arm outstretched with N500 to purchase a ticket for the day. He put the other two ticket booklets in his back pocket and tore out a sheet from the third one. The driver wasn't impatient. Suru made a praise gesture to the driver as he handed the ticket over. He watched the vehicle pick up speed, coughing up a cloud of smoke from the exhaust pipe. Suru remembered how the transport union boss approached him after a match on the field. The match had ended in a stalemate and Suru had lost some change he placed as bet on his team’s victory. It was a big slap as they were known to always come out with at least one goal extra. His team members, disappointed and tired, hissed at his encouragements and decided to placate their humiliation at their favourite evening food joint. He would have joined them if he had not put all his money up on a bet for a victory that never happened.

The union boss, Oga Gbenro, waited for him as he packed what was supposed to be his football boots into a black wrinkled plastic bag. Suru preferred to walk home barefoot after every match since his house was just two bus stops away. Oga Gbenro leaned into the wall, a posture which Suru perceived was to hide his limp; he was a strict and patient man whom everyone knew. He always wore a face cap and t-shirt branded with the name and slogan of the transport union. Strands of kinky gray hair escaped from the sides of his cap and clung desperately to his ears. He had a mole on the upper part of his wide oily nose that resembled the product of an injury and he always had ogogoro on his breath and a sachet of it in his pocket. Suru did a half-prostrate as he walked past him, but Oga Gbenro stopped him with a smile and a grip on his arm. This was unusual, Oga Gbenro wasn’t a big politician or such, but he was very influential in the community and he was close to the national head of the union. Maybe this was the moment he had been waiting for, the moment that he’d be taken to someone who’d move his football career to the next level. Suru smiled back and did a full prostration. He deserved that uplift. He would leave this small life behind and move upwards, where the big footballs stars occupied. He would fulfil the promise he made to his mother and his teammates would chant his name as they did for their favourite players whenever they watched matches. He moved closer to Oga Gbenro; if he wasn’t used to the strong smell of ogogoro, Oga Gbenro’s breath would have stung his eyes and made them teary.

“Suru, ah see as you dey play this ball. You too sabi. No make today’s match kill your morale o. E won gan gan ni man of the match!” The words came out slowly, with alcohol-strong puffs.

“Eshey sir,” Suru bent forward, “Thank you, Oga. Eshey gan sir”

“Ah, o da. You move like lightning, fiaaaa! So fast! Ah!”

Suru dropped his plastic bag and was about to match his gesture with that of the middle-aged man.

“Suru, ah get one proposal for you. Ah go carry you go local government. Ah go take you meet sports commissioner. E go put you for Super Eagles. You like am?”

“Ah! Oga mi! Ah dey loyal! Ah bi your pikin. How ah wan thank you sir?” the words came out faster than he expected and if he wasn’t the one talking, he wouldn’t have understood his own words.

“Ehen! You go reach places o, with these your fast legs. You fi run pass moto sef!”

“Oya gba, chop knuckle…” Oga Gbenro give Suru his closed fist. Suru jammed his fist to it. “But oma shey nkan, you go do sometin, Suru,” he paused as if to find doubt or hesitation. But there was none. Suru was taking a drag of his excitement.

“Oga, emi ni omo yin, ah bi your pikin. For football, ma shey anytin, ah fi do anytin, Oga.”

“Oya, mu owo e wa, bring your right hand here,” Oga Gbenro counted ten thousand naira and dropped it in Suru’s trembling hand. Confusion mixed into Suru’s excitement. Every money he had ever spent, he had either worked for it or stolen it.

“Go give your mama, she go let you sleep under her roof this night. Tell am say you don find work,” Oga Gbenro was whispering now, “Tomorrow, when you don finish football practise, you go join my boys dey collect money from danfo. Ah go set up meeting with commissioner so you go.join Super Eagles.”

It must have been the best day of his life; he realised he had found a way to make money and still play football professionally. He counted and recounted the money. The amount remained ten thousand, nothing less. It wasn’t a bad day after all, because although he had lost the bet on his team, he had gained double the amount as well as the helper he had been on the lookout for.

True to Oga Gbenro’s prediction, his mother welcomed him after receiving eight thousand naira and a promise of constant financial support. So Suru would play football in the morning then join the transport union guys from the afternoon. He would run so fast and catch up with escaping vehicles. His tickets got sold out quickly and the money he submitted was always complete. His unit head gave him his daily allowance and took him out during the weekends and before long, Suru was promoted to the vice unit head. His unit was coughing up a lot of money and were getting good remarks from their regional headquarters. But he would miss football practise often because his body couldn’t take all the running from the previous day.

Oga Gbenro had told him that the sports commissioner had pushed their visit by three months. But Suru was a patient man, so he was content and hopeful, eagerly counting down to the third month. But apparently the commissioner postponed again by another three months, and yet another three months. Then Suru began to lose hope. He had not kept touch with the players on the field and if he lost his post on the transport union, he would lose the money he was making, other benefits, and the shelter his mother provided. Besides, alcohol and weed had burnt him within and he wasn’t getting younger. But he wasn’t giving up; then Suru’s girlfriend got pregnant and refused an abortion, threatening to end her life if he didn’t marry her. He couldn’t afford an abortion anyway, even if she had agreed to it. So in the second month of her pregnancy, they were wedded in a small ceremony in Iya Tijani’s compound. In about six months after that, Tosin was born. Suru had only been settling into fatherhood when he heard of Oga Gbenro’s death in a car accident two months after Tosin’s birth. The next morning, he sold his boots to the shoemaker on the next street on his way to his unit and never went to the field again.

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The pedestrian noise and blaring horns jerked Suru back to reality. It wasn’t up to 10am yet, but the road was beginning to fill up. A minor accident had occurred at the beginning of the next street ahead, between a keke maruwa and a 7-seater, and it was brewing a traffic jam. Suru adjusted his branded face cap and ripped out some sheets from the ticket booklet to resume doing his job. He wasn’t a man of nostalgia and past glories. He was Suru, the son, the husband, the father, the transport union worker.

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Photo credit: BBC