The Rising - Ennead 2

Scene 11.3 - Hunting for a Spider

It wasn't as if Ras Socrates didn't have his fine points. He did. Every man does. He was however, an eternal bug to have around when you were driving.

Kwame "Too sure" Bekoe wasn't the type who could tell his friend to bug off. At least not that early in the morning. As it was, his escape was foiled, and he had to agree to drop Ras on the way to his 'last stop'.

At least the gate was unlocked when he got to the owner's home. Beauty didn't have to wait for someone to wake up before he gunned her engine to life. 

The first turn of the key was a part of his daily ritual, a reminder that with enough work, someday she'd be his. In a year or two, when Kipo was old enough, or at least wise enough, he'd get the honor of backing her out, and then gradually taking her out for a round or two as he learnt the ropes. The honor of that first turn of the key at dawn however, Kwame knew he could never give up.

Beauty was, in his eyes, just that. A slightly newer model Mercedes 407 sprinter. New in the sense that it was newer than the banger he drove just thirteen months ago. 

True, there was a patch or three of off-white marring her grey paint-job; spots where repairs had been done on her front-right fender and her sides. Regardless, she was a beauty alright. And that engine... oh yes, she could run when you let her loose.

Ras lounged against the gate, talking about some prophecy or the other about the current government whilst the other two cleaned up the vehicle. Kwame did the dashboard and interior whilst Kipo got the rest. Like a monkey high on drugs, the kid got the job done quickly, even if it wasn't all that perfect.

Beauty's engine hummed like a pleased lion as they moved out. Kwame was the man then, and it felt good. He had his grey cotton singlet on. As far as the past had made clear, that was good luck, especially when paired with a righteous chewing stick. A chewing stick just like the one he had lounging between his lips, end gripped firmly between upper and lower molars.

Ras was still talking, about some powerful miracle conference he was planning on making. This time however, Too Sure paid no mind, and it wasn't difficult to do. He was part of a machine, and that machine had to be fed with people. Of course, we speak figuratively. The man needed passengers.

It was the early morning Spintex/Accra route, and for as long as the route wasn't choked with the morning rush, he had to make the most of it. 

Kwame executed a swift turn of the wheel the wheel to ride onto the shoulders of the road. Now, wheels barely inches from the edge of the uncovered gutter on his left, he pumped the gas so that his Beauty shot ahead of the Trotro four vehicles ahead; the vehicle that had be stealing passengers he needed. He stopped only long enough for the last person to step through the door of his Trotro and he was off.

His mind instinctively blocked out complaints by those who hadn't sat down before he lurched forward. They wouldn't understand, to them it was just transport, to him it was a job and this was part of the grind it took to make it.

He pushed through gears, racing Beauty from bus stop to bus stop. He wasn't alone on the road, other Trotros would spot him in the rear view and pick up the pace. Like some sort of rat race, their velocity continued to increase,only broken by the occasional red light or traffic police man.

What of Kipo? He was in top form too. His thing was witty repartee, which he needed to keep passengers distracted when he simply did not have enough change. It was a part of his skill set. He could even do it in multiple dialects, and when required, a spot of English.

"We ah go, we ah go!" He screamed hopefully to prospective customers as they coasted slowly past 'Universal' bus stop.

Truth be told, his murder of the English language, more often than not, created its own humor.

Ras got down as they neared the commercial center of the city, Accra. He barely waited for the vehicle to stop moving as he stepped down (good man!).

He shouted to Kipo as he got down, "Tell am say I go check the carburetor for am this weekend. E get some funny noise!"

That was Socrates' gift, the ability to understand the language of any running engine. Even it was a weird gift, at least it fitted his vocation. It was also the reason why he could stay with Kwame without paying for his share of the rent regularly.

Kwame felt it. 

He couldn't place a sure description on how, but he always could. The feeling should have been minute, but to him it wasn't: the difference in sensation as they moved closer to the world's proximal natural ley nexus.

Normal men might not know it, but there was a rather solid reason as to why geography placed the center of the earth where it did. They might have been obsessively secretive, but yes, the Societies left several enduring marks on human civilization.    

Author's Note

Where is the nexus? what does it mean to the scene?

Background music is Manu Dibango's Dikalo. ©1973 Phonogram S.A.