Silhouette

XXXIV

Dave takes his car to the mechanic during his lunch time.

News of his confrontation with Bifouma had apparently gone around: he was treated with stares the moment he stepped foot into the building.

Madueke had immediately called him to his office and given him two options. The first was to apologize to Bifouma, the second was to take the patrol duty for the rest of the day. 

Dave had needed no motivation. He would have done anything to get Bifouma out of his head.

Dave sits under the mechanic’s shed. Watches two hens scuffle a few feet away from him. The sun is blaring on everything: Dave is soaked to his underwear. The floor is caked with a layer of grime.

The mechanic is buried to his waist by the bonnet. He hums a Yoruba song under his breath. The yard behind him is lined with rows and rows of vehicles; in various states of disrepair. All glinting in the afternoon sun.

Dave checks his watch. “Is this going to take long?”

“No worry,” says the mechanic.

Moments later he emerges from the bonnet, drops his spanner in the open toolbox by his feet. He walks to Dave, he is holding a black object in his hands. “Oga Dave, na the thing wey spoil for your car be this. Na the oil filter cap.”

“Can you get a new one?”

“Yes, for just four thousand.”

“How long will it?”

The mechanic scratches his chin. There are streaks of black on his tribal marked cheek. “Thirty minutes.”

A sleek black Peugeot drives into the compound. It comes to a stop behind Dave’s car. The glasses are dark-tinted, the plates are government-issued. Dave squints, reads the plates. They are military.

The driver opens his door and alights. A military officer, his boots are dark and glinting, his sleeves are rolled to his elbows.  He removes his beret, shields his face from the sun as he converses with the mechanic’s apprentice.

Dave heaves a sigh. The driver’s khaki had left him with a feeling of nostalgia. He takes out his wallet, gives the mechanic the money.

The passenger side of the Peugeot opens. A woman comes out. Her uniform is loose around her body. She is wearing a dark aviator glass. She places an arm on the open door. Watches as the apprentice clunks away in the bonnet.

Dave can’t take his eyes off her. Her mannerism has a certain sophistication. And familiarity.

The woman removes the glasses, tucks her hair behind her ear. Dave sees her face. He is frozen for a moment. His heart lurches in his chest. The mechanic is speaking but he doesn’t hear him.

He rises from his seat, cuts across the yard with a wide grin on his face. “Ola,” he says.

Ola turns. Squints from the glare of the sun, then her face lightens up, breaks into a grin. “Dave?”

“Yes, this is quite a surprise.”

Dave holds out his hand for a handshake. Ola regards him with a small smile on her face.”Is that all I’m going to get, Dave?” She holds out her arms.

Dave stumbles through an apology. He hugs her. He hopes she can’t feel his reckless heartbeat. “You have changed,” he says.

“Ma,” the officer says. He stands at attention. “The repair might take a while.” He flashes Dave a look.

“It is alright, Denis. I’m in safe hands.”

She turns to Dave. “Let’s get out of this sun, shall we? I’m cooking.”