Taduno's Song (7 page)

Taduno struggled to hold back his tears. He felt pained for the people, for their ignorance. He felt ashamed for them.

‘TK was good to all of you. You betrayed him, you drove him away from your midst. How could you do that?' Taduno's voice was a whisper.

‘Go away before we report you to gofment!' somebody shouted.

In response, Taduno unslung his guitar, and began to play a sad feathery tune. He did not need to sing. His guitar sang his song for him. It told the story of a man who loved his people so dearly he lived his life for them, shared their pains with them and gave them the joys and riches that abounded in his life. And then the people betrayed him and drove him away from their midst to roam the ruins of the city. Taduno's music rose in volume until it resounded throughout the length and breadth of that street.

The music pierced the souls of all that heard it, like
spears, even the hardened area boys. They retreated from him, their palms over their ears in agony, but nothing could stop the music from stirring their conscience. Some ran into their homes and locked their doors. But still the music found its way in. They lamented in loud voices like lunatics. They flung themselves on the floor and knocked their heads against walls until they began to bleed. They knew that they had committed mortal wickedness against a man who had showed them nothing but compassion.

*

By the time he ended his music, only one of the residents of that street remained – Baba
Ajo
, the man who had warned the rest of his neighbours to no avail not to pay TK evil for all the good he had done them. He wore the saddest face Taduno had ever seen.

So badly had Taduno's music tortured the conscience of the people of that street that none of them ventured out of their homes even after the music ended. The orange seller had left her precious oranges behind and would not come out to get them while Taduno remained on the street.

‘I warned them,' Baba
Ajo
spoke quietly, struggling to control his emotions. ‘I warned them, but they wouldn't listen to me.'

Taduno remembered the man. His son was once involved in a ghastly accident. TK paid the hospital bill, without which the boy's leg would have been amputated.

‘Do you recognise me?' Taduno asked.

The man studied Taduno's face. Then he shook his head
slowly. ‘No,' he said with a frown. A frown that said ‘your face is familiar but I cannot remember where I have seen it before'.

Taduno sighed.

‘Where can I find TK?'

‘TK no longer remains in one place. He roams the city. Some say he spends a lot of time at TBS. Others say they have seen him at Mile 2, Oshodi and so on.'

‘Has anyone come looking for him recently?'

‘No, they stopped coming many months ago. At first a lot of his women friends came looking for him. They wanted to know if he had moved to a bigger and better house, but my neighbours chased them away. So they stopped coming.'

Taduno groaned quietly.

Baba
Ajo
continued. ‘When you find TK please tell him I tried my best but they wouldn't listen to me. Tell him I'm sorry for all that happened to him. My name is Baba
Ajo
.'

‘I know you. Your son once had an accident. He was to have his leg amputated, but TK made sure he got the treatment that saved his leg.'

The man could not hide his surprise. ‘Who are you?'

‘Like TK, I used to be a friend to you all. But I guess not any more. If I were to tell you who I am you will not believe me, you will only get confused.'

‘Any friend of TK is my friend. You are my friend.' There was an eagerness about the man that showed how much he wanted to express his friendship for TK.

‘I will give him your message when I find him.'

‘I pray you find him. He was a good man who did not
deserve to be betrayed. They took side with gofment against TK. Where was gofment when TK was helping us? Where was gofment?' The questions left a pang in both their hearts.

Taduno thanked him and made his way from that street the way he came – slowly, with his guitar across his shoulder.

*

He narrated his experience to Aroli in a quiet mood. He felt pained not just because of TK's ordeal, but also because he knew how much he loved his less privileged neighbours. How much he used to care for them. How he used to take their pains as his own. How he saw their plight as his own. How he gave them hope. ‘Yet they betrayed him so cruelly!' he lamented.

Aroli shook his head in dejection.

Later that evening, Judah paid him a visit. The boy listened to him playing his guitar for a while. But they both looked forlorn because the music he played that evening told sad stories. Although he longed to, he could not lift the boy's spirit with a beautiful song.

EIGHT

He was very anxious when he woke up the following morning, and his anxiety drove him through the city in search of the prodigious music producer turned homeless destitute. He travelled on one rickety bus after the other, with his guitar across his shoulder, a forlorn figure, searching the faces around him, hoping for a miracle.

Many stared at him, wondering why his guitar hung on his shoulder so awkwardly. Others wondered why his eyes were so expectant, yet so hopeless. A few gazed upon him with pity sensing that he bore a pain too intimate to be shared with the world.

At Mile 2 bus stop, and then Oshodi, he jostled amongst commuters who spoke in so many tongues. They spoke in Ibo, in Yoruba, in Hausa and in a hundred other tongues. It was as if people from all tribes of the country had converged at the bus stops on the occasion of his epic search. He was looking for a short man with Afro cut. And as he searched the faces at the bus stops, he was
amazed how many such people there were in the city. At TBS, the square where a motley crowd gathered every day to see nothing in particular, he peered at the face of every beggar who bore the slightest resemblance to TK. He roamed the square until he became faint with hunger; yet still his tired feet carried him on. Night fell, and as the crowd waned, a gentle breeze lifted the square, drying the sweat from the faces and bodies of the homeless men who now remained.

For a while Taduno sat down to rest. Then he resumed his tour of the square with renewed energy, peering into every face more closely, knowing that the man he sought belonged to the small group that now remained. He drew angry responses as he went along. Some of the men raised their fists in warning, others lashed out at him with their legs; but the threats were not enough to deter him. He continued until he had gone round the square and stared into fifty or so faces.

In the end he collapsed on a wooden bench. And with his last ounce of strength, he unslung his guitar and began to play a forlorn tune that found its way into the hearts of all the men in that square. Gradually, they gathered around him, and they huddled together as one, knowing that the music they were hearing was a tribute to all their woes.

*

It was almost midnight when he began to make his way from the square towards the bus stop where the tired voices
of bus conductors screamed various destinations. One of the homeless men trailed him. Taduno thought he was about to be mugged. Still some way from the bus stop, he hastened his steps, but the man soon caught up with him.

‘Excuse me, please.' The voice lacked energy.

‘Yes?'

‘Who is it you are looking for?' the man queried, in a quite educated voice.

Taduno hesitated, surprised that the man spoke such good English. ‘An old friend of mine,' he replied.

‘The one for whom you played your guitar?'

‘Yes.' Taduno relaxed, seeing that the man was not out to mug him. ‘His name is TK.'

‘TK, the music producer?'

Taduno stopped in his stride and turned to face the man. ‘You know TK?' He was awash with excitement.

‘Yes, I know him.'

‘And who are you?'

‘I'm nobody, just a homeless man.'

Taduno looked away.

‘And you say you know TK?'

‘Oh yes. He slept at the square with the rest of us last night.'

‘He did?'

‘Yes, he did. He comes and goes. I didn't see him today, but I'm sure he will come back. Come again tomorrow, and bring your guitar with you. Your music is very good.'

Taduno nodded. ‘Thank you.'

He tipped the man some money. Then he continued to the bus stop, stopping once to look back.

*

He slept on the bus, until the voice of a twelve-year-old conductor woke him up at his stop. He got off the bus with his guitar dangling from his back.

It was an unusually quiet night; he saw no one about. He walked in quick long strides, slowing down when he got to his street. As he walked down the deserted street, accompanied by the echoes of his own footsteps, he noted that there were one or two houses still with lights on, and he suspected that somebody was watching him. At first he thought that somebody was Aroli, but he soon sensed that the eyes watching him were those of an unfriendly stranger and he became tense with fear. He threw quick looks over his shoulder to be sure no one was following him. Then he jogged the remaining distance to his house.

It wasn't until he was in the safety of his house that he began to relax. Without turning the light on he went to the window, up in his rehearsal room, and he parted the curtains slightly and peeped into the street. He did not detect any movement, but he knew, without any shadow of doubt, that somebody was out there.

His fear was confirmed the following morning when Aroli came banging on his door as early as seven o'clock; not with a smile on his face, but with a worried look.

‘Where were you all day yesterday?' Aroli asked.

‘Out searching for TK. Why do you look so worried?'

‘A stranger came asking questions about you yesterday,' Aroli replied.

‘Come, let's go upstairs,' he said hurriedly, and led Aroli to his rehearsal room.

‘What did the stranger look like and what sort of questions did he ask?' He scrutinised Aroli's face in the same manner he had scrutinised the faces of the homeless men at TBS the previous night.

‘Tall and broad-shouldered,' Aroli replied. ‘He wanted to know about the relationship between you and TK. He didn't get any useful information, though.'

Suddenly Taduno understood. He let out a deep sigh.

‘Somebody must have reported to the authorities,' he said. ‘It could be any of TK's neighbours. They warned me that they don't want any more trouble with the government.'

‘But how did the stranger manage to trace you here?'

Taduno rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘He must have conducted his enquiries well.'

Aroli's face creased into a frown. He looked away from Taduno. ‘I understand the man questioned Lela's parents, and even Judah. Everyone thinks he is secret service, and they're all getting worried. I think you should stop going about with your guitar. Nobody wants any trouble with government here either.' He turned to look at the guitar in a corner of the room.

‘I don't think that is wise. It's clear they are already watching me. If I stop going about with my guitar that would tell them that I'm trying to hide something.'

‘And if you keep going about with your guitar they'll keep following you and asking questions about you. And the neighbours will begin to see you as trouble. And they could decide to evict you.'

‘But this is my house! I bought it with my own money, in my own name!' Taduno sounded desperate.

‘Only you know that . . .' Aroli hesitated, ‘and probably me. Remember, you once mentioned to me that you no longer have the documents to show you own the house.'

Taduno remembered Lela's warning and fear crept into his eyes. ‘What will happen to Lela if I get arrested?' he lamented.

‘We must avoid that until you discover your voice. Your voice is your identity, it is your bargaining power.'

‘I must find TK urgently.'

‘Find him. But stop going about with your guitar.'

He detected a trace of hostility in Aroli's voice. He threw him a sharp look. Aroli was the only person who knew his secret. He wondered if he would betray him. After Aroli had left, he went to check his mailbox. Only the letter he had written to Lela was there.

*

That morning heightened his fear.

Judah came to warn him too. ‘You must be very careful, Uncle Taduno. A stranger came to ask questions about you yesterday. Everyone thinks he is secret service. But nobody knows why he is interested in you.'

‘Thanks for letting me know. Aroli told me about it earlier.' He looked away so that the boy would not see the troubled expression on his face.

‘I'm sure Uncle Aroli must have told you. I thought I should come to tell you also, so that you will take more care.'

Taduno nodded. ‘Thank you. I will be more careful, and there is nothing to worry about.' He turned to the boy with a reassuring smile.

*

Refusing to take Aroli's advice, he went out with his guitar that morning and extended his search to all the popular bus stops in Lagos. Some of the people he talked to knew TK, but no one had seen him anywhere that day.

To his alarm, he discovered that there were many more policemen and soldiers than usual on the streets. They trained their guns on everyone, waiting to release fire at the slightest excuse. He wondered if the presence of the uniformed men had anything to do with him, or if the government was about to declare a state of emergency. He wondered if the man from secret service was on his trail.

As he made his progress through the city he kept throwing furtive glances to see if anyone was showing unusual interest in him. Because he threw looks at everyone, everyone threw looks at him too. And they wondered at him, at his strange guitar that stirred their conscience in an inexplicable way.

*

His shirt and trousers were torn and soiled by the time he got to TBS by late evening. As usual, a mammoth crowd milled about without purpose. He moved this way and that way, searching faces until darkness fell and all that
remained was the rump of the crowd. As on the previous night, a gentle breeze fanned the square.