Chapter 12

                                             Dawn

Bepo was billed to jet out with Emirates at 10:00 p.m. on Saturday. He knew boarding rites might not start until around 5:00 p.m., but he was determined to be at the airport as early as possible. He learnt his lesson six years earlier when he missed his British Airways flight while visiting his family. Although the plane had yet to take off, it had completed boarding when
he arrived at the departure hall. His lateness, at the time, was due to sheer
oversight. He had not carefully checked the ticket he bought about a month
earlier. The flight had been fixed for 11:00 a.m., but Bepo thought he saw 1:00
p.m. He pleaded frantically to be reconsidered, but the airline insisted the door
had been closed, preparatory to take-off. He travelled with the same airline the
following day, but only after paying a $100 penalty.

This time, he was sure the flight was at 10:00 p.m. Very sure. He confidently
dismissed Seri’s sarcasm and teasing. She repeatedly asked him to check his ticket
to confirm the time.
“I hope, this time, what you saw is not 1:00 p.m.,” she said over the phone on
the eve of the trip.

“I am sure, one hundred per cent sure.”
“Well, I will still advise you to use your glasses or ask one or two persons to
help you confirm.”
“The devil is a liar. My flight is 10:00 p.m. No lateness, no penalty this time,”
Bepo had boasted.
The joke notwithstanding, Bepo ensured he left his Adeniyi Jones, Ikeja, home
earlier than he would have done, probably a year before. He stepped out by 3:00
p.m. In the past, he would have waited till about an hour later. That was when
commercial motorcycles (also known as okada) were not banned. Many people
believed they constituted a nuisance in the city, breaking traffic rules and limbs
through many accidents. Yet, their fiercest critics admitted there were days they
became the saving grace.

Okadas were the messiahs when Lagos traffic became a demon wedged
between you and a crucial appointment, and you risked being late or losing a target.
Air travellers hoping to beat the traffic and arrive at the airport in good time knew
this. Hence, they always hopped on the motorcycles as a last resort. But after some
policy dilly-dallying, the government banned them, clipping their nuisance.
As he was about to call Uber, a ride-hailing service, he heard a knock on the
door. “Mr Bepo,” the visitor called. He never mistook the voice. It was that of his
landlord, Mr Ogunwale. As he opened the door, he saw the man, flanked by the
landlady and their two grandchildren, Jide and Kemi. They had come to bid him goodbye.

“We guess you must be setting out by now,” the landlord said, as the family
walked in.
“Yes, just thinking of calling Uber.”
“You will not need to. I will drive you to the airport,” the landlord said.
“Oh, that will be taking on too much. Please, don’t inconvenience yourself, sir.”
“You have been very good to us, Mr Bepo. That cannot be anything too much,”
the landlady interjected. “You have been a very good neighbour. I can’t call you a
tenant. You have been more of a family member to us.”
“I will follow you,” Jide, the landlord’s grandson, cut in.
“To the airport or London?” Bepo asked as he shook hands with the boy.
“London,” Jide said.
“You want to japa!” seven-year-old Kemi chipped in.

Bepo felt uneasy upon hearing the expression, japa. He wondered how, at her
age, Kemi knew the term and whatever it meant. 5As everyone laughed off the japa humour, the landlord pacified Jide: “Don’t
worry. We will take you along to the airport. Then, next week, Mr Bepo will come
back to take you to London. Is that all right?”
“Yes,” Jide said, jumping excitedly.
Beyond the japa palaver, Bepo felt guilty that he would be abandoning Jide. He
had taken a special interest in the boy for about a year after he began coaching him
at weekends on elocution and African history. It wasn’t a paid affair, but Bepo
always enjoyed his sessions with the boy.
Mr Ogunwale briefly prayed for the traveller, after which he returned to his
apartment and moved his car out of the garage. It was a Honda Pilot with a boot
spacious enough for the anticipated luggage. Bepo packed two big bags and a
smaller one. They contained books and wear in that order. His wife had advised
him to come as light as he could. Of course, that did not eliminate packing iru (locust
beans) and egusi (melon seeds) ground with crayfish. She also requested the
purchase of dried snails. He found the items at Oyingbo market in Lagos, a hub
famous for the delicacy. Because it was ever bustling, a Yoruba proverb says: Qjà
Òyìngbò kò mọ p’ énìkan ò wá’. (The Oyingbo market never misses any absent person.)
Before D-Day, Bepo sold his Pathfinder Sports Utility Vehicle for N1,500,000.
The price could have been higher, but he was satisfied because it was Stardom’s
accountant, Mr Jeremi Amos, who bought it. His deep freezer and electronics were
also good enough for sale. He, however, gifted them to his landlady.

Bepo, his landlord and the two kids were about to set out when his phone rang.
It was Mrs Grace Apeh, the vice principal. She had driven from her base in Ogba to
Ikeja and wanted to know if he had left home already for the airport. With her in
the car were the accountant, Mr Oyelana, and Mr Audu. They had planned to join
Bepo at home and accompany him to the airport or meet him there. He did not feel
there was a need for this. But he could not stop them, especially as they were already
close to his location. He urged them to wait for him at Ikeja Underbridge. Twenty
minutes later, he met them, and the two-car convoy headed to the Murtala Muhammed International Airport (MMIA). There was light traffic, first by the
roundabout leading to MM2, then later by NAHCO. They arrived at the MMIA’s
departure hall at 4:07 p.m.

Departures! The word, boldly splashed on the building, ruffled Bepo’s emotion.
It was real, after all! He was leaving! He stifled a tear.
Mr Ogunwale and the young ones gave Bepo a final hug in front of the hall.
Airport personnel received the traveller’s luggage and transferred it onto two
trolleys. Bepo gave Jide and his sister N5,000 and asked them to “Greet Grandma
very well!” The kids chorused: “Thank you, sir.” But Jide did not forget something
as he told Bepo: “I will be expecting you next week. You must not fail o!” The
landlord expressed gratitude for the cash gift to the children. Thereafter, they got in
the car and returned home.

After the VP had parked her car, the Stardom quartet joined Bepo inside the
hall and kept him company before the check-in process started. They chatted about
the parting feast at the school. Mr Oyelana, particularly, praised Bepo’s
contributions to Stardom Schools. Then, he said jokingly that all staff, “especially
Audu, should borrow a leaf.”
“Well, I don’t know why you singled me out as if I have not been working too
hard already,” Audu said, adding, “The only thing I am happy about is that it’s not
the accountant advising me on what I should borrow.”
“I am trying to understand the connection,” said Mr Amos, puzzled.

“To borrow a leaf means ‘to do the same thing’ the principal did,” Mrs Apeh
explained.
“That’s not what I am saying,” Audu replied, smilingly. “It’s my turn to borrow
money from the cooperative next week, and I don’t want to hear any cock and bull
stories, like a snake has swallowed the money.”
Audu was in his element. On his plans for travelling overseas, he promised he
would never cry like “some people” and vowed he would slaughter seven cows, the
day he gets a visa, “even if it is to Afghanistan.”
It was getting late for the Stardom team to hit the traffic-prone road back home.
Almost all lived far from the airport: Audu, the wag, stayed in Ikorodu; the CRK
teacher lived in Mowe, Ogun State. Only the VP and the accountant stayed in Ogba
and Ojodu, Lagos, respectively. They bade Bepo farewell and departed.

Check-in started at 5:30 p.m. After about an hour of going through security
points and getting his bags cleared, Bepo got his boarding pass. Seat no 56
window side – Gate 2A.
The excitement of the past three hours made Bepo forget he had his phone in
the inner pocket of his jacket-a complement to a white T-shirt and a pair of black
jeans. He quickly checked his phone to see if he had calls. His fear was confirmed.
He had missed some the MD’s, those of his former colleagues at Stardom, and,
most prominently, his wife’s. She must have wanted updates about the trip, he
thought. Yet, he could not make any call immediately: he and other passengers were
already undergoing final scrutiny at the boarding gate. Promptly, Bepo sent a text
message to her, saying all was going on fine.

After the scrutiny, Bepo heaved a sigh of relief and relaxed in a chair alongside
other passengers. All waited for the boarding call, which was expected at 9:30 p.m.
Barely 10 minutes after he sat down, he, however, dozed off and slipped into a
dream:
He was at the heritage museum in Badagry. Relics of slavery hung on the walls. He saw
slaves and their white masters. The captives yelled, groaned, and shrieked as they were
whipped, kicked, and clobbered. Some were pierced in their ears, lips, arms, and legs with
red-hot iron. After what seemed like a month of torture, those who survived the ordeal were
moved to the Point of No Return. In chains, they filed into the ship, like sheep headed for a
slaughter slab. Bepo began counting the slaves, even as whips tore their skins again and
again. One! Two! Three! …Seven million! As the last man was pushed into the ship, already
filled, a white man came to Bepo, pointed towards the vessel, and said: “Enter!”
“Noooo!” Bepo screamed with all the strength he could muster – body, mind,
spirit and soul. “I say, noooo!” he cried again, leaping up from the seat. A white
airline official stood beside him, completely at a loss as to what was happening.
Seconds earlier, the official had found the intending traveller fast asleep. He had
whispered into Bepo’s ears and tapped gently on his shoulder as the aircraft readied
for take-off. Some security personnel and bystanders, drawn by the noise, also came
closer. They persuaded him to come to himself and hurriedly get on board.
At 10:45 p.m., the plane took off as Bepo drifted between dreamland and
reality.

Monday. In Bepo’s absence. Reality stared everyone in the face like a boil on the
nose. The weekend ought to have sufficed to brush off at least a little of the pains of
his migration. But it did not. The hard truth waited for every student at the school
gate. It used to be that Bepo would stand at the gate every Monday and Wednesday
to welcome the learners brought by school buses or parents’ cars. It was a display of
affection that every member of the academic community and friends of the school
could predict. But here was a new-era Monday. Mr Bepo, the principal, was
nowhere to be seen.
But it was during the assembly that the void became quite vivid. For the first
time since all the students came to Stardom, Principoo, as they sometimes called
him, was not available to talk to them, gist with them, threaten them, laugh with
them.

The vice principal stepped in to address them, but Mrs Apeh’s speech did not
strike the usual chord, or so the students thought. Everyone, including the MD, felt
how low the morning’s mood was.
“Don’t worry, students. You will soon have another principal,” Mrs Ibidun
Gloss assured as she took the microphone from the VP. But the promise hardly
assuaged the students’ feelings. A daring few murmured their non-acceptance of
the appeasement. But just as the MD was about to say more, a shout of ‘Principoo!’
reverberated at the gate. Was it a joke? All at once, everyone looked in the direction. There he was! Yes, he!
Bepo, of course! He was grinning, arms wide open! The students rushed
towards him, screaming excitedly! They swept him off his feet, bore him high on
their shoulders and began a frenzied dance around the premises.

“I am back! I am back!” he cried. “I am here! I didn’t go! I’m not going again! My
heart is here! This is where my heart is! I am here to complete my mission!”
The man’s voice was hardly audible as the students gyrated to the school’s
victory song:
We’re Stars, we’re Stars! We’re
Stars of Stardom!
We’re Stars, we’re always winning!
We’re Stars and we have won!
No night so dark! No cloud so mean!
Yet Stardom Schools will win!