A COUNTRY OF RODENTS

Tailor had owed until he was no longer creditworthy. Mama Pam’s conviviality had faded to a grimace and brief greeting – the only polite way she could hint payment for things bought on credit for weeks was long overdue. He understood, then curtailed his visits to the kiosk.

Tailor suppressed the urge for a cigarette since morning but gradually the feeling was intensifying. He had jobs that were waiting to be collected, some of which had stayed with him for a year. If such money was forthcoming, then he could cross his name out of Mama Pam’s blacklist.

Tailor wished too he had succeeded in keeping the resolution he’d made earlier in the year. But he felt restless not smoking for two weeks. Then he’d strolled to the kiosk, lit a cigarette, drew on it; and the madness had vanished. Tailor realized breaking a habit is like swimming upstream; not long you’d get tired and be swept away by the current. It’s better; he thought ruefully, you don’t get hooked to anything in the first place.

Chairman, so nicknamed for his political commentaries than actual participation, rode into the premises interrupting his thoughts. Tailor smiled in eager anticipation, cheering: ‘The Right Honourable!’

‘I’d been rigged out of office,’ Chairman joked, dismounting from the motorcycle.

‘They rigged you out or you rigged yourself in again?’ Tailor replied. ‘The election wasn’t free and fair so only those who have clout like you, after the trail of violence that followed, moved into the office.’

‘Of course. It would’ve been a complete surprise if we had a free and fair election. Political office is meant to be a place for those who are humble enough to take the will of the people and then serve in a meritorious way. But here political office is a place for those who are adventurous enough to get money from dubious sources, rig themselves in and in their arrogance force the people to serve them. That’s why sportsmanship is a rarity and you’d never see a defeated politician congratulate his winning opponent,’ Chairman commented.

‘Any hope for my unborn child?’ Tailor asked.

‘In a country of rodents – rodents go, rodents come; the grain sack continues to suffer,’ Chairman replied figuratively.

‘I don’t understand,’ Tailor said.

‘Mend these trousers for me.’ Chairman handed over a polythene bag. ‘The last time I bought a pair of trousers was five years ago. You’re a tailor with superb handiwork but all you have for a shop are one cheap sewing machine and a box iron. I, a civil servant, augment my income as a commercial motorcyclist. If those up there keep cornering everything for themselves, the treasury and the masses would continue to suffer. As long as this situation remains, the bickering and the fisticuffs continue.

‘Adjust the waist of the trousers for me. It’s a hand-me-down from my boss. We are like butter and bread because whatever he does with the funds allocated to our department I don’t ask questions. I learnt from the supervisors before me. Ask too many stupid questions and in no time your butt would be outside the gate. Have a cigarette.’ Chairman offered his packet.

Tailor smiled warmly, a cigarette between his fingers. ‘You’re condoning evil, Honourable. What would people like me looking up to you do if we ever get to your position?’ he said.

‘Those before me, who couldn’t condone evil,’ Chairman replied, ‘are out on the streets kicking stones in search of new jobs.’

Reflecting while drawing on their cigarettes, Tailor realized his addiction, just like the country’s endemic corruption, needs an iron-clad resolve to eliminate.

THE END