WHAT THE NANNY GOAT TOLD HER KIDS (CHAPTER 4) - B

 

They walked past the motor parks, big shops and bars and areas around the town’s two big markets for prey. Not seeing one quickly, they crossed the motorway into the dim and serene streets of the Government Reserved Area (GRA) where big fruit trees surrounded big houses owned by big men in government services.

Den, Paul and Ken peeped through or over hedges, fences, walls and their gates. Everything they could have easily stolen was either locked away securely or guarded jealously by giant dogs or grave-looking uniformed guards. Disappointed and afraid their movements would soon be noticed, the young gang returned to the loose part of the town.

They walked past the open sports ground used for march-past during Children’s and Independence Days, football competitions, crusades and conventions, free film shows and not too long ago, when the ‘khaki boys’ were still in power, for shooting armed robbers. A wicked thought suddenly filled Paul’s mind. He turned, giggled and was about to say something to his friends coming behind.

‘Laughing jackass!’ Den said, annoyed. ‘What now tickles your fancy?’

Paul had a quick change of mind. ‘Nothing,’ he said and walked on.

‘I don’t know when you’d stop laughing stupidly,’ Ken added, miffed too.

Paul was known for laughing and giggling in light and serious situations. It made no difference to him whether it was a comedian’s silly jokes or the pious face of a priest. If the spirit moved him, Paul would giggle or laugh out loud. For his two friends, his fits of giggles and laughter were pain they forced themselves to bear.

Outside his stupid laughing moments, Paul was a go-getter. He was the most efficient in carrying out even the most trying tasks. Paul in class and their thieving acts carried out every set plan to the letter.

Den, Paul and Ken attended the same secondary school on the other side of the town and this sometimes saw them boarding commercial motorcycles to and from school. They all were in Senior School Two (SS2). Their high taste stood them out among their peers.

The school knew them as ‘the triplets’ for their flashy association. Children of struggling parents, they acted like their fathers owned half of the town. Not only did they dress well but they also threw up big parties now and then. For the Independence Day celebration a few days away, they planned to hire a cab to take them to sights in two states’ capitals with their girlfriends in the polytechnic. So they would not fail, they desperately needed a target to rob tonight.

They followed the motorway and returned to the main motor park. Hiding in the dark fringes, they watched eagle-eyed the buses returning from long-distance journeys and sized up every passenger coming out. Not long, their patient wait seemed to pay off.

A man from an interstate bus with a briefcase moved briskly in their direction, ignoring the motorcyclists soliciting to take him to his destination. The man burst the grotty lane behind the motor park (with a chink of light from a door across signalling a whore was still available for a quick or an all-night service) and strode off as if pursued.

Such lone movement on this particular lane at that hour of the night was rare. The young gang thought he was new and stupid to the place. And it pleased them well. They signalled one another. Paul drew near the man as Den and Ken followed closely behind. As the man stepped onto the rickety bridge over a deep gutter crossing the lane; Paul flew, struck the man on the arm and snatched the briefcase from a hand numbed with sudden pain. He jumped into the gutter and his two friends followed him on his heels. Surprisingly, the man did not chase them or scream for help.

They knew the shape of the gutter and crawled through it cautiously lighting their pen-size torches. They reached the point where they climbed onto a bush track, took a shortcut through farms and reached an abandoned building used formerly for storing sacks of palm kernels. They slipped through a broken back door and with a torch assessed their prize.

They congratulated themselves, shaking hands and patting their backs before thinking of how to open the briefcase. With a jackknife, Den impatiently pried open the bag. Ken shouted: ‘Snake!’ The fang barely missed Den’s thumb.

Den screamed and kicked the briefcase with his muddied sneaker to the far wall and as it burst open, swollen-necked cobras slithered cautiously out tantalized by the torches on them. The dazed young gang flew outside.

Den whimpered and Paul giggled.

‘Laughing jackass!’ Ken spat at Paul.

Den cried like a baby. ‘My mother had told me,’ he moaned.

‘Told you what?’ Paul had asked curiously.

‘That … that … that at the rate I was stealing things around the house, that if I didn’t stop soon, I’d steal a witch doctor’s bag!’

‘And how right she was!’ Paul said and burst out laughing.

Ken folded his hands and moved towards Paul. ‘I’d punch you if you don’t stop this nonsense!’ he threatened.

‘You call a mother’s prophecy coming true “nonsense”?’ Paul said. ‘That was what I wanted to say at the front of the stadium. My mother had mentioned if I didn’t stop this bad company I’d soon be hanged!’

‘That would be good for you!’ Ken sneered.

‘I’m going home,’ Den said, extremely scared.

‘What would you tell your mother?’ Ken asked.

‘You’re asking? What else than that her prophecy came true,’ Paul answered, giggling.

Ken turned around and rained Paul with blows. Instead of fighting back, Paul ran in the dark and hollered: ‘I’m running home before I’m hanged!’

Ken chased after Paul.

Den, dazed, trudged home.