Dag 40: Abuja na Kabba

(Image source: AJULUCHUKWU BROWN, The Guardian)

(English Translation Below)

Dag 40: Abuja na Kabba
 
Die konstabel swaai sy stok reg voor my in. Skreeu: "Stop! Get off our bike! I said get off your bike! Papers! Take off your helmet!" Skielik nog drie wat naderstaan. Verkeerspolisie. Aggressief. 'n Lang man met 'n AK47 stap nader. Ek groet. Hy ignoreer my. Stap om die motorfiets. Soek fout.
 
Dan roep hy my om saam met hom 'n entjie verder te gaan staan. Ek het die verkeerde nommerplate, sê hy. Dis nie Nigeriese plate nie. Ek weet en hy weet dat logika en rede nie nou op die tafel is nie. Wat wil ek hê moet hy doen, vra hy. Hoe kan ons hierdie probleem uitsorteer? Ek sê hy kan my laat ry. Hy kyk reguit na my: "How much money are you willing to give me to let you go?" Die hele affêre hou omtrent 'n halfuur lank aan. Een grou later 400 Naira uit my petroltenk-sakkie en ek sê ja hou dit. Dis omtrent R9.28. Ons ry.
 
Tien minute later weer 'n blokkade. Weermag. Hulle wil net gesels. Die een gaan roep sy bevelvoerder uit sy tent langs die pad. Hy kom nie dadelik nie. Ons sit in die son en wag. Naderhand kom hy. Geïnteresseerd in ons avontuur. Vra vir De Witt uit oor sy vrou en kinders. Dan kan ons ry.
 
Dis 'n snelweg, maar elke nou en dan kom iemand doodluiters, reg van voor af, in die vinnige baan verby. 'n Corolla. 'n Motorfietse. 'n Vragmotor! Skielik, sonder enige waarskwing, 'n paar klippe oor die pad en 'n stofspoor na die aankomende kant van die snelweg, menende hulle werk aan die pad êrens vorentoe en ons deel nou die pad met die aankomende verkeer. As hulle dit maar net vir die aankomendes ook gesê het, want hulle ry nogsteeds in beide lane asof ons nie bestaan nie. 'n Hele paar keer moet ons heeltemal van die pad af om plek te maak vir 'n kar wat reg van voor af op ons afpeil.
 
Ons stop vir koeldrank en rys. Daar's 'n gatvolgeid in ons. Die padblokkades en aanhoudende verwagting vir geld of goed is besig om ons te vang. Ons gedagtes wil-wil neig na uitsien na Desember by die see saam met ons families, die wêreld wat ons ken, maar ons durf nie. Die pad is nog te lank.
 
Ons besluit om nie deur te druk Akure toe soos beplan nie, maar om in Kabba, wat nog so 80km ver is, te slaap. Dan more net 'n kort entjie Akure toe. Onsself net bietjie skiet te gee. Die trip vat meer uit mens uit as wat mens besef. En as die polisie en weermag en verkeerspolie nie vertrou kan word nie, voel mens heeltemal blootgestel.
 
Ons wil nie daaraan dink nie, maar die vraag dwing homself aan ons op: Is dit waarheen Suid-Afrika oppad is?
 
 
Day 40: Abuja to Kabba
 
The constable swings his stick right in front of me. He shouts, "Stop! Get off our bike! I said get off your bike! Papers! Take off your helmet!" Suddenly, three more officers approach. Traffic police. Aggressive. A tall man with an AK47 steps forward. I greet him. He ignores me and walks around the motorbike. Looking for a fault somewhere.
 
Then he calls me to come stand with him a bit further. He tells me I have the wrong license plate: it's not Nigerian. I know, and he knows that logic and reason aren't on the table right now. What do I want him to do, he asks. How can we solve this problem? I tell him he can let me go. He looks straight at me, "How much money are you willing to give me to let you go?" The whole affair goes on for about half an hour. One of them finds a 400 Naira note in my tank bag, and I say okay yes just keep it. It's about R9.28. We can go.
 
Ten minutes later, another roadblock. Military. They just want to chat. One goes to call his commander from a tent alongside the road. He doesn't come immediately. We sit in the sun and wait. Eventually, he arrives. Interested in our adventure. Asks De Witt about his wife and children. Then we can go.
 
It's a highway, but every now and then, someone comes straight at us, in the wrong direction, in the fast lane. A Corolla. Motorcycles. A truck! Suddenly, without warning, a few rocks on the road and a dust trail to the oncoming side of the highway, indicating they are working on the road somewhere ahead, and now we share the road with oncoming traffic. If they had just told the oncoming traffic, as they still drive in both lanes as if we don't exist. Several times, we have to move entirely off the road to make way for a car that's approaching us head-on.
 
We stop for a soft drink and rice. There's a sense of frustration building in us. The roadblocks and the constant expectation for money or gifts are starting to wear us down. Our thoughts start straying towards December by the sea with our families, the world we know. But we dare not go there. The road is still too long.
 
We decide not to push through to Akure as planned, but to stay in Kabba, which is about 80km away. Just a little breather. The trip takes more out of you than you realize. And if the police and military and traffic police can't be trusted, you feel entirely exposed.
 
We don't want to think it, but the question forces itself upon us: Is this where South Africa is heading?

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