Mrs. Major Black

Port Harcourt afternoon was hot, the kind of hot that makes Waterlines road tar soft and makes keke drivers shout louder. The sun burned from above Bori Camp, and the air smelled of diesel, fried buns, and dust from Waterlines to Bori Camp junction. Esther stood at Waterlines junction with small black nylon bag balanced on her head. She was small, fair, twenty years, with yellow wrapper tied tight around waist, old slippers but clean, washed with strong hands every night. She was going to Bori Camp Mammy market to buy a new basin for her mother, Mama Nkechi, because the old basin had a hole and water was wasting and Mama Nkechi was shouting every morning. She had only 2500 naira in her wrapper. 1500 for basin, 500 for keke back, 500 for MTN credit to call her cousin. That was her budget, tight like wrapper. A Sienna bus shouted, "Bori Camp! Bori Camp! Enter with your change!" The conductor was hitting door. Esther ran small, bag shaking on head, and entered. Not front seat where rich women sit, not Seat 2 where soldiers sit, but Seat 4, back seat, where police checks always harass poor passengers and demand money. But Seat 4 was only seat remaining. Inside Sienna, air conditioning was broken, sweat was everywhere. Driver moved. In front seat, one man sat alone, wearing Nigerian Army camouflage, boots shining black like mirror, cap on dashboard, face serious. He was young, not old General with big belly, but young Major, with two stars shining on shoulder, name tag sewn neat: B. BLACK. His skin was fair, tall, small beard trimmed, eyes looking at small torch phone, not iPhone, because Army said junior officers on duty should not use smartphone. Esther sat small behind him, smelling his camo starch clean. At first checkpoint after Waterlines, Nigerian Police stopped Sienna with big gun. "Oga driver, park! Papers! All passengers come down!" Driver begged, "Oga, na Bori Camp we dey go, Army side." Passengers murmured, bringing out money to settle police, 100 naira each. Esther feared, because she had only 2500 for basin, no extra for police wahala. She hid bag tight inside wrapper, thinking they will collect her basin money. Major Benjamin Black looked up from torch phone slowly. He removed Army ID card from chest pocket of camouflage, opened it small, showed police from window. He said only one word, low voice, Army voice: "Army." Police saw ID, saw B. BLACK and Major rank, immediately saluted, "Sorry Sir! Sorry Sir! Oga Major, you fit go Sir! Sorry Sir!" Sienna was freed. No one paid 100 naira. Driver thanked Major, "Thank you Sir." Esther breathed, heart beating. She looked at Major from Seat 4 mirror, seeing his side profile. He was handsome, but not smiling, just disciplined. Bus moved again, passing Waterlines Estate where big houses with gate and Prado and mango tree stood. Esther dreamed small, one day I go live there, not in bungalow. At second checkpoint near Bori Camp main gate, another police team stopped again. Same drama. Again Major brought out ID, again one word, "Army," and again police saluted and left them. Two times, he saved Seat 4. Esther found small courage, voice shaking, from back seat: "Thank you Sir." Benjamin turned small, for first time saw her. Small girl, yellow wrapper, bag on lap, slippers old but clean, face fair with small sweat. He looked 3 seconds. "You are going to Bori Camp?" he asked, voice not too loud. "Yes Sir, Mammy market Sir, to buy basin Sir." "Basin for what?" he asked, curious, because Port Harcourt girls usually buy hair, not basin. "For washing Sir, my mama's basin has hole Sir, water wasting Sir." He smiled small, first smile since she entered. Teeth white. "Strong hands? You fit wash camouflage?" Esther did not understand. "Sir?" "My camouflage," he said, pointing to his sleeve, "My housegirl for Block C spoils it with too much starch. E dey scratch my neck. You fit wash with strong hands, no starch?" Esther nodded quickly, because Port Harcourt girls know hustle is opportunity. "Yes Sir, I fit wash Sir, with strong hands Sir, no starch Sir, I go wash am well Sir." Major Benjamin nodded, brought out small white paper from his breast pocket, and a small pen that Army officers use. He wrote number with careful hand: 081... He folded paper and stretched hand back over Seat 2 to Seat 4, giving Esther. "Call me tomorrow. Bring basin first, then come to Bori Camp, Block C, Flat 3. Ask for Major Black at gate. I go tell Musa for gate." Esther collected paper, hand shaking, fingers touching Major's fingers small. Paper was warm. She folded it inside wrapper, inside bra area, where it is safe like gold, not in nylon bag. Driver reached final bus stop at Bori Camp gate, shouting, "Last bus stop! Bori Camp! Mammy market!" Esther came down from Seat 4, bag on head again, slippers dusting. Major Benjamin came down too from front seat, boots hitting ground with gbam sound. Outside gate, his black Toyota Prado was waiting, with driver Musa, a young soldier, standing at attention. Benjamin entered Prado, Prado horn blew pim pim, and left dust for Esther. Esther stood at Mammy market entrance, blue basin sellers shouting, "Fine basin! Strong basin!" She bought small blue plastic basin, not big, price 1300 naira, because she wanted to keep 700 naira for credit to call Major Black that night. That evening in Waterlines bungalow, under mango tree where NEPA light flickered, she told Mama Nkechi while washing plates, "Mama, today I sat Seat 4, and Army Major for Bori Camp gave me number to wash camouflage." Mama Nkechi dropped spoon, shouted, "Wash camouflage? You? You wey dey wash your own wrapper with too much soap and e dey fade? You want go wash Army own? Dem go punish you for guard room!" Esther kept paper near pillow that night, with new blue basin turned upside down on floor, waiting for morning to call Major Black. She did not know that one camouflage washing will change her from Seat 4 passenger to housegirl, from housegirl to Mrs. Major Black, and from Waterlines small bungalow girl to Landlady of Waterlines Estate with house that has CAMO ROOM and mango tree. And in Bori Camp Block C Flat 3, Major Benjamin dropped his dirty camouflage on floor, one pile, twenty pieces, waiting for small girl with strong hands from Seat 4 to prove if she can wash or not, and to prove if she can be wife of a soldier who nobody wants to marry because Army work is too hard. The call she will make tomorrow morning will be first step.