An Hadejian Grave

A road trip to Hadejia, plumbing problems and a lonely grave

       A Grave in Hadejia

 Robert’s green Volkswagon beetle sped through the arid savanna. Half-dozing Colleen recalled asking Dan what he considered to be the main difference in living in Hadejia and Kano. Dan thought for a moment; “They are fighting to enter two different periods: Kano; the late twentieth century;  Hadejia; the late nineteenth century.”

 “How many people live there?”

 He shrugged. “I have no idea. Fifty thousand maybe. No one knows.  Statistics in this country are a matter of faith, not arithmetic. There’s no census here. No point. No one would believe it. Remember Shakespeare’s line, ‘kill all the lawyers?’ Here its kill all the census takers.”

 From Dan’s references to Hadejia, Colleen had always imagined it as a smaller version of Kano. She knew that it was a two and a half hour drive northeast of Kano.  She also knew that it lay in the Hadejia River plain, the site of a dam project. She imagined it to be a mélange of mud and concrete buildings somewhat like the older parts of Kano. It was an emirate and held several schools. Apart from those few facts she gave it little thought. Her main concern had been with the long journey faced by Dan between Kano and Hadejia, not with the town itself. She nudged Dan.   Dan opened his eyes. “Wha . . . ?”

 “We’re getting close to Hadejia.”

 Dan roused himself and glanced out the window at the thin green vegetation of the Savannah.  Acacia and Date trees stood amidst small villages. “Maybe another thirty kilometres.” 

“They seem to have water” said Elizabeth, noting the growing crops of millet and sorgum.

 “It’s a water basin. The Hadejia River flows from here to the Nguru which goes up to Lake Chad.”

 “So Hadejia has more water than Kano?” Colleen asked.

 “Well, yes and no.” 

Colleen frowned. “Either you have water or you don’t.”

 Dan shrugged. “All I know is that in Kano there are no bathtubs. In Hadejia there are bathtubs but no water for them. To ensure a profit, when they installed plumbing, the civil servants and contractors bought the smallest piping available, to maximize profits; therefore low water pressure. When students wash their clothes Mike and I would have no water. Water pressure is too low for showers so we use buckets and scoop. To flush toilets you keep a pail of water handy. Nigeria is a wonder, ma. Now I did hear of one working bathtub at Linda Aquino’s place.”

Colleen frowned. “Mike’s Linda?”

 “Uh uh. I wonder if that was a factor in their romance?”

 “How did she get it?”

 “According to Mike the house once belonged to the headmaster. When he moved to a bigger house, he had to leave the bathtub and its plumbing behind.”

 “Lucky Linda.”

 "Lucky Mike too."

 ✽✽✽

 At Dan's request the car stopped at a farmer's field. The grave sat in the middle of  field of sorgum. On the graying headstone, black letters spelt:  

 Captain H.C. B.  Phillips Died on 12th Sept. 1906

 Dan brushed off dust blurring the name.  "Mike and I found it sitting here just after arriving in Hadejia.  It was put up by the British after they took Hadejia 

"Who was he?" Robert asked.

 "From what little I know, an intelligence official for the British, an expert in natrive languages and customs. Hadejia was the last independent emirate."

 "For years Phillips had lived among the Hausa gaining their trust, and learning their ways.  He helped lead the attack against Hadejia and tried to take the emir prisoner. The emir stabbed him to death."

 "To the British he was a hero and they buried him like one." 

"After independence the British left. Philips was left behind." 

"So why do they keep the grave?" Colleen asked. "Did they like him?"

 "No they didn't.  I wondered about that too so I asked the headmaster. Do you know what he said?  To remind our children that we fought.  We are not slaves."

 Dan looked down at the grave. "When I first saw it I thought how sad to be buried so far from home. Now? I hope the b*****d lies here forever."