Election day.
The white Toyota bus had stopped at a checkpoint with police officers and soldiers in camouflage gear, nets stretched over their helmets. In the back seat of the vehicle, Amaka took a call from Ambrose.
‘Amaka, we are losing badly. We need the material in your car.’
‘How will I deliver it?’
‘Go to Sule’s ward. Park and walk away from the vehicle. He will provide another one for you.’
A soldier knocked on Amaka’s window. She held up the observer card on the lanyard around her neck. The soldier’s smooth black face cocooned within his helmet was the face of a boy; he must have been twenty or younger. He leaned in to take a closer look at the card then turned to other occupants. The driver kept his hand on the steering wheel; the woman in the seat beside him was also holding up her own observer card, as was the man in the row behind them. In the back row, three men in orange vests sat shoulder to shoulder. The one in the middle had a camera around his neck. They all held up badges that read: PRESS. The young soldier walked round the car looking in through the windows, then banged on the boot of the van. The driver moved his hand to the door handle. Amaka placed her hand on his shoulder to stop him. ‘He means we can go,’ she said.
The driver looked at her, then in his mirror for the soldier and saw that he had turned his back to them.
As they pulled away, Amaka watched the soldiers in the rear-view mirror. The one who inspected the interior hadn’t noticed how the men in the back criss-crossed their legs to hide the fact that the floor was higher than it should be.
The bus stopped next to some other cars that were parked between two bungalows where voters lined up in the middle of a sandy field surrounded by abandoned classroom blocks. Soldiers and police officers stood around. Amaka got out, followed by the others. They gathered by the side of the vehicle. A group of soldiers watched them. In the middle of the field, on both sides of those waiting to cast their ballot, soldiers, INEC officials, observers, and police officers stood in groups, talking and mopping sweat from their foreheads, and watched the voters. Some of the officials and most of the voters held umbrellas over their heads - umbrellas with Chief Ojo’s smiling face on them.
‘Did you leave the key in the ignition?’ Amaka asked.
The driver nodded.
Staring ahead, Amaka said, ‘Now, we all walk away.’
She looked down at the card hanging from her lanyard, spun it around so it showed her face and the word OBSERVER in bold, then she pulled her sunglasses from her blouse and put them on. She walked straight ahead. The soldiers parted for her. She kept her head high and continued walking as the military men watched her bum from behind.