The morning ritual had changed.
Instead of the smell of soldering flux and coffee, the shop smelled of starch and anxiety.
I stood in the front room, buttoning my blue shirt. My arm was stiff, the scab pulling tight against the fabric. Next to me stood Collins.
He looked miserable. He was wearing a uniform that was slightly too tight across his shoulders. He was fifteen old for Class Six, but not the oldest. In Bamenda, you stayed in primary school until you passed the Common Entrance, even if you had a beard.
Collins tugged at his collar. "Massa Tashi," he complained, his voice low. "I be man. I get hair for chest. Why I go sit with pikin for learn 'A for Apple'?"
Tashi was counting money at the counter. He didn't look up.
"You are not a man until you can read a schematic, Collins," Tashi said. "You burn three capacitors last week because you couldn't read the voltage rating."
"I fit fix tire," Collins grumbled. "I fit weld."
"And the world is full of mechanics who die poor," Tashi said. He closed the safe with a heavy clank.
Inside that safe was the War Chest. The Unimog had sold for 350,000 francs. We paid Cletus 140,000. We spent 60,000 on uniforms, books, and fees for both of us. Remaining Balance: ~150,000 Francs.
It was a fortune. It was enough to buy ice stock. It was enough to buy thread. But Tashi wouldn't touch it. "That is the Seed," he had told us last night. "We do not eat the Seed. We starve before we eat the Seed."
So, we starved. Tashi handed Collins a small packet of biscuits. Breakfast. He handed me nothing. "You ate yesterday," he noted.
"Let's go," I said to Collins. "We'll be late."
Government School Atuakom 07:30 AM
Walking into school with Collins changed the dynamic. I wasn't just the crippled "Ajebutter" anymore. I had muscle.
Collins walked with the swagger of a street boy forced into a uniform. He glared at the younger students. When we passed Caleb at the flamboyant tree, Collins didn't stop.
"You look me?" Collins challenged Caleb.
Caleb looked at Collins' forearms thick from tightening lug nuts. He looked at the scars on Collins' knuckles. Caleb looked away. "No, big man. I no look."
We walked past without paying the biscuit tax.
But the classroom was the equalizer. We were in Class Six B. Mr. Ngu was the master here. And Mr. Ngu didn't care about muscles.
We sat on the same bench. Me, Collins, and Jean (the farm boy). Collins struggled to fit his legs under the desk.
"History," Mr. Ngu announced. "The German Annexation."
He wrote on the board. Collins squinted. He couldn't read the cursive. "Nkem," he whispered. "Weti be that word? 'Kamerun'?"
"Cameroon," I whispered back. "Copy it."
SWISH. The cane hit the desk between us. Mr. Ngu stood there.
"No whispering," Ngu said.
"I no di see board, Sir," Collins said, his voice thick with pidgin.
"Then move closer," Ngu said coldly. "Or buy glasses. But do not disturb the class. You are not in a motor park, Mr. Collins. You are in a temple of learning."
Collins clenched his jaw. He picked up his pen like it was a dagger. I saw the shame burning in his ears. In the shop, he was the senior apprentice. Here, he was the slow kid.
At 11:00 AM, the heat was suffocating. Mr. Ngu wiped his face. He looked at the empty water bucket in the corner.
"Water," Ngu said. "The staff room needs water. And I need water."
The school tap was dry. The Council had cut the line again. That meant the Ravine. Two kilometers down, two kilometers up.
Ngu scanned the room. He saw Collins dozing off. He saw me nursing my arm.
"Collins," Ngu barked.
Collins jumped. "Sir?"
"Take the jerrycan. Go to the stream."
"Yes, Sir." Collins stood up. He looked relieved to leave the desk.
"And take Nkem," Ngu added.
Collins frowned. "Sir, Nkem get wound. E hand no strong."
"Did I ask for a medical report?" Ngu asked softly.
"I fit carry two bucket," Collins offered. "Leave the boy."
"No," Ngu said. He walked closer. "In this world, Collins, the strong do not carry the weak forever. Nkem must learn to carry his own load. Even with one hand."
He pointed to the door. "Go. Both of you. And Jean."
We walked down the bush path. The red earth was slick with moss. Collins carried the 20-liter jerrycan on his head effortlessly. Jean carried two buckets. I trailed behind, carrying the small 10-liter bucket in my left hand. My right arm throbbed in the sling.
"That man na witch," Collins spat, kicking a stone. "Why he send you? He wan kill you?"
"He wants to break me," I said, stepping carefully over a root. "He knows I'm smart. He wants to see if I'm tough."
"I go carry your bucket when we reach bush," Collins said. "He no go see."
"No," I said.
Collins stopped. "Weti?"
"If I come back dry, and you are sweating, he will know," I said. "He is watching, Collins. If I cheat, he wins."
We reached the stream. It was a muddy trickle. We waited in line with the village women. We filled the cans.
The way up was hell. The 10-liter bucket swung against my leg. My left arm my weak arm burned. My sling rubbed against my neck.
Halfway up, I slipped. My boot lost traction. I fell to my knees. The bucket tipped. Splash. Half the water turned the dust into red mud.
"Ah!" Jean shouted. "Careful!"
I scrambled up. I was covered in mud. My uniform was ruined. I grabbed the bucket. 5 liters left.
"Gimme," Collins said, reaching for it.
"Leave it!" I snapped.
"Nkem, you di shake."
"I said leave it."
I picked up the half-empty bucket. I walked. I didn't look at them. I focused on my boots. Left. Right. Left. The pain was just information. The humiliation was just data.
We marched into the classroom. We put the water down. Mr. Ngu looked at the full jerrycan. He looked at my half-empty bucket. He looked at the mud on my knees.
He didn't smile. He didn't scold. He just poured a cup of water from Collins' can and drank.
"Sit," he said.
School ended at 2:30 PM. Collins walked home to open the shop for the evening shift. I didn't go with him.
"Tell Papa I have... extra class," I lied.
I walked to the Commercial Avenue Market. I had 150 francs in my pocket. I needed more. Tashi had 150,000 in the safe, but I knew we couldn't touch it. That money was for the next war. I needed money for this war.
I went to the Electronics row. Pa Mathew was there, struggling with a cassette deck.
"Good afternoon, Pa," I said.
He looked at my muddy uniform. "The Solar Boy," he chuckled. "You look like you wrestled a pig."
"I wrestled gravity," I said. "You have work?"
"My eyes are bad today," Mathew said. "This spring... it flies away."
"I can do it," I said. "100 francs."
I sat on the ground. I worked with my left hand. I used a stiff wire as a hook. It took twenty minutes. I sweated. But I fixed it.
Click.
Mathew gave me a coin. 100 francs.
"One more," I said. "The radio."
I worked until 5:00 PM. I fixed a broken antenna. I soldered a battery contact. Income: 300 Francs.
It wasn't millions. It was rat money. But it was my money. No Bookman. No Tashi. Just labor and reward.
I walked home at twilight. I stopped at the roadside. I bought three roasted plums (50 francs). I bought a half-loaf of bread (100 francs). I saved 150 francs.
I entered the shop. The lights were off. Tashi was sitting by the kerosene lamp. Collins was sweeping the back.
I put the food on the counter.
"Extra class?" Tashi asked, eyeing the bread.
"Practical Geometry," I said.
Tashi looked at my muddy knees. He looked at the bread. He knew. He knew I hadn't been to class. He knew I had been working. But he also knew why.
He stood up. He walked to the safe. He touched the cold metal door.
"The money is there, Nkem," Tashi whispered. "I am not punishing you."
"I know, Papa."
"If we spend it on bread, we have nothing for the stock," he said. "When the embargo ends... we need to be ready to buy."
"I know," I repeated.
"You are a good spy," Tashi said. He broke the bread. He gave half to Collins, a quarter to me, and kept a quarter.
We ate in the dark. We had 150,000 francs in the safe. We had 10.5 Volts in the battery. And we had bread.
It was enough.