A light murmur went through the bus. Some said Madam Aniema should be exempted from church tradition, while the Catholics said it was impossible to ordain women and warned outsiders to mind their own business. The soldier stood there, watching, surprised he was no longer the focus of attention. He looked at Madam Aniema intently, as if expecting her to offer him a seat.
“My Catholic children, I am sorry,” the chief said. “I wasn’t trying to destroy your faith, OK . . . ah . . . ah . . . but as you can see this woman’s water bottle is too small for our trip. If this soldier’s six years’ madness returns on the way, we will run out of holy water.”
“I no be against Catholic Shursh o,” Tega said. “But Shief dey talk sense.”
“Yes, make we dey look at dis situation well well,” Monica said.
Madam Aniema said, “We can all find a space on this bus . . .”
“I insist he must be voted out, and I am speaking as a royal father!” the chief concluded.
At this, they began to contribute money for the voting, which meant bribing the police. The chief whispered something into Jubril’s ear, and the boy quickly paid for both of them.
The soldier started shouting and threatening again, knowing they would get rid of him. He lobbed imaginary grenades at people.
Jubril was perplexed; he did not know with whom to side. He knew the floor space was not his. And because of the erratic way the chief was acting, he could not bring himself to say the chief had his ticket. Jubril was uncomfortable with the way his fellow passengers were switching sides on every issue. What would happen if the chief denied that Jubril had given him his ticket and he was thrown off the bus? What chance did he have if they forced him to reveal the content of his pocket? He begged Allah to take control of his fate.
SUDDENLY EMEKA BEGAN to tremble like the sick man had, calling on God with all his might. The bus was not afraid but happy, saying he was possessed by the Spirit. They thanked God for revealing himself in the midst of the threat they were facing from the mad soldier. Emeka threw away his monkey coat and took off his shirt. His big eyes were blinking riotously like a broken traffic light, and every inch of his short frame vibrated with fervor. Though his mouth was wide, the torrent of glossolalia flying out seemed bigger. He spoke without catching his breath. To Jubril’s ears, he sounded like Yusuf. Jubril quickly hid his face from Emeka and shut his eyes, trying not to think of his brother. He tried to chant some Islamic incantations in his heart to distract himself from Emeka’s speaking in tongues. But it did not work. In his mind, Emeka became Yusuf. Though he opened his eyes, he could not rid himself of thoughts of Yusuf.
“There’s an enemyyy in this bus!” Emeka said. “We must cleanse this bus spiritually . . . Jesus! Jeeesuzzz! The bloood of Jesus must disgrace you today . . .”
“In Jesus’ name!” the bus resounded.
“I say, the blood, blood, blood of Jeeesuzzz must cover this journey.”
“Amen!”
“Jehooovah, who deigned that Jonah be thrown into the sea . . . reveal him to us now, noww, nowww .”
“Now now, Jesus! Save us, Holy Spirit!”
“Reveeeal to us the evil one on this bus.”
Emeka stamped his feet and ranted on, looking up with eyes glazed, as if he were consulting the heavens, as Yusuf did the afternoon he was stoned. Emeka was out of control. Sometimes, it was as if he would fling himself out the window and disappear into the night. At the other end of the bus, the soldier was exhibiting all the madness of the war front. The two looked like the foci of a twin whirlwind, spinning close to each other but never merging. The bus was totally behind Emeka, cursing the mad colonel and drowning him out with prayers.
Now Emeka began to tremble toward Jubril.
“You’ve betrayed Christ!” he accused Jubril, reaching for his neck. “Who sent you to condemn God’s children to a bad journey?”
The refugees were surprised and disappointed that he was taking on Jubril and not the soldier.
“No vex, abeg o,” Jubril pleaded.
“No say anyting,” Tega advised him. “Just dey quiet . . . na