The Collapsed Bridge - A Short Story By Bala Yahaya

B A L A     Y A H A Y A

The modern 2-storey building stood magnificently on the side of the road. This however, unlike many roads in urban centres, was quiet and completely withdrawn from the hurly-burly of the rest of the town. From a distance, one could easily mistake it for the palace of a super-rich Arabian Prince except for the fact that it served an altogether, different purpose. It was a heaven for those who not only had a very strong attachment to the 4-letter word R-E-S-T but also held a stronger fraternity with pregnant purses, fat bank accounts or held extremely juicy positions in government offices. Yes, those who achieve economic power largely through crass opportunism and capitalising on the weaknesses of the system to dip their hands into state purse and enjoy the fun of it while it lasts.

This was the building in which the pot-bellied, bald headed Alhaji Madugu went into ‘asylum’ to escape the pestering and endless demands of his community people who were quite aware of the fact that he was most likely to come home for the Easter Holidays.  Apart from those whom will surface with genuine communal problems such as requests for the electrification of their remote villages or rehabilitation of their feeder roads, a very large chunk of the ‘unwanted visitors’ will come with purely personal problems. 

While, for instance, some will come to seek assistance for the naming ceremonies of their newborn babies (as if they did not had a nine-month notice within which to prepare), some will come for ‘something’ to enable them settle the school fees of their children. In fact, the last time Alhaji Madugu was in town, the Party Chairman of Maula constituency came up with a rather funny and disturbing ‘personal problem’. Funny because he needed some money to replenish his wife’s make-up kits of which she had run out of stock; and disturbing because he remained completely silent on the cerebro-spinal meningitis epidemic that was ravaging his community at the time! It was in order to avoid such scenes that Alhaji Madugu decided not to go home for the Easter break.  After all, he had just been re-elected for a second term and had spent (no invested!) a lot of money in the campaigns. These people who were pursuing him with one problem or the other had no moral right to do so. Didn’t he settle them before getting there? Had he been tightfisted with his money could he have scaled through the primaries let alone general elections? No. He was the highest bidder in those elections and of course, got the highest votes that took him there. He paid the piper and it was now his time to dictate the tune. For this reason he felt no guilt in taking refuge in this exotic edifice at the expense of the masses whose interests he was supposed to defend.

While Madugu was enjoying the holiday in his own way, the Nagarta Community Forum in his constituency was holding its meeting with the view to strategising on how to source for funds to execute its set out project. The forum’s president spoke at length on the single most pressing problem facing the community at the time concluding with the following words, “it is therefore my opinion that we constitute a high-powered delegation to meet all our elected representatives with the view to ensuring that this our problem is incorporated into the government’s programme for this year”. Speaker after speaker supported the Chairman’s view and an SOS was prepared and submitted to all elected representatives of the Community with the one to Alhaji Madugu being more emphatic since he held the highest and undoubtedly, most influential position among them. A delegation comprising of the district head, the Chief Imam, chairman of the farmers’ association, youth representatives, the women leader and other interest groups was formed and vested with the responsibility of seeing and discussing the issue with the elected representatives. The most pressing problem of Maula Village at that point in time was the dilapidated state of their bridge. They considered it so because it was the only link between their village and other towns and villages. Cut off the bridge and the whole community becomes completely disconnected from the rest of the world. Apart from the fact that the village was mainly preoccupied by farmers, a significant proportion of the population consisted of traders who went on trade missions to other towns and villages.

How would they transport their farm produce to the markets when the seasons come? How would the traders among them transport their wares into and out of the village? How would they take their sick ones to government hospitals in the neighbouring larger towns  when such needs arise? And they often do arise. The impending catastrophe that will befall the Maula people in event of the fall of this all-important bridge, which is just a matter of time (short time to be precise), could only the imagined.

When Alhaji Madugu received the delegation, he pretended being very happy that his people visited him. “To what do I owe this visit?” he asked smilingly. After expressing their mission, Madugu collected himself and replied that deep inside his mind he had been concerned about the bridge and had already started some discussions with the State Works Commissioner who promised him that the work would be incorporated into the State Government’s budget for the year. He therefore thanked them for visiting him to remind him of his responsibilities and promised to do his best in ensuring that the work was not contracted out to any mushroom contractor but to a competent one who would not only finish it on schedule but also ensure that it was of the highest quality.

One after the other, the delegation met and discussed with all their representatives over the issue and on each case receiving assurances that their problem would be tackled head on. Had words being louder than action, the bridge would have been re-constructed before the delegation came back from its mission. The reverse was however, the case!

The office of the Works Commissioner was vast and well decorated. He had the air of an aristocrat. Nature had been kind to him both in size and physical outlook. This was further augmented by the comforts and privileges (no, rights) conferred on him by his newly acquired office. When he was told that Maula Constituency’s representative wanted to see him, he knew that it wasn’t an empty visit; something must be upcoming. After exchanging pleasantries, he sat in the chair opposite the commissioner and informed him of his people’s complaint. “And as you are aware, this is a very important project that must be carried out particularly in consideration of the number of votes our Party won (I mean bought) in the area”. The Commissioner smiled mischievously and replied, “yes, and most importantly the returns the project will  fetch”. They both laughed and clapped hands. At the end of the meeting, the duo had crossed all ‘t’s’ and dotted all ‘i's’ about how the contract will be awarded, to  whom and at what consideration.

Over time, the work was completed. The bridge stood mightily across the river. The villagers were  happy.  Yes, at last they had come to enjoy the dividend of democracy. They had proven wrong the saying that “one cannot eat his cake and have it”. They voted for people based on monetary and materialistic inducements thinking that they had had their share in advance and would not be losing much even if they (the elected representatives) renege on their promises. And they would always renege, or so they thought at the time.

Well, this set of politicians was different. Quite different! They pay you to vote for them and work for you when they get there. They had a very strong urge to serve humanity and were ready to pay so that they get saddled with such enormous responsibility. Could anything be more patriotic? The deception was so grand that the layman’s eyes could not figure it. To him it looked every inch a perfect piece of construction into which millions of Naira must have been sunk. This achievement couldn’t have come at a better time; what with the approaching rainy season. Now their fears and anxieties had been laid to rest. And the rainy season finally came.

This year it was as early as it was fierce. And the impact of the new bridge was finally being felt, more fully so to speak. Drivers, who would not cross the former bridge at this time of the year for whatever amount, were now willing to cross into the village at no extra cost. More meaning had been thus being added into the hitherto, dejected lives of Maula people.

However this was destined to be short-lived. For in the month of August, when the river was at the peak of its tide, and on a Sunday, which was a market day, the bridge collapsed! Many residents of Maula village and outsiders who visited the market sunk in with their wares. The scene was so pathetic that it reminded one of the scenes of the unprecedented titanic ship tragedy. Volunteers immediately swung into action and rescued the rescueable victims. A larger percentage of the victims were however not lucky enough to get rescued. It was a very tragic scene. The village and its neighbours were thrown into a state of mourning.

When the news of the tragedy reached Alhaji Madugu he demonstrated great concern but inwardly he was indifferent to the plight that befell his community.  He sat in his office and prepared an emotion-laden speech which he would deliver at the scene of the tragedy, do some politicking with other people’s misfortune and see what can be done in ‘appropriating’ the relief funds that would certainly start pouring in from the government, donor agencies and other  kind-hearted individuals. He had to map out strategies that would see him emerge as the chairman of the relief Committee. This would not be too difficult considering his position as the most senior representative of the grieving people. When that happens, would it be unethical if he used part of such funds to acquire a new car for his wife and another for his children? After all, they also needed relief from the ‘distress’ they suffer from riding ageing and out of fashion cars.

Unknown to Alhaji however, his wife and children who sought his permission earlier in the day to attend the naming ceremony of a friend’s newborn baby, were among the dozens of people that were drowned in the Maula River tragedy. When the reality dawned on him, he collapsed immediately. There began his real bereavement and with it, indescribable desolation. His life had been shattered! His family had been consumed by his greed and selfishness. Was this what he bargained for when he joined politics in the first place? No, certainly no! Would this be the end of the people on whose faces he ‘laboured’ day and night to put a smile? So this was where all the nocturnal meetings he had had with movers and shakers of the society as well as political thugs and other collaborators in his bid to capture power finally led him? Was this really a success or a failure?

Certainly, he had captured power but today power had not only captured him too, but in a more devastating manner.  As he caught a glimpse of the collapsed bridge, he shed tears not just because it disconnected Maula village from other villages and towns; not even because the disaster claimed the lives of its people, but more painfully because it had disconnected him from his beloved family – his real happiness – forever.