The Congo Junction Hotel.
The Congo Junction Hotel.
Chapter 1.
It was tucked away down a narrow street in Jos, Plateau State like a furtive, dangerous relative, that one had heard whispered about among the grown-ups; but who was now shunned by the rest of the family.
Even now it evokes a shimmer of excitement, that invariably accompanies letting go, and activating that first hesitant step into an unknowing void. A majestic bundle of abstract actions loosely tied up in careless emotions.
I’d been quite young at the time, or early manhood to be precise. Africa was new and Africa was exciting; the smells, the underlying energy, the people, and it comprised a pulsating existence seemingly unencumbered of most Western norms.
One passed the hotel; or rather had a sidelong glance at it, in driving the pick-up from my house to the site where I worked. It looked interesting with a potential for mishap. Not exactly the Ritz Carlton. The name itself would have disavowed it from any pretense of being more than a cheap Nigerian drinking joint serving a cold beer, and perhaps some pepper soup.
However, it was not the sort of spot that a single, conspicuous white male would frequent when it was heaving in the throes of lively night time indigenous drinking sessions. If that sounds a bit racial, it is not the case. More an awareness of being “street wise” as I believe is the common parlance.
It was akin a phantazesthai mirage to our hero; gasping for a drink in some imaginary desert waste; as it fluttered its brooding, yet not so endearing eye lashes at me every time I passed.
The inevitable happened one hot and humid Wednesday returning to site after sorting out building supplies. Opportune moment I thought. If I went midday, it would supposedly be quiet and I could check it out.
Outward appearances were relatively reassuring. Two floor concrete block structure with heavy wooden shutters on the windows, and a fading skin of white paint. The signboard over the main entrance which extended out into the narrow street was garish and hung listlessly; a touch of rouge on an otherwise sickly pale cheek. The heat had most people sheltering indoors. A skeletal pi dog in a doorway across the narrow street coughed and avoided my glance.
Parking a little way down, I remembered trying to be casual as I entered. The layout itself was similar to many such establishments: central courtyard, metal tables & chairs, and surrounded by, what I could only presume to be living units of outer unknown darkness.
I sat down. It was basically empty. Looking up I saw a slender dark figure approach. She was attractive, young, head held erect and had a safety pin through one ear lobe. Her voice I recall was slightly high pitched, as she asked me what I wanted to drink.
My favourite beer at the time was “Star,” and I could murder one now. Long greenish bottle from the deep freeze, melting ice on the exterior. She opened the metal top with her teeth setting down the bottle and a glass.
I think back, that when I paid with a note from my top pocket, that I had, self-consciously started the courtship. It was a large note and I forewent any need for change. It was a gesture that was appreciated, in what I thought was executed in a friendly open way. We chatted for a bit and I learnt her name was “Joy.”
She then left. I consciously relaxed, as I was not expected back at site in any hurry. The beer was malty and soothing. I stretched my legs. Eternity and contentment were joined.
I had been considering another beer, when my attention was joined by a distinctive “Psssssittt” through closed teeth from one of the doorways. It was Joy beckoning me to come.
