Just as Justin Okosun opened the front door to his flat, his wife, Agnes, grabbed his shirt at the back, stood in front of him, and said she wanted a divorce. Justin sighed, shook his head, and stared past her head to the window that overlooked the path that led to the main road. In the past few months, many of his wife’s friends had packed their properties and walked out of their marriages. These were friends whose husbands had retired with Justin—Mabel Ohenhen, Gladys Ehimenka, and Fidelia Ajuya: mothers, housewives, and churchgoers. With the non-payment of their husbands’ pensions and gratuities, poverty set in, and they couldn’t stand the suffering. Staring at his wife’s face as she stood in front of him that August morning, Justin suspected that he was about to suffer the problem Agnes’ friends’ husbands faced when they were about to leave.

She wanted a divorce, Agnes explained, but there was a way to stop it. Two weeks ago, there had been an announcement on the radio that all pensioners of Justin’s set were to report at the Pension Board to submit their documents. Justin had to be serious about this issue. He should take his documents to the Pension Board to process them, so that he could get his pension and gratuity, needed at this when the family was suffering from severe deprivation. Justin must not refuse to go, as he had done in the past two weeks.

“Your gratuity is your life,” Agnes told him. “You must try to get it or I’ll leave.”

Six months ago, the flitcher job with which Agnes used to supplement the family income had been lost. Government policy had led to a ban on flitching at the forest reserves, and this had led to the closure of the saw mill where Agnes worked. She had been a diligent worker, enjoying the saw mill atmosphere and was on good terms with the management; but when the general manager explained why the place had to be shut down, she had accepted without complaint. But since then, bills had piled up, and Agnes’ mood took a downward swing. Another woman would have been tempted to imitate her friends and ditch her husband, but she was not made this way. She stayed loyal to Justin, committed to her marital vows. It wasn’t that she was romantic about the situation; the family now lived from hand to mouth, but it was not in her nature to be disloyal. She went to the provision store she had opened everyday, sold consumer items as she did while a girl, haggled with the customers that came her way, chattered with the other traders, listened to the news about pensioners, and trudged home late at night to face crushing poverty.

When the announcement came that his set of pensioners must go to the board to submit their documents, Agnes nagged him to go for the exercise. Things were different, she argued. Getting the pension was going to be much easier than in the past. The announcement said so. Besides, Justin had no choice now. Their landlord had given them an eviction notice. Thomas, their son, had been sent packing from school for non-payment of fees. She had been patient over these encumbrances, but the last straw was when the power authorities cut off the light supply. Justin must take the situation serious and make a move, or there’ll be trouble.

Sitting on the big sofa in the living room, he listened to her as she threatened again and again that she would walk out of the marriage unless he went to the Pension Board to fight for his entitlement. She had discussed with a pensioner, a friend, who had after three days accomplished the submission of her documents and would soon be paid her money. If an old widow could do this, why not Justin? Two days of stress couldn’t be such an inconvenience. Her friend had given her names of contacts at the Board to make things easier for Justin. She also had a contact, Mr. Aghahowa, a friend to her sister and a boss at the Board. He would make things far easier for Justin.

“My contact can be trusted,” Agnes said. “The pension officials are not as bad as being painted.”

“Agnes, if I go, its not because of your contact.”

“I didn’t say its because of my contact. Can’t you see it my way? You served the government for thirty-five years. Are you going to throw everything away just like that? All because you say you now believe in other things?”

A year before Justin retired, he thought it would be almost impossible to get his pension. This was why he attended the seminar - the courses about how to win business contracts fired his imagination. Justin—having spent over thirty five years at salaried appointments in Benin City, Warri, and Sapele—saw another way to make money. Another reason for attending the seminar was the condition of pensioners he knew. He saw retired workers having nothing to do, trapped in the porches of their decrepit rented apartments day in day out, abandoned by their children. Justin had bristled over this.

The talk with Agnes over, he went to the front yard of his apartment, and Thomas came to stand beside him. Justin had not said he would go after his pension, and Thomas wanted to tell him about the effect of his refusal on Agnes. Both Thomas and his father knew that Agnes was scared of poverty at old age, and the fear had gone worse with her retrenchment from the saw mill. At her provision store, the fear dominated her talk. She was bitter about her fate, especially when some of her friends told her that their husbands had got their gratuities.

“Every time, she keeps telling me to convince you to go to the Pension Board. When I refuse, she’ll blame me. She’ll say I want to allow you to ruin my future, that she’ll leave us and pack to her father’s house, that she was tired of suffering. I think you should go to the Pension Board, papa.”

Shaking his head, Justin told him that he was sorry Agnes felt the way she did. But he was on the verge of winning a contract at the MTN Branch office in Benin. The total amount of money was four times that of the gratuity. He had to spend all of his time at the MTN office to make sure he was around to answer any question about the work. He almost clinched a similar contract six months ago, but he had fallen sick and wasn’t around when he was needed. He was on the verge of clinching it once more. The accountant at MTN wanted Justin around in case he was needed for anything. They—Justin and the accountant—had been discussing the contract for the past four months. Not only had the accountant put in a good word for Justin, he had also taken Justin to meet the general manager. Justin was to print the recharge cards of MTN. Every arrangement had been put in place. So it wasn’t that Justin didn’t want to pursue his gratuity and set Agnes’ mind at rest, but the recharge card work had come up, and Justin didn’t want to do anything to make him fail again.

“If you tell them about the gratuity issue they’ll understand,” Thomas said. “They must know that gratuity is important, too.”

“I know gratuity is important,” Justin said. “But I can always struggle for it. Its not running away.”

“For mother it’ll run away,” Thomas said. “Suppose you don’t get the contract? You’ll lose both the contract and your gratuity.”

Justin paused and thought about the possibility that had made him sweat at night on the bed. He had submitted his proposals and the bid paper containing the quotations; he had met all the crucial people at MTN. There was no reason why he shouldn’t grab the deal. However, Justin felt it would be disastrous to lose out and not get the gratuity. He stared at Thomas, looked away quickly, realizing his son had sensed his fear.

“You can continue to pursue the contract after submitting your pension documents,” Thomas said. “Its only for two days. After all, one should not put all of one’s eggs in one basket.”

The next morning, Agnes, Thomas, and Justin emerged out of the house and trudged to the bus stop. As the vehicle they boarded moved, Justin stared out of the window at the nondescript brown Benin City landscape. He sat close to one frail grey-haired pensioner throughout the drive. The man, whose name was Johnson Ossai, had retired the year before. Following the announcement on the radio, he had been going to the Pension Board everyday to submit his documents. When Justin told him he was going to the Board for the first time for the exercise, Johnson shook his head and became sad. He said since he had been going to the Board he had not succeeded in submitting his papers, and Justin felt apprehension run through him.

“It’s going to be hard for you,” Johnson concluded, “unless you have a touch of madness.”

He told Justin about other difficulties until the bus came to a stop at a park beside a market.

As Justin climbed out of the bus, he bumped into a group of pensioners. They were about to board a bus to take them to Ring Road, a short distance from the Pension Board. One of them, a man in his seventies, dressed in dirty brown robes, separated himself from the rest and stood apart. A woman and a young man walked towards him and stopped, but he waved his hand at them and said in an angry voice: “I came to this town two weeks ago to pursue my gratuity. I’ve not got it, I’m still here. And you say I should not be angry about the pension officials, that I should rest for today. That’s nonsense!”

Unnerved by this conversation, Justin, followed by Agnes and Thomas, climbed into a nearby bus. Inside it, a man in his sixties sat beside Justin. He wore a dirty white shirt and brown shorts.

“Pensioner?” he asked Justin.

Justin nodded.

“My name is Michael Ogbebor,” he said. “I have been living in an abandoned vehicle for the past two weeks. The pension officials don’t want to pay us our money.”

Justin had heard and seen enough. “Stop the vehicle!” he shouted. “I’m not going again.” Everyone stared at him, and the bus came to a stop.

“No!” Agnes said stubbornly. “Driver, continue! Continue!” Over Justin’s protest, the driver pressed his leg on the throttle, and the bus surged forward. Justin fell into a sulk throughout the journey to Ring Road. On getting down and on the trek to the Pension Board, he walked in silence, focusing on those around him. At that hour, early in the morning, many pensioners were already walking to the Board. Their state frightened Justin. He saw that many of them had lost both arms, others one, some hobbled on crutches and had one leg amputated, the rest wore shabby clothes. The few workers who walked up the road avoided the pensioners as if they were lepers. Justin searched for something to give him hope, to give him the strength to continue to struggle; he saw none. He thought: struggling to submit my documents will be a wasted activity; I won’t succeed.

A pensioner, a man whose grey hair was turning brown, fell in step with him.

“Do you live in Benin?” he asked Justin.

“Yes.”

“You’re lucky. Do you know where I’m coming from?”

“No,” Justin said.

“Lagos.” Justin felt the man expected him to feel appalled, but he said nothing.“I served this country for forty-five years,” the man continued. “I have to sleep under the bridge to get my entitlement.”

“Didn’t they make any provision about where to stay?” Justin asked.

“They didn’t.”

“Why are they doing this?” Justin asked. “Why?”

“How do I know? All I know is that the governor of this state will appear anytime from now. He’ll see what we’re going through.”

A few minutes later, they reached the offices of the Pension Board, housed by three blocks of ten story buildings. Justin found the office to deal with his pension at the ground floor of the middle block. Hundreds of pensioners were standing in front of it; dirty plates, cooking utensils, and torn cartons used as beds by pensioners who slept over in the night were strewn on its pavement. Beyond the block was the bridge that crossed a street called Sakponba Road, and Justin saw old men emerging from abandoned vehicles under it. As Agnes, Thomas, and Justin watched the spectacle around the blocks of building, the undifferentiated sound of conversation and cars passing on the road and on the bridge assailed their ears. Added to this, the place stank of human waste, urine, and unwashed bodies. No pension staff was in sight. Justin turned to Agnes.

“Where’s the contact you said you have?” he asked, his voice sounding angry.

Agnes took his hand and led him into the crowd of pensioners. They emerged on the veranda of the block, and they saw one young man in white shirt and tie watching the crowd disdainfully. Agnes walked up to him and asked about the whereabouts of her contact. The young man looked angry as he regarded Agnes, Thomas, and Justin.

“Don’t ask me,” he snapped. “Go and ask someone else.” And he marched away from them.

Not knowing from whom to ask, Agnes, Thomas and Justin climbed the staircase of the block and roamed the corridor of the next floor, hoping to stumble on the contact; but they found empty offices, as well as men in thick coats who took one look at them and hurried away. Finally, they entered a large office and stopped. A woman in glasses was poring over some files on her desk. On informing her about their mission, she stood up and beckoned to them to follow her. They came out of the office and walked down the corridor. At the end of it, they climbed a flight of stairs and got to the next floor. Feeling fatigued, Justin stopped to ease the pain in his legs. They waited for him to gather his wits together, then they walked down the corridor. They passed offices which had name plates of officials such as Commissioner, Permanent Secretary, Accountant, and Auditor; they got to a door which had Registrar written on the nameplate. The woman in glasses, who called herself Janet, knocked at the door and pushed it open. The smell of a deodorant filled the air.

“Wilson, where’s Mr. Aghahowa?” Janet asked a sad-looking man who sat on the desk by the door.

“He has just gone out,” Wilson said. “He’ll be back in a minute.”

“These people want to meet him,” Janet said.

Wilson waved a hand to a set of chairs that stood adjacent to his desk.

“They can wait,” he said.

Janet nodded to Agnes, Thomas, and Justin and left. Justin sat on a chair, the two others taking the remaining seats.

Tired from the climb and the subsequent walk, Justin leaned his head against the wall and dozed off. An hour later when he woke, he found that Mr. Aghahowa had not arrived. Yawning, he suggested to Agnes and Thomas that they go for a walk and then return to wait for Mr. Aghahowa. His advice accepted, they all stood up, walked out of the office, and climbed down the staircases to the ground floor. By this time, the sun had climbed up the sky. They bought three sachets of water from the young boys and girls that gathered around the army of pensioners, who sat in the sun while they awaited the pension officials to attend to them. After satiating their thirst, Justin, Agnes and Thomas climbed up the stairs and moved to Mr. Aghahowa’s office. He hadn’t returned. Four hours later, Agnes and Thomas told Justin that they were going home and that he should wait, Agnes not forgetting to give her husband a note for the registrar. When they left, Justin leaned his head against the wall again and dozed off. Waking up an hour later, he noted that Mr. Aghahowa had not returned, so he asked Wilson where he had gone to and how could he be recognized.

“I don’t know where he has gone to,” Wilson snapped. “But he usually wears a brown coat, brown trousers and brown shoes. If you see anyone like that here, he’s the one.”

Bristling under the man’s unfriendly tone, Justin got up and waddled out of the office. He climbed down to the ground floor and was going to buy a bottle of coca-cola from a kiosk near the gate of the compound of the Board when he ran into Janet.

“Have you seen Mr. Aghahowa?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “I’m just from his office.”

“He’s just gone up,” she said. “You’ll meet him at his desk.”

Turning away from the direction of the kiosk, Justin walked back towards the block containing Mr. Aghahowa’s office, but there was commotion at its front. A group of pensioners had blocked the way with chairs and tables, shouting on top of their voices. A pension official, the young man in tie and white shirt, shouted from the first floor balcony that they should dismantle the barricade or he would invite policemen. One pensioner, the old man in dirty brown robes whom Justin met in the bus in the morning, told him to go to hell. Seconds later, a gun shot rend the air, and it was followed by explosions of tear gas canisters. The pensioners started running out of the compound of the secretariat; Justin, coughing, joining the horde. Everyone scrambled under the bridge and gazed towards the compound housing the Board. Justin saw Michael Ogbebor and some other pensioners being herded into a police lorry packed along Sakponba Road by gun-toting policemen. After the men were forced into the vehicle, its driver started the engine and it moved into the line of afternoon traffic that had gathered. For three hours, Justin stayed under the bridge. When it was about 6 p.m., he went to the secretariat building, climbed up the stairs, and trudged to Mr. Aghahowa’s office. He met Wilson still sitting behind his desk.

“Where have you been?” he asked. “Mr. Aghahowa has been around for the past three hours.”

“Is he still around?” Justin asked.

“He hasn’t gone home yet,” Wilson said. “Hang around.”

Wearily, Justin sank into a chair, leaned his head against the wall, and fell asleep. He woke up to find Wilson angrily shaking him by the shoulder.

“Why are you sleeping here like this?” he asked. “Is this your home?”

Justin wiped his face with the back of his hand and stared through the doorway. Night had fallen over Benin City, and sprinkles of stars hung in the sky.

“Has Mr. Aghahowa come?”

“Tomorrow,” Wilson said impatiently. “I want to lock up.”

Justin lifted himself to his feet and staggered out of the office to the corridor. He climbed down the stairs to the ground floor and headed for the main road. Staring at the pavement of the block as he passed, he saw many pensioners sleeping on the ground in the dim light. When he got to the side of the road, he found that there were no taxis to convey him home. As he mused about this, he heard the sound of a car behind him and through the light on its headlamps he saw Wilson behind the steering. The car swept past him and swerved into the main road. As Justin watched the car speed away, he felt a surge of bitterness run through him, and he spat in the direction of the car and sat on a cement block by the side of the road. He spent about ten minutes ruminating about his situation. If what it took the pensioners to submit their documents was sleeping on the streets, he thought, why should he act differently? He turned this around in his mind for a long moment then shook his head as he came to a decision. He got to his feet and brought out a mobile phone from his pocket. Dialing Agnes’ number, he told her that he would not be coming home for the night and that she should not expect him. He then moved towards the pavement of one of the blocks of building house the Pension Board, resolving that he would find somewhere to lay his head until the next day.

He got to the spot where the other pensioners slept: many lay on torn cartons spread on the ground as bed, while others lay on blankets spread on the sand; a few sat on the floor and leaned their backs against the walls of the buildings, others lay on top of the grasses on the lawns of the premises. Justin saw some fires already lit and smelled the scent of the rice being cooked. He decided to sit on the ground and lean against a wall of the blocks. He found a space, sat down, leaned his bulk against the wall, and slept. He hadn’t slept for more than twenty minutes when the sound of commotion among the pensioners jolted him up.

“Policemen!” someone shouted, and Justin stood up.

“What do they want again?” someone mumbled.

“They came to chase us from here.”

“Won’t these people leave us alone?”

Someone barked a command, and a flood of torch lights lit up the place. Many pensioners scrambled to their feet and started to run in the darkness. Not knowing where they were headed, Justin stood up and ran after those in front of him. Someone howled from the pain from a fall, and the sound of gun shot rend through the air. Cries of panic and anguish rose from the old men. Justin ran for what seemed a long moment, stopping when the others did. Justin joined them in looking at the compound of the Pension Board.

“They’re taking some pensioners away,” someone said.

“Where to?”

“To the cell, then to the court tomorrow. They’ll be charged for wandering.”

“I’m not leaving here until I get my pension.”

“Me, too. And I’m sleeping here.”

It was then that Justin realized that he was under the bridge that cut across Sakponba Road. Tired and beat up, he sat on the ground with the others and placed his palms on the sand. Looking at his side, he saw pensioners sleeping in abandoned vehicles, others sitting and discussing on makeshift beds made of sack. He felt anger shoot through him over the spectacle which revealed itself around him. As he sat, he felt a swift breeze blow through the night and shivered from the cold, and he clenched his hands and his teeth. After the breeze subsided, he prayed for sleep to come, but his eyes remained wide open. As he lay his back on the ground, he felt the whine of mosquitoes around his head, and he beat at the insects with his hands, but many of them still bit at his arms, his legs, and his face. While he struggled with the mosquitoes, he felt the stink of human waste deposited under the bridge assail his nose, and he tried to cover his nostrils as well as to keep off a resurgent breeze. As he struggled, he heard the sound of two pensioners quarrelling and saw them almost falling to blows. Overhead, the lightning flashed in the sky, followed by the rumble of thunder. After a long moment, he fell into a fitful sleep.

The honks of motor cycle and car horns woke him up the next morning. As he stared ahead of him in the darkness, he was angry that he had wasted an entire day looking for Mr. Aghahowa and had not seen him, and that he had not submitted his documents and that for the first time in his life he had slept under a bridge. He felt very bitter that he had come this far without achieving anything, and he swore that he would never leave the premises of the Pension Board without submitting his credentials or seeing Mr. Aghahowa. When Thomas and Agnes came to meet him at about eight o’clock, he told them about his decision.

A hour later, the Governor, in a convoy of twenty vehicles, drove into the compound of the Pensions Board.

“Just what we’ve been waiting for!” shouted a pensioner, a man wearing a torn yellow shirt. “He must hear about these useless pension officials.” He got to his feet and joined the throng of others dashing towards the convoy, shouting on top of his voice. Seeing him and others running towards the secretariat, Justin knew what must be done. He got to his feet and ran after them, Agnes and Thomas following him. When they got to the convoy of cars, they saw the Governor questioning some pension officials. One of the officials said the fault of the rowdiness of the registration didn’t come from the Board, but that there was shortage of logistic materials. The Governor shouted at him and said he would be queried. Agnes was ecstatic, saying to Justin: “God has answered your prayers. You’ll submit your documents now.” She said this for such a long time that Justin snapped at her, “Quiet woman.”

The Governor’s orderlies started to drag a pension official towards the parked cars as the pensioners began to form a line. At first, Justin thought it was Wilson being dragged about, but it wasn’t him. It was the young official in tie and white shirt. Justin saw an orderly slap him across the face and then order him to frog-jump. The pensioners who stood by hooted at the young man in tie and clapped their hands with joy. As the queue moved past the yelling man, Justin nodded his head and allowed a smirk to cross his lips. Just as the Governor’s convoy drove away and Justin got to the desk where he was to submit his documents, the official on duty, a man he had passed on the steps while going to Mr. Aghahowa’s office the day before, got to his feet, and Justin sensed that that there was a problem. He put his documents on the table, but the official shook his head. He was not on duty, he told Justin. He was only drafted to work because the Governor was around. Agnes shouted at him: “But this is scandalous!”

The official shrugged. “Its not scandalous. Protocol must be obeyed.”

Remembering that this was no place to play the gentleman, Justin pounded his hand on the desk. “Why now?” he shouted. “Is it because the Governor is not around?”

Agnes went round the table and planted herself in the path the official was about to take blocking the way.

“You’re not going anywhere” she said.

“Get out of the way!” the official shouted.

“Get out of which way?” Agnes said. “Are you hoping to be bribed? Are you hoping to be bribed?”

“So you want me to continue to sleep under the bridge?” Justin asked the official.

The official had controlled his temper. He was pushing his way through. He kept saying: “My superior will explain the situation to you.” And he then left.

Justin felt apprehension grip him. The exit of the official could mean a replay of the chaos of the previous day. While he was ruminating about his next line of action another pension official appeared by the desk.. He was holding numerous files in his hand.

“Your colleague said he is not on duty,” Justin told him.

“That’s the truth.”

“So what do we do now?” Justin asked.

“I think you should wait somewhere,” the man said. “The man on duty will soon be around. Come to queue when he comes.” He spoke with a nonchalance that annoyed Justin.

“But that’s foolish on my part. It means I’ll have to start all over again. This is not fair at all.”

“Protocol is protocol. Protocol must be obeyed.”

“Your protocol is rubbish!” Justin said with anger.

“You’ll attend to my husband now!” Agnes shouted. “You’ll attend to my husband now!” She and Thomas went to stand by the official.

Justin watched them, the smell of dirt and unwashed bodies assaulting his nose. Everyone was speaking at once. As the impasse continued, he remembered from the depth of his brain what Johnson Ossai, the grey haired pensioner, had told him in the bus the day before. He had said it would be hard for Justin to submit his documents unless he had a touch of madness.

“No!” Justin yelled.

Moving around the desk, he grabbed at the files in the hand of the official, shouting. The official tried to push him away with his shoulder, but Justin clutched at the files, and they started struggling over it. The official kicked at him, missed, fell over the desk, and upturned it as he and the table crashed on the ground. Pandemonium broke out. A man in brown coat and trousers arrived on the scene, followed by Janet.

“What’s happening here?” the man in brown coat yelled.

“Mr. Aghahowa!” Agnes shouted. She ran to meet him and started to narrate the cause of the fight. His face livid, Mr. Aghahowa turned to the official.

“Haven’t I told you many times to treat pensioners with decency?!” he shouted. “Now, start work immediately! If I come here and hear complaints, I’ll issue you a query.” Turning, he marched away, followed by Janet.

The official held out a hand and Justin placed his documents in it. The official closed his fingers over them and walked away. Ten minutes later, he returned and informed Justin that his documents were being treated and told him the date for the next appointment. Leaving him, Agnes, Thomas, and Justin pushed through the rank of pensioners and headed for the bus stop. The only time Agnes opened her mouth to speak was to remind Justin about the contract he was pursuing at the MTN office. Justin did not hear her mention anything about a divorce.

# # #

A Touch of Madness by Adetokunbo Abiola
originally published July 21, 2008