by Akan Etuk Nweke
I saw him from afar. Eyes trained on me like a hawk, nostrils flaring like the ears of an elephant. I saw the uniform-custard shirt and burgundy trousers. His were faded, a far cry from what it may once have been. He strode confidently towards me, his eyes never leaving my face.
“I'll call you back”, I murmured allowing my BB slide down unto the floor of the car. I left my left hand where it was; over my left ear, and hastily re-arranged the muscles of my face to assume a bored, disinterested look.
The man closed in.
“Madam Lawbreaker”, he called, slamming his hand on the bonnet of the car.
“Pardon?”, I answered, cocking my head.
He then ordered me to park.
“Listen Oga, I am running late to pick my son from daycare. Would you kindly get out of my way”.
By now two identically dressed men had joined him. One of them was short and swarthy. His beret hung atop his head, bearing an uncanny resemblance to the National Theatre Building. If it was possible, it made him look even rounder.
The other was tall and thin. His uniform looked like it would still have been his size if he grew three dress sizes larger. His eyes were even more hawk-like. A look of pure hostility emanated from them.
“You can’t answer your phone while driving and want us to leave you alone”, the tall thin one stated stone-faced.
Horns had begun blaring and the cars behind were swerving to either side of me.
“Madam park over there”, they barked, pointing to the sandy pavement on the right.