Taduno's Song (6 page)

Taduno and TK established a great friendship and together made music that resounded in every corner of the country.

‘We're almost there,' Aroli said. ‘We're almost at the studio.' And then, glancing at Taduno, and seeing that he was smiling, he asked, ‘Why are you smiling?'

The smile on Taduno's face broadened. ‘Because we are almost there,' he replied.

*

He could sense that the air in the studio was different as he and Aroli walked in. It was not the same place he had walked into that June morning, almost twenty years ago. It was as if something had died there that was once alive.

The studio offices were situated on either side of a long corridor. The first door to the right was the reception – that had not changed. To the left, the waiting room – that had not changed. A security guard normally patrolled the corridor, directing visitors to the reception. But there was no security guard in the corridor at that moment, and Taduno took the impulsive decision to ignore protocol. As they continued along the corridor, he noticed that a lot of restructuring had taken place. The corridor was no
longer as brightly lit as it used to be, and offices had been reorganised. The office that used to be TK's was now marked Conference Room. They moved on, and came to a door marked Studio Manager.

Taduno took a deep breath wondering if, like the rest of the world, TK would have forgotten him. He adjusted his guitar across his shoulder; then he knocked softly on the door.

‘Come in.' The voice behind the door was brisk – and it wasn't that of TK.

Taduno and Aroli went in cautiously.

‘What do you want?' the man seated behind a huge desk demanded roughly when he looked up and saw their strange faces. ‘How did you get to my office without my secretary informing me?'

‘So sorry if we barged in,' Taduno said softly, ‘we are friends of TK.'

That got the man's attention. ‘TK?'

‘Yes,' Taduno replied hopefully.

‘TK is no longer here.'

‘No longer here? He owns this studio.'

‘He used to. Not any more. I own the studio now.' To prove his point, the man pointed to the nameplate on his desk which read ‘Mr Player'.

‘What happened?'

‘TK got into trouble with the government,' Mr Player said. ‘His biggest star was making trouble with government, so government came down hard on him. He was on the verge of losing everything. I saved him by buying the studio.'

‘You saved him by buying the most precious thing in his life?'

‘What can be more precious in life than life itself?' Mr Player asked with an ironic grin.

‘Who's this star that got TK into trouble?' Taduno's voice was pained, knowing the answer that would follow.

‘Nobody knows him now. In the beginning everyone knew him. Then he became a stupid radical who fought the government with his music. Can you imagine anyone fighting government with music?' Mr Player gave a small laugh. ‘Well, government destroyed him completely, beyond recognition. Now no one knows him, not even the government.'

‘And TK, what happened to him?'

‘He became an alcoholic when the government came down on him. He lost his biggest star. His other artists deserted him. He could no longer cope. He began to spend his money on alcohol. He was going to lose the studio, so I bought it from him.'

‘Where can we find him?' Aroli asked.

‘I cannot help you with that. I learned that he lost his house and became homeless. If you will take your leave now, I have important business to attend to.'

Taduno could not hide his dismay. He stammered words even he could not understand.

Aroli thought fast. ‘You may be interested to know that my friend here is the biggest-selling star of all time,' he spoke in a rush, hoping they could salvage something from their visit.

‘I don't know him,' Mr Player said, without interest.

‘His name is Taduno.'

‘I don't know him.'

‘That's because he died and came back to life.'

Mr Player sat up behind his desk. ‘Died and came back to life?' His eyes grew round with fear.

Taduno was too stunned to utter a word.

‘Yes,' Aroli said, a serious expression on his face. ‘Maybe if he plays his guitar you'll remember him.'

Mr Player hesitated, not sure if he wanted to hear the music of a man back from the dead.

Aroli capitalised on his hesitation. He nudged Taduno. ‘Go ahead, play your guitar!'

But Taduno was too deflated to comply. He turned and walked out of the room. Aroli hurried after him. ‘Think of Lela!' he pleaded. ‘We must explore every opportunity that comes our way, for her sake.'

Out in the street, Taduno paused to catch his breath, his eyes moist with tears.

‘The studio was the most precious thing in his life; that man took it away from him.'

‘You heard his explanation. TK was going to lose it.'

‘He took it away and gave him money for more booze, to complete his destruction.'

Aroli was lost for words.

‘And I was the one who brought ruin upon him. I was the star who made trouble with the government.'

*

On the taxi ride back home they were silent, deflated. Taduno wondered if there was any hope for him, Lela or
TK. Aroli wondered if he and his neighbours would ever remember all they had forgotten. He was certain now that they, not Taduno, were the ones who forgot. A shiver ran through him.

Back at Taduno's place, they sat in the living room, each nursing a bottle of beer.

‘I have to find him.' Taduno spoke suddenly.

‘Find who?' Aroli's face creased into a frown.

‘TK. Somehow, I believe he would remember me.'

‘Why do you think he would remember you?'

‘Because we have both suffered and lost so much. You don't forget when you have suffered and lost so much.'

‘Even if he remembers you how will that secure Lela's release?'

‘We need each other. If I find him we will be able to inspire each other. I will inspire him to produce again, and he will inspire me to sing again. I must find him!' He was charged with excitement now.

‘Where are you going to start? He no longer works in the studio. And according to Mr Player, he lost his house.'

‘That's where I will start, where he used to live. Someone will know something about him, surely.'

‘Lagos is a very big city,' Aroli warned.

‘Meaning what?' Taduno queried.

‘Homeless people are often known to wander far away from the place they know as home.'

Taduno did not respond. He placed his face in his moist palms. Remaining like that for several minutes, he made up his mind to search the whole world for TK if he had to.

SEVEN

TK used to live in the lively neighbourhood of Ilasa, on a street where everyone knew everyone. An old record shop located at one end of the street played loud music, and from sunrise until midnight the music drove everyone at a fast pace through their daily activities.

The area boys moved through the street in tune to energetic music, picking the pockets of visitors, starting and quelling fights and generally running the affairs of the street, not with justice or fairness but with their fists, and on occasion with guns and knives.

While the street had no peace, it did have music, and it was that which made it special in the hearts of the residents. It was the music that persuaded TK to continue to live there many years after he became rich enough to live in a more affluent part of the city. Being a successful man who knew the true meaning of poverty, he continued to live on the street where he was born, to the disbelief
of his business associates and the irritation of his many pretty female companions.

TK was a legend on the street, loved by everyone, even the area boys. He lived a simple life, and shared freely. For a man of his stature and wealth, many could not understand why he was content to drive a rickety Peugeot of no distinct model. He disliked designer clothes, and was always dressed in jeans and colourful
buba
tops, the exact manner he was dressed the day Taduno first ran into him in the brightly lit corridor of the studio that now belonged to Mr Player.

Taduno had been a regular visitor to the street in the past, and he was always well received. They all loved his music, because it enriched their lives with hopeful messages.

*

The record shop at the end of the street was still playing loud music the afternoon Taduno got there in search of TK. He had chosen to go there without Aroli because he considered the quest to find TK a personal business.

The area boys watched him suspiciously; in fact, everyone on the street picked up his scent. They were intrigued by this visitor who carried a guitar across his shoulder. And they knew without being told that he was looking for TK. They were somewhat surprised because no one had come looking for TK in a long time. When he lost his home and wandered away from that street, a string of pretty women had come looking for him in the first month, asking his neighbours if he had moved to a more affluent area. The women received rude responses, and
they stopped coming after a while. Now a stranger carrying a guitar had shown up looking for a man that was no longer a part of their lives.

The pace of activity slowed down as Taduno walked down the street. He could make out several faces he knew, but there wasn't any hint of recognition in their eyes – they just stared at him with the hostility reserved for strangers.

When he stopped in front of a block of flats where TK used to live, the noises on the street and the music from the record shop died, as if a switch had been used to turn them off.

He greeted a young woman who was selling oranges in front of the block. She responded with a blank look on her tired, pretty face. She had been selling oranges at that same spot for years. Taduno knew her and had bought oranges from her a number of times, paying her generously on each occasion. She used to fondly refer to him as ‘Oga Musisan' – ‘Master Musician', a name she pronounced with a demure smile. He waited to see the light of recognition in her eyes, but they remained blank and suspicious, the way everyone looked at him the very first time he came to that street, before they knew he was a friend of TK's, before they knew he was the famous musician whose songs they played every day in their homes. Before they all became his friends – even the area boys – and they all began to call him Oga Musisan.

He reminded himself that he was now a man whose entire history had been erased from their minds. So he did not try to refresh the woman's memory. He knew full well
that even if she remembered the name she had invented and made popular on the entire street, she would not remember his face as that of Oga Musisan. For a brief moment he closed his eyes in frustration.

‘I'm looking for TK,' he said with a friendly smile. ‘Where can I find him, please?'

Instead of responding to Taduno's question, the woman turned to the entire street and, raising her voice as loud as she could, announced in Yoruba: ‘He is looking for TK ooo! I don't know where he came from ooo!'

*

A crowd of hostile faces promptly gathered around him; there wasn't a single friendly one among them. He turned this way and that way, and realised he was trapped.

He showed no fear, though. Somehow, the boldness in his eyes intimidated them. They stared curiously at his guitar, and they all thought it reminded them of someone, but they couldn't remember who.

‘We understand you are looking for TK.' It was the coarse voice of a fierce-looking area boy.

‘Yes, I'm looking for TK,' Taduno replied, turning to the thug who had addressed him. He knew the young man, a tall and bony individual who always hailed Oga Musisan with his fists in the air. Now he merely gave Taduno a blank look.

‘TK no longer lives here. Who are you by the way? Where do you come from?'

‘I'm a friend of TK's. Where can I find him?'

‘We don't know where he lives. And we don't want him back here.'

Taduno was astounded at the words of the young man. They tore his heart.

‘TK is a good man. He was a friend to you all. Why have you turned him into an enemy? Why?'

‘Because we don't want any more trouble with gofment.'

‘TK is not a troublemaker. He only produces good music.'

‘TK and Oga Musisan were making trouble with gofment, and gofment came and beat everyone and arrested many of us, claiming that we were supporters of TK. They tortured us, and some people died in jail. Our people died in jail because of TK and Oga Musisan!'

Taduno was lost for words.

A bent old man stepped forward. He was bent not because of age but because of the years of suffering the city had heaped upon him.

The old man spoke with a thick drawl. ‘TK's friend used to carry a guitar just like you. We all called him Oga Musisan. Now we don't remember his real name. We don't remember his face or anything about him. It sounds strange, but that is the truth. He used to make very good music in the beginning, but then he became a rascal,
omo ita
. How can any sensible person be rascal with gofment when gofment has guns and bombs? Can anyone be more rascal than gofment? TK and his friend failed to use their common sense, and they brought us grief when all we wanted was to live the way we have been living all of our lives.' The old man shook his head sadly.

He continued. ‘And now you have come with your
guitar looking for TK. We don't have anything to do with TK any more, and we don't want anything to do with you and your guitar. When you find TK pass our message to him. We want to live our lives in peace, not pieces.'

Taduno turned slowly to look at the faces surrounding him. Faces of people TK had been kind to. He paid school fees for many of their children. He paid their hospital bills, their rent arrears, and even their debts to rich, wicked neighbours. He shared his food with them so that no one went hungry on that street. And now they had all betrayed him.