Greener Pastures

The time could have been anytime between 17.00hrs and 19.30hrs, the Spanish mid evening sun still clung proudly over the horizon, though dead red and deeply eaten by the fast-impending nightfall, her brightness still shone, blazing brightly and hot.

The street looked alarmingly deserted, "maybe it has to do with covid-19 directives Dayo thought, fear beginning to make him feel sick in the abdomen, "this doesn`t look promising at all, it was effortless to spot a homeless destitute on an isolated street, I'm sunk if I run into any authority" talking of which, two smartly dressed young men has been looking his way since he came out this bend of the street, they were the only living things on sight and he`d have doubled up till he found another bend then duck out of sight, but he couldn`t do that with their eyes feasting probingly on him since, he had seen them way too late after getting past one savon maderrelle café.

"I don't speak Spanish" he mumbled beneath his breath more like a self-reminder, the first phase of the struggle have elapsed, "I now have to, by some luck, find a way to avoid being questioned by a cop, and also manage to find a place to hide my head at night until I can find a better lasting solution", he shivered at the imagination of being caught and deported after everything he had endured to arrive at this moment in life.

"well", he thought, talking to himself, "If you are going to be irrational in judgement about this venture, one could be forgiven for saying it wasn`t worth it at all". "But", he continued with his monologue, if you consider the actual situation with things generally back in Africa, the remoteness of everything, the crude religious crisis and onslaught, the cost of living, the minimum wage payable, you`d understand why the frights of embarking on this kind of nomad journey was nowhere in comparison with the dangers of remaining behind".

The Spanish duo started towards his direction and making a stop we want to question you gesture with the hand as his eyes met theirs, and they kept approaching him with expression he couldn`t read. "I should have run all this while before they made up their mind" he thought, "I just really hope they are not cops"

The cab driver that had dropped him off earlier had, described this place as a night market, the supposed night market however, except for some dozens of balloons flying all over the place like a wedding reception hall decoration and pieces littered all over the ground too, those where the closest stuffs to market description that the place looked.

"Oye, señor, ¿podemos ayudarlo? hola entiendes español", One of the duo spoke in Spanish, the one speaking has an interesting volume of head, rectangular long to the forehead and long flat wide to the back, giving his head the look of cone on its side. He really had a generous size of head and that was his most standout feature when you first see him. "What if i make a run?" Dayo asked himself, "shit! they are actually cops" he realized as the Spanish men simultaneously flashed their badge at him, "the worst of my fears" his heart sunk, "whatever man!" he whimpered exasperatedly.

"i`ll just try my best to plead with them, who knows, the Whiteman isn`t like us" he hoped in his thought, "they might even be the one to assist him find his feet" he half hoped, half prayed".

"Hello, my friend, you speak English?" the second cop asked in Good English, though the accent would have been so hilarious and laughable even to an African, but that would have been under different circumstances.

He tried to reply, but his voice was too dry for audibility, though his cynical mind still tried to muse over the funny accent.

"Yes, i speak English, Good evening" he added politely after clearing his throat twice for audibility......

The two young men spoke, almost arguing in hush tone for a while between themselves, but the one with the enormous features kept shaking his head negatively, sounding like a old beetle with leaky exhaust, his compatriot seem very less interested in whatever they were arguing, he had smaller features compared to his friend, not taller than 5`9 at most, slender athletic body, long arms and long nose.

"se ve asustado, lo ve en toda su cara, definitivamente está tramando alguna travesura"

Alonso who also is a sub inspector of police and the less troublesome looking of the duo held his ground with Torres the larger, one as they lock horn in a heated argument that obviously wasn`t going to be Goodnews for Dayo.

Standing at around 5'9, and Torress 5`8, Alonso was in looks, the toast of many women, he sounds more like a movie actor than a cop, with the curls in his head combed to a right-angle sleep, he looked like the type who wouldn't need ammunition or back up to arrest any female kingpin.

Recuerde que está comenzando a circular por la calle que la policía ha estado oprimiendo racialmente a la comunidad negra, tenemos que enhebrar con cautela, al menos él no se ve perjudicado, no necesitamos agresión a menos que necesitemos una

"he's probably scared of talking to a cop, that'd explain the look of anxiety on his face, black, obviously African immigrant, most likely he missed the way to his house" Alonso insisted, playing down everything Torres has been trying to say. As his filed partner for seven years now, he has come to accept Torres as a `chronic never trusting pessimist`. It makes him a good cop though, he has nose to smell trouble from the thought conceiving it, but people cannot be always bad because of you want to ostracize them, nor are you a better cop because you have tendency to always search out the dark from everyone.

Alonso believed everyone is an Individual, not an extension of any racial stereotyping, flawed as you may want them to be, they can never be bad until they have done something bad, people are not their most popular stories and prediction, everyone`s an individual and innocent until they have proven otherwise.

Alonso was very intentional about holding this one out and proving Torres wrong, that he can`t expect to be always right about people.

This joint has been closed since the pandemic, and no one has for any reason even passed too close to the gate, hell, there are no people outside anymore always, the world's changed forever, she's changed into a indoor one, all thanks to the covid 19 pandemic.

"maybe he's suppose to meet someone here" Alonso insisted, but Torres managed to wear a smile on his face, a face that was more suited for death sentencings than smiling, before saying;

mi apuesta, debe ser culpable de algo, ¿te importaría apostar?

"my bet on, he must be guilty of something, do you care to wager?"

Alonso, adding cop steel into his voice, announced in English and facing Dayo now eyeballs to eyeballs,

"I am sub-inspector Alonso Thomas, i am with the Spanish police force, division of the enclaves of Melilla and Ceuta.

"Policía Nacional", as he flashed his badge for more emphasis.

"My name", announced Torres, is sub-inspector de policía, Torress Muniesa"

"If I had money", Dayo thought, "I could pay never to hear his voice ever again".

He must have made little girls cringe and curse their nights with Nightmares while he was growing up. He sounds exactly how he looks, guttural. He is extravagantly meaty and bullish, no other job aside hired assassin would have given him a matching career. It was little or no wonder he had chosen to be a cop and he was tailor made for it, both in looks and the way he spoke in thuds.

Alonso, took charge of the interview with Dayo after exchanging another glance with Torres,

"What is your name?"

"Any pasaporte o cualquier medio de identificación por favor?

pasaporte?" he asked in spanish

"You no have pasaporte?"

"God!, Dayo cried at heart, "what will i do now?, I really need a miracle now, not like I'm a fervent believer, but i possibly can't have travelled half across the world, mostly on foot, and that was for times when I was not being bundled and sold off by Arab African Slavers, it possibly can't be the end, something has to happen.

"I don't have papers"

"I am Dayo Simon, a refugee escaping from terrorist incessant attack in Nigeria".

"Please i need Job, i can work, any Job, please.........

By now Alonso was beginning to lose his patience too;

"Estos africanos nunca tendrán sus papeles en absoluto, ni completarán"

"Mr Simon, you no have papers, you come to station", "¿tú entiendes?"

"God!!!", he exclaimed sadly, "so this is it? what will it be? hmmmmmmmmmm,

"Alright...." He announced loud enough, "no problems, let's go..........."

In a single file, Dayo in the middle, they walked towards the back exit hidden not too far from where he had entered the supposed market space, the side door was stylishly carved into the wall to give it a special kind of concealing, artistically beautiful and very much to its hypes, only when you have seen a person go in or out from it will you believe it to be a door.

A black Toyota Camry 2017 beep just at the entrance, Dayo and Alonso sat at the back while Torres drove, everything happened so fast.

At the precinct, one moment they were waiting outside some office for probably the chief of police, A short while later, i was being escorted to a cell room.

He was first handed to a little guy who was introduced as a police language expert, he spoke English to Dayo almost perfectly enough and with less accent.

"I am Carter Pedro, I'll be serving as your interpreter to the police, you're being detained till tomorrow 8.00Hrs when the chief will be ready to see you"

"You can call me Pedro".

After he had been searched for possible weapons and none found, his few personal possession which was just his Android phone and a wallet that contains absolutely all the little papers in the world except the ones that he really needed.

"The cell room was not as fanciful as the ones in the movies, or maybe the Spanish government doesn't have too much to spare on offenders, but at least, it was neat and the bed decent with clean sheets, a cell room back in Nigeria sometimes don`t even have a straw mat. After being locked in, he jumped on his bed, lay face up quietly. He noticed he has a cell mate, the mate looked nice, an African Arabian, whom he later learnt was from Morocco.

"I Moroccan, i speak Arabic, Francais, Espanish but my English small small. Me friend Ghana boy three, Liberia boy four, all Italy and Espain, you from Nigeria?"

"Yes, I'm from Nigeria, what about you?"

"Moroccan, me from Morocco, what you offend? Not papers?""

"Yes, I don't have papers, answered Dayo, "but what do you think is going to happen to me?"

"Deportar,_ you'll be _Deportar"

"El gobierno español, en su esfuerzo por frenar la propagación de esta pandemia "Coronavirus" ha emitido una prohibición de viajar al país, especialmente la inmigración".

"My friend, you come Espain now, no good" he emphasized with shaking of the head,

"you, deportar tomorrow or another tomorrow".

For some bizarre seconds, his first impulse was to spring a rushed attack at him for casually wishing such a thing on him but he thought better off it and reminded himself that it was merely speculation from another fellow detainee, he reminded himself the Moroccan couldn`t possibly be sure about anything.

"He can't possibly know what'll happen", Dayo reassured himself,

"You dragged yourself this low when you decided to ask a fellow African detainee what he thought would happen to you" "silly me!" he chided,

"He probably thinks he can scare me", he managed a reassuring smile and a long session of silence followed and stayed for what seemed like 2hours, then the Moroccan spoke from his bunk bed which was just beneath mine,

"Tell me Nigerian man, how you travel Europe".

Dayo smiled, and said;

"Are you sure you want to hear my story?"

"Yes" replied the Moroccan, "Me very sure........."

"Be my guest for the night..................."