THE FRUITY DEBACLE

By Omoseye Bolaji

I still do not know his name – though we have been good acquaintances for a few years now; the man who I always refer to as “the fruits’ man” in my mind. How simplistic. Though he is well known near my area for selling a cornucopia of fruits and vegetables – oranges, apples, pears, onions, pumpkins and the like...

An amiable man indeed – one who always had time to joke, hold hands, discuss the latest goings-on. Meretriciously, many might dub him as “semi-literate” but few could read like him! Recently I had been giving him lots of material to read, newspapers and magazines. He always greets me by shouting, no matter how busy he is: “Friend of mine!”

I suddenly noticed that he could no longer be seen, the site he used to sell his wares patently deserted. I thought he had just travelled or something; but then after ten days of absence I realised something was probably wrong. The guy never played with business, his business! I had an idea where he lived but I had never entered his house. Luckily enough, I met one of his closest pals...I asked about...hmmm...ah well, the fruits’ man!

His friend stared at me. “So you have not heard? You did not hear what befell him, Mr Bolaji?”

I gulped, having a presentiment of tragedy. “Softie”, that some think I am, my eyes were almost misting already. Such a nice man could not be...gone?

With incredible speed my mind went back to how startled, yet pleased I had been to realise the “fruits’ man” was something of an avid reader. I was almost ashamed when he told me in great detail about some of the books I had published which he had got from the library. He particularly liked Impossible Love, and The ghostly adversary. Of the latter, he often said: “It was almost like watching a fast-paced movie based right here on our own people in the townships; the first time I read it I could not put it down for hours, and my woman was quite angry with me,”

“I see now why she has always disliked me,” I had joked then. But now -

It came as a great relief to me when his friend told me:: “He has been very sick. Horrific flu. He could not stand up for many days. Quite frightening. But he managed to stand up maobane (yesterday) and is hopefully on the mend. Why don’t you visit him?” He gave me even more specific details to the “fruits’ man’s place

And that is exactly what I did. With one’s background, one could not just go there without any “gifts” to the sick man, so I bought some fresh milk and fried chicken pieces – thus armed, I went to his place. No sooner had I got to the gate of his house than his son – who looks exactly like him – began to shout: “Friend of mine! Friend of mine! You heard papa was sick and you came to visit him?”

“Good boy,” I said, patting him, “If he’s sleeping I’ll just leave this for him,”

“He’s much better now,” the youngster said, running to a sort of boys’ quarters; presently he came back and said: “Let me take you to him! I told him you are here,”

The “fruits’ man” seemed very happy to see me. Though rather emaciated, he did not look as bad as I feared he might. Whilst I was seated he said slowly: “You know how serious sickness is, friend of mine. I have been to hell and back...” I was happy he was living up to his reputation as a “talkative”, but I did not think he should over-exert himself. I told him I was delighted he was much better now, and had to go.

He gripped my hand. He said: “You know the disease which kills our people here regularly (he meant hiv/aids). Some people were even saying maybe I had it, but that can never happen. I have always been faithful to my woman and so has she. We are not like all those young men and women who throw their lives away irresponsibly...”

“And thanks for the things you bought for me,” he finally said. “I’m not complaining, but I was hoping you’ll bring some papers or magazines like you used to do! But that will soon be the case when I am up and running again, with my shop open. Thanks, friend of mine!”