Working with Politicians
We’re In This Together
We found camaraderie in hallowed out wood with our oars kissing the tops of muddled green plastic. Tonodo and I drifted the whole time smiling at our water, our people, our trauma. Culturally, it was considered good practice. We were a couple of happy fools bouncing through wisps of fog curling around our canoe. Every home we passed, stuck from the water via wooden stilts, tattered cloth, and ribbon styling it all together — every detail in some form of decay.
It was our first time back in months, so when the village’s smoke fish wafted past us, my hunger welcomed the inside of Oyaye’s home. Tonodo wore his emerald jacket that day. I didn’t bring it up to him, but I’m sure he had enough on his mind, it’s not every day one visits Oyaye, but with his lucky emerald jacket and its salamander lapel he had the appearance of a perspiring newt. I told him he was Zoako’s own lizard man, Tonodo Roberts. We rippled through the water until we arrived at Oyaye’s landing.
Tonodo disembarks to greet his uncle and their embrace displayed a visit long delayed. Tonodo held all four children, his wife, and neighbors, he was regal but nervous under the slum sun, and if I’m decent, I was too. The smog from the smoke fish preparations burned my eyes, further obscuring the faces glancing behind tattered curtains. I knew I had nothing to fear of the Zoako people, they were friendly, but like me, they were hungry.
Tonodo scratches his neck as a neighbor reports on the dismal condition of the lagoon, he steals a look at me for help. I attempted to shout a distraction, but my foot finds a hole in the wooden landing. Soon my ass was in six feet of polluted water. I couldn’t ask for a better start as the village leader’s right-hand man. We’re in this together.
