Night Road To Death (Part two)

But my experience wasn’t over that night. I had more to come. After our encounter with the machete-wielding cigarette saleswoman, the boy taxi-driver restarted the engine and very soon we were bouncing our way along the track to rejoin the main highway. The overhead lights on the main road were a welcome sight, I can tell you. After a few more miles in the right direction, we approached the city. Low dusty buildings lined the streets and the bright lights of the occasional high-rise block glinted in the dark sky across town. I felt slightly stupid to have mistrusted the boy and spread my arms across the back seat and smiled. Then - almost on cue – he turned the car off the main road again. This time he appeared to be heading down a sandy track alongside a broken fence. I could tell that this was unlikely to be the road to my hotel. I queried his decision to leave the main road, but he stayed silent. The road began to peter out and the sand became deeper - it was evident that we were heading for the beach. All light disappeared and it was as if a black mist had descended. I could see nothing in front of the car.
'Turn back,’ I said, ‘this is not the way to the hotel.'

The boy said nothing. He peered into the darkness, but still continued to edge the car forwards. He seemed to be looking for something. Then I began to make out the dark shapes of some other vehicles parked along the beach and out of the darkness in front of our car, I noticed a gigantic ghostly figure dressed in a flowing white gown. The figure remained motionless as we passed slowly by and then another figure appeared straight ahead, and another, this time to the right of us. The silence was forbidding; the darkness oppressive. It was obvious to me that the boy had brought me here to be sacrificed by some weird religious cult.

'Why have you brought me here?' I asked. I could hear the waves tumbling gently onto the sandy beach a few yards away, but the next thing I heard was the grind and smash of a protesting gearbox as the boy struggled to put the car into reverse. We hurtled backwards; sand swirling around us as the tyres span in the shifting ground. The boy looked over his shoulder, his arm gripping the back of the passenger seat, his young face frozen with terror.

'What is going on?' I shouted.
'I don't know,' he said. 'I don't know what this is.'

As I peered out of the rear window, a white-cloaked figure stepped into the path of the car. The boy thumped his foot on the brake and clouds of sand rose up around us, choking the night's blackness even further. A face appeared at the window, smiling.

'Can I help you?'
'What the fuck is this?’ I demanded. ‘What are you doing here?'
'What are you doing here? Are you lost?'
'What do you want?' I called.
'We want nothing from you, my friend. We are Muslims. We have come here to pray and very soon it will be time. That's all. You are lost, right?'
'We are looking for the Eko hotel,' I said.
'Ah, I see. Well, you took the wrong turning at that fence back there. Turn around, go back, and keep the fence to your left. You can't miss the Eko, it's straight down the road in front of you.'
'Thank you. Thank you, sir.' I appeared to be babbling. I felt like an idiot.
'Welcome to Nigeria,' the man said, still smiling.

The boy turned the car around and headed back towards the road. 'Sorry about that,' he said.
'Too fucking right you’re sorry.' I sank back into my seat. 'Now give me one of those fags, will you?’