THE INTERVIEW

Wara walked along the dusty kerb, moving briskly towards the bus-stop. Today was surely not an ordinary day. Today marked the beginning of the future as far as he was concerned. He had been handed a lifeline from above and by no means was he going to jeopardise it. He straightened his tie and held on more firmly to the battered briefcase. In it were the soiled yellowed papers he carried around. They consisted of his CV as well as other official papers. He raised his chin as he widened his strides. He wasn’t going to lose the job. He had waited almost two years for it.

“Hey, you! Stop there.” Someone shouted.

Reluctantly Wara looked back. Had the plan changed?

“Yes, you!” Two uniformed men were approaching him, their facial expressions as cold and unfriendly as their uniforms.

Wara squared his shoulders. He knew changes could be made on the fly and even though he hadn’t been briefed about this one in particular he decided to play it by ear.

“Can I help you?” He asked in the most polite manner.

“Can you help us?” The more vocal of them sneered. “Of course you can – help us help you.”

The other man snickered.

“What is your name Sir?” Adewole asked. At least, that was what his name tag read.

“Wara. My name is Wara.”

As if on cue they both burst into laughter.

“Wara…” the hitherto silent officer said, rolling the name round his tongue. “…And would you like to tell us where you’re off to?” His name tag read Bajo.

The budget must have increased Wara thought, the costumes seem to be getting better.

“Yes, as a matter of fact…” Wara replied, holding up his briefcase “I am on my way for an interview.”

Another bout of laughter ensued this time with both officers holding their sides.

Unmoved he continued “You can check my briefcase all my papers are here.”

“Interview! Where?” Adewole asked, only to be cut short roughly by Bajo.

“Look, Wole, we don’t have time to waste, we can question him on the way to the institution.”

“Wait… institution?” Alarm bells went off in Wara’s head as he noticed Bajo beckon to a driver in a truck. Throughout the conversation Wara had not noticed the grey truck, equally as cold as the Officers expressions, parked by the other side of the road.

He didn’t understand what was going on anymore.

“Wait, which institution? Where are we going to?” The pitch of his voice rose, betraying his agitation.

“Where else? The mental institution. Where people like you belong, instead of having you walk round the streets giving our nation a bad image.” Wole retorted as he and Bajo grabbed Wara and pulled him forcefully towards the truck.

Bajo shook his head in disgust “Wole, you’re very patient. You are reasoning with him as if he is ‘normal’. Better not let his mental state affect you.” Then as an afterthought he added “If it hasn’t already.”

“Wait! Wait! I’m not mad!” Wara begged in desperation. “My name is Kolawole Samson. I’m an actor – I’m acting as a mad man going for an interview.”

The two Officers paused for a minute. Wara caught the look on their faces. The tightening of their grip confirmed his greatest fears – they didn’t believe him. He looked round widely for the cameras. Where were the crew? They were supposed to be discreet, but this had crossed the line. It couldn’t be part of the script could it? Surely if it were, then a change of this magnitude would have warranted his being informed. Where were they? He had almost successfully been pulled towards the truck, they were only a few feet away now.

“Please, you have to believe me. If you look around you’ll find the camera crew here.” Their grip tightened further and Wara knew he was in serious trouble.

“Let me make a call! Somebody help me!” He shouted fright kicking in. A number of passers-by looked his way sympathetically and shook their heads. Nobody needed to tell them anything. The sight of the Mad-man dressed “corporately” in soiled clothes and a tattered briefcase said it all. Good riddance to the disgrace on their streets.

“Well done Officers!” A female hawker shouted their way. Wole and Bajo grunted in reply more focused on the task at hand. They had just about reached the truck now. The driver had gone round to the back to open the metal doors. He flung them wide as the three of them shoved a struggling Wara into the truck. As it was still very early in the morning Wara was their first ‘catch’. As mandated by the Governor the stealth task force had been set up to ‘rid’ the streets of mad-men and the destitute putting them in ‘appropriate’ institutions.

“Please, please… let me make a call, just one call.” Wara pleaded his voice breaking as he nearly choked on tears he was holding back. He searched his pockets for his mobile phone then remembered he had purposely left it at home, most probably on his work desk. He had wanted to do the professional thing and keep all distractions away while he was ‘at work.’

“What’s the matter? You can’t find your phone?” Bajo sniggered.

“I left it at home…” Wara mumbled, certain it made his whole claim less credible. What was he to do now? The truck engine started and in a last move of desperation Wara dared “Please may I use your phone? I’d like to call my Director.” He directed his question to Adewole who seemed the less fierce of the two.

Adewole’s eyes lit up “Sure you can! You can use my phone… not just to call the Director but your family and your whole village too!” The two Officers guffawed. The very sound of their voices causing chills to run down Wara’s spine. He was surely done for now.

* * *

The sun had rose to its highest point for the day signalling it was noon. Frank looked at his watch needlessly. He’d been doing that for the past hour.

“Still no luck Sir.” Bridget his Personal Assistant said as she punched the redial button yet again.

“Redial!” He barked.

She rolled her eyes inwardly. On a good day her Boss was a good man and on a bad day, well he was just as bad. Today was a bad day, understandably so. What else could it be classified as when one of the lead actors, for a low budget movie nonetheless, went missing without any explanation? The call rang off and she dialled again.

* * *

On the bedside table the phone vibrated once again and like the previous two dozen or so times it vibrated till the line at the other end disconnected – call unanswered. The phone light blinked signalling the missed calls as well as the unread messages; the first of which had only two lines – ‘Location changed; now shooting at Butcher’s Close. Government issues –will explain later .’