The First Class Cinema

A Story by Sharrumkin

Mike meets Linda at the theater in Hadejia.

Upon a table sat a Bell and Howell 16 mm autofocus movie projector. Dating from 1963 it had been given by the American government to the Kano State Ministry of Education for the use of Amadhu Bello College in Kano. Within two weeks it had disappeared. A few weeks later a battered landrover began making trips to the villages and towns lying between Kano and the Niger border. At each stop it would show cartoons and westerns to enthralled views in return for twenty-five kobos each. Eighteen years later the same projector, now transported by a used Peugeot, was still serving viewers. Battered, with a tendency to breakdown once or twice every evening, it still managed to project films to eager audiences. Westerns had been replaced by Hong Kong Kung Fu and Indian musicals but the demand for films had not changed.

The two impresarios would park at a likely spot, an empty lot with a large wall. They would set up a table and a gasoline operated generator next to it, place the projector on the table and set up a cardboard sign. First Class Cinema. Once everything was set it was only a matter of waiting for customers to appear. At dusk they would throng in some carrying mats, others chairs. No one knew what was going to be shown. All that mattered was that they would see something.

Wednesday was Hadejia's turn for the theatre so a chattering cheerful crowd soon filled up the lot. Girls bearing large bowls of roasted peanuts made their rounds through the spectators. The producers collected their admission fee, fifty kobos from each person. People sat and waited for the film.

A small group within the crowd was made up of Dick and Joy DeJesus, Mike and Dan, and the three Filipina ladies from Mallam Maduri.

Mike leaned towards Linda. “I wonder what the second class cinema is like?”

Linda looked puzzled. “There is no second class cinema.”

Mike nodded. “Just as well.”

Sensing that he had said something humorous but uncertain as to what, Linda smiled. Then, ducking her head she spoke in Tagalog to the other two lady teachers. For some reason unknown to Mike they began giggling, their right hands politely covering their mouths.

The managers checked the projector. The older of the two men flicked the On button. The reels began to whirl. Light flickered against the dried mud wall. Then the crowd began to cheer. “Yauwas resounded across the lot. Bruce Lee had appeared.

“Mister Dan?” asked Priscilla. “Is he . . . ?”

“Available? Afraid not. He has a lady in Kano he sees on the weekend.”

Three times the projector stopped. Once was to change reels. The other times, it stopped on its own volition causing the projectionist to attack it with a screwdriver and with curses.

Twenty minutes later the chief villain having been killed the crowd, amid many yauwas, began to disperse.

“Been here a year,” Dick muttered. “I have yet to see the ending of a single film. Still, for fifty kobos . . .”

Turning, he noticed that Mike and Dan were not beside him.

“They’re already gone” said his wife Joy. He folded his seat and followed her out of the yard.

“Where are they?”

Glancing over at the entrance to the lot he saw them standing with the three Mallam Maduri ladies at a suya stand. Barbecued slices of beef, tomato and onion roasted staked on wooden skewers around and open fire; suya proved popular with both Nigerians and expatriates. At fifty kobos each Mike treated the three ladies, Dan and himself.

Escorted by Mike and Dan the three ladies walked to the lorry park to catch the van to Mallam Maduri.

“When are you coming to Hadejia next” Mike asked Linda.

“Why?" she asked concentrating on nibbling on a slice of fried onion.

“We might see each other then.”

“You are . . . Australian?”

“Canadian.”

Linda frowned. Canadians lived in houses made from ice and snow. “Rudy Pablo has asked me to his place on Sunday for their daughter's birthday."

“Yes I heard. I’ll see you there.”

“Oh, there is the van.” Nodding, she and the other two ladies clambered aboard the battered white Toyota Hiace. Mike waved at her but she was already talking with the other ladies. The driver slammed shut the side door. He started the engine. The van lurched forward and was soon trundling down the road to Mallam Maduri. Mike remained standing by the Lorry Park entrance watching the van disappear.