The Tinted Taxi

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…The motorway out of the City of the Ranch Resort ran through a rainforest of fifty-three miles. This made occasional encounters with monkeys, foxes, hyenas and chimpanzees common events to motorists who plied it to the markets and towns that lay on its other side. There was an inn at mile forty-four. In it were fresh and barbecue buffaloes, antelopes and the oily rhinoceros on sale. Adie slid his Cadenza into a space nearby.

“Stay in the car,” he said to his companion, a woman of near-equal height with his, as he sauntered into the tavern.

“Why do moments lapse unnoticed? The cost of the tremendous wastage in our being rests in our unconsciousness of time’s passage. Ageing seems to surprise us.” Although these words faded into him from it while he climbed the stairs to the top floor of the bamboo-motel, aromas of soufflés, gingers and garlic had dominance in the air around. He assumed that some special festivity was either in the offing or being prepared for.
“If we could be more evaluative of our lives, if we could only tie every second to some monetary value, if we could work and earn wealth at rest, we would be some of the most fortunate creatures alive. Bekoŋ dear, do you think I’m dreaming?”

Adie stepped into it.

The manager of the pub was a slim but wiry man. Many a clientele could mistake him for a gigolo, for he stooped patronizingly at their demands. His customer service policy placed him at first sight with each entering visitor, irrespective of the presence or absence of a receptionist. He stood up upon Adie’s arrival.

Adie walked up to him.

“I’m Bekoŋ Belinde,” he said with his hand outstretched. “Welcome to Commuters’ Delight where you decide how you would rather drive.”

“Good afternoon,” the guest replied. “There are worries in the city. The highway is under siege by a multifaceted band. At one point, it traffics rare species from our nature reserves away from here. At another, it poisons the much endangered types in our custody to deprive us of them. The Cross Edge needs the very hair on your skin irritable to the most evasive of movements by persons carrying out any such activities against our land. Do we have a team?”

“Definitely; we are a tourism destination. Our sustainability as a nation draws on our strengths as indigenous forest guards and conservationists. If you will require me to perform some other additional tasks, is there any way you could facilitate my mobility?”

“Do we have a team?” Adie repeated with a scintilla of suppressed rage and sternness.

 “Yes, we do.”

“That’s what it means,” he rasped and flounced away.

Excerpts From
The Tinted Taxi
By
Zelophehad Adah Sampson

Do you want this work of fiction published in partnership with you (as an individual, a company, a government agency or parastatal, a multinational entity)? Get in touch with Zelophehad Adah Sampson on +233 (0)577 128 452; +233 (0)204 763 953; thezashousehold@gmail.com. It is a six-thousand-word novelette and you will love it for life.



All correspondences on this entity are welcome. For detailed personal attention on COMMENDATIONS,ENQUIRIES, SPONSORSHIPS, ADVERTISEMENTS, AWARDS and    PROFESSIONAL CONSULTANCY, please go to BEGOTTEN BRANDS and use the medium that is convenient for you.

We appreciate your interest in THE ZAS HOUSEHOLD.

Welcome to The ZAS Household ...For Personalized Intellectual Entrepreneurship. The ZAS’ Household is an acronym for the private family of Zelophehad Adah Sampson who at sixteen years of age began a self professionalization program to become an intellectual of contemporary international echelon. He received primary and post-primary schooling in his hometown of Obudu—a prefecture in a region of western-African introspection which he describes as The Elitist Republic of Cross River (The ERCR) in a piece of his own literature titled Rooted.

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