The city was dead quiet. The kind of quiet that feels heavy, like the air before a storm.
We stood on the pavement. Two large toolbags. A sack of rice. A roll of 4mm cable. Liyen stood in the doorway, holding the kerosene lamp. She looked small.
"The shop stays closed until 10," Tashi instructed. "If anyone asks, we are 'on site'. If Emeka asks, we are 'securing inventory'. If Abang asks..."
"I know what to say," Liyen said. She fixed the collar of my jacket. "Nkem, keep your head down. Don't let the villagers see the hearing aid. They might think it is a spirit radio."
"It's just plastic, Ma."
"To you," she whispered. "To them, you are a boy who hears what others cannot."
A roar cut through the dark. Twin headlights one yellow, one white swung around the corner. The Hilux arrived.
Lucas didn't stop smoothly. He skidded to a halt, the rear tires locking up on the wet tarmac. He jumped out. He was wearing his red beret and chewing on a kola nut.
"You packed heavy," Lucas spat, looking at our bags. "This is a reconnaissance, Tashi, not a migration."
"It is a deployment," Tashi corrected. "We stay until the lights turn on."
Lucas kicked the rear tire of the Hilux. It looked soft. "Load up. But keep the weight forward. The rear springs are... optimistic."
We threw the bags into the bed. Collins climbed in back. He sat on a wheel arch, wrapping himself in a blanket against the chill. I climbed in the middle seat. Tashi took the window. Lucas drove.
As we pulled away, I looked back. Liyen was still standing there, a small orange star in a universe of shadows. She pulled the shutter down. Clang.
The Siege was over. The Expedition had begun.
05:30 AM
Dr. Foncha's warehouse was not a warehouse. It was a rented garage in the Industrial Zone, behind a soap factory. It smelled of caustic soda and dust.
A young man was waiting for us. He looked bored. He held a clipboard. "Tashi & Son?" he yawned.
"That is us," Tashi said.
"Dr. Foncha is in Yaoundé. He said release the stock."
He unlocked the padlock. We walked in.
I expected neat rows of boxes. I expected German efficiency. I saw chaos.
Wooden crates were stacked haphazardly. Some were open. Packing straw littered the floor.
"Where is the manifest?" Tashi asked.
"There," the boy pointed to a piece of paper taped to a crate.
I walked over. Item: Siemens M55 Solar Modules (55 Watts). Quantity: 4. Item: VARTA Deep Cycle Batteries (200Ah). Quantity: 2. Item: Morningstar Charge Controller (12V). Quantity: 1. Item: Inverter (Modified Sine Wave, 600W). Quantity: 1.
It was a small system. A "Pilot." But as I looked closer, I felt the familiar cold knot in my stomach.
"Papa," I said.
Tashi came over. "What?"
I pointed to the battery crates. They were heavy plastic cases. Grey. Industrial. But the caps were taped shut with factory seals. And on the side, a large red sticker: DRY CHARGED. ELECTROLYTE NOT INCLUDED.
"They are dry," I whispered. "Empty."
Tashi stared at the sticker. "Where is the acid?" he asked the boy.
The boy shrugged. "Foncha didn't ship acid. Dangerous goods. Customs won't allow liquid acid on the train."
"So we have batteries with no chemistry," Tashi said, his voice rising. "They are just plastic boxes!"
"You can buy acid," the boy said, checking his watch. "At the chemical supply."
"At 6 AM?" Tashi snapped. "We are supposed to be in Bafut by noon!"
Lucas walked over. He kicked the battery crate. "Friction," Lucas muttered. "The friction of peace. In the army, the acid comes with the bullet."
07:30 AM
We didn't leave Bamenda. We circled it.
We drove to the Industrial Chemical Supply. Closed. We drove to Massa Joe's Garage.
Joe was there, drinking tea. He saw Tashi. He saw the Hilux. He saw Lucas.
"Tashi," Joe laughed. "You join army?"
"I need acid," Tashi said, cutting the pleasantries. "Battery grade. Sulfuric. 1.28 specific gravity. I need 20 liters."
Joe whistled. "That is plenty acid. You want melt body?"
"Solar batteries," Tashi said. "Dry cells."
"I get am," Joe said. "But acid expensive. Import duty go up."
"How much?"
"1,500 per liter."
Tashi did the math. 30,000 Francs. He looked at me. We had just spent 48,000 on tools. We had 100,000 left of the Seed. This would take us down to 70,000.
"We have no choice," Tashi said.
We loaded the two heavy jerrycans of acid into the back of the Hilux. Collins held them steady. "Careful," I warned him. "If that spills, it eats the metal. It eats the tires. It eats you."
Collins nodded grimly. He remembered my arm. We were carrying the very thing that had almost destroyed us in August. But this time, we paid for it.
08:45 AM
We were ready to leave. I was checking the solar panels. They were beautiful. Blue polycrystalline cells under tempered glass. Aluminum frames. But as I lifted one, I realized something else was missing.
"Where are the Z-brackets?" I asked.
Tashi looked at the crate. "The what?"
"The brackets. To bolt the panel to the roof. You can't just nail them down, Papa. The roof is zinc. If the aluminum touches the zinc, you get galvanic corrosion. And you need an air gap for cooling."
We dug through the straw. No brackets. No rails. No bolts.
"Foncha bought the panels," I said, frustrated. "But he didn't buy the racking. He thinks we just... glue them?"
"We make them," Lucas said. He was leaning against the truck, smoking. He was bored.
"With what?"
"Angle iron," Lucas said. "We go to a welder. We buy angle iron. Collins drills holes. You bolt it."
"More money," Tashi groaned. "More time."
10:00 AM
We were at a roadside welder's shack in Nkwen. Collins was drilling holes in rusty angle iron. ZZZZT. Tashi was paying the welder. 5,000 Francs.
I stood by the truck, watching the road. The school bell rang in the distance. It was 10:00 AM. Break time. Mr. Ngu would be in the staff room. Junior would be listening to Westlife. They were doing "Geography of the Northwest."
I was in the geography. But I felt a strange pang of loss. I was missing the exam prep. I was missing the "Decimal Point" game. Here, there were no points. Only iron and acid.
"Load up!" Lucas shouted. "The sun is high. The mud is baking."
The Weight
11:00 AM
We finally left the city limits. The Hilux was groaning. Payload:
4 Solar Panels (Glass/Aluminum).
2 Huge Batteries (Lead).
20 Liters of Acid (Liquid).
2 Rolls of Cable (Copper).
Angle Iron (Steel).
3 Men + 1 Boy.
Toolbags.
Rice/Water.
The rear bumper was inches from the ground. Lucas wrestled the steering wheel. The truck had no power steering.
"She is heavy," Lucas grunted. "She sits on her tail."
We hit the first pothole. SLAM. The suspension bottomed out. Metal on metal.
"Easy!" Tashi shouted. "The panels are glass!"
"The road is rock," Lucas shouted back over the engine noise. "If I go slow, we get stuck. Momentum is life, Tashi."
We passed the police checkpoint at Up Station. The officer stepped out, hand raised. He saw the overloaded truck. He saw the red beret on Lucas. He hesitated.
Lucas didn't slow down. He just tapped the horn. Beep-Beep. He flashed a salute. The officer lowered his hand.
"How?" I asked.
"He recognizes the beret," Lucas said. "Or he thinks I am crazy. Either way, we don't stop."
We left the tarmac. The road to Bafut was red earth. It had rained yesterday. The sun had baked the top crust, but underneath, it was porridge.
The Hilux slid. The rear end fishtailed. Lucas fought the wheel. Left. Right. Power.
We were going downhill. Into the valley. The vegetation changed. Tall elephant grass. Banana trees. The air got thicker, hotter.
"Temperature gauge," I called out.
"I see it," Lucas said. "She is running hot."
"We are overloaded," I said. "The engine is working too hard."
"We are almost there," Lucas lied.
We hit a patch of black mud. The truck slowed. The tires spun. Whirrrr. The engine roared. We were sinking.
"Don't stop!" Collins shouted from the back.
Lucas slammed the gear into second. He floored it. The Hilux shuddered. It clawed forward. Inch by inch. Mud sprayed over the solar panels in the back.
We popped out onto dry ground. Lucas let out a breath.
"Friction," Lucas said, wiping sweat from his eyes. "The world wants us to stop. The mud wants us to stop. The battery acid wants to spill."
He looked at Tashi. "This is why I charge 1, 000,000 for a run, Tashi. Because physics is expensive."
Tashi didn't answer. He was clutching the door handle, his knuckles white. He looked at the acid jerrycans in the back. They were still upright. He looked at the solar panels. They were splattered with mud, but unbroken.
"Keep driving," Tashi said.
We drove deeper into the green. Behind us, Bamenda disappeared. The shop disappeared. The school disappeared. We were just four people in a rusted metal box, carrying the sun to a place that didn't believe in it.