Karyarsu ta mutu a rubuce

“Ke nan fa? Aisha, ba wurin zama ba ne naka.” Mansur ya janye kujerar roba daga gefen teburin jigila da tafin ƙafa, ya tura mata littafin rasit ɗin da aka ninka rabin-rabi. “Ki kai tea ɗin nan ciki, ki bar maganar lodi ga maza.”

Muryarsa ta fito a fili gaban direbobi biyu, mai lissafi, da wani dattijo ɗan uwa da ya shigo daga kasuwa da ƙurar Kantin Kwari a hanci. Aisha na tsaye da tray a hannu, wayarta na yi mata ɗan haske a tafin hannu daga saƙon da ba ta buɗe ba. A kan allo na roster da aka manna kusa da dispatch counter, sunan Mansur ne a layin “mai kula da fitowar kaya.” Ƙasan takardar, inda alamar pin ta ci gilashin sanarwa a da, akwai wani tabo mai duhu kamar an taɓa manna wata takarda a can na tsawon lokaci.

Aisha ta ajiye tray ɗin a hankali, ba tare da ta kalli Mansur ba. “Tea zai huce,” ta ce. Sai ta ɗauki rasit ɗin da ya miƙa mata, ta juya shi. A bayan rasit ɗin akwai lambar tafiyar mota zuwa Zinder da ta rubuta da hannunta tun jiya, amma Mansur ya goge sunan wanda ya karɓi umarni, ya saka gajeren rubutu: “assistant.” A gaban kowa.

Khadija, mai lissafi, ta ɗan sosa wuya ta kau da ido. Dattijon ya yi gyaran murya kamar wanda bai son ganin abin da yake gani. Mansur kuwa ya ɗaga keys ɗin ofis ɗin yana kaɗawa. “Idan kin gama, ki share counter ma. Alhaji Bako na zuwa.”

Abin da ya fi zafi ba tea ba ne, ba rasit ba ne. Shekaru uku kenan tun rasuwar Hajiya Maryam, matar da ta kafa wannan ƙaramin ofishin logistics a Sabon Gari kafin a haɗa shi da gidan Alhaji Bako. Tun daga lokacin, Aisha ce ke ɗaure dispatch, tana sanin lambobin direbobi, hanyar Accra, yadda ake ciro kudi ta waya idan an yi blackout. Amma idan za a rubuta suna a fili, sai a maida ta yar aikin ɗauko ruwa.

Ta ɗaga rasit ɗin, ta duba tabon tawada da aka goge. “An yi gyara a nan.”

Mansur ya yi ƙaramin dariya. “To? Ke yanzu za ki duba min rubutu? Je ki yi abin da na ce.”

Maimakon ta juya zuwa kitchen ɗin baya, sai ta taka zuwa shelf ɗin tsofaffin register a bayan counter. Kowa ya ga ta yi hakan. Mansur ya miƙa hannu kamar zai hana ta, amma ta riga ta cire wani tsohon kundin dispatch mai datti a gefe, gefensa ya tsage da yawa ana buɗewa ana rufewa. Ta shimfiɗa shi kan counter, ta lalubo shafin da lambar Zinder ta ke.

A can ne ƙaramin kuskure ya huda mata zuciya kamar allura mai sanyi. A jerin fitowar shekaru biyu da suka wuce, layin mota KNA 442 ya nuna: “An karɓi umarni daga Aisha Maryam, acting desk.” Amma a gefen shafin, a inda aka sake gyara da jan biro daga baya, an lulluɓe “Aisha Maryam” da wata murabba’ar tawada, an rubuta “helper.” Ba don kuskure ba. Don a binne.

Ta rufe littafin da tafin hannu kafin Mansur ya kai ga gani sosai. Wannan ne farkon abin da za a iya karantawa, ba zargi ba. Ta ji zuciyarta ta yi tsalle, amma fuskarta ta yi sanyi.

“Ki mayar da shi.” Mansur ya matso, muryarsa ta sauya. “Wa ya ce ki taɓa archive?”

“Wanda ya taɓa gyara shi ba tare da ya sa hannu ba shi ma wa ya ba shi izini?” ta mayar a taƙaice.

Khadija ta ɗago kai da sauri. Wannan karon ba ta kau da ido ba. Mansur ya so ya yi tsawa, sai a waje aka ji karar babur ya tsaya. Sadiq ne ya shigo da hanzari, ya daga hularsa. Shi ne ke kula da manyan direbobi a wajen loading, kuma dangin gida sun riga sun san ana kallon sa da Aisha da ido mai tsauri; ba wanda ya taɓa yarda su tsaya kusa su yi magana fiye da kima. Yau ma ya tsaya da nisan mutunci, amma idanunsa sun sauka kan register ɗin da Aisha ke riƙe da shi.

“Motar Accra ta dawo da takardar karɓa,” ya ce. Sai ya lura da yanayin ɗakin. “Me ya faru?”

“Babu komai,” Mansur ya faɗa da sauri. “Aisha ta manta aikinta.”

Aisha ta juya takardar karɓar da Sadiq ya kawo. A saman takardar akwai timestamp na waybill ɗin da ta gani a tsohon register. Da hannu ɗaya ta jera takardar sabon isowa kusa da tsohon shafin. Lambobi sun yi daidai. Har ma da kusurwar da takardar ke murɗewa saboda an taɓa manna photocopy a kanta. “Khadija,” Aisha ta ce, “karanta min wannan layin. Da ƙarfi.”

Mansur ya ce, “Ba sai—”

Khadija ta karɓi takardar kamar wadda ta shanye ƙura. “KNA 442… an ɗora kaya da umarni daga… Aisha Maryam, acting desk.” Sai ta juyo ga tsohon register. “Anan kuma… an yi gyara a baya. Babu sa hannu.”

Dattijon da ya shigo daga kasuwa ya matsa kusa ba tare da ya nemi izini ba. Ya sa tabarau. Mansur ya yi ƙoƙarin jan register ɗin, amma Sadiq ya ɗora hannunsa kan gefen littafin kawai, ba tsawa, ba gardama. Kawai hana motsi. Wannan ɗan abu kaɗan ya canza iska a ɗakin fiye da ihu.

“Ka tashi daga kujerar nan tukuna,” dattijon ya ce wa Mansur a sanyi. Ba a yi masa magana haka a wannan ofis ba tun daɗe. “A bar a duba.”

Mansur bai motsa da wuri ba. Sai Khadija ta ja allon ƙananan schedule daga gabansa, ta ajiye a gefe, kamar an riga an cire ikon bayar da umarni daga hannunsa. Direbobin da suka zo ɗaukar kuɗin hanya suka tsaya a bakin ƙofa, ba su shiga ba.

Aisha ba ta ji daɗin wannan canjin ba; ta ji tsoro ne. Idan akwai gyara a shafi guda, akwai wanda ya yi shi da niyya. Idan niyya ce, to akwai wani abu mai zurfi da ake rufe wa. Mansur ya fahimci wannan ma. Ya kai hannu zuwa drawer na ƙasa da keys ɗinsa, ya ciro ƙaramin bunch na makullai. “Wannan tsofaffin fayiloli na sama ba na kowa ba ne,” ya ce. “Alhaji Bako ne kaɗai—”

Ya juya da niyyar fita da makullan.

Aisha ta zaga counter cikin sauri. Ba gudu ta yi ba; sauri ne mai kyau da ya sa tray ɗin tea ya ɗan karkata ya buga gilashi. “Ka buɗe.”

“Ki kauce min.”

“A’a.” Wannan karon muryarta ta fito a fili. “Tunda ka iya sauya suna a rubuce, za ka iya ɓoye sauran shaidar. Ka buɗe yanzu.”

A bakin ƙofa ne Alhaji Bako ya bayyana, jallabiyarsa ta ɗauko ɗan ƙurar titi, wayarsa a hannu. Hasken allon ya yi shuɗi a tafin hannunsa. Bai yi sallama mai tsawo ba; ya duba faces ɗin ɗakin ya gane ba lokacin nuna iko da annashuwa ba ne. “Me ake buƙata?”

Mansur ya yi saurin cewa, “Babu komai, yarinya ce tana hayaniya kan tsohon register—”

Aisha ta miƙa tsohon shafin da sabon waybill gareshi kai tsaye. “Akwai gyaran suna ba tare da sa hannu ba. Kuma akwai sama.” Ta nuna tabon tsohon pin a ƙasan notice glass. “An taɓa manna takarda a wurin nan. An cire ta.”

Wani abu ya motsa a fuskar Alhaji Bako, ba mamaki cikakke ba, amma irin na mutum da aka kama da abin da ya taɓa yarda ya rufe ido a kai. Ya buɗe drawer ɗin da key ɗinsa, ba na Mansur ba. Daga ciki ya fito da ledger mai bakin murfi da wani folder mai launin kasa, gefensa ya yi fari saboda shekaru. Mansur ya yi gaba kamar zai karɓe shi.

“Tsaya.” Kalmar Alhaji Bako ta tsaya masa a ƙirji.

An buɗe folder ɗin a kan counter ɗin dispatch, inda ake auna parcels da lissafin kaya kullum. Babu kotu, babu taro; wannan fili ne na aiki, amma a nan ne rayuwar mutane ke canzawa idan suna ya motsa layi ɗaya. A saman folder ɗin akwai takardar tsohon umarni daga lokacin da Hajiya Maryam ta yi rashin lafiya sosai. A ƙasa akwai kwafin izinin wucin gadi na desk. Ba a rubuta “helper” ba. Ba a rubuta “assistant” ba.

An rubuta: “Aisha Maryam Bako — authorised desk signatory until further notice.”

Khadija ta yi shakar iska mai kaifi. Sadiq ya sauke idanunsa ƙasa, amma ba domin kunya ba; kamar wanda yake ba wa magana hanya ta fito daga takarda, ba daga mutane ba. Dattijon ya ɗan matsa tabarau sama.

Mansur ya yi gaggawar cewa, “Ai wucin gadi ne. Bayan mutuwarta—”

Aisha ta ɗauki ledger ɗin kafin kalmarsa ta gama. A layin gaba, bayan wata shida da rasuwar Hajiya Maryam, akwai jerin sabunta izini, stamps uku, da sa hannun Alhaji Bako kansa. Ba kawai “acting” ba ne. A gefe kuma akwai wata wasiƙar ciki da aka manna sannan aka cire, tabon mannewa ya tsaya. A ƙarƙashinta an rubuta da tsohuwar tawada: “a ci gaba da amfani da sunanta na gida a cikin rijista har zuwa sanarwar canji.” Sunanta na gida. Ba “helper” ba. Ba ma “Aisha Maryam” kaɗai ba.

Aisha ta ji kamar an buɗe ƙofar da aka daɗe ana rufe ta da katako. Duk shekarun da ake mayar da ita baya a matsayin ɗauko tea, share counter, je ki kira direba — ba don ba ta da alaƙa da tsarin ba. Don suna da ke ba ta wurin zama an danne shi da gangan. Ita ba baƙuwa ba ce a nan. Ba ma yar aikin da aka ɗauko daga waje ba. Ita ce ‘yar Hajiya Maryam da aka yi wa rijista a matsayin cikin layin ikon desk tun kafin mutuwar mahaifiyarta, amma aka yanka wannan layin bayan mutuwa a baki kawai, ba a rubuce ba.

Alhaji Bako bai yi dogon bayani ba. Fuskar dattijon nan ta yi nauyin wanda ya gane abin da ya bari ya lalace. Mansur ya sake kai hannu ga folder ɗin. Wannan karon hannunsa ya yi saurin da ya fallasa tsoronsa. “A ba ni, in kai ciki, a duba da kyau—”

“A’a.” Aisha ta janye takardun gaba ɗaya. “An duba.”

Ta ja blank notice form daga gefen counter, inda ake rubuta sauyin jadawalin kaya. Da hannu mai sanyi ta rubuta a fili: “Sunan mai kula da dispatch: Aisha Maryam Bako.” A ƙasa ta lissafo lambar takardun da suka goyi bayan gyaran: tsohon register, waybill na KNA 442, izinin desk signatory, sabuntawar cikin ledger. Ba ta dubi Mansur ba. Ba ta nemi kowa ya yarda ba.

Mansur ya ce, “Wannan ba yadda ake—”

Khadija ta mayar masa da roster ɗin da ke kan bango. Amma ba ta mayar masa kamar mai biyayya ba. Ta ciro sunan da ya liƙa da tape, ta ajiye a gaban sa. “Ba zan sake shiga lissafi da rubutun da ba shi da sa hannu ba,” ta ce a hankali.

Wannan ne fasa na ƙarshe. Mansur ya tsaya tsaye ba tare da kujera ba, keys a hannunsa amma babu ƙofa da zai rufe yanzu. Direbobin bakin ƙofa ba su yi surutu ba; sun yi abin da ya fi muni ga mai son iko—sun jira takarda. A irin wannan wuri, magana na iya jujjuyawa; abin da aka manna a gilashi ba ya juyawa da sauƙi.

Sadiq ya matsa mataki ɗaya kawai, nisan da har yanzu yake mutunci a gaban mutane amma ya isa idan Aisha ta miƙa wani abu. Ta ba shi pin ɗin da ke gefen allon sanarwa. Yatsunsu ba su daɗe sun taɓa ba. Iska ta ɗan yi nauyi a tsakaninsu saboda idanuwan mutane da kuma shekarun da aka hana komai suna. Amma ba shi ne zai yi mata wannan aikin ba.

Aisha ta karɓi pin ɗin daga hannunsa, ta kai takardar zuwa notice glass ɗin da ke gefen dispatch counter. A can ƙasa, tabon tsohuwar takarda da aka taɓa cirewa ya yi daidai da sabon rubutun da ta yi, kamar wurin ya dade yana jiran a cike shi da abin da aka sace masa. Ta daidaita kusurwa ɗaya, takardar ta so ta zame saboda tsohon tabon manne da ƙurar da ke gilashin. Ta ɗaga ta kaɗan, ta sake shimfiɗa ta da tafin hannunta.

Sai ta soka pin ɗin kai tsaye ta tsakiyar sama, daidai inda tsohon alamar cizo a gilashin take. Takardar ta karkata na ɗan daƙiƙa guda, sannan ta tsaya zub da kanta a madaidaiciyar layi, ta daina zamewa.