‘Mechanic no far’, meaning the mechanic isn’t far, was the nickname our neighbours gave our old Peugeot 504 because it could never start without helping hands. Every morning Dad, Mum, my brother and I, and sometimes our neighbours, would push the old white car to kickstart the engine. We often pushed till we were shiny with sweat and breathless. Sometimes it would take an hour for the old engine to cough and then sputter into life, groaning and farting thick smoke as it jerked along.

The car was a source of embarrassment to my brother and me. How on earth could we hold our heads high at school? We pleaded with Dad everyday to buy a new car but Dad was the stubborn type. ‘Do you know this car has traversed every state in this country?’ he’d claim. We didn’t care what miracles the car had performed. For me, I needed a new car if I was to realize my ambition of becoming head boy at school. After all, who would give such a prestigious position to a boy who comes to school in a scrap car every morning? Besides how would Onome ever take my advances seriously?

At the same time I wondered if life would ever be the same if ‘mechanic no far’ exited our lives for good. I was fifteen years old, and the car had always been a part of my life. Indeed, I had some good memories in the car, like when we visited Shiroro dam in Niger state or Yankari game reserve in Bauchi state. But it was time to say goodbye, or so my brother and I thought.

One day Dad came back from work looking so sad. His rugged face drooped to his chest as he informed us that he had decided to trade in ‘Mechanic no far’ for a small Japanese car. He wouldn’t tell us why and never did even years later. My brother and I couldn’t believe what we were hearing. We were overjoyed and fantasized about the new Japanese car endlessly.

One Saturday morning a high-pitched horn sounded at the gate. When we ran to answer it we saw a small tortoise-like car staring at us. It was disappointment at first sight. We flung open the gates, silently daring Dad to tell us this was the car swap. Dad parked in front of the house. He switched off the purring engine and emerged from the car. ‘This is the new car.’
‘Eh?’ went my brother but Dad had already turned his stony face toward the house, beating away. We encircled it observing every detail. It was indeed an ugly tortoise: blue exterior; grey interior. Outside it was dented and looked lopsided, as if the tyres were ill-fitted. Inside it looked cramped, claustrophobic and tattered.
Dad must have read our thoughts because afterwards he told us, ‘It may not look so good but it starts good.’

That wasn’t good enough for us boys. We set to work washing, dusting, polishing, and shining until we transformed the car into an attractive beauty. Monday morning came and going to school didn’t seem so daunting. We hopped into the tortoise eagerly, praying the neighbours will come and check out our new ride.
At school, I slowly climbed down from the car hoping my classmates would take note. Nobody did, or appeared to care. I was waiting for the comments to pour in in class but nobody said a word. Finally I had to nudge Obiora, my friend. ‘Have you seen my Dad’s new knock about?’ I asked as casually as I could. He paused for a moment, and then nodded no.

Back at home we drove in unnoticed. It was three days before my neighbour, Papa Ejiro called me aside and asked what had happened to our old car. I replied Dad had sold it. His reaction baffled me. ‘Chei!’ he exclaimed causing the bitter cola lodged between his teeth to drop to the floor.
What was that supposed to mean? Why had everyone suddenly lost interest in our car? When we had ‘Mechanic no far,’ we achieved near-celebrity status. Now with Mister Tortoise, nobody appeared to care.

Ten years on, Dad now drives a Nissan Armada. Our pushing car days are far behind us, but neighbours still tell anyone who cares to listen about our ‘Mechanic no far’ days. Even the Armada has not elicited that much recognition. I drive a sleek car of my own now, but I still ponder: ‘what was it about ‘mechanic no far’ that made it such an icon, and why has no other car we’ve had ever since achieved such recognition?

I read that on your blog the other day. Nice!

Oh nostalgia!

What's funny is the irony of it all.

You be bad girl. Your next story should be from a female perspective- leave the boys alone now, wetin we do you?

Ha ha ha! Don't worry, my next story is sooo feminine

^Better, tell us how a woman feels when she is in love.

Lol, your misery was their fun. When misery left, their fun left as well.

You should keep them coming and later compile them for a book.

Your voice is unique.

Thanks, Orikinla.

Love this story.

Oluchi we don't see you any more in the Literature Section. Where art thou?

nice piece of work! 'Luv it! Good job OP.