The Radio at 2 AM

In Bodija, Ibadan, there was an old mechanic named Baba Tunde. His shop was under the big mango tree near the railway line. Everyone said if your car wouldn’t start, Baba Tunde could make it talk.

But nobody knew Baba Tunde listened to the radio every night at 2 AM.

Not music. News from Lagos, Abuja, London. He’d sit on his upside-down bucket, flashlight on, eyes closed, like the voices were praying for him.

One night, the news said: “The 2024 Indonesian election results are in. Prabowo Subianto has claimed victory.”

Baba Tunde opened his eyes. Indonesia. He’d never been outside Nigeria. But 20 years ago, a young apprentice from his shop, Segun, had left to work on a ship. Segun’s last letter came from Jakarta.

Baba Tunde hadn’t heard from him since.

He turned the radio off, walked to his bench, and pulled out a rusted metal box. Inside was a photo: Segun, 22 years old, grinning with oil on his face, holding a wrench. On the back, written in shaky English: “If I make it, I’ll send for you, Baba.”

Baba Tunde whispered to the photo, “Make it then, boy. Make it.”

Two weeks later, a WhatsApp video call came in. Unknown number.

It was Segun. Older, with a scar on his eyebrow, standing in front of a garage in Jakarta.

“Baba! I heard the election news. They said it on the radio here too. I thought of you. I’m okay. I own this place now.”

Baba Tunde didn’t cry. Mechanics don’t. He just said, “You remember how to fix a carburetor with a bottle cap?”

Segun laughed. “Only you would ask that, Baba.”

They talked for an hour. About Indonesia, about Ibadan, about the mango tree that was still standing.

When the call ended, Baba Tunde put the phone down and went back to the radio.

Because some stories don’t end. They just wait for 2 AM.

---