THE MAN IN THE YELLOW RAINCOAT

It began to rain earlier than the sun rose, gently at first, and then very hard, striking the old zinc roof of the house belonging to my parents in Abeokuta. The air was wet and dusty, and the sky was a sheet of gray in the town. I was now at the window, and watched the water running through the guttering like little rivers. When it rained my street always changed. Women carried their wrappers high, men hoisted trousers, children were dancing in puddles. But this morning was different. I had heard voices outside, people calling a name which I had not heard in years. “Sam is back.” I pushed the curtain aside. This man was a tall person who was wearing a bright yellow raincoat. The hood had enshrouded the greater part of his face, but I recognised him. Everyone did. Sam was a mechanic in the junction years ago when I was in secondary school. He was not loud or famous. Nonetheless, there were those who were talking about him as though he had something in his chest more than quiet.  [Image Source](https://pixabay.com/illustrations/girl-rain-raincoat-umbrella-drop-8861154/) I recalled this afternoon when I was ten. I was weeping over a busted tire tube that I had ruined and I thought my father would whoop me. Sam pushed up beside me, and adjusted the tube, and made no more. It was the first occasion that I considered the possibility that common people have more secrets than they may look. At this he turned to go to the river path. Something must have occurred. I got an umbrella and trailed behind. The surface was loose and greasy. Water was rushing down the bank of the road, and towards the river, which never failed to swell in a prolonged downpour. Close to the bridge there was a little group of people in the rain. Two boys argued. “It sank deeper,” one said. “It didn’t,” the other replied. “You just couldn’t reach.” On the wet grass a young girl was sitting and embracing her knees. The purple sandal was floating on the brown water. She was concerned and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. Sam got off his hood and knelt alongside her. “What happened?” he asked. “My puppy,” she whispered. “He fell in.” It was not a wild river, but the current was so great that it dragged little things away. I went nearer and then beheld a small brown head struggling in a tangle of branches under the bridge. Sam stood slowly. “Nobody goes close,” he said. “I will try.” He threw away his raincoat and got it on the grass. He was wearing a blue shirt beneath, which was worn out. I saw an indistinct scar by his neck, which I never saw years ago. The rain softened a little. Sam stepped into the river. The water had up to his knees, and then up to his waist. The girl held her breath. “Can he swim?” a boy asked.  [Image Source](https://pixabay.com/photos/puddle-kid-street-after-rain-2863648/) “Of course,” another replied. Feeling his way under the water, Sam went slowly on. The stream kept on him but still he did. Something, I could not hear what he said. The puppy got pushed around again, and was now weak. Sam came to the branches and squatted. He was lost as he went beneath the muddy water for a moment. The girl sobbed. I felt my stomach tighten. Then Sam stood up, the puppy wet upon his breast. The crowd clapped. The girl stumbled on, and nearly tripped. Sam gave her the trembling creature. “It’s okay,” he said quietly. It was as gold to her that she held the puppy. “Thank you,” she said. Sam went back and nodded and walked back to his coat. One person was inquiring whether he needed assistance but he shook his head. He took the raincoat, held up his hood and walked away. “Sam!” I called. He paused and turned back and waited. “You’re back in town?” “For now,” he said. He was whispering, as though he did not wish to disturb the rain. “Where have you been?” “Around,” he smiled. Perhaps I will start up the old shop. I didn’t know what else to say. The river behind us went on its way, as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Nevertheless I still could sense the silence of the moment. Nodding his head once, Sam strolled away in his yellow raincoat flashing in the gray morning. As he rounded the corner he had disappeared. I was long standing there, listening to the river and as the rain slowed down until the sky had started to lighten. And there was the morning the man in the yellow raincoat came back, silent and prosaic and yet in a way bigger than the rest of us.