I sat wearily in the bus in an angle 90 position in hopes I won’t stain the back of my shirt today as sweat beads rolled down my face and I struggled to wipe them with my ‘it-was-white’ hanky.
Ah!!! Obalende! CMS! Lekki-Chisco-Katé! Lekki-Jakande! The conductors and agberos called out the destinations to prospective passengers walking by as their voices creaked, croaked and bleated like an opera of crickets, frogs and goats. They seemed to be in a competition to outdo each other in getting their buses filled, so it was a gabbling staccato instead.
I had sat for 20 minutes and mine was yet to fill because people came and left cussing below their breaths when they heard Ajah to Obalende was N350 instead of N250. The scorching sun of 11 AM seemed to be on a mission to drain a fine boy’s energy like mine out and not too long, I slept off.
“Comot there! Make people wey hold money enter motor. You no dey see fuel queue wey long pass Samson hair abi?” The conductor of my bus barked at someone and I was jolted to consciousness. When I looked around, my bus was nearly filled with the only seat beside mine empty. I looked at the door and behold it was the prettiest daughter of Eve my jaded eyes have ever seen on planet earth arguing with the conductor.
“It is N250 I am paying. Don’t be greedy Mr Conductor.” “Sweessh”, the conductor hissed and stretched his arm to call someone else. Wearing only a singlet, his armpit looked like the bush track Mungo Park walked through on his Niger expedition. Clearly, that armpit hadn’t romanced a shaving stick in donkey years. Chioma Ajunwa could actually take a swing from its twig-like hair and win another gold for us…Up Naija 2018 my thoughts raced.
However, being the kind, smooth-criminal I am, I quickly offered to pay N100 from my borrowed T-fare money for this fantastic daughter of Eve in hopes I could get her number later and she stepped in, pushing the conductor slightly as she sat.
Vroom! Vu-Vroom!! The bus’ engine roared and we exited Under-bridge Ajah. Getting to VGC, behold, the fuel queue at North West petrol station was indeed longer than Buhari’s looters’ list.
“Hmmm”, I exhaled and shook my head. “God please let me not miss this interview.” I silently prayed.
“Gala, Lacasera. Gala, Lacasera.” The hawkers shouted as they swarmed us with their wares. I swallowed saliva hard when I saw how chilled the drinks were and the sausage rolls looking all puffed like they just finished weightlifting.
I wished I could buy and eat given how hungry I was and my intestinal worms already dancing shaku-shaku but it meant I would trek back from Ikoyi to Ajah after my interview and I wasn’t ready to join the list of corporate beggars today.
“Hey”, a sweet, feminine voice called out. “Please gimme 2 gala and one lacasera with boiled egg.” I turned and saw that it was the almighty chick I completed her bus fare earlier ordering what was even above the N100 I paid for her and acting so cool like she wasn’t the one arguing with the conductor.
Good Lord! I yelped. “If you had money for this, why couldn’t you pay the N100?” I asked her. She just frowned and retorted, “Ogbeni, calm down. Did I force you to pay?”
“Hahahaha, Kikikiki.” The passengers erupted in laughter, as the fuel queue eased and the bus moved.