It was a rainy evening and the traffic
jam was beginning to ease up. The
back of the bus was so stuffy and the
windows were tightly shut. A fetid
odour coming from a man wearing a
black shirt assailed my nose. His body
was touching mine and I moved to
avoid any contact while holding my
breath but it was impossible because
five people were crammed in the back
of this yellow commercial bus. I
successfully hung the folded
newspaper I was holding to prevent
his body from touching mine but my
satisfaction was yanked off abruptly
when the bus ran into a pot hole and
the newspaper fell down. His stench
had pervaded the air in the back of the
bus and the odour never failed to
harass my nose anytime I gave in to
my air hunger. Amidst the discomfort,
joy still lingered in my heart because I
had just successfully landed a new
client who paid one million naira into
my bank account.
You would think that I will buy myself
a car and stop taking these terrible
buses now that I can afford one but
the truth is my girlfriend has been
badgering me for what she calls her
“assurance” so I decided to buy her a
car first while I still endure commuting
in these terrible buses. My friends
think I am spending too much on my
girlfriend but I hold the opposite as
my opinion. I always reply them on a
lighter note saying, “If I don’t lavish
her with gifts, who will?” To my
knowledge she has been faithful since
we started dating two years ago.
“Conductor, you never give me my
change” I protested loudly, switching
to what I call my “danfo persona”. It is
needed to make sure that these bus
conductors don’t cheat you. Just
yesterday, my girlfriend forgot to
collect her change from the conductor,
there is no way I’m letting that happen
to me. For someone who has just spent
a month in this city, I think I am a
pretty fast learner.
“Oga wait I never get change!”
“I go soon reach my bus stop,” I
interrupted.
“You no hear when I talk say make you
enter with your change, I no send you
o,” he said rudely while straightening
the money he squeezed in his hands.
“You no tell me anything o, no follow
me talk rubbish,” it is hard to be level-
headed and dignified when it is time
to collect your change from these crazy
conductors.
Thankfully, I didn’t have to descend so
low to engage in a scuffle with the
conductor to get my change. I alighted
from the bus, crossed to the other side
of the road using an overhead bridge. I
took the last bus to the junction of my
house, longing for the comfort of my
bed as I sat in the bus.
No sooner had I boarded the bus than
I was struck very hard on my scapula
with a gun. I clasped my shoulder
instinctively and let out a loud groan
of pain. I was slapped by a burly man
in ankara sitting next to me. I don
enter one chance
I don’t know why but my mind drifted
to last week when my mum came to
visit me from Abeokuta in Ogun state.
“Fela be careful in this city and always
commit your day to God’s hand before
you go out. So gbo?”
I can’t remember when last I prayed
before I left the house. I haven’t even
attended a church service since I
arrived this city. Now will God hear
my prayer and save me from these
hoodlums? I dont want to die, not
now!
“How much you get for hand?”
“I no get anything, na only…” I
emptied my pocket clumsily and gave
them what was left on me – one
thousand and two hundred naira.
“Bring your atm card!” I handed it
over to him without any reluctance.
My mission was to keep myself alive,
hoping my cooperation will secure my
freedom, provided this was just a
robbery and nothing more. Another
slap landed on my left cheek after I
handed the one thousand and two
hundred naira in my pocket.
Dumbfounded, I placed my palm on
my cheeks trying to salve the pain
from the slap.
“We be like beggars for your eyes?” he
bellowed.
To my utter amazement, one of them
pulled out a point of sale terminal
from a black bag.
“What is your pin?”
“1985,” I replied in a trembling voice.
I gawked at the man as he punched in
the pin. Fortune smiled on me, the
network was very bad. No successful
transaction was made.
The bus parked at the nearest ATM
and I watched as one of the hoodlums
got off the bus to withdraw the money.
Every time my phone vibrated in my
pocket was like a stab in my heart — a
reminder that my hard earned money
was slowly leaking out of my bank
account. What hurt more than losing
my money was that I was helpless in
the moment.
What a sweet bitter day, the initial
exhilaration I felt when I got the
money had given way to a feeling of
misery. It reminded me of the bitter
after taste you get when you drink
water immediately after eating
walnut. I found solace in the fact that
they couldn’t withdraw more than one
hundred thousand naira a day.
Will they be satisfied with just a
hundred thousand naira? Will they let
me go? Will they kidnap me or even
kill me?
Different bleak thoughts skittered
through my mind, I just wanted to get
off the bus in one piece. I had no other
wish. I just wanted to be home in the
company of loved ones. The guy who
went to withdraw the money just got
back into the bus as I watched him
confer with the remaining five guys,
they talked inaudibly for about a
minute. I was scared, engulfed in the
uncertainty of what was going on. The
guy in Ankara told me to bring out my
phone and do a mobile transfer of the
remaining money. He punched me
repeatedly on my jaw as he made the
request. The thought of lying that I
wasn’t registered for mobile transfer
vanished before I could even consider
it.
After a brutal pummeling I was pushed
out of the bus with just my blood
stained singlet on my back and my
boxer short. I struggled to steady
myself and coiled on the floor in
excruciating pain retching and gasping
while holding my stomach firmly. I
was totally oblivious to the different
curious stares passers-by shot me with
one final thought on my mind — Is this
how a man goes from having seven
figures in his bank account to having
insufficient fund too low to load a
hundred naira recharge card?
I passed out. Chai! Eko for show.!
