Hanifah Kaka
@hanifahkaka060056
1 year ago
IBADAN- A METROPOLITAN CITY
I sigh for the umpteenth time in – I glance at my watch – five minutes. I’ve been standing on the side of the road, trying to hail a cab – or better put, the legendary maruwa (tricycle) drivers. There’s nary a tricycle that passes me by without being filled up with passengers. It always is so annoying how they never choose to consider the passengers standing stranded on the side of the road.
Finally, a maruwa screeches to a halt in front of me, and a young woman descends, so I approach the driver.
“Bus stop.” He nods at me to hop in, and I thank heavens. The wait was over. I ask the golden question. “How much?”
“700 naira.”
I freeze in my attempt to sit and roll my eyes. This is yet, another opportunity for these drivers to exploit stranded passengers, but I wasn’t taking the bait. I put my leg back down, standing and holding the pole joining the tricycle together, in case he decides to leave, then I stare at him with a pointed glare.
“500 naira.” That is the regular price, or if I am lucky, I find drivers ready to take me for 450 naira. But due to the hike in fuel price, it has been arduous.
“Aunty, 700 naira ni.” Then he sighs, already agitated by one of the seated passengers who now hisses for wasting her time. “Mo le gbe yin fun 650 naira.” He says in Yoruba. I can take you for 650 naira.
I release my hold on the pole. I wouldn’t be going for anything more than 500. “E ma lo.” You can go.
I turn to walk away in a bid to find another driver and steal a glance at my watch, a depiction that I had no time to waste, then he calls me back. “Do you have change?”
I stifle a smirk as I manage a small nod before settling into the back seat. That plan manages to work. But not always.
We begin our hiccup of a journey along the bumpy roads of Ibadan, Oyo state as I plugged in my earpiece to listen to music while savoring in the flurry blowing against my warm brown skin.
The city is beautiful in its own way, save for the unruly way its people decides to treat it. The demarcation of the road – indicating which vehicle is going to, and which vehicle is going fro – was lined with tall, aesthetically looking street lights which, in the dark gives the surrounding a false sense of golden yellow color.
The sway of the palm trees with the breeze catches my attention and I draw out my phone to click a photo. Smiling, I take a look at the photo which came out blur due to the vehicle in motion.
“Aunty, e toju phone yin o.” Aunty, keep your phone. The driver gives me a fleeting stare from the rear view mirror before adding in yoruba. “They will snatch your phone.”
I cringe at the thought of losing my phone so I clutch it tightly whilst still savoring in the view of my surroundings. The tricycle has now screeched to a halt. I look around, wondering why. The tricycle was filled with passengers, so – I look up. We are lined up behind some cars and it looks like we are at a stand still.
Casting my gaze a little higher, I notice the flicker of a crimson hue from a pole hanging way above our heads. A traffic light.
I use the opportunity to look around. I notice we were at Challenge now. The popular city in Ibadan notorious for its motor park. To my right, there are banks lined up after each other with ATM (Automated Teller Machines) dispensary units right outside each of the lofty buildings. A pedestrian crossing is not far from where cars were waiting, and I see tons of people briskly walking and crossing before the cars swing into motion, making about their day.
My nostrils twitch at a whiff of pie, meat and deliciously prepared sauce. I whip my head to the left and behold, the most aesthetically looking buildings were lined up as restaurants, which explains the scent earlier perceived. A grumbling sound came from my stomach and I wrap an arm around it to keep it quiet.
Honk! Honk!!
The traffic light have now appeared green and vehicles are honking as if the ones in front of them were going to fly to carve a path for them to pass through.
Finally, my vehicle began to move and the man next to me stretches and taps the driver. “Molete wa o.” I’d be dropping off at Molete.
Few drives and a beautiful bridge later, the vehicle stops to the hilt and the man highlights from the car.
“Oje, Gate. One!” The driver summons passengers as I glance at my watch, hoping I wouldn’t be delayed.
“Bere, Oje, Gate!!!”
“Wo, Oga..” A woman hisses. I stare at her understandably. She’d been in the vehicle longer than I have. “Let’s go jare.”
The driver ignores the woman and continues summoning passengers that never show up. My attention is diverted as I look at my surroundings.
Under the popular Molete bridge, lots of traders have set up their units and calling customers to buy their wares. The place is busy and filled with a kerfuffle of traders and customers.
“Mister!!” Yells the woman in the vehicle, dragging my attention back to her. “Are you moving or should I get down and find another vehicle?”
The man’s face creases a frown, unhappy to not have found a passenger, but kicks back his vehicle into motion, until we eventually leave the area.
I watch in awe, the auburn hued houses lined up after eachother, the beautiful trees and the faint scent of fuel as we pass by the fuel station. The smell was an acrid one, but it gave me a weird sensation that I love.
To the pleasure of the driver, he finds another passenger in Oja Oba – a small market with the roads so narrow, it made me wonder why they bother to demarcate it. The traders don’t even seem to care for their lives as both themselves and their goods sit at the edge of the road. My gaze flits through their goods and lingers on the enticingly fresh yam for a bit too long that the trader is asking me to buy her goods.
Before I’m able to apologize for not intending a purchase, the tricycle in which I’m seated, begins to move again.
I look around again, the rich auburn hued houses easing some of my nerves as I keep checking the time. The city is indeed beautiful, rich and filled with energetic people whom one wouldn’t think are affected by the upturn of events in their country – Nigeria.
In few minutes, we reach Bere and another of the passengers highlights from the vehicle. The driver picks up speed again and I hold unto the seat for support. The road isn’t a straight one. It was bent and entwined with another road in a way that you feel when you wear a recommended glasses that isn’t yours. The floor seems to be doubling and entwining in eachother and if careless, you lose your balance. That, there, is a perfect depiction of the roads of Bere.
I let go of the seat as we arrive Oje. I squirm in my seat with another glance of my watch. How did I get this late? Blaming the maruwa drivers for being slow with business, I tap the driver who was trying to summon other passengers, yet again.
I was getting agitated. “Ejo, e je ka lo.” Please, let’s go. I try to sound as calm as possible. Thankfully, he finds a passenger and scampers off the road again. I fish for my purse in my bag as we pass by a mosque and shortly after I notice the street was filled with bunches of banana as traders call out to customers.
Nearing bus stop in few minutes, I stretch the 500 naira note to the driver who received it and screeched to a halt, letting me get down.
I was greeted with the sharp smell of a lot of things, ranging from boiled corn, to roasted pie, Moin-Moin (Bean cake), and another hubbub of people either looking for drivers to transport them or drivers looking for more passengers to transport.
“Buy Rat poison!!!!!”
I flinched at the sharp noise from the speakers and wondered why it had to be so loud. Finally, I navigated my way through a bunch of traders, customers, passersby and drivers. Then I found the vehicle to transport me to my destination before I begin my day.
Indeed, it always is a beautiful journey, leaving nostalgia in its wake, for when I’d end my day and embark on another journey back home.
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