Ojuelegba To CMS
Chukwuemeka Oluka@emmanueloluka561455
7 days ago
Written By: Chukwuemeka Oluka
The day wore a bright smile, a few hours after the alarm clock rang. The sound of that little device oscillating between two metal plates signalled the start of the day’s routine. The Adhan by the Mu’adhin echoed, "Prayer is better than sleep; prayer is better than sleep." The Christian counterpart did come alive with a pitch-perfect megaphone. The tone for the day was set.
He tried to catch some sleep despite the chaos, but he quickly remembered he had spent all the money he made the previous day servicing the Danfo at the mechanic. Any more slumber would mean his lovely family would go hungry for the rest of the week.
He jolted from the bed, went straight for his shirt, and took out a shining sachet of hot drink from the breast pocket. He rinsed his mouth vigorously with it. He took a few gulps while squeezing his eyes and pouting his mouth occasionally. It was the very last gulp he remembered to pour some libations.
With seven alligator pepper seeds, he drew a circle over his head three times and murmured some words into his open palms — a warning that his enemies should steer clear. With a chewing stick thrust into his mouth, he hopped onto the Danfo and steered the wheel.
At Ojuelegba flyover, the smiling and rising sun seemed to have been ousted by the gathering clouds. The grounds became wet, and the surrounding gutters filled to a glaring nuisance. The crowd at the bus stop was agitated. Some were looking over their watches. He pulled over, and in a blink of an eye, the Danfo was loaded.
“Make ona begin arrange ona money line by line abeg. Make everybody hold change for hand oo,” he shouted as the journey began.
The noise in the crowded bus was insane! No one paid attention to him.
Close to the window at the edge of the last row was a young man. Call him Ake. He seemed to be a cold-blooded animal.
“Oga, you no see say breeze and water dey follow that window enter?” a distraught passenger asked Ake.
Ake remained mute. His silence was loud. Soon, the window glasses could be seen sliding north and south in quick succession as though dancing to Fela’s classic, “Open And Close.” A fight was brewing in the crowded bus.
“why you dey look back na… Oga craze dey worry you ni? Fire dis bus abeg. I don late for work” was the missile that hit the danfo driver from a passenger, when he attempted to look back to make sense of what was happening.
“Werey! Come carry the steering na…” he fired back.
“Ahhhh...” the passengers resounded, with mouths thrown ajar.
The rain lashed and lashed. The noise in the bus kept growing. Only God could tell what was scheming in the mind of the driver. First, the passengers had defied his instruction to pay their fares line by line. Now, a challenge was squared up to him. He needed to let them know Lagos made him mad. He looked set to prove who truly called the shot.
On sighting a petrol station, he pulled over. It was at Costain roundabout. There, it is nearly impossible to board a bus during rush hours in the morning. All the buses would have been filled.
“Make I see how ona go reach cms today. Shay ona say I dey craze abi?” he murmured.
He put off his ignition and disembarked from the Danfo. The push and pull at Ake’s window took a forced recess. This time, no one remembered the cold and breeze. They were all consumed in a wild thought of what the Danfo driver was up to. One by one, they disembarked from the bus. They could be seen swelling up. Some with flushed faces and throbbing veins on their neck as they yelled insults.
“Abi na fuel finish for dis bus so?” they questioned in bewilderment as they seemed ready for a fight.
Like a one-man squad, the driver returned energy for energy and the missile of words would blow the petrol station off.
“When ona ready, make ona let me know,” the driver said after the danfo crawled to stop and he disembarked from it.
Ake was calm and less agitated. While others directed an onslaught towards the driver, he was mute. Taciturn. The kind of composure he wore was riveting. The steeze was surreal. He was unperturbed and was the only passenger left in the Danfo. He stayed put and watched the drama from the comfort of his seat.
Somehow, few of them suspected the driver needed money to refill his tank. They remembered he had told them to arrange their fares line by line when the journey started at Ojuelegba flyover. Quickly, they began to do the needful. The one who had challenged the driver because he looked back to know why a fight loomed between Ake and the rest was collecting the fares.
Time was ticking. The rain was unrelenting and the traffic building gradually.
Ake removed something that looked like an ear pod from his ears and beckoned at the driver. Surprisingly, the driver obliged him. Ake listened carefully while he explained and after a while, the driver hopped onto the bus and started the ignition. The rest felt he was trying to position the fuel tank for a refill, but he took a reverse turn and zoomed off.
Once he was out of the petrol station, his Nokia phone beeped. With one hand operating the steering, he skimmed through the message with the other hand. Turning back, he nodded and gave Ake the thumbs up. The mobile transfer for the 24-seater passenger fare was successful. Did he need money for a fuel refill after all? If only the loquacious passengers had kept to his instructions...
"Eskelebe ti o lebebe!” was the loud shout one could hear from afar. It was not sure if it came from one of the stranded passengers at Costain.
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📍Lagos, Nigeria
