Earlier today, I boarded a bus to quickly see a friend at Onueke. The bus was clearly surviving out of the negligence of our Road safety agents or precisely their corruption. A sharp edge of its board peeled my skin as I scrattled into a more stable position. The middle-aged hippy woman seated beside me didn't even care to understand that it was a commercial bus and not her sitting room. She sprayed her thighs like a goalkeeper awaiting a shot, squeezing every other person on the row. She arched up her neck above our eyes and played deaf to our gentle plea for her to appose her hips even a little. We eventually gave up. After all it's just a little distance. 20 to 25 kilometres. My mind calmed as the pain on my bruised arm numbed gradually. Then I looked up to notice the conductor. He had turned to position his anal cleft directly over my face. 'Oga, biko shift small. Abeg, you go soon mess for my nose.' I cried out. As he turned his buttocks the opposite way, a clean, fresh air wafted across my nostrils. 'Oh sweet life!' I heaved, as I stared out through the cracked glass window. I looked back inside and noticed the conductor closely. He was in his early sixties with hollow eyes and torn greasy clothes, hairs forced grey, wrinkled skin, as tough and scaly as chitin. Evidence of poverty written in gold! He'd begun to collect our fare. As usual from the front seats and then to the back. He stretched his hand towards me, his fingers tremoring vigorously.
God have mercy! I thought to myself as I handed him the money. He leaned hands off the body of the bus as he made to arrange the notes. The bus suddenly galloped. He lunged forwards and nearly fell on the hippy woman beside me.
'Eh eh, nwokem. Hold yeh weakie sef. Don fall on me. Go an' fall ouside.' She barked at the old man, pushing him back immediately.
'Iwe ewele ghu, nwanyi mma, jus pay me.' Old man managed to say, tightly clasping his lips in order not to commit another offence, 'cos spitting on the woman might earn him a hard slap. It was then she fumed with rage. 'If daz the wey you speak to yeh wife at home don't speak it to me. Can you even be able to marry a wife sef! Old cargo wey no get reespet! And for daa nonsense, am not paying you money until I reach bustop. Idioootss!' she thundered, widening her laps more, hinging us further to the bus frame. Everyone was shocked at such an unwarranted outburst, all scared until the driver spoke.
'sorry madam...'
'Noo! Hold yeh piss! Don sorry me! Nonsense!' The bus went cold. Other passengers quietly paid up.
The driver stopped on the way to settle with their union people. 'Go quickly. Tell them we only carried half from the park!' The driver shouted at the conductor. The old man carefully hopped down and as he waddled to them with his lopsided gait, the driver whispered to us in response to the hippy woman:
'daa man you are seeing bin dey very very rich. He was my oga. I drive hire-purchase for him. Na him buy this bus we sidon so. He bin get five bus before on the road, riding for him. But now him no de fine food chop. E begged me to be my conductor. Am just trying him if he fit do the job well...' He said but quickly stopped and forced a cough as the old man rejoined us. 'so my people, this life no easy o! Things change good or bad. So, please be good. Always be good.' He urged, shaking his head and dying the talk as we drove off, this time, very quietly. Every eye except the hippy woman turned to the old conductor in pitiful glee. I imagined as much as others what must have happened.
We reached Onueke Park and I thought of engaging the old conductor in a friendly chat. Watching him stumble on every stone in the park; tiny or big, in lowliness and shame, I wondered what pain he must have felt and how difficult it must be for him to live life. I decided it would inflict more pain asking him his life's ordeal. 'God help him, please.' I whispered to myself.
As I turned to go, I heard a croaky voice shouting 'nwoke ocha! Please, yellow man! Eskuz me! Please!'
I looked back. It was the hippy woman, beckoning as she glided towards me like a giant tortoise. She looked lost and confused.
'Nooo!!! Not me, please!' I hissed in fright as I briskly disappeared in the crowd.
God have mercy! I thought to myself as I handed him the money. He leaned hands off the body of the bus as he made to arrange the notes. The bus suddenly galloped. He lunged forwards and nearly fell on the hippy woman beside me.
'Eh eh, nwokem. Hold yeh weakie sef. Don fall on me. Go an' fall ouside.' She barked at the old man, pushing him back immediately.
'Iwe ewele ghu, nwanyi mma, jus pay me.' Old man managed to say, tightly clasping his lips in order not to commit another offence, 'cos spitting on the woman might earn him a hard slap. It was then she fumed with rage. 'If daz the wey you speak to yeh wife at home don't speak it to me. Can you even be able to marry a wife sef! Old cargo wey no get reespet! And for daa nonsense, am not paying you money until I reach bustop. Idioootss!' she thundered, widening her laps more, hinging us further to the bus frame. Everyone was shocked at such an unwarranted outburst, all scared until the driver spoke.
'sorry madam...'
'Noo! Hold yeh piss! Don sorry me! Nonsense!' The bus went cold. Other passengers quietly paid up.
The driver stopped on the way to settle with their union people. 'Go quickly. Tell them we only carried half from the park!' The driver shouted at the conductor. The old man carefully hopped down and as he waddled to them with his lopsided gait, the driver whispered to us in response to the hippy woman:
'daa man you are seeing bin dey very very rich. He was my oga. I drive hire-purchase for him. Na him buy this bus we sidon so. He bin get five bus before on the road, riding for him. But now him no de fine food chop. E begged me to be my conductor. Am just trying him if he fit do the job well...' He said but quickly stopped and forced a cough as the old man rejoined us. 'so my people, this life no easy o! Things change good or bad. So, please be good. Always be good.' He urged, shaking his head and dying the talk as we drove off, this time, very quietly. Every eye except the hippy woman turned to the old conductor in pitiful glee. I imagined as much as others what must have happened.
We reached Onueke Park and I thought of engaging the old conductor in a friendly chat. Watching him stumble on every stone in the park; tiny or big, in lowliness and shame, I wondered what pain he must have felt and how difficult it must be for him to live life. I decided it would inflict more pain asking him his life's ordeal. 'God help him, please.' I whispered to myself.
As I turned to go, I heard a croaky voice shouting 'nwoke ocha! Please, yellow man! Eskuz me! Please!'
I looked back. It was the hippy woman, beckoning as she glided towards me like a giant tortoise. She looked lost and confused.
'Nooo!!! Not me, please!' I hissed in fright as I briskly disappeared in the crowd.
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