One Bus

Scores of people milling around: bodies touching bodies, sellers calling out their wares at every commuter, bus drivers, bus conductors and other private car owners to have a taste of what they carried on their heads and arms: soft drinks, assorted biscuits, sweets, chewing gums, sausages of every brand and just about anything that the mouth can accept.

A handbag in one hand and a small travelling in another hand, I shuffled between the sea of human bodies and stressed looking faces to locate the bus park where I was to board. I spotted it! Immediately I climbed into the bus and took a seat where I felt I would be most comfortable considering the distance I’ll travel and the long traffic I’ll most likely be in for hours. I sighed at the thought. 

I have been on the road for more than thirty hours trying to have a sense of how people live: lifestyle, business, studies, and how they survive in this place called Nigeria. As I sat in the bus, hunger gnawed at me. I haven’t eaten any proper food in the last thirty hours; just fruits, and lots of water. The last real meal I ate was amala and ewedu. Thing is, I have find it difficult eating out; because I feel there’s something not really nourishing about the process of how these restaurant and mama-put food sellers go about food for the masses. So often, I stick to drinking lots of water to compensate until I can’t bear it anymore. Mind you, it’s not like I like starving myself, just that I like well prepared meals. Plus I’m always weary about any form of food poisoning during travelling. You just never know.

Then a guy climbed into the bus and sat next to me. Soon thereafter, the bus was filled and we were on our way to Lekki-Ajah axis. 

Hunger gnawed at me. I wanted to buy a malt drink earlier, but the street hawkers had only sachet ‘pure water’, bottled water and soft drinks for sale. I didn’t want any soft drinks in my stomach and kept hoping one of the sellers would come by selling malt drinks. None came and by the time the vehicle left the park, unfortunately for me, no other drink seller came by. So I picked up the bottled water in my bag and drank from it. It felt good; yet I was still hungry. 

Then the guy sitting next to me brought out a meat-pie from the nylon wrap, the scent waffled towards me and before I knew it, I blurted out: “I would love to eat that meat-pie!” the guy looked at me, a little thrown aback by my request and then he was full of mirth. “I can give you half of it and eat the other half.” He replied in impeccable English with a cool voice to go with it. It is the sort of voice people will call ‘yanki accent’ but I could tell he was not ‘forming’ and this was how he spoke naturally. He looked like one who had gone to a very good school since he was young; hence the seeming flawlessness of how he spoke.

“So sorry I said that”, I replied him, “but I’m I hungry! Thank you so much. I’ll just break one third of the meat-pie, while you eat the rest. All I need is just a little food in my mouth.” And with that I broke a bit of the meat-pie and started chipping off bits into my mouth; didn’t want to finish eating the meat-pie too quickly. 

Surprisingly the meat tasted delicious!: soft, tasty fillings, which melted in my mouth. “Where did you get this meat-pie?” I asked. He mentioned a street I didn’t know. Then I told him how rare it was to find meat-pies this tasty and well made. “I buy it every time I’m on my way back home”, he said. 

Then I said, “Be careful you don’t eat it that often oo, else you’ll pay for it later when you hit your 40s and 50s.” He gaped at me like he couldn’t see the connection I was making, so I elaborated. “A friend of mine told me how, after he got his well paying job he felt the definition of a big boy was eating doughnuts, egg rolls, meat-pies and the likes every day at work since he was twenty five, only for him to be told by his doctor when he was thirty nine that he had high cholesterol. He was so shocked by the news because he was a rather slim-looking guy with no ounce of extra kilograms bulging from any part of his body: face, stomach or waist. It was then the doctor explained to him that doughnuts and the likes are steeped in deep frying. And the more he ate them, the more cholesterol he accumulated.

“Wow.” he said. He hadn’t thought of it that way. And before long, we talked about everything that popped into our heads. He narrated how he was a lawyer and how during school he had been a car dealer, a ‘fayawo’ who transported cars from Benin, Togo and even went as far as Ghana to get a Bedford truck he couldn’t get from Nigeria, Benin and Togo. “You mean you did this kind of business while schooling?” I asked. I was impressed at his business sense. “Yeah. Did it for about eight to nine years.” he beamed at me, obviously proud of his feat. I ‘wowed’ inside my head because he looked so young wearing an ‘asari-dokubo’ kind of moustache.

As the bus continued its tired journey along the highway with several stops, go-slow and near miss accidents from other rough drivers, the heat became unbearable. I couldn’t help speaking up about the inconveniences of the journey but nobody thought it strange.  It struck me how as I looked about me no one seemed to complain about the heat, the tightness of the car, the permanently fixed window that will not open to let in air, neither were they complaining about the traffic jam. I couldn’t help feeling that Lagosians are so used to suffering that they actually enjoy suffering! And so I asked by seat partner, “Why do many Lagosians put up with so much discomfort? Is it because they enjoy or is it that they are simply pursuing an illusion?” 

“I would say it is the latter. Everybody in Lagos thinks that one day he will make it. Next time it would be their turn. So they hang on, hoping, believing.” I was so stunned I blurted out,  “You know the problem with people is that many have not lived in other cities. Many haven’t travelled to other parts of Nigeria to see how people can live quiet, sane and productive life. All of these stress and inconveniences you guys put up with in Lagos is pure insanity.” The guy just laughed; amused at me and thoroughly enjoying my ‘righteous outburst’. 

“What would it take Lagos state government to put up good road systems in place: waterway transport, railways, more roads, better flyovers rather than this white elephant round about stationed at very key junctions?” he nodded as though he understood my anger. “This is a state that rakes in several millions per month in taxes alone and yet its citizens don’t get value for it? They build a roundabout and they want people to clap for them for building such a structure, when that is what they are supposed to do! Do they think this is like building sand castles on the beach and they shout like kids and say, “Look mum! Look dad! See what I built!” is that what they think running a state is?”

He replied, “Don’t mind them. In fact they make sure every TV and radio stations announce the commissioning of such!” he grinned broadly. Then I said, “And yet it is so easy to make a living in Lagos easy if only their greed is channelled to making a more lasting legacy that’s all encompassing.” He simply nodded his head. And then we were quiet again; both of us lost in our thoughts.

Although my mind was miles away, the loud-over-the-phone banter the conductor was having kept intruding my thoughts violently. The conductor kept talking over his phone repeatedly to an angry caller who seemed to want both the conductor and driver to head to Oshodi so he could take over the bus for the next business shift. But the driver kept hollering back at the conductor to tell the angry caller that nothing would make him go to Oshodi, and if the caller wanted to take over the next business shift, he’ll have to meet them back on his return shift to Obalende. They kept at this spat for a while until I think the matter was settled. But the heat in the bus was getting at me as we’ve been in the ‘hold-up’ for a while now without moving an inch. So I said to the conductor, “You know, if you guys fit this bus with an AC, to cope during traffic and in this heat, I’m sure people will be willing to part with four hundred naira per person.”

He laughed. That was when he told me he was not a ‘proper’ conductor but simply giving the driver assistance. “I’m a clothes seller and a ‘fayawo’ dealer he said.” I beamed at him and said, “Man’s got skills. You’re a serious hustler and business savvy too.” He smiled back and said, “I deal in bails and sell chinos, men’s shirts and jeans. That’s my real business.” Next thing I knew, the guy sitting next to me and the conductor began talking animated about how each transported vehicles across the borders. The conductor narrated he had been as far as Garbon to do business too. I was amazed to see so many Nigerians with so much entrepreneurial and adventurous spirit in one bus. And it struck me how untapped their skills and talents are in a country where infrastructure and lasting institutions are seriously lacking.

My head was beginning to ache. This heat will not kill me! To distract myself, I drew my seat partner into another conversation about automatic and manual driving. He told me how his wife favoured automatic driving over manual but I told him I preferred being in control of the car; manipulating gears was a thrill for me. But he said when in traffic, manual driving becomes more of a curse than a blessing. We made a comparison between driving manual in the UK and in Nigeria during heavy traffic and we both agreed it would be much easier with the former than the latter. 

Next thing you know, we began another topic about this brilliant idea he had for a magazine for persons in his field. As I listened to all he said, it was such a brilliant I didn’t hesitate to answer: 

“That’s an idea waiting to happen! Go for it!” He was so full of mirth he said, “You know what, I’ve been looking for somebody to just tell me to go with it! And now I feel I can ask more of your advice from the questions you’ve just asked me.”

“Well, that’s no problem. You’ll pay consultancy fee.” He nodded in agreement. “If that’s what it takes, I will!” he beamed.

Then unexpectedly, we accidentally veered into religion. That was when I got to know he was a Muslim. I was more than impressed. I’ve met some intelligent and extraordinary Muslims in my life time and couldn’t wait to ask him why he preferred this religion. He said Islam teaches him a lot and answers most of life’s basic questions: how to marry, take care of your family, how to meet your wife and how to have salvation with keeping his faith. “What more could I ask?” he enthused. I could tell he was happy where he was.

Then I asked, “So how did Mohammed write the Koran if he was not able to read and write?”

“It was revealed to him.” he said nonplussed.

“Has is struck you, that his expression ‘I cannot read and write’ may actually be a metaphor and not something to be taken literally about literacy?”

“It was revealed to him. The Angel embodied him to help him write.”

“In other words nothing can come out of a vacuum. It is possible that Mohammed understood basic Arabic. And even if he could not write it, definitely he could speak it, which means he has the sense of language and the sounds they make. So that even if he was not as schooled, but because he already had the language skill in Arabic, it was easy to write what was revealed to him, right?” 

I paused to gauge him, but he nodded slightly. So I continued, “Nothing comes out of nothing. It could be abstract or tangible but something cannot come out of a vacuum. We may not see it, but it is there. Even cosmic evolution came out of ciaos. And when you think of it, it may just be a humble statement by the prophet to persons as glorious as Angels; just as Moses told God that he was slow of speech. And in his case, even though he was slow in speaking, he was made to do the job and he became better at it. So the period when Prophet Mohammed made that statement was an era when humility was the hallmark of a person’s character. And when you think of it, even Christ’s followers were described as not lettered. This meant they did not go to university, as we know it. Nonetheless, they understood basic speech and could communicate.”

“That is why I say he was embodied.”

“It is okay to believe what you believe. And if believing what you believe, has helped you to live a better, fulfilled and impactful life, all well and good. However it is good that you’re conscious HOW YOU BELIEVE.”

“You know, I almost did not want to begin this discussion with you!” he exclaimed with a smile.

“I know.” I smiled back. Then the young woman with a surprised look on her face on my left asked, 

“Is he a Muslim?” I said yes, and then turned by attention back to my gisting partner. “You see,” I began, “there are always variations to stories that has been passed down. And all of them add a perspective to the whole story. From those who became followers and adherents to those who simply admired or hated a particular history in focus. Many claim that Mohammed and Jesus were real persons. Evidence abounding seems to prove that they existed. But the question about their claim to ‘Inspiration from God or Angels’ leaves many questions unanswered. So the word FAITH was invented to make allowance for BLIND BELIEF – blind belief that does not question – and should not question. Now this calls into question HOW WE BELIEVE.”

“So are you saying I should not believe what my religion has taught me!”

“Oh. It is okay to believe your religious doctrines or teachings, but to become gullible to the point of blind belief where metaphors used as expressions were meant to convey a state or level of understanding or assumed posture of a given period to cloud reality of what ‘Inspired’ means, then there’s a problem. It is better to say, “Yes, our religion teaches this based on that which we believe happened. Although I cannot vouch much for the veracity of the claims made or even passed onto us, I CONSCIOUSLY & RATIONALLY CHOOSE TO ACCEPT it as part of our beliefs and doctrines that gives us a sense of reference – even though many silent questions are not satisfactorily answered – rather than say “Just believe, ok! Believe!!!” 

“You’re seeing thing from a human point of view. So you can’t understand.”

“Believe has its place. But it should be borne not by guilt by collective acceptance.”

He said to me, “I don’t think there’s any much difference.”

Then I replied, “When you say it that way, you’ll realise that it helps remove the seed of doubts, erases over simplified explanations and makes you NOT feel like a fool who’s being taken for a ride – a ride to where many more questions keep raising their persistent heads. All I’m saying is, do not ANYONE OR ANYTHING LIMIT YOUR MIND or tell you how to think. Still it is your choice to believe as you want to believe.” I smiled broadly, my mouth now permanently sealed. He tensed a bit, relaxed afterwards and it was clear he did not want to lose his demeanour. I admired him for that.

Afterwards, quite a number of them in this One Bus wanted to know how they could read my Blog. I scribbled into their notepads: LadyEchannel.blogspot.co.uk. a young woman even volunteered her phone for me to browse my FB page so she could ask for friend’s request. 

Just when I was so close to my bus-stop that was when the driver ran into kwanta, an altercation with some miscreants of the highway! 

Without much delay, I quickly alighted and walked the distance.

Lagos Na Wa!