The swervy, and jerky motion in collaboration with the chants of ‘owa o’ jostled me to life. I guess i dozed for 17 minutes thereabout.

I was on a mission to visit my seemingly well to do friend for a couple of days. We grew up together as best of pals in the community. We were neighbours and confided in eachother. Our mothers both had kiosks infront of our house just by the gutter. I remember the slogan on his mother's kiosk ‘ se rere’ literarily meaning ‘do well’. She was known as ‘Mama Se rere’ . Cool, soft spoken and amiable. Iskilu is his name (dunno if to refer to him as was). I liked his never say die attitude. In as much as we were feeble in looks, he was always at the helm of settling scores in the locality. I envied his physical tenacity. Some days he will return with a bloodied mouth, others he will return with a broken leg. He earned the alias ‘alangba rere’ meaning ‘good lizard’. Enough of the introduction. Iskilu left with his parents after his father’s retirement for the Village. We were about 13 yrs then in JSS 2 at the Local Government Grammar school. I missed him greatly. We both lived at No. 12 KasoKaja street, Amu, Mushin Lagos.

Eight years after, he returned in a clean Honda Halla car. Fresh, clean and wielding money like bullets waiting to be loaded in the submachine. He was no longer feeble or thin. He was now broad chested, tall with a charming gaze. The whole of Amu, the palm avenue community and the plank market felt a different atmosphere despite the almost fixed noisy nature of the area. This was year 2000. I was filled with Joy. He wore a nice expensive perfume. He kept telling me ‘boy i don hammer’. We drove in his wonder wheels within the community for a while. We had booze at a nearby joint. All the while i kept wondering at the transformation. Few events had happened in my own life. My SSCE results were below average. I was struggling with GCE one after the other to no avail. I had the intent to attend an institution of higher learning like Baba Peter’s children (their father was a well respected man on our street.He worked for the local Nepa office in our area). Iskilu expressed empathy at my condition. Immediately he requested I visit him the following week to see how he can help improve my condition by assisting me and absorbing me into his supply business which he alleged he was running in Sango/Abule Egba axis of Lagos (or Ogun State).

These were the events that replayed in my mind that led to my short slumber. With some crispy notes I received from Iskilu the previous week, i set out to have a destiny change. The Molue had all sorts of people. It was a mad ball different from the danfo bus that I boarded from Amu junction to Oshodi. At Oshodi, I enquired where to get the bus plying this route. There it was a Molue. I hardly left my area and could count the number of times I had to board this locomotive long heavy duty road ferry. The last time was from Oshodi to Ijora. The Molue just commenced boarding at a fare of N40 per passenger. I sat comfortably close to the window so as to catch a first hand glimpse of the ever bustling Lagos. As soon as the about 30 seating seats were occupied, i noticed a mad rush of people struggling to enter. I was astonished. I had never seen such crase before. I remember seeing a man in coat through the window after i entered without betraying emotions or signs he was destined to be on this road beast. Thus he was waiting for the standing position which was for N20. Many good looking people co-joined him in this race to grab this juicy offer of standing. In total, we were quite over 60 in the Molue bus. 30 seating, 30 standing. All standing bumper to bumper. My nostrils were filled with all manners of odour. Beside me sat a very fat woman who had difficulty in getting into her seat. With her was a retinue of baskets stashed in eachother. She wore a typical ‘iro and buba’. Her tribal marks were scary. She spat many times.

The Molue set in motion with a driver in front who by now was not within my line of sight. Two conductors at each access into the Molue (A molue has three entries, one for the driver and two for passengers). Few bus stops away from the park, i heard a loud voice quite loud despite the acoustic nature of the garments and odours of all of us passengers. Lo and behold it was the man in black coat with hat. He was a medicine vendor (can’t substitute that for drugs). He rattled and dazzled about the potency of his goods and money back guarantees should they not work. He brandished the many wonders of the medicine inclusive of which was ability to have sex for long. At this junction, my mind wondered to Sikira a new neighbour. They moved in 8 months before this period. We met a couple of times while waiting at the make shift bathing bay situated by the fence at the backyard. She was damn pretty. I loved to see her in her wrapper at the bath bay. My mind wondered on how useful this drug will be, because I was so damn sure we will have sex sooner than later. She did not hide her likeness for me. But my father did not like her father and warned us to stay clear the family. Who cares. I brought out my wallet and purchased the medicine. At about this time, the conductors moved within the tight bus to collect fares.

Passengers disembarked at bus stops and some others joined. We sauntered through the caucus of Lagos roads. I noticed as we went deeper, there were more shanty settlements tougher than our Mushin settlement. I kept day dreaming of purchasing my own car. All the clean cars that passed were potential cars for purchase. Many times I drifted into a short slumber awoken at the busstops by the conductors when they chant ‘owa ooo’ banging on the already broken down body of the Molue. All sorts of people I thought. Different missions. I imagined how the night will be with Iskilu riding in his posh red Honda car with him. Very soon I will learn to drive the car and then purchase mine. All sorts crept through my mind. The journey seemed not to end.

Somewhere around Meiran area, two guys shabbily dressed and smelling of dirt began to ruffle each other. All the while they were calm and all of a sudden started their drama. Wonders shall never end. In another two minutes the scuffle had ended. I shook my head and laughed. In my mind I said ‘were lawon bois yi sha’ meaning ‘these boys are mad’. They alighted at the next bus stop.

At last the mad journey ended and I disembarked from the Molue at the last bus stop to proceed to locate Iskilu’s apartment. I noticed red soil untarred roads. The GSM technology had not arrived Nigeria at this time. I approached a legion of okada riders to take me to my destination as directed by Iskilu. I reached for my wallet to produce the paper where i jotted the details. To my chagrin, the wallet was gone. My legs shook. A stranger in no man’s land. Far from home. No money, no wallet, no address. I replayed the episode and confirmed someone must have stolen the wallet. I tried to remember the address but to no avail. I searched my pocket and was only able to provide the libido enhancing medicine and my 1 yr old handkerchief. All the okada men stared at me. My BOSS branded shirt transparent from constant washing and wearing every Sunday faded immediately. My rubber sandals failed in my feet. The buckle itched for the first time since my mother bought them for me the preceding Christmas. At 21 years of age missing far away from home. No way to locate Iskilu. I busted into tears.

A Good Samaritan among the riders engaged me in a dialogue and I explained my predicament. All i needed was less than N100 to return home. He asked me to dry my eyes. He asked me to lean by a wall under the shade. He spoke with a couple of his colleagues in a strange language. I was scared to my marrows. In five minutes he returned with N100 in N20 notes. I was overjoyed. The time was about 4pm. I prostrated flat for him with no regard for my best shirt. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me and crossed as fast as I could to the other end of the busy dualised road. In no time I joined another Molue to Oshodi. This time standing. My dream shattered. I blamed it on the medicine man and Sikira. I began to regret. If only I had heeded to Papa’s warning to flee from that girl, I wouldn’t have brought out my wallet to buy the medicine because I paid for the fare from the change (tucked in my trouser's pocket) I received from the first bus ride between Amu and Oshodi. Then i remembered the boys fighting who were sitting behind me. My mind convicted them too. Who knows when Iskilu will come again. This means my desire to own a car will be delayed. Above all I was grateful to God that someone came to my aid.

I arrived home safely in less than 2hrs. The traffic was lighter. I narrated the experience to my mother keeping the details of the medicine i bought. I lied to her that Iskilu had obtained admission and I was going to see him to assist me in mine. She fell flat on the ground and thanked her God that I arrived safely. Mama started to cry. I looked pitiful. She asked one of my siblings to buy ‘fufu’ from Mama Ahmed few houses away. I hurriedly ate the meal. I took off my clothes for a shower. At the shower was Sikira. I had mixed feelings. One was how it would feel to finally engage her in the sex dialogue; moreover, there were several dead spaces at the backyard where we could do it without anyone battling an eyelid. Secondly was that I still bore the grudge that she was instrumental to my missing appointment with destiny.

One week passed and life returned to normal. I forgave Sikira in my heart. Her body was too hot to resist. Some boys in the area already tipped me as having a stint with her. Exactly a week after my unsuccessful journey to visit Iskilu, I heard a loud scream from Mama Chioma’s (neighbour) room (it was atypical Brazilian face me I face you house). We all rushed to see what the problem was. She pointed at the TV. Lo and behold it was Iskilu paraded with gun shot wounds on 6pm news. I crashed.

Iskilu was identified as the leader of a dreaded armed robbery ring in the Sango Otta axis. He was apprehended on the same day I was scheduled to visit him at the scene of an operation where they had gone to unleash mayhem. They killed a couple and wounded several before their arrest on this fateful day. I wept uncontrollably. Not for Iskilu (who was shot the day after the parade) but for my head that would have been in line on the chop board with iskilu and his cohorts. I dubbed the Molue and all responsible for my missing wallet (inclusive of the medicine man and Sikira) as heroes of my miraculous tale of grace. I had a rebirth.

Today I own a very successful video photography studio having enrolled in a vocational school of creative arts. I further attended Yabatech studying creative arts up to HND level. Married to Sikira with children (the first child was an unwanted pregnancy an aftermath of our first romp after using the medicine i bought in the molue). Irrespective my desires for her led to my miraculous tale of grace. Above all I am thankful to God for sparing my life this far.

‘There is always a good side to every disappointment. Endeavor to choose a new path with lessons from the past’ - TD

NB: The characters and details in the above article are fictitious and were crafted in the writer’s imaginations.



Photo Credit: Google Images

Cc: Obinnau, Ishilove

hun nice one

OP Your write up just gave me hope.