The Conductor Ran Away With My Money
Ezechi called me from Awka, the capital of Anambra State the other day, where he is working. Ezechi is my friend. He holds a Bsc in Hospital and Tourism Management. His call was for me to help him send his CV to a five star hotel in the Port-Harcourt city, Rivers State. I promised helping him since I live in the State. He told me that he was going to send the CV via email, and he demanded for my email address. As soon as I read the letter of my email address for him my phone tripped-off. My phone didn’t trip-off due to the battery was low, but the phone has outlived its expiry date, a close friend told me when I complained. Now, my mind was beating that Ezechi would say that I switched-off my phone purposefully because it now involves my rendering help to him. I tried to bury this mix feelings but could not, I ran for a payphone and called him to explain what happened to my phone when we were discussing. We don’t doubt each other, Ezechi understands and feels for me. I asked him to phone me anytime he sent the CV. After one day he called me and said that he has sent the CV in my email box. I promised him going to the cyber café the following day to print out the CV and go deliver it the same day. He was happy, like wise myself for his understanding.
Early in the morning of the following day there was a heavy down pour. I woke-up from the bed and brought all the buckets, basins and water cans we had under the running Zinc to fill. Also, I used the shovel to remove blockages from the water runway in our compound. And now my heart was living on my throat because our street is always flooded when there is rain. Though, there was a gutter the residents dug themselves to help the ocean runaway. But the problem this gutter has is that the-water-escape-route to join the bigger gutter on the main road is not much. And often, ‘poor-water’ sachets and dirt block it, thereby making the water run slowly.
When I woke-up finally in the morning, I went to the water-escape-route and used a stick to open the place. The water began to run faster, but looking to our street, there is no tendency that the water could go down as soon as possible. Some residents were bailing water from their rooms; passersby and the people who were going to work were putting their legs into the ocean to go to their daily businesses. Especially women, many pulled-off their leg covers, carry them by head, and passed.
Having done this chore that many residents dare not because of the bigeminism feature in human character, I decided to leave for the hotel. I told one Chinedu, a boy who confessed that he likes my style and he is often around me of my intention; his coming around is for me to advice him on the possible means he could travel to Europe, According to him, Nigeria has dilapidated. But I tell him that no means work again, since nothing works in our country. Corruption has taken the prowl. I reminded him of an article that I read; the write described our country as a "Nation of scammers". This was written following the April polls that are marred by fraud and irregularities. I ask Chinedu to rely and have hope in God that at the appointed time He will do it. "That’s why I like you, Dee", he tells me.
After taking my bath and dressing up I left for the cyber café to print out Ezechi’s CV. The cyber café I attended told me N40 to print out a page, as against N30 it is. Though, there is no price control in Nigeria, anyone influences price according to how it may please him or her. I saw the N10 added as cheating since I was the one to buy the tariff for the Internet. I left the cyber café for another where I printed the CV for N30. It was two pages and I paid N60. I finished the one-hour I bought on some other information in the Internet. I came to the road and flagged down an Okada who zoomed me to the bus-stop where I was to board a vehicle for the hotel.
There were a lot of dramas displayed by the commuters and the motor mate when I entered a bus. But the most absurd was when we got to a checkpoint and the driver stopped while the motor mate ran to the back of the police motor where a policeman stood and paid him "bribe" before they allowed our vehicle to pass. Nigerians are tired for this act because no one said a word. It is now like a culture! The motor mate began to collect our fares, after that, he began to call out the bus-stops and commuters who have reached their bus-stops alighted and new ones came in.
When we got to the bus stop where I was supposed to alight, I alighted. The hotel was a pole from the bus-stop. I met the gate man and asked one of them that I heard that the hotel was accepting application. The cool-looking-young security agent called his colleague whom I suspected was his superior. The assumed superior told us that there was nothing of such news. If there was, he was in the position to know first. I thanked them and left to call Ezechi. I got Ezechi online, after many "The number you are calling is not available", and told him of the information that was at stake. He thanked me for my effort and asked me to go back home.
I began to go back home. On getting to the bus-stop I noticed that the cold whether I and maybe some other people enjoyed in the morning has died. The sun has resurrected, scorching more than hellfire could be assumed.
I reached the bus-stop, there were billboards thus: No parking, by police. No packing, order by police. I shifted some foots away from the billboards with hope that vehicles users would incline to this order, but they don’t. I missed one nice bus that came shouting where I live due to before I could approach back, some other persons had entered. The chance in it was remaining only two whereas the bus carries fourteen passengers.
As I missed that bus, the sun now was unbearable. I placed my hand; the left one, on my forehead, to shed the sun, before another bus came calling the name of the town I live. I quickly jumped inside after flexing shoulders with other waiting-passengers and was comfortable in it.
There was a particular reggae I love so much the driver was playing. As Christian music could mean to many Christians, so reggae music is to me. It smelts my heart and makes me see God. But not quite long I started enjoying this music than my solace turned solicitude. This was on noticing that even on the Port Harcourt highways young people have started hawking fuel to eke out a living. Instantly, I wrote a poem in my mind thus:
The road is farther
but what I am seeing
make the road shorter.
There were a lot of struggles on the way before the vehicle got to the major bus-stop in the city where I live. At this bus-stop, every commuter alighted remaining only me because I intended entering inside the city. The motor-mate asked me to come down from the vehicle so that I will join another going-bus while them would make a turn to commence the pursuit of going-to-Port Harcourt commuters.
With the view that the innocent-looking motor boy was saying the truth and going to pay the bus, before I knew it, he opened the front door of their own vehicle, jumped in and they ran away with the balance they were supposed to give me for breaching our contract. I stood amazed and watched them rode faraway.
Passersby who noticed this came to know what the heck was from me. When I told them what happened, a lot of the passersby who have had the experience said, it is in the blood of bus drivers to carry people from somewhere and wouldn’t complete the journey when they got to a place. This happens especially when they see passengers waiting for bus going back in the other direction, they would feign that their motor is now default or something. By this, the commuters in the bus will alight.
When the driver saw that they have alighted, he would start the motor and zooms off fast while the motor mate runs also fast to join him at the surprising glare of the people they robbed their peace and money.
I waved my head in disappointment and joined an Okada who rode me to my destination.
Copyright 2007 Odimegwu Onwumere
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