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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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Odimegwu Onwumere
Odimegwu Onwumere, a poet and an author, is the Founder, Poet Against Child Abuse (PACA), Rivers State , Nigeria . +2348032552855. apoet25@yahoo.com
If it's prose, he writes stories,
If it's poetry, he writes poems,
If it's drama, he writes screenplays,
And he has achieved some poetry nominations, in the USA and in Canada. He was born in Accra Ghana. A Nigerian by origin and is in his early thirties.
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