You are just on your own forming baby boy one evening in Lagos.
Then you receive a calling saying you have an 8am appointment in Port-Harcourt. Money sturvs.
You check for flights online and there are no more flights for the day.
You run to Jibowu to enter night bus.
While you are getting checked, the rude staff tells you in between popping gum, “no bags allowed inside the cabin.” Not even school bags.
You vex and throw your bag into the cargo area and enter the bus.
Inside the bus, the pastor starts praying until even Christians start to get tired.
Then people start gisting about armed robbery experiences. Everybody is laughing till one man says, “If armed robbers stop us on the road, I hope they won’t vex and shoot me since I don’t have any money.”
Then everyone is feeling nervous, because what if?…
The bus is quiet and everyone is sleeping, then gbam! Gunshot. People are hiding inside an already surrounded bus.
Others are screaming.
Somebody tries to run so they dash him one bullet so he can feel alright. Boyz in the hood tinz.
Everybody behaves straight.
They start asking everybody for money one by one and you remember there is only 15 Naira change in your pocket.
So you just lie that your money is inside your bag. They don’t shoot you. You thank them so much you start praying for them.
They leave and police come one hour later.
Everybody is just hungry anyhow so someone checks his pocket and finds 300 naira that they didn’t collect.
He buys two loaves of bread, takes one slice and passes it round so everyone can eat because collective tragedy, collective healing.
And you start to wonder maybe Nigerians need to suffer together at least once, before we can start to look out for each other.
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