Like a hungry leopard breaks up a thick herd of zebras, the illumination from the halogen floodlights coupled with that from
the massive neon billboards scattered the night into thickets of shadows. I stood by the roadside,
bathed in the pool of the harsh but welcomed radiance as the night bombarded me
with noise. The din grated on my
nerves; it was a blunted saw going through the tree trunk of
the day’s demise. I was engulfed
by a cacophonous symphony of blaring horns, hawking
shouts, roaring music and every kind of racket imaginable. On the bridge,
vehicles crawled past, shepherded by LASTMA officials and policemen, their conductors
belting out "Orile", "Mile 2", "Airport road", "two more chance",
and so on. It is almost hard to
remember this place used to be the den of stealing, mugging
and every other kind of iniquity known to man before the present Governor of
Lagos state saturated the whole area with light. He equally built roads and
parks and now some kind of sanity reigns in the midst of all the insanity of this
bustop. This is vintage Oshodi Oke
bridge at night.
I had left my office in Lekki more than three
hours ago and I was still headed towards Ikotun, another two hours commute. This means
that I would get home about 11pm with just enough time to rustle up some
noodles, sleep, and wake up at 4am to enable me beat the traffic of another day. It
is such an emotion wrecking and body breaking lifestyle that recently I had been asking myself
how long I was going to keep at this vicious circle in other to make some
little change. Some days make me feel like a decrepit building that has been subjected to the wrath of a wrecking
ball. I have been standing here for about an hour waiting for one of the large
government buses that collect N50 instead of the smaller buses driven by Shylocks who
hike their fares when they see large crowds. These guys are greedy beyond belief. However, even with the
astronomical fares, passengers besieged these vehicles because there are usually so many
people but such few buses. The weariness that seeped into my bones as I stood
observing everything made a foul mood possess me.
I saw "area boys", delinquents
that they are, purchase sachets and cups of home brewed alcohol that had the
capacity to shrivel the liver. I
observed them harass and extort hard earned money from bus
drivers while policemen watched, waiting for their own cut at the end of the day. It is because of
these touts that transport fares keep going up. I just cannot abide them.
Actually, with their dirty looks, gruff voices and pugnacious attitude, I find
them utterly detestable. I usually wonder what rotted wombs conceived such
human vermin. They should be crushed underfoot like roaches, exterminated like
pests from the face of the earth with DDT. Nigeria would be a way better place
without them.
The sudden shouts of ole, ole (thief, thief), woke me from my reverie. The shouting was
directed at one ragamuffin who was racing towards me toting a laptop bag. Of course,
instinctively, I tripped him and he came crashing down. I retrieved the bag,
gave it back to the owner then joined the throng that descended on him with the
fury of yesteryears frustrations. After landing two furious slaps on his face
with fiendish glee, I gave way to the more irate crowd. The miasma of marijuana, filth and alcohol
emanating from him and the bile of disgust that threatened to activate my gag
reflex was too much for me.
While this mayhem was going on, a custom made white
Lincoln Navigator stopped by the side of the road. It was so sleek that it must
have been a white Arabian stallion in another life, so bright that if I did not
know angels had wings, I would have thought that it was the wheels they used in
heaven. The back door opened and the handsomest man I had ever seen stepped
out. He was tall, wearing a navy blue three piece designer suit, a dazzling
white shirt and a blood red tie. He came out, and asked what was going on with a clipped
upper class accent that made me know he had proper upbringing and must have
gone to a very good school (I later got to know that he went to Oxford).
“Efile,
kilo n sele” (please
leave him, what is going on here)? He inquired of the bloodthirsty horde in
impeccable Yoruba.
After he was told the whole story
by one of
the busy bodies, he offered to pay whatever it would take to right the wrong
and settle the case (the laptop had gotten broken in all the ensuing madness). No
sooner had he said this than the people around started insulting him and
promptly told him it was none of his business. I can almost wager that
Nigerians are the rudest people in the world.
The crowd would have none of that goody-
two-shoes stunt. They wanted jungle justice at all cost. The tempo of the
beating being meted out was getting too much and if it continued, this thief,- pile of dung
in human skin was going to leave the world soon, not that anyone would miss him
though. It would be good riddance to bad rubbish but something weird was going
on here.
Mr. “Lincoln” got into the thick of the
fray begging the bloodthirsty throng to let him go. He covered the bum’s body
to shield him from the rage being dished out. This dude must be mad for getting
involved in a melee that could bring him great harm because of a good for
nothing loafer. I was proven right when I saw a tooth fly out of his mouth
following a hay-maker of a blow.
All the pummeling meant for the bad guy was now rained on him. His suit was torn in no
time, white shirt besmirched, lips swollen, face bloodied and squashed like
mashed tomatoes yet he did not give up in his quest to save the thief. His involvement
gave the accused enough reprieve to escape and he ran like a hare on drugs
still being pursued by the mob. A policeman shouted after him to stop or he
would shoot. I quickly ran to the other side of the road, the police in Nigeria are about the
most trigger happy in the world.
“I say make you stop or I go shoot you
oooo” the enforcer shouted again in a drunken slur (when it comes to drinking
alcoholic poison, Nigerian policemen are as bad as the area boys).
The law keeper took a shooting stance and
as he squeezed the trigger, Mr. Lincoln threw himself in front of the
projectile's trajectory to save the escaping culprit and the bullet entered his
chest and lodged in there. I have never seen so much blood all my life. This abruptly put an end to
the blood lust and everybody gathered around him as he bled to death. Even the
area boy was forgotten.
The boy could not believe it! Instead of him to
keep running for dear life, he came back and dissolved into tears that fell
like desert rain, a tidal surge that flowed from a heart that had broken like a
weak dam. He kept bawling "ahh, o ku fun mi" (he died for me) over and over again especially when the dying
man gasped "ore (friend), it is okay" and gave up the ghost.
I was stunned to the core of my being, he
called that good for nothing bugger friend! How? Why? Now, I have heard it all.
Apparently, I had not even seen it all. The back door on the other side of the
SUV opened and a man wearing a white agbada came out. Grief contorted his face into a mask stamped by agony and I
could see tiny rivers of sorrow streaking down his eyes. The dead man looked so
much like him and it dawned on me that this old man had just watched his son
die a senseless death.
He walked towards the cause of all the
bedlam and fear made the boy shiver like a gale blown leaf, while the policeman
was on his knees shouting; "Oga, na mistake".
"What is your name boy"? He asked.
"Bara Abbas", the boy replied.
A wicked thrill of pleasure ran through me,
now the son of a gun and the stupid policeman were going to get their
comeuppance.
"Boy, I only have one son and he has died in the
bid to save you, now I do not
have a choice but to adopt you and make you take his place.”Je ka lo ri baba re" (Let us go see
your dad).
There was deafening silence all around as
we saw the sincerity of the old man's heart. This was exactly the opposite of
the reaction we were expecting.
My eyes could not believe it when he opened
the car door and the riff raff sat on those heavenly leather seats with his
scruffy shorts. I squirmed within, my mind not being able to come to terms with the sight I was
beholding; that dirty posterior on
such pristine clean soft leather. I thought I was going mad. This was after he
had told the Cop to go, that he was not going to press charges. An ambulance
came and carried his son away.
As I was driven home, amazed and mind
boggled at the ridiculous exchange of life that just took place, I wondered why
such good fortune could have been bestowed upon such scum while I stood here in
a derelict machinery parading as a bus with a sea of humanity crushing me on
every side (for heaven's sake, I was more deserving). I had never experienced
the kind of mercy the old man displayed. Somewhere deep down in my mind though,
buried under tons of the bricks of time, the whisper of one of my Sunday school
teachers stirred within. It grew to become an incessant echo within the caverns of my soul...
For
God showed his love towards us in that while we were yet sinners Christ died
for us...
© 2013 Ekpo Ezechinyere
Waoh!That is all I can say.Well done doc!
ReplyDeleteThank you.
DeleteThis is beautiful and so well written. I ask for permission to share.
ReplyDeleteOne word: speechless...
ReplyDeleteThank You! Please go ahead!!!!
ReplyDelete