That night, the trip was from Obalende to Yaba. The bus had no conductor, only an angry driver. I had boarded the bus after leaving the endless queue awaiting the arrival of the BRT bus.
The rickety bus moved with so much noise, I feared it would pack up unexpectedly. With tongue in cheek, I browsed BellaNaija, admiring the latest fashion collection from one WeizDhurm Franklyn. Talented guy, I mused.
Luckily for us, on that day, the traffic on the third mainland bridge was not so bad.
“Ejo, e funmi lowo, two hundred per seat. E se kia kia!!!” hissed the driver.
As expected, everyone shouted in outright disapproval.
“Two hundred naira ko, two million ni!”
“Mi o ri aye oshi”
I wondered how the drama was going to end.
When we got to the middle of the bridge, the driver whistled as he stopped the bus. He came down, opened the door and asked everyone to come down.
Whether it was fear that gripped us or sheer tiredness from our day’s hardwork, everyone grudgingly begged him to collect N150.
He finally succumbed and took the money from each passenger before starting the engine again.
Less than 1km after, the engine grinded to a halt.
“Oga, kilode?” we asked
“Kosi fuel. Emabinu!”
Whether it was anger or sheer frustration that filled my eyes with tears, I couldn’t place my hands on it.
In other news, if you see any driver named Bashiru at Obalende, please slap him for me.