I know Mondays are our worst day of the week, abi? I personally have nothing against Mondays, being the workaholic that I am, but for those of you who do, I’ll be having a little something from now on, to make you smile through the day. If you like, don’t laugh, God is watching you in 3D.
On this clear morning, I decided I was going to put on a really nice dress. Not because of anything special, but because I just felt like it. With a nice dress, of course, came nice shoes (with heels), and of course, nice make up. Looking in the mirror, I grinned. I was set. I stepped out, expecting everyone else to be ready to go, but alas, the gods had other plans. I received crisp instructions to “go on.” Obviously I wouldn’t be “chauffeured” today. “Chai. What a waste of dress!” I thought to myself. I began the trek from the house to the bus stop, walking as carefully as possible to avoid any mishap.
I boarded the first bus, alighted at my stop. No problem. I boarded the second one, alighted at my stop. No problem, except for a few mildly interested stares. This is Lagos anyway, everyone stares at everyone else. The last bus was one of these large coaster buses in which everyone sits butt to butt with each other, without even an inch of space between. I happened to be one of the first to get in so I took up a nice seat by the window and promptly plugged in my earphones.
Passengers began to troop in, and owing to my position, everyone had to see me before getting into the bus. There were quite a number of appreciative eyes, especially male ones. I sat straighter. The open and unabashed “lookery” was quite unsettling. I remembered I took good time with my dressing that day. Chai. See unnecessary attention. Who send me message? A certain “gentleman” couldn’t bear it any longer and decided to change his seat to sit beside me and initiate toaster-type conversation. I snubbed him since “no be boyfriend I come find for inside molue”. We sped on. I answered a phone call in my most “tush” voice to match my “tush” appearance. When I got to my bus stop, instead of the default “Owa o!“, of course I had to say, “Driver, I’m stopping here please”. Hehe. I alighted like I imagined Queen Elizabeth would alight from a carriage. As the bus moved, I heaved a sigh of relief. Chai! Shakara no easy ooh! I had taken only three steps when a loud alarm rang in my head, making me halt in the most dramatic way. “Yepa” I thought, “No way did I forget my change on the bus!”
I deserve Usain Bolt’s medal for the race I ran that morning. I ran, soteey everyone had to stop to find out what could be making such a well-dressed lady run so fast on a weekday morning, on a busy Lagos road. I could already imagine the black lips of the conductor as it would stretch in a smug smile over his tobacco-stained teeth while counting my change and preparing to pocket it. Heck no! I ran faster. Finally I spotted the bus, stuck in a little traffic ahead. For the first time in my life, I thanked God for Lagos traffic. The agility with which I swung into the molue is better imagined. I was panting heavily, caring very little about the 30-something pairs of eyes that were riveted on me.
I sat down to catch my breath before demanding,”Oga conductor, wey my change?” When he tried acting like he didn’t know what I was talking about, I saw red. In my most Agbero tone, I lashed out at him in fluent pidgin and Yoruba, while standing up to my full height. “If you nor arrange ya brain shapaly make e remember say you never give me my 900 Naira change ehn, you go know say weere pass weere! Oloriburuku oshi! Ole! Fun mi l’owo mi nsin nsin, or else, ma se lese ooh! (translation: If you don’t quicky remember my 900 Naira change and hand it to me, you’ll know that madness has different levels! Jerk! Thief! Give me my money immediately, or else, I will do something terrible to you!) I hadn’t even finished my tirade when he hastily counted the 900 Naira into my hands. The fury in my eyes couldn’t be banked. The other passengers then joined me in raining insults on the man, knowing that he deliberately tried to swindle me. Then the toaster-passenger remarked,” So fine geh like you fit run like Okagbare on top high heel shoe, come speak correct pidgin on top the 900 Naira matter? Shoo? Na wa ooh. With all the supri supri wen u bin dey speak for this bus before, who for believe say you dey even shit?” Everyone on the bus laughed and I had no choice but to join in. I looked a mess.
On getting down from the bus and walking back to my destination, I received so many stares, this time in amusement. One of the heels of my shoes was about breaking off from my run, my hair was disheveled from the run and I was sweating profusely; the exact opposite of the girl who stepped down from the bus minutes ago. I laughed at myself. I’m still laughing at myself as I write this. Hope you laughed while reading this too! If you didn’t, you really do need to see a doctor. *mishievous wink* 😀
Before I dance out, let me wish you a great week ahead, friends!
“A man who can laugh at himself is truly blessed, for he will never lack for amusement” – James Carlos Blake
90s chick; nerd, humanitarian; lover of life, family, fashion, food, art and literature; Christian by birth and choice. In short, I’m like jollof rice: you’re gonna love me. 😉