Yaba, Oyingbo. Yaba Oyingbo. Wole pelu change o. O ni change ma w’ole o. A pudgy boy who looked to be in his teens hung at the entrance of the moving, yellow danfo bus. His white singlet was marked with brown and yellow stains, and his ragged blue jeans had faded into a greyish look.

Anthony clutched his black backpack to his front as he zigzagged between the bustle of pedestrians wanting to avoid the muddy puddles from the heavy rainfall of the previous night and the sellers who had lined their wares on the pathway. He looked through the display of baby shoes and okrika clothes and fairly used irons and kettles. Behind a wheelbarrow filled with biscuits, coconut chips and plantain chips was a light-skinned man with curly hair wearing a pink shirt on a brownish-green shorts, and a yellow tie around his neck. Na wa o. Wetin person pikin no go see.

A girl crawled up to him and grabbed his loose pants. He yanked himself free and doubled his steps. These ones will just be touching someone anyhow with that their dirty hands. Only God knows what they’ve done with it. At the roundabout where he was to cross to the other side of the road was an old woman bent over a tray of sweets, biros, and pencils.

“Omo mi, come and buy your biro here. You go need am for school”

Anthony waived at her and stepped away. This Lagos and hustle. How much will this woman make from what she’s selling now? E go be. He took out a hundred Naira note from his purse, walked back to the woman and gave her the money.

“Ha! Omo mi,” she flipped the note and looked in his face, her yellow teeth on display. “Omo a toju e o. Wa r’anu gba. Ose.”  

Anthony smiled at her and nodded his head as he walked to the bus park. Imagine. All this prayer on top hundred Naira.

A bus conductor used his body to block Anthony from moving forward. “Fine boy, I know say na Yaba you dey go. Na dis bus you go enter.”

Anthony clutched his bag tighter to his chest. Na so dem dey do. Small time, dem go obtain person. “Bros, I no dey go Yaba.”

The conductor held his arms. “Na Yaba you dey go. No worry, the bus go soon full. Just enter.”

“Chairman, free me! Na you go tell me where I dey go. Shey me wey commot house this morning no sabi where I dey go ni. Abeg free me joor.” Anthony shrugged his arms from the lanky man’s grip. This one don stain my shirt now. Dem go just dey add to person’s frustration early momo. He tried to dust off the stain which spread to other parts.

Anthony boarded the bus going to Obalende. He needed to be in Professor Martins’ office latest by 10am if he was going to get a chance to meet him and it was already 7:30. He’d planned to leave the house by 6am to beat the cursed Lagos traffic, but by a stroke of bad luck that was when he woke up. He’d yanked off his cover clothes and sprinted to the bathroom, and he managed to leave the house at 6:30. The roads had already been flooded by people who don’t sleep in their houses because they have to be at work before 8. These are the same people who won’t get to their house until around 11pm and by 5am they’re out again.

Anthony watched with bated breath as the bus began to fill up. God abeg, let there be no traffic, abeg. Just this once.

A fat woman with a brown handbag and a grey dirty sack entered the bus and sat beside Anthony. His legs that he’d spread apart closed up at once. He straightened up and tried to part his legs again. “Madam abeg, shift small.” The woman looked down on him and moved a bit.

“If you no say you be two in one, make you na pay for two seats o,” the rough-looking dark-complexioned man at the door said.

“Iya e n’ile lo’n ba soro,” the woman replied.

“Na you I dey follow talk?” The man turned away calling other passengers.

The woman hissed and rummaged her bag. She dug out her purse and held it. Anthony checked his phone. 7:45. Chai! Na so I no go see Prof today again? God abeg.

The driver started the bus and everyone jerked forward.

“Driver, easy o,” someone from the back seat shouted.

“Eyin na easy,” the driver retorted.

“Na wa o. You dey do like say na animal you pack for bus as if we no be human being.” The man next to the driver said.

“E ma binu.” The driver apologised. He manoeuvred through the other buses and got on the freeway. He was driving at top speed like someone in an F1 competition. An old man who was about to cross the road jumped back as the bus sped past him.

“Olori buruku,” the man yelled, raising his hands and spreading his fingers apart in the driver’s direction.

“Baba arugbo ki le’n wa lona,” the driver shouted back. “Egbe yin w’anle.”

“You no say you no get brake you dey run like mad man,” the conductor said.

“How would you put people in a bus without brakes?”

“Se fe pa wa ni!”

“Please let me come down. I still have a family and I’m not ready to die.”

“Na wa o. I don enter bus wey no get brake. Express road to heaven.”

The driver ignored the comments and continued driving at a reduced speed. Anthony sat squashed against the wall of the bus. Which kain one chance be dis. He stuck out his head from the window to reduce the impact of the body odour of the person sitting in his front. Young boys and girls hawking water and groundnuts ran from one car to the other. On the pedestrian walkway was a line-up of disabled people accompanied by their able-bodied help begging for alms.

Anthony tried to ease the traffic of thoughts jarring in his mind. He was running late and the only thing he wanted was that the hold-up which had been caused by a danfo hitting an SUV would lighten up. Other cars drove past the furious car owner and the beggarly driver who was prostrating before him. 

Anthony heaved a sigh of relief as the bus drove past and the road was free again. The cool breeze blowing against his face stilled his mind against the cacophony on the bus. The driver drove into a filling station and took with him a barrage of insults from the already aggravated passengers.

As the driver parked at the final bus stop, he gave a 200 Naira note to a woman who had come begging to feed her son who had not eaten since the previous day. Anthony alighted from the bus, and as he was about to cross, a grey car with tinted windows sped past and splashed dirty water on him. He jumped back and bumped his elbow against the bus. He shook his head and ran across the busy road in between moving vehicles.

He got to Professor Martin’s office at 9:55am. He took a deep breath in front of the door, readjusted his clothes and knocked on the door. God, please let him be in a good mood. He pushed the door open and glided in.

“Good afternoon, sir.”

“Afternoon.” Professor Martins kept his head buried between the files he was scanning through. “How can I help you?” The icy words made Anthony develop goose pimples.

“Sir, I came to complain about my results, sir.”

“Hm-hm. What about it? Did anybody steal your grades?”

“No, sir… erm… the grade I saw is not what I was expecting and I… I was thinking if you could review it, sir.”

Professor Martins looked up at Anthony with an expressionless face. “Are you the one to tell me how to mark my students?” He moved his chair away from the table and pretended to stand up. “Do you want to be the lecturer now? I can stand up for you so you can take over.”

“No sir… err… no… it’s just that—”

“Get out of my office!”

“Sir…”

Professor Martins glared at him and Anthony shrunk out. Useless boy.  The professor hissed and returned to his work.

Anthony slapped his hand against his head. Which kain thing be dis. After all the things person don suffer na to come meet one sadist lecturer. O ga o. Anthony flung his bag over his shoulders and went down the stairs to the relaxation garden which had a water fountain at the centre. He brought out his AirPods from the side zip of his bag and plugged it in his ears. He placed his head against the stump planted where he sat allowing his mind to run riot.

Someone tapped Anthony on the leg and he opened his eyes. “My guy, how far na?” They fist-bumped each other and Anthony placed his leg down so his friend could sit.

“I dey o, Tony. Wetin you find come school?”

“Na Prof Marty I come see o. My result dey somehow I say make I come complain.” Anthony hissed.

Anthony’s friend laughed. “You sef funny o. You come see Prof Marty for result. You no know say the man get shoko for head. Wetin e talk?”

“The man say make I get out for him office, abi I wan dey tell am how e go mark him students.”

“I sabi. You for no waste your time come school at all. That man no well.”

“Mtchew. I don tire make I no lie. Today just dey somehow. Make I come dey go.”

“Good to see you, my guy.” They slapped each other’s palm and back of the hand before ending it with a handshake and shoulder bump.

Anthony dragged himself to where the campus shuttles were parked and climbed into the front seat. He placed his bag on the chair next to him resting his elbow on the window as he stared into space. A man who had no hair in the middle of his head tapped on the front door. Anthony picked up his bag from where he had dumped it and got down so the man could go in.

“Children of nowadays lack respect,” the man muttered as he helped himself into the bus with the grab handle.

Anthony sneered at him as he got back into the car. Adults of nowadays feel too entitled. He placed his hands back on the window and drowned in his thoughts. The revving engine of the bus jolted him from his reverie.

As the bus eased out of the school gate, there was a small crowd by the side of the road watching a performance by a man wearing a gown of many colours with a brown wig on his head. He was dancing to the tune of the bell he had in his hands, and some young boys had formed a circle around him, mimicking his dance.

“Ka ma paro, ka ma j’ale, werey lo po l’eko,” someone said and the bus erupted in laughter. People began to talk about the things they’ve experienced, segueing from politics to family matters and just about anything someone brought up.

This Lagos sha, a good mix of laughter and madness. Anthony readied himself to alight at his bus stop where he would board the BRT that would get him to his final destination. He got to his house around 7pm and descended on the amala, gbegiri and ewedu soup his mum had made. He dumped his plates in the sink, went to his room and washed off the day from him. He arranged the two pillows on his bed and buried his head. We sleep to fight another day.

Oluwakemi.