A. Barrett - Love Is Power, or Something Like That - Stories

Anyhow, as I was saying, there were no small children selling pure water. And me, I cannot buy anything from old mamas and young girls because of my smelling mouth problem. Those old mamas, they can give advice anyhow, and those young girls, they have bad mouth, they like to curse too much. But the small children, they will not talk when I open my mouth, they will just turn their face to one side.

As I could not buy pure water, and the heat was worrying me too much, I started to think that maybe I should listen to music to cool myself down. So then I brought out my phone and my earphones, and I put the earphones inside my ear. Dagrin died like two months ago and since that time his music is reigning, everybody is playing it, whether inside barbing salon or inside nightclub, whether big boys or street girls, all of them are playing his songs. So last week I went to Computer Village and copied his whole album into my Motorola. For like three days I have not listened to any song except the one that he sang with Omawumi, and somehow, even though I still like the song, I am sick and tired of it. So I started to listen to “Pon Pon Pon” again.

I got myself when the engine of the bus started. The air conditioner was on and the bus was full up. My ears were paining me. And also, the window near me was open. So I closed the window and removed the earphones from inside my ear, then I locked my phone and put it inside my pocket. After that, I raised my hand to adjust the air conditioner so that the chilled air would reach me well. When the bus started to move, I started to look outside, so that the old mama who was sitting on the same seat with me won’t have any chance to start discussion.

Small time, we entered go slow. In case you don’t know, this is a normal thing in Lagos, even now that we have LASTMA. The go slow was a bad one, but the air conditioner was blowing well, so me, I was okay. There was one fine yellow woman who was sitting on one of the seat at my back, who was talking to herself. She was saying that she was in trouble because of the go slow, that people were waiting for her at her shop and her phone battery was dead, so she could not call the people to tell them that she was coming. I felt pity for her. The woman was fine.

In fact, let me describe her so that you will know the kind of person she is.

Her skin is very yellow, like those Igbo albino that have black hair. But the woman is wearing a head scarf, so I suspect that she is Yoruba. Her nose is straight and very fine, and it has one small earring inside it. The earrings inside her ears are very big and also they are very flashy. She has two types, one is round like a bicycle tire and it is gold color, the other one has many ropes that are shining like decoration. She has red-color lipstick on her lips and she has blue-color eye shadow on her eyes. She is wearing a green-color satin top with short sleeves and also she is wearing very tight blue-color jeans. She is slim like a sisi, but her breasts are big and even as she is sitting down I can notice that her hips are big too. She did not paint her fingernails but her toenails are red like chicken blood.

Anyhow, our bus was moving slowly but surely — LASTMA officials were controlling the go slow. As I was thinking to myself how everything is going on well, something happened. The air conditioner went off. At first, I was thinking that it was only for a short time, and the other passengers were thinking the same thing too, because nobody was saying anything. But after like ten minutes the bus started to get hot like the inside of iron container, and people started to grumble small-small. Me, I just kept quiet, because if I open my mouth in that hot place, it is me that will be responsible for anything that will happen.

After small time, I opened my window, because all over the whole bus other people were opening their window. I was sweating. The old mama beside me was sweating. Everybody was sweating. Thirstiness started to worry me again. My condition was so bad that I started to wonder how bad it will be if I had made mistake to enter danfo. Joy gripped me when I thought about all the things I was enduring in the past, inside those iron coffins that those wicked NURTW people are agreeing to register as transport bus. Inside my mind, I started to praise Lagos State governor. If only our president had sense like him, maybe Nigeria will not be where it is.

Suddenly, somebody near me was complaining. It was a man whose voice resembled soldier. Let me describe him so that you will know the kind of person he is.

His head is shining because he has scraped off all his hair. His neck is thick like a cow’s own. He is very tall and very huge and his skin is a chocolate color. The whole of his skin is shining like he has rubbed Vaseline. He is wearing a blue-color native and his sandal is pure leather (I have not seen the design before, so it is not the cheap type that you can buy under Oshodi Bridge). I am suspecting that he is a Muslim, because his feet are clean, there is no dust on them, and it is afternoon time. The way the man’s skin is shining shows evidence that he has money. His voice is very deep, like baritone, so I am suspecting that he will have a bad temper. But I just like the man — he makes me to remember Mr. Kosoko, my social studies teacher when I was in primary five.

Anyhow, this was the man that was complaining. He was shouting that the driver should put on the AC, that we paid extra sixty naira so therefore we must enjoy it. The driver did not do like he heard the man. Maybe it was because we were sitting at the back of the bus, or maybe it was because the bus radio was on and it was singing Fela’s “Confusion” at very high volume. So then, the man was raising his voice, and other people started to support him. All the time this trouble was going on, we were inside standstill go slow and the inside of the bus was like it was catching fire.

By now, all over the whole bus, people were saying that the driver must put on the AC. Then the Mr. Kosoko man started to get very angry. He was shouting that BRT bus is government motor; that no driver can be oppressing us with a motor that is not his own; that if the AC is not working then the driver should refund us back our sixty naira or he should take us back to the park so that we can enter another bus that has AC that is working. All the passengers, all over the whole bus, all of them agreed with him. So they started to shout, “Take us back!”

That yellow fine woman who was sitting near me, she did not talk all the whole time this trouble was going on. But immediately the other people started to say that we should go back, the woman shouted, “No o!” She was sitting on the seat at the back of the Mr. Kosoko man, and after she shouted no, the man turned round to look at her. He wanted to curse her but when he saw that she was very fine, he did not say anything again. But all the other people were shouting at her, they were saying that didn’t we pay extra sixty naira for the AC, that why is she causing confusion, that it is because of people like her that our country is bad.

There was one man that was wearing a black suit. He was sitting at the extreme back of the bus. The man was sweating like a Christmas goat. The man and the yellow fine woman started to have argument with each other.

“Why are you saying that we should not go back?” the black suit man was asking her.

“It is unfair! Can’t you see the hold up? By the time we go back and come back to enter this hold up again, time has gone!”

“But shouldn’t we stand up for our rights?”

“Look, oga, you’re talking English. Is it today that you want to fight for your right? Go and quarrel with police or even with politician, if you want your right. The AC that spoilt is not the driver’s fault!”