Preordained #ProjectNigeria

2- Maduka

Song- 'Ojuelegba' by Wizkid.

Maduka's POV~

My head feels like a local grinding stone upon which a smaller one is being struck in a slow rhythm, crushing whatever vegetable that is unfortunate enough to be caught in between. Sweat trickles down my forehead, runs in a small stream down my spinal column, and soaks the underarms of my carefully ironed white shirt.

My car is parked by the side of the road at Ojuelegba, the back side bashed. On the ground in front of me, lying face down and pleading are a Danfo driver and his conductor.

Around us, people go about their own businesses, a few of them stopping to observe the scene that probably occurs like ten times a day on this particular Ikorodu road. Horns blare, insults are thrown, people's generations past and those to come are cursed.

Lagos won't stop for you even if you're dying, I think with a humorless smile.

"Ejo, e ma binu saa," they repeat in loud voices, calling my attention and making me wish I could just evaporate from this place, and somehow, magically, everything would fix itself.

Please, don't be angry sir.

How am I supposed to keep calm when my car is a mess? Who the hell does that?

Some of the passengers have alighted from the yellow bus and are begging me.

"Saa, abeg leave am. Forgive am," they plead in pidgin. (Sir, please let him go. Forgive him.)

"Am I Jesus Christ?" I demand, trying to keep my fury in check.

Danfo drivers are the worst drivers ever to grace this planet. The way they drive, it's like watching a sick mixture of Grand Theft Auto and Fast and Furious in real life and you'd think they have nine lives each. Once they get into trouble, they plead like their lives are in danger. They lie on the ground, kiss your feet, tell you about the new baby their wife just had and how they can't cater for it along with the other seven children. Sometimes they strip down to their underwear to show their helplessness.

Like these fools now.

They are dressed in boxers only, looking up at me with imploring expressions. But let them go, they will do it all over again to another unsuspecting driver.

"Saa, ejo. Ejo, ejo oo!" Sir, please!

Already, police officers are surrounding the bus, ordering the remaining passengers to get off.

"Take them to the station," I tell the officers.

"Aaah, eleyi wicked," one of the passengers says loudly. He is wicked.

"If na your motor, you go gree am?" I yell back. If it was your car, would you free him?

The officers spring to action and the bus driver lets out a cry.

I'm not one to take rubbish, especially when I'm right. I would tolerate a dent or a scratch, but this? No way.

"Owo mi daa?" the passengers start to yell, clustering around the driver and conductor. Where is my money?

"Why una no leave the change for am?" I mock. Why didn't you leave the change for him?

Some of them throw me looks and I laugh sardonically, marvelling at human nature. Here they were, begging me to forgive someone who had nearly destroyed my brand new car. Now they can't leave money below fifty Naira for him, considering the amount of money I am about to squeeze out of this man!