WAZOBIA: A Tale of Two worlds

What to do now

It wasn't until I was on the road that I realised that there wasn't any legal aviation agency that was going to allow me to take two guns out of the country no matter who the heck I was.

Oh God I didn't think this through. Damn America and it's strict protocol!

I had to face it, Childish Gambino wasn't just singing: This was America.

How long I had run, I didn't know, what I did know was that I was very close to a train station. I could find my way to a city, maybe California.
I didn't think there were any intercontinental flights here that took you all the way to Nigeria.

My mother would be expecting me, I had told her that I would come but she didn't know that the ceremonies hadn't finished yet. She didn't even know of my mission. Neither did my dad. If he knew of course, he would never have agreed for me to go to 'obodo oyibo' (land of white men).

He didn't even know I was in military academy. My father would've rebuked me, spelling out how a woman should never try such, that was simply not right.

My aunt was the one who sent me to military school. She was only one who knew of my plan and sponsored me, telling my father that she just wanted to have me experience life abroad, not actually explaining to him where I was going to.

I told my aunt that I wanted to go to military academy so that I could be hard and strict and probably even heartless. And so I could learn self defence. And of course, how to use a gun.

I got to the train station and laid my bag beside bonfires made by the homeless, where I slept that night.

*.   *.   *

I woke up after about four very short hours of sleep, I just needed to buy a ticket and head to the city.

There was a really long line for a train to California. No surprise, it was like the second capital of America. I finally got a ticket though, and squeezed through a rush of bodies to get into the train. I was lucky to secure a seat.

More people began to pour into the train and the seat beside me which, until then was comfortably seating my bag, became occupied by a very slender man with a cigar in his mouth.

I once heard that smoking affected the receiver of the dangerous emissions more than the smoker himself. And one thing was for sure, I hated smoke

Worse became worst when the man actually started talking to me - In a drunk manner.

"So what's up" he asked.

I didn't answer, more concerned about the smoke that would find its way into my mouth if I did open it.

Next thing I knew, the man got out a cigarette box from his pocket, slid out the bottom and handed me a cigar.

"Care for one? They're really good" he told me

I remained silent so he put it on my lap.
Vexation took over me then so I picked it up and threw it out the window.

"Hey that cost money" he said straight into my face, causing me to smell the alcohol in his mouth, strong vodka.

"For that, you're going to buy me a whole box of cigars " he demanded

Now he was plain crazy.

Sorry sir but I'm not going to fuel your madness. I thought when I finally resolved to get up and leave the seat.

On leaving, he grabbed a leg of my pants, pulling me back.

"You're not going anywhere" he said

But I thought otherwise.
I took a step backwards and used my other leg to kick him on his knee with my army boot. It caused him to howl, and as a result, let go of my trouser.

I quietly strolled to the back pretending not to notice the eyes that stared at me as I moved, where I stood, leaving my seat vacant for a lucky passenger.