Synchronized Hearts

Chapter-Five

I once had the urge to use the toilet urgently but was stuck in the traffic jam for hours. I had to swallow my pride and distort in a nearby bush to relieve myself. It was one of the terrible moments of my life I will never forget.

The inability to find something around the house when it's always in the same place irritates the hell out of me. I spent three hours pulling my hair out of frustration while searching for my phone all over the room. All it took was a phone call-- a phone call to realize it was in my pocket all along. I have never felt more stupid after that.

The engine of my car sputtered to life after thirty minutes of patience, persistence and hard work while I ran late for my interview. The car hissed out a horrible sound like that of an old man dying. Dripping black oil stained my fingers, ear-splitting bangs shook me about like biscuits in a tin. With a loud fart, a cloud of smoke blasted out from the exhaust pipe and everything went dead again for the million times in minutes.

"Kasali, where is the mechanic now." I coughed violently, patting the beads of sweat stuck to my forehead in ascending order with my handkerchief.

"He say, when he finish eating his Iya Labisi amala, he will come." Kasali ran towards my car, hitting the bonnet repeatedly like that will do that magic.

"What kind of whack mechanic is that? Can't you bring another serious-minded one?" I picked up my bag, searching for my phone.

"No!" He shook his head negatively. "Mechanic macho is the best in the world, na him build Ferrari and Bugatti with his two hands in one day." He removed his cap, trying to pass his point across.

"I don't have time for your nonsense this morning." I walked past him to search for a cab to convey me to the island.

The street looked empty and deserted with tunes of radio from houses reverberating around the neighbourhood like it was recorded and music to the feets on the street, a chaotic rhythm born of the universal soul. There is a tempo to it all, and upbeat mambo that's asking why the passers-by aren't dancing, instead taking their usual steps. People smiled at him and gave him money while he sang in appreciation.

A cab stopped beside me but I couldn't help but feel nervous. The driver looked like one that was high on weed and he could kidnap me in a jiffy.

"Hanty, where you dey go?" His thick accent asked as he peeped at me from his window.

"Abuja, will you carry me for free?" I snapped.

"This one na bad market." He hissed and started the engine of his car.

I walked hurriedly from the street and entering into the bustling road. A lot of commuters and motorists were putting the road into good use by making everywhere rowdy.

"Please, is there no bus heading to Obalende?" I asked an old woman standing beside me.

"The last bus will be here any minute from now." She said, holding her umbrella and purse tightly.

A lot of people stood at the same park waiting for the last bus to come. It will definitely be a struggle because no one wants to be left out. Despite the fact that it is only 7:50 am in the morning, Lagos traffic is already snarled and gridlocked. I remember a recent trip to the island, Lekki to be precise, a journey shorter than 50 kilometres took me five hours. The traffic was that crazy.

The anticipated yellow danfo bus soon drove in, almost hitting some people. People cursed at the driver and the conductor, a usual hoodlum with ordinary vest and faded jeans told them to calm down and started screaming Obalende.

People pulled, pushed, and shoved trying so hard to enter the bus so as not to be left out. As the usual sharp Lagos girl that I am that refused to carry last, I equally pushed and shoved till I secured a seat at the back near the window side. Window sides are always my favourite spot to sit when travelling by plane, train, car, or bus.